#NOTHING is stopping someone from LIEING to a newcomer about how deals work

[rubixpsyche]

what would the shipname for Angel Dust and Valentino be exactly

before anyone jumps me I think there's some good potential for exploring their (theoretical) relationship before Oh God It's All Gone Wrong, I'd love to see some AU ideas and also we love angst in this house and therefore I want more scenes between those two. Up to a certain point shipnames are just for organization and that is exactly what I'm looking for

[imaginationjunkie]

Say the word

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s kinda heartwarming

I tried to control my fast breaths, lifting my head from the crook of Jason’s neck to give him a lazy kiss. Deliriousness coursed through our veins, minds hazy from the aftermath bliss of an intimate climax.

Being apart for weeks for his mission and my conference clearly had one gigantic perk- the mad intense I-missed-you-so-fucking-much sex.

It doesn’t matter if it was the first or the thousandth time, the feeling of his body against mine never failed to weaken my limbs to mush and warm my heart, like it’s soup being heated up on a stove.

A smile split my lips as I tried lifting my naked body up from his chest, and failing. The thick, muscular arms that were tightly wrapped around my waist stopped me from doing so. It made me smile wider and lean down to put my lips on Jason’s.

“You know you’re gonna have to stop doing that right?” I murmured, running my fingers through his dark raven locks. A chaste kiss was placed on my cheek by his smirking lips.

“Hmm? Doing what?”

I leaned down so that our bare chests pressed against each other, lips hovering over his. My whisper was naughty as I answered him.

“Why should I? We both seem to like it so very much,” Jason nuzzled his nose against mine with a mischievous smirk.

“Because if by any chance I get preggers before marriage, my parents will chase you to the ends of the earth and decapitate the crap out of you,” I whispered jokingly, but meant every word. “And then after they’re done with you, they’ll feed me to the demons.”

My ever-so-daring boyfriend’s reply was to lowly chuckle and simply kiss my shoulder. 

Affection came naturally to us now, especially since Jason had been touch starved practically since birth. The first few months of our relationship, I had to have a mental debate every time before touching him; how far I should go with the cuddling, to hold his hand or not, put my legs on his body while cuddling or not...

Unlike his brother Dick, who much to Jason’s irritation loved pulling me into a tight hug every time we met, Jason just wasn’t the affectionate type.

After a few months, I understood how badly he needed to be touched- to be loved, to be comforted. When he got the message that it’s okay to hold me as much as he wants, that there’s finally someone he can lose himself in, someone he can love, he found a way to touch me every spare moment we spent together. Kissing my neck, nuzzling his nose, holding my hips, putting his large hand on the small of my back or around my waist, constantly lifting me onto his lap- the list’s never ending.

“I’m serious, a child out of wedlock is beyond just a sinful taboo in my family,” I booped his nose, leaning my forearms on his chest to hold my upper body up.

Jason pretended to be lost in thought for a while before suddenly rolling our bodies over to our sides, the ridges and sinewy muscles of his defined chest flush against my back. He tucked the messy portion of my hair out of the way before kissing from my neck up to the back of my ear. 

“Well since marriage is out of the question, I’ve no option than to not make my pull out game weak,” his tongue darted out to lick my ear teasingly.

Ignoring the pang that hit my heart at his statement about marriage, I turned to swat his chest teasingly. My lips were unable to hold back a grin at his reference to WAP .

“What? You’re the one who keeps dancing to it every morning,” Jason grinned back at me.

“It’s 4 am, we should sleep,” I shook my head at him, turning to face forward again. Jason and my shared bedroom turned dark as he flicked the dim bedside lamp off, making the glow of moonlight our only source of light.

The warmth from having his arms encased around me brought a serene feeling, making me think about how impossible it’d be to live without Jason Todd. 

“I love you,” he murmured against my neck.

My eyes closed shut, senses overwhelmed with the depth of my feelings.

“I love you,” I whispered back.

I had an amazing life- loving and supporting, albeit sometimes overbearing, parents, a great job, a pretty apartment, and a man I’m certain I’d love and be loved by for the rest of my life. For the entirety of my existence, I’ve had the one thing Jason never did- stability. 

But when it’s meant to be, it’ll always be. 

God, fate or whatever higher force is up there looking over us made sure to let our souls find each other. Cherish each other. 

I knew Jason’s views on marriage and children. It was hard enough for him to indulge himself with something as normal as a committed relationship, that too for two and a half years; but it’d actually be impossible for him to be a husband, a father. He didn’t have a basic job in the least, and thus didn’t think tying the knot and being a family man would be suitable for him. 

Ever since I was a little girl, one of the things I’ve wanted greatly was to be married to the man I loved someday. But for Jason I could give it up. I could give up the hopes of having a ring on my finger and a baby on my belly, because he means more to me than anything ever will.

¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡

*2 months later, New Year’s eve night at the Wayne Manor backyard*

“Damian, those aren’t fireworks, they’re explosives!”

At my alarmed exclaim, Dick quickly snatched the big box from his younger brother’s hands, waddling his finger as if to say ‘no no’.

“They’re fireworks,”  Jason assured from behind. “The kid and I labelled it explosives so Dick doesn’t steal it,”

Dick’s face scrunched up in confusion, “”Why would I steal your fireworks? I’ve better things to do for fu-”

“Miss, the barbecue is ready. Would you like to add the last bit of sauce on top?” The always-polite and everyone’s favorite Alfred smartly interrupted Dick from saying the curse word.

Every time I practically forced my boyfriend, his brothers and father into having a family night, Alfred let me help with the food; and since I suck beyond words at cooking, he always gave me the easy tasks to do.

Now if you’re thinking that prevented me from considering myself as the world’s second Martha Stewart, you’re wrong.

I clapped my hands together in delight, “I’d love to!”

“No she wouldn’t,” Jason, Dick and Tim said at the same time.

I turned to them, perplexed at their concurrent interference. 

Taking note of the unusual shiftiness in the boys’ stances, I raised a brow- “And why is that?”

Out of the three suspicious-looking brothers, Dick replied- “Because there’s only 20 minutes till midnight and you have to help us set the fireworks off!”

Now both my eyebrows rose, and I crossed my arms against my chest.

“So you’re telling me,” I said in slow amusement, dragging the words sarcastically. “That three of the strongest night vigilantes of Gotham, one being a violent nutcase once,” a look was thrown in Jason’s direction, “Needs an ordinary girl to set off fireworks?”

This time Tim responded, “Well you see, we’ve never set them off. None of us has ever had the chance to have a normal new years with fireworks and a countdown,”

“Really?” I deadpanned, voice turning into a shrill by the end of the question, “So have I been planning and working my ass off every new year’s for the past three years to make robots happy?”

Tim realized his mistake, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head before trying to redeem himself. “But we’ve never had a family new years, y’know, with the barbecue and fireworks,”

“Also, you’re nowhere near ordinary,” Jason added in a low voice as he came to stand behind me and kissed my temple. I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness, wrapping an arm around the middle of both the boys’ backs.

Right then Damian piped in, surprising everyone. “Plus you’re not a girl, you’re a woman,” he emphasized on the last word, making Jason scoff with a smirk and everyone else laugh.

It didn’t take long for me to grow on Damian, making him accept and like me. From what I heard from his brothers and Alfred, he didn’t like most people and never went easy on newcomers. I was especially concerned about getting Jason’s family to like me, since he didn’t have much of a good relationship with them and I wanted to change that. In the end everyone ended up accepting me; and gradually even treating me as one of their own. Dick and I were practically best friends.

Despite what he used to say, I knew Jason loved them all like they were his own blood; so I knew that it meant a great deal to him to rekindle his relationships with them.

Bruce Wayne’s voice spoke for the first time that evening, “Good evening, my apologies for the delay,”

An awkward silence took over our so-far cozy night. All of the boys looked other directions, not acknowledging their dad who never bothered to show up to any family days on time. I tried my best to knit the boys together, help them get close and create a bond; and saying that I succeeded wouldn’t be a lie. But the fact that Bruce couldn’t even take one day off from his billionaire/ vigilante duties sort of upset me every time.

Jason scoffed, his mouth opening to say something undoubtedly snarky to his father. But before he had the chance to I stepped on his shoe and gripped his hand tightly, silencing him.

“It’s okay Bruce, at least you made it,” I smiled.

The excruciatingly tense atmosphere was cracked by Dick, “I still need help with the fireworks, anyone up for it?”

“I’ll come!” I was quick to squeak and walk towards him.

“Me too,” Damian grumbled, following me.

Tim was the last one. “Yeah, me as well.”

“Great, so you guys do the fireworks and Jaybird and I will be right back!” Dick clapped his hands together in perky delight, pushing Jason’s back forward as they walked into the manor. From the distance, I saw Jason shrug Dick’s hand off before glaring at him. Again, confusion filled me at their strange behavior tonight.

“What was that about?” I asked Tim.

He smiled, “Nothing, probably just vigilante stuff.”

As the minutes passed by, the new year came nearer and nearer. The three of us successfully managed to set off the first batch of fireworks, looking up at the sky and laughing freely. Even Bruce had a small smile as he took a sip of his drink, looking up and the lit up sky with a hand in his pocket.

When it was about 10 minutes to the clock ticking 12:00 am, worry started to cloud the excitement I was feeling; but Tim and Damian were quick to distract it.

“Now can we do the grand purple one?” Damian gave me a rare pleading look.

“Yeah we can, but where’re Jason and Dick? They’re gonna miss new year’s,” I voiced my concern. 

Right then, my phone started ringing. 

Incoming video call from mom.

I answered, knowing that my parents were calling to say Happy New Year like they did every year. What rendered me surprised after receiving the call was that almost my entire family was on the frame of my mom’ video- two of my aunts, uncles and all the cousins I’m close to. Which are a lot.

I’m a family person, if you couldn’t tell already.

“Hi baby!” My mom grinned.

I grinned back, glee taking over the initial confusion.“Hey y’all! Are you having a New Years party without me?”

One of my younger cousins replied, “Sort of, now show us!”

My brows furrowed, “Show you what?”

A string of ‘oh shit’s sounded from mom’s side, further increasing my confusion.

Out of the blue, Dick intervened from behind me, “The fireworks of course!”

A sudden bang! took us all by surprise, and I looked up to see the huge purple fireworks lighting the dark canvas of the sky up. A wide grin split my lips, along with all the other boys as they whooped at the different shades of purple. It happened to be my favorite color. 

I felt the familiar warmth of Jason’s body against my back before hearing or seeing him. The digital clock on the top corner of my phone read 11:55 pm. Not being able to contain my excitement, I subconsciously shoved my phone to Tim, who was beside me, while my family was still on video. I raised a hand to point at the sky.

“Jay look, it’s all so purple!”

And then something happened. Something I wouldn’t even dream of imagining.

Jason’s larger hand rose to the level of mine, which was still pointing up at the sky. He spread my fingers out so that my hand was displayed open. I turned to look at my boyfriend, not quite understanding his intentions.

His eyes were trained on mine, a golden and purple reflection from the fireworks and balcony lights visible on the glossy blue orbs. 

Our eyes stayed on each other’s as I felt something cold graze the top of my ring finger.

In the background I heard Dick harshly whisper, “Tim, the song!”

I wasn’t dumb. I knew what my boyfriend was holding on top of that finger.

Jason’s lips were an inch away from my ear as he spoke clearly, not a hint of hesitation in his voice, “Just say the word, and I’ll put a ring on you.” 

I couldn’t even look at it as I tried to get over the giant bucket of emotions that was thrown over me. Shock, flabbergast, sheer happiness, disbelief, excitement, a rush of adrenaline. My heart threatened to beat the crap out of my chest.

“Jason,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut as he put his chin on my shoulder, inches from mine. “What. Are. You. Doing??”

He bit his lip, smiling before cryptically answering. “I love you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married?” I questioned again. “Do you think I’m pregnant? Are you doing this cause-?” my voice was breathy.

Jason smirked, his unoccupied arm going round me from behind to rest on the other side of my waist. “No baby, I don’t. The twenty something negative pregnancy sticks on the bathroom trash sort of made it clear that you aren’t pregnant.”

I couldn’t hold back my own grin from his teasing. For the first time, I turned my head to look at our hands. The sky was phenomenal in the background of them, a swirl of blue, red and purple as Damian and Dick continued setting the fireworks off. Tim was holding my phone up to where Jason and I were standing, undoubtedly showing the scene to my family. Now I knew why they were all gathered together to call me.

“You asked my parents?”

Jay rubbed his nose on my cheek, his smart-assery coming to action as he quoted my words from that night two months ago- “Of course, wouldn’t wanna be chased to the end of the earth and be decapitated the crap out of now, would I?”

The boys all had blinding bright and hopeful grins on their faces; even Damian! Alfred’s expression could only be described with one adjective- delight, and Bruce had an odd smile as he saw the straight-out-of-a-movie scene unfold.

I turned my head to the side to look at Jason again, grin faltering to a small smile.

This time nervousness coated his expression and words as he asked once again, “Will you marry me?“

I heard my mom speak through the phone, “Oh come on, stop torturing the poor boy! Answer already!“

Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head even closer to Jason’s. His blue eyes pierced into mine with their intensity, and my lips touched his as I said the word softly. 

“Yes.”

[bloody-bee-tea]

On the other side

Asadbatman over on Twitter wanted to see the other side of the Clan Swap fic, where Jiang Cheng gets transported into Lan Wanyin’s body and where he meets Jiang Xichen. You can find “In every timeline” here and you should probably read that one first. This comes in at 12k.

Lan Wanyin is reading over a particularly insulting letter on his favourite pier, but even that does nothing to soften the frown on his face.

Sect Leader Yao really has a lot of nerve to send this letter to Jiang Xichen who—for all intents and purposes—is a goddamn war hero now, not even to mention the Sect Leader of one of the most powerful Sects out there.

Lan Wanyin takes a deep breath and decides to deal with that letter later—much later, if he can get away with it—before he turns his attention towards the lake in front of him.

It’s a rather calming sight, and one of the reasons why this is his favourite place in Lotus Pier. The lake stretches on for longer than the eye can see, and this close to the piers, there are dozens of lotus heads gently bobbing on the water and it’s so calming and relaxing that Lan Wanyin could totally drift off here.

Except that he still has work to do, because Jiang Xichen trusts him to deal with the paperwork and this part of running a Sect even though they are not married. Yet.

But Lan Wanyin will not allow anyone to say that he’s slacking off, and even though this is a private pier there is still a chance someone might catch a glimpse of him, and so he lets out another sigh as he picks up the next letter from the stack to his side.

He wonders if the stacks always get so high, but then he remembers fondly that there is almost nothing more Jiang Xichen hates doing than paperwork and with how victorious Yunmeng Jiang came out of the Sunshot Campaign it’s understandable that everyone wants to gain a favour with Jiang Xichen.

Lan Wanyin is very pleased that Jiang Xichen allows him to be the one to formulate very polite “Fuck off” replies to them, he’s not going to lie about that.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Xichen suddenly whines from behind him and drapes himself all over Lan Wanyin’s back.

“Doing the work you pushed off on me?” Lan Wanyin gives back without even putting the letter in his hand down.

He has gotten rather used to Jiang Xichen being as tactile as he is, and Lan Wanyin is enjoying it immensely, even though he would never admit it. He would blush his way through every single word of that sentence, he just knows it, and then Jiang Xichen would tease him about it, and Lan Wanyin would blush even harder.

He knows that from experience.

“But I didn’t mean you have to do the work immediately,” Jiang Xichen sighs, but he stays where is, with his arms around Lan Wanyin’s waist and his head hooked over his shoulder.

“I’d rather get it out of the way,” Lan Wanyin says, patting Jiang Xichen’s hand on his stomach.

“You’re all work and no fun, lately,” Jiang Xichen complaints and Lan Wanyin’s mouth twists with his words.

He knows that he hasn’t been the most fun to be around lately, but one of them has to take the task of leading a Sect seriously and it certainly isn’t going to be Jiang Xichen, no matter how effortlessly he still seems to fall into the role as Sect Leader.

Lan Wanyin puts it down to his rigorous training and Lan Wanyin did not receive the same training. He was never meant to be Sect Leader, so he has a lot to catch up to, he knows that. Especially since the wedding is still a few months away.

He just doesn’t want to embarrass Jiang Xichen with his ignorance before they are even tied together.

“If you keep this up, I’ll give you something to complain about,” Lan Wanyin says with less bite than he intended to, but then again he never can be really mad at Jiang Xichen.

To underline his threat he reaches out for Sect Leader Yao’s letter and waves it in front of Jiang Xichen’s face, who makes a grimace at that, but then hides his smile in Lan Wanyin’s neck.

“Feisty. I like it,” he mutters, and Lan Wanyin doesn’t mean to, but he freezes up completely.

With how Jiang Xichen is still pressed close to him, he notices it immediately of course and Lan Wanyin can almost hear him frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low and soothing, and Lan Wanyin hates that he is still like this—that the doubt is still a niggling bud in his mind—but he also can’t help it.

“If you like feisty so much, you should probably go look for my counterpart again,” Lan Wanyin says, and this comes out much more bitter than he thought it would.

It’s too telling, he knows that immediately, and Jiang Xichen pulls away for long enough to make Lan Wanyin panic before Jiang Xichen simply turns him around and pulls him into a hug.

“I don’t want your counterpart,” Jiang Xichen tells him, his voice controlled and even, and despite the way Lan Wanyin clings to Jiang Xichen he lets out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, right,” he mutters. “You wouldn’t even have noticed me if it wasn’t for him catching your eye,” he goes on, hiding his face much more firmly in Jiang Xichen’s chest, because he doesn’t want to know what kind of face he makes at that.

But Jiang Xichen is not letting him hide; he pushes Lan Wanyin away, so that he can look him in the eye when he next speaks.

“He might have managed to catch my eye, but it’s you who kept it for years now,” Jiang Xichen tells him and Lan Wanyin blushes at his words.

Jiang Xichen has never made a secret out of the fact that he fell head over heels in love with him, but his actions speak very loudly too.

Like the fact that he not only allows Lan Wanyin into his home and family, but that he also trusts him to lead the Sect together with him. Lan Wanyin knows how much Yunmeng Jiang means to Jiang Xichen and it regularly warms his heart to know that Jiang Xichen wants to share this with Lan Wanyin.

“Shut up,” Lan Wanyin grumbles slightly, but he’s very pleased by Jiang Xichen’s answer.

“Only when you stop being stupid,” Jiang Xichen gives back and brushes a kiss over Lan Wanyin’s cheek.

“I’m not stupid,” Lan Wanyin protests more out of reflex than anything else and then he sighs. “I know you love me and it’s stupid of me to still be jealous of my counterpart,” Lan Wanyin admits.

But knowing that he is unreasonably jealous and not being jealous are two completely different things and Lan Wanyin is not doing well with the latter part.

Jiang Xichen hums at his words and manhandles him around again, until Lan Wanyin sits with his back to Jiang Xichen’s chest and Jiang Xichen hugs him close.

“You never did tell me what happened in that other world,” Jiang Xichen lowly says and Lan Wanyin shrugs.

He doesn’t think anything that happened to him in that world is worth mentioning, but he guesses that Jiang Xichen has burned to ask this question for a long while now.

“Fine,” he sighs and pulls down Jiang Xichen so he sits pressed up to his back and he puts his hands over the arms around his middle. “I’ll tell you.”

~*~*~

Lan Wanyin wakes up to someone frantically calling his name.

“Jiang Cheng? Jiang Cheng, wake up right this instant! Jiang Wanyin! Don’t make your poor brother fret like this, come on. A-Cheng? Chengcheng?”

Okay, someone calling a semblance of his name, anyway.

Lan Wanyin groans slightly, before he blinks his eyes open, and his vision is immediately filled with a mop of unruly hair and a worried face of a person Lan Wanyin has never seen before in his entire life.

“Jiang Cheng?” the person asks him and Lan Wanyin pushes him away as politely as he can.

“No,” he says, immediately startled by how deep his voice is.

He looks down at himself, to figure out if there is a visible clue as to why he was unconscious, but when he sees dark purple robes he frowns. His frown only deepens when it feels like something vital is missing.

“What is going on?” he asks the other person, who is clearly not at all reassured now that he’s awake.

“Jiang Cheng?” he is asked again and Lan Wanyin shakes his head.

“My name is Lan Wanyin,” he gives back and watches as the person goes pale at his side.

“Lan Wanyin,” he mutters and then he scrambles up to frantically gather a few papers.

Lan Wanyin watches him study them, seemingly more desperate the more he reads and when the guy looks at him Lan Wanyin can see something close to panic on his face.

“Oh fuck,” the guy mutters and then plasters a smile on his face so quickly it gives Lan Wanyin whiplash.

“I’m Wei Wuxian, nice to meet you,” he says, adopting a cheery tone that’s so obviously fake that Lan Wanyin cringes on his behalf.

“Where am I?” he asks, but when he looks around he can tell that this is the Jingshi, so he changes his question. “Why are you in my home?” he asks instead and watches as the smile on Wei Wuxian’s face falters dangerously.

“Your home, of course,” he mutters. “You’re Lan Wanyin and this is your home,” he goes on and Lan Wanyin bristles at his words.

“Yes, I am and yes it is. And I demand an explanation from you now!” he says, trying for a stern tone, but he knows it comes out much more wavering than he’d like.

“I’m sorry, this must be really stressful for you,” Wei Wuxian says, and he sounds so sympathetic that Lan Wanyin immediately has to bite back some tears.

“Just explain to me what’s going on,” he tries again and Wei Wuxian sighs, clearly about to give in, but before he can do that, someone slides open the door.

“Jiang Cheng? Wei Wuxian?” the newcomer asks and Wei Wuxian gives a fleeting smile to Lan Wanyin before he gets up and turns around to the new man that stepped into Lan Wanyin’s home uninvited.

He’s wearing the customary Lan white—he even has a forehead ribbon—but Lan Wanyin has never seen him in his life and he frowns at him. All that does though, is making it startling clear that he’s missing his own forehead ribbon, and suddenly Lan Wanyin feels entirely too naked.

“Lan Xichen,” Wei Wuxian says with a nod of his head. “Meet Lan Wanyin,” he then goes on with a nod towards Lan Wanyin, who is still on the ground, and Lan Wanyin scrambles to get up.

It’s a little bit strange, this new body; he seems to be taller and broader than he’s used to being and he fumbles around for a second before he falls into an appropriate bow.

“What is going on?” Lan Xichen wants to know, his expression bordering on outright pained and sad, and Lan Wanyin turns expectant eyes on Wei Wuxian because he is still expecting an answer to that very same question as well.

“It seems that my spell did not work as intended,” Wei Wuxian says with a wince and Lan Wanyin watches as Lan Xichen’s eyebrows rise on his forehead.

“What spell?” he asks with the voice of a man who is too used to dealing with mishaps and problems and keeping his own feelings on the matter very far removed, and Lan Wanyin frowns.

“Are you the Sect Leader?” he asks, because he has seen his brother make a very similar face when he’s faced with one of the junior disciple’s shenanigans.

“Technically I’m—it’s complicated,” Lan Xichen finally settles on, but when Lan Wanyin keeps his baffled expression he goes on. “I used to be,” he finally admits.

“Xichen-ge,” Wei Wuxian whispers, clearly a lot of history behind that one sentence, but Lan Wanyin is too stuck on the informal way with which Wei Wuxian refers to him.

“Where’s my brother? And how dare you refer to your elder as disrespectfully as that?” Lan Wanyin suddenly asks, filled with the desperate need to see someone familiar, to have his brother look out for him like he always does, and he doesn’t even care that his tone is very close to whining but he also has their Sect’s rules ingrained in his bones and he cannot let disrespectful behaviour like that stand without even trying to correct it.

“Lan Wangji?” Lan Xichen asks, clearly only guessing and Lan Wanyin nods frantically. “He’s out on a night hunt. It should still be a day or so before he comes back. He’s accompanying the juniors.”

“I want to see him,” Lan Wanyin says, knowing that he shouldn’t be making demands of people he doesn’t even know, but he needs to see a familiar face.

“We can’t call him back,” Wei Wuxian gently says. “We’ll have to wait until Lan Zhan returns on his own.”

Lan Wanyin freezes when he hears that name, because even he doesn’t dare to call his brother that and he can feel his temper spike again, before he takes a deep and calming breath.

“Could you please not refer to my brother like this? You have no rights to do so,” Lan Wanyin says in what he thinks is an appropriately calm voice.

“What should I call him then?” Wei Wuxian asks, a mischievous smile on his face. “Lan-er-gege?” he asks and Lan Wanyin goes hot under the collar.

“How dare you call me that?” he hisses out and watches as Wei Wuxian’s eyes go big and how Lan Xichen presses his lips together.

Lan Wanyin is not sure if it’s in an attempt to hide a smile or because to keep some words in.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen reprimands him and Wei Wuxian does seem appropriately chastised, if only for a second.

“You’re the younger brother?” Wei Wuxian asks, clearly embarrassed for a moment and Lan Wanyin nods.

“I’m sixteen,” he answers and now both of them pale.

“Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian answers and even though Lan Xichen doesn’t look like he would ever utter such crude words he nods with emphasis.

“Lan Wanyin, Wei Wuxian is Wangji’s husband,” Lan Xichen gently tells him and Lan Wanyin goes still.

His brother is way too young to marry but he guess that’s not the case in this world.

“How old is he?” Lan Wanyin carefully asks and Wei Wuxian shrugs.

“Over thirty. You are too, in the body you’re currently in,” he explains and Lan Wanyin needs to sit down for a moment.

This is not what he expected.

“I want to go home,” Lan Wanyin whispers, suddenly feeling small and young despite the body he is in, and he watches as Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian share a look.

“I’ll work on reversing the spell, but I don’t know how long it will take,” Wei Wuxian finally says and Lan Wanyin deflates.

“It’s probably best if we leave him to it,” Lan Xichen chimes in, giving Lan Wanyin a reassuring smile. “How do you feel about staying with me for the time being?”

Lan Wanyin is not feeling anything about that despite the aching urge to go home, so he simply nods.

“I’m sorry about imposing,” he says with a small bow and Wei Wuxian makes a startled noise at his side.

“If anyone’s imposing, it’s us, since we dragged you here against your will,” he says and Lan Wanyin wants to snap at him that he’s damn right about that, but he only nods.

Snapping would be rude, after all.

“Wei Wuxian will get you back home,” Lan Xichen promises and Lan Wanyin pretends that he doesn’t see how Wei Wuxian winces at that.

It doesn’t spark confidence in Lan Wanyin, but then again Wei Wuxian did drag him here, so he should be capable of sending him back too.

Neither of them comment on Wei Wuxian’s slip of face though, and when Lan Xichen motions for Lan Wanyin to follow him, he does so without another word.

The trek to Lan Xichen’s home is silent, but it’s not long before Lan Wanyin recognizes the path they are taking and unease grows in his gut.

Logically it makes sense that Lan Xichen would live in the Hanshi if he is the older brother, but Lan Wangji is very protective of his space—always has been—and so Lan Wanyin hasn’t set foot into the Hanshi more than a couple of times in his life.

The thought that he’s going to live there for the time being makes him feel slightly sick and he tries to subtly reach out for the trailing ends of his forehead ribbon, but of course his hands come back empty.

“It’s not much, but I hope you can relax here a bit,” Lan Xichen says as he invites him into the Hanshi, and Lan Wanyin hesitates a moment before he follows him inside.

“This is not where you usually stay,” Lan Xichen mildly observes and Lan Wanyin shakes his head. 

“My brother lives in the Hanshi,” he explains and Lan Xichen nods.

“I suppose that would make sense, if he is the older one this time,” Lan Xichen says with a shrug and then busies himself with getting some tea ready.

Lan Wanyin observes him, and he takes note of the slightly shaking hands and the way Lan Xichen avoids looking directly at him.

“I’m—I shouldn’t be here,” Lan Wanyin finally whispers, and Lan Xichen jerks with his words.

“Wei Wuxian will work very hard to get you back to your world,” he promises. “You’re occupying his brother’s body, he’s personally invested. It’s a good motivator,” Lan Xichen whispers and Lan Wanyin frowns at his tone.

“His brother,” he mutters and then walks over to the mirror in Lan Xichen’s home.

Lan Wanyin takes a long moment to simply look himself over and he’s not sure he likes what he sees. Jiang Cheng’s body is older—of course it is—but it’s also a lot broader than Lan Wanyin is used to. It seems battle hardened. 

His face at least is much the same—even though it looks empty without the forehead ribbon—though of course he seems more mature.

“Jiang Cheng doesn’t usually smile like you do,” Lan Xichen suddenly says from behind him and Lan Wanyin thinks that over for a moment before he schools his expression into a frown.

“That’s more like it,” Lan Xichen says with a wistful chuckle and Lan Wanyin keeps the expression for a while longer.

Jiang Cheng is still handsome, even with a frown, but it also makes him look fierce and unapproachable and Lan Wanyin doesn’t like that at all. He quickly drops the frown, watching as his features smooth out into his much softer ones.

“Do you want a forehead ribbon?” Lan Xichen suddenly asks him and Lan Wanyin whips around.

“What?” he asks, though he can’t deny that the answer would be a very resounding yes.

“I noticed you keep reaching out for it,” Lan Xichen explains and Lan Wanyin flushes when he realizes that he must have done it unconsciously. 

“I can’t take your forehead ribbon,” Lan Wanyin says, appalled at just the idea of it, but Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“I have some spare ones,” he says and walks away to retrieve one of those. “I used to look after this one rowdy kid,” Lan Xichen says with a smile when he sees Lan Wanyin’s confused look. “He needed a few new ones every day and I didn’t have the heart to throw them out once he grew up.”

“I see,” Lan Wanyin whispers and takes the offered ribbon with shaking hands.

He does quick work with tying it around his forehead and he has to admit that he does feel better once it’s tied snugly.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely to Lan Xichen and after one last look into the mirror—now much more familiar than before—he turns away from it.

“If Wei Wuxian is my brother in this world, then where is he in my world?” Lan Wanyin asks Lan Xichen, mostly to have something to talk about.

“I don’t know,” Lan Xichen answers with a shrug. “If Wangji is your brother in your world, then where am I?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Wanyin whispers. “I don’t even know Wei Wuxian.”

“You’re sixteen?” Lan Xichen wants to know and he hums when Lan Wanyin nods. “Did you participate in the classes already?”

“No,” Lan Wanyin mumbles. “They are about to start in less than two weeks. I’m going to miss them, aren’t I?” Lan Wanyin asks, and he feels strangely despondent at that thought.

He’s going to miss out on so much.

“Wei Wuxian will do his hardest to send you back. The classes last the whole summer, right? You’ll probably have some time to get to know the other students,” Lan Xichen tries to reassure him, but Lan Wanyin is not convinced. 

Wei Wuxian hasn’t looked all that confident before; he’ll probably be here for longer than either of them cares about.

“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Xichen suddenly says and Lan Wanyin tenses before he realizes that Lan Xichen doesn’t mean him. “Do you think he’ll be alright in your world?”

“I think so,” Lan Wanyin says without hesitation. “My brother will look after him.”

“That’s good then,” Lan Xichen says with a small smile and then he busies himself with the tea again.

They spend the rest of the afternoon with soft conversation, comparing notes on the different worlds, but it becomes clear to Lan Wanyin pretty quickly that Lan Xichen is skirting around a lot of topics.

Lan Wanyin is honestly too scared to ask and so he allows the topics to be shallow and safe.

Night has already fallen by the time footsteps approach the Hanshi and both Lan Xichen and Lan Wanyin perk up. 

There’s a polite knock on the door before it slides open and Lan Wanyin has to fight the rush of relief to see his brother.

“Xiongzhan,” Lan Wangji greets, and the word sounds exceedingly strange on Lan Wangji’s lips.

Lan Wanyin doesn’t even have time to process the fact that Lan Wangji is looking at Lan Xichen instead of himself, when he’s already bowing.

“Xiongzhan,” he says, too, and then he shrinks back when Lan Wangji gives him a bone-chilling glare.

“Wangji, this is Lan Wanyin,” Lan Xichen explains but Lan Wangji’s look only gets darker at that.

“If you have to marry anyone, why does it have to be him?” Lan Wangji asks and Lan Wanyin reels back as if he has been hit.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen snaps, stepping closer to Lan Wanyin. “Do not forget your manners. This is Lan Wanyin from another world. One of your husband’s experiments went very wrong, and you would do well to be polite to our guest. To any guest.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t lose his hostile look, but he at least bows to Lan Wanyin, even if he doesn’t apologize.

“I’ll be checking on my husband then,” Lan Wangji says, immediately leaving the Hanshi and Lan Wanyin can do nothing but stare after him.

This is not how he imagined meeting his brother would go over and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself now.

“I am so sorry,” Lan Xichen says. “There’s some history between Jiang Cheng and Wangji.” Lan Xichen winces at his own words and then goes on. “It’s still no excuse. He should at least remember his manners.”

Lan Wanyin can’t even nod at that, because he is still too shocked. He has never heard his brother sound that cold, not even when dealing with people he doesn’t like. To have it directed at himself is certainly an experience Lan Wanyin could have done without.

“I think I would like to sleep now,” Lan Wanyin eventually whispers and Lan Xichen’s face falls. 

“Should I send for some dinner first?” he asks, already half up, but Lan Wanyin shakes his head.

“I just want to sleep,” he mumbles and Lan Xichen sighs.

“Alright,” he thankfully agrees and setting up a second bed is short work, so soon enough Lan Wanyin is laying down.

He doesn’t fight the urge to pull the blanket over his head and he also can’t help the few tears that escape, but he’s proud that he doesn’t outright sob, even though he absolutely feels like it.

He tries to convince himself that tomorrow will be better and that he will be back home soon, and Lan Wanyin falls asleep clinging to that hope.

~*~*~

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Lan Wanyin understands that it’s not quite acceptable for him to go to the communal breakfast, even though he would like that. But outsiders are not allowed and for all that Lan Wanyin is very much a Lan, Jiang Cheng—whose body he’s currently inhabiting—is most definitely not and so Lan Wanyin can’t go there.

Lan Xichen stays with him though and breakfast passes quickly like that.

Lan Wanyin is still thinking about his meeting with Lan Wangji—more like fretting over it—when they hear another set of footsteps approaching the Hanshi.

“Oh no,” Lan Xichen whispers, before he gets up, clearly recognizing the steps, but before he can reach the door someone knocks on it. Very insistently and loudly.

“Lan Xichen!” that person yells and Lan Xichen is quick to slide the door open, but he tries his best to block the person from looking inside.

“How dare you?” the person hisses and Lan Wanyin sees Lan Xichen wince.

“Jin Ling—” he starts, but Jin Ling doesn’t let him talk.

“You call my jiujiu away on urgent business and now you refuse to let him leave again? How dare you? Let me see him at once!” he demands and Lan Wanyin gets up, because he figures it’s kind of inevitable that he’ll have to introduce himself.

“Listen, Jin Ling, there’s been an accident,” Lan Xichen starts and Lan Wanyin thinks this might not be the best way to break the news to Jin Ling about his uncle.

“If he got hurt on your watch I will make you regret it,” Jin Ling says, and Lan Wanyin is surprised at the confidence with which he says it.

Lan Xichen shakes his head, but before he can figure out how to explain this to Jin Ling, he pushes his way into the Hanshi.

“Jiujiu!” Jin Ling calls out but when his gaze falls on Lan Wanyin he freezes.

“If you married Lan Xichen without telling me I will never speak to you again,” he then says, voice deceptively calm and Lan Wanyin rushes to clear the situation up.

“We didn’t marry,” he says and he’s proud that he only flushes a little bit.

A side-glance at Lan Xichen reveals that he’s doing much worse, because his face is bright red.

“Then what the hell is going on?” Jin Ling demands to know.

“Language,” Lan Wanyin says out of reflex and he is surprised at the pained look on Lan Xichen’s face at that.

“I’ll watch my language if you explain to me what you’re doing here, in Lan Xichen’s personal quarters, with what seems to be his forehead ribbon.”

“It’s a spare one,” Lan Xichen chimes in. “And he’s not actually Jiang Cheng,” he then belatedly says and Lan Wanyin thinks that maybe he should have led with that.

“What do you mean? It’s clearly my jiujiu,” Jin Ling says, already puffing himself up as if he’s gearing up for a fight.

“My name is Lan Wanyin. I’m from another world,” he rushes to explain but the frown on Jin Ling’s face only gets more pronounced.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he decides then and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“One of Wei Wuxian’s experiments went wrong,” Lan Xichen says and it seems like that makes much more sense to Jin Ling because his face falls.

“What?” he whispers and now Lan Wanyin can finally see that he’s just a teenager.

“I’m really sorry,” Lan Wanyin says but Jin Ling shakes his head.

“I want my jiujiu back,” he says and Lan Wanyin can understand that feeling—he wants his brother back, too—but there’s not much he can do about that right now.

“I wish I could just swap us back,” Lan Wanyin says. “But we have to wait until Wei Wuxian figures out how to switch us back.”

“How is my jiujiu? Is he alright?” Jin Ling wants to know, but it’s again something Lan Wanyin can’t tell him for sure.

“He should be. I was at home when it happened, so he should have woken up safe and sound. And there’s not much that can happen to him in the Cloud Recesses.”

“Does he have someone to look out for him?” Jin Ling asks, and his voice is small.

“Of course he does,” Lan Wanyin tells him, frowning when he sees Lan Xichen shaking his head at him. “My brother will make sure that he’s alright.”

“Your brother? Lan Xichen?”

“No. Lan Wangji,” Lan Wanyin says, smiling slightly when he remembers just how protective his brother can be and so he nearly misses the way Jin Ling’s face falls again.

“What?” he hisses and then whirls around to Lan Xichen. “He’s alone with him?”

“As far as I understand it, there is no Jiang Cheng in his world. Wangji has no reason to hold a grudge against him.”

“But you don’t know it,” Jin Ling bitterly says and then turns back around to Lan Wanyin.

“How can you be this calm? My jiujiu is missing and you’re not even doing anything” he asks them, but Lan Wanyin shrugs.

“There’s nothing much we can do,” he says, even though he wishes it were different too. “We just have to wait for Wei Wuxian to reverse the spell.”

“And you’re just okay with that?” Jin Ling asks, now turned towards Lan Xichen again.

“Like he says, there’s not much we can do,” Lan Xichen apologetically says but it seems to have been the wrong thing, because Jin Ling huffs.

“I hate you,” he hisses. “I hate you both and I want you gone,” he then adds towards Lan Wanyin and promptly storms out of the Hanshi.

His words sting, even though Lan Wanyin understands that his emotions are most likely running rampant right now.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Lan Xichen tells him after a long moment of silence. “He just loves Jiang Cheng more than anyone else in this world and he’s clearly not doing well with his absence.”

“I see,” Lan Wanyin whispers and he gets it.

He isn’t doing well without Lan Wangji either, but at least his manners prevent him from breaking down or lashing out like Jin Ling just did.

“He’ll probably be back soon to apologize,” Lan Xichen prophesises but Lan Wanyin doubts it. “His parents died and Jiang Cheng raised him. I know he taught him more manners than this, but Jin Ling is a very emotional boy.”

“You seem to know them very well,” Lan Wanyin says with a small frown and watches as Lan Xichen’s cheeks go slightly red.

“We are—were fellow Sect Leaders. It’s only natural that we got to know each other.”

Lan Wanyin doesn’t want to ask about his correction there, though he can’t deny that he is curious what could have possibly made Lan Xichen step down from that position. But Lan Wanyin is too polite to ask about something that so very clearly still brings pain to Lan Xichen, and so they fall into silence again.

It’s not uncomfortable—at least not entirely—but Lan Wanyin finds himself fiddling with the ring around his finger more than he probably should.

He didn’t yet have a chance to look at it clearly, but he figures there’s nothing else to do for now, and so he raises his hand closer to his face, so he can take a better look.

The motion gets Lan Xichen’s attention immediately of course, but he stays silent for now.

Lan Wanyin inspects the ring with the utmost care, and he realizes soon enough that it’s a spiritual tool, but he’s not sure how to use it or if he even wants to.

“It turns into a whip,” Lan Xichen eventually chimes in and Lan Wanyin startles slightly, he was that engrossed in the intricate details on the ring. “It’s the Yu family heirloom. Jiang Cheng got it from his mother. It’s called Zidian.”

“What form does the whip take?”

“Purple lightning.” Lan Xichen hesitates briefly. “Would you like to try it out?”

“I—" Lan Wanyin starts, but then he doesn’t know how to finish that. 

It’s likely that he will have more than enough time on his hands here, since he doesn’t have his usual classes or chores to attend to, but right now Lan Wanyin doesn’t feel like doing anything. 

“I would like to meditate,” he finally says, allowing himself one day off in all this madness.

Lan Xichen doesn’t seem like he minds that much, because he very earnestly offers to accompany him to the cold springs, and Lan Wanyin would love to tell him no, but he knows that he’s in the body of an outsider, so seeing him at the cold springs without proper supervision would probably upset other Sect members.

There is nothing for Lan Wanyin to do but to agree.

It’s not so bad, in the end, because Lan Xichen has a very reserved nature it seems—not unlike Lan Wanyin’s own—and meditating next to him is easy.

Easy enough that the day goes by quickly and before Lan Wanyin knows it, he’s back in the Hanshi, with only Lan Xichen as his company during dinner.

Lan Wanyin finds himself wishing that he could see more of his brother, but then he remembers the tense atmosphere and Lan Wangji’s cold stare and Lan Wanyin figures it’s better that Lan Wangji doesn’t come around more often.

He kind of wonders over Wei Wuxian’s absence—since he’s apparently inhabiting Wei Wuxian’s brother’s body—but when Lan Wanyin brings it up to Lan Xichen he simply shrugs.

“Wei Wuxian is most likely doing his level best to send you back,” he explains and Lan Wanyin can’t quite hide the bitter twist of his mouth.

It has nothing to do with returning him to where he came from; it has everything to do with getting Jiang Cheng back.

“He would do the same for you if Jiang Cheng was still here,” Lan Xichen says, clearly reading the thought right off Lan Wanyin’s face and not for the first time does Lan Wanyin wonder if he is just that easy to read or if Lan Xichen is that familiar with Jiang Cheng.

“He made a mistake and he’s rushing to fix it. Not to mention that it’s probably driving him insane that he can’t figure out why his original spell went so wrong,” Lan Xichen says but the exasperation in his voice tells Lan Wanyin that this isn’t the first instance of Wei Wuxian going mad over something he caused himself.

Lan Wanyin wonders how Wei Wuxian can possibly fit into the Lan Sect, but if he and Lan Wangji are married, then at least Lan Xichen must have approved of it.

That thought spirals into imagining if Lan Wanyin’s own brother would approve of him marrying someone like Wei Wuxian—not that Lan Wanyin can imagine himself doing so—and he gets hit with a wave of homesickness.

It ruins his appetite rather thoroughly.

“I’m tired,” Lan Wanyin says as he puts his bowl down, trying not to notice Lan Xichen’s worried gaze on him.

Lan Wanyin doesn’t wait for a dismissal, and simply gets up to retire to bed. He hears Lan Xichen rummage around, but the noises are quiet and unobtrusive and Lan Wanyin quickly drifts off, even plagued by worries as he is.

~*~*~

The days don’t pass quickly enough for Lan Wanyin’s taste and soon enough he feels trapped inside the Hanshi. He’s not used to being so idle; in his world he has duties to fulfil and classes to attend but here there is nothing for him to do but sit and wait, and he has never been good at either of those things.

“I think I want to practice with Zidian,” Lan Wanyin says apropos of nothing one morning and Lan Xichen doesn’t seem as startled by that as Lan Wanyin expected him to be.

“Of course,” he quickly agrees and Lan Wanyin narrows his eyes at him, watching as Lan Xichen smiles slightly.

“You’re not as different to Jiang Cheng as you might think,” he says with a shrug. “Both of you don’t deal well with just sitting around; I was just waiting for you to get bored enough to say something.”

Lan Wanyin blinks at that.

“I had duties in my world,” is what he finally says.

“And I’m sorry you can’t carry them out here. You can help me with some of the paperwork later, if you want. It’s nothing important, but it would give you something to do.”

Lan Wanyin doesn’t comment on the nothing important part, but he can’t deny that he’s curious. Lan Wanyin is absolutely sure that Lan Xichen used to be Sect Leader and to hear that his paperwork is nothing serious just feels wrong. Even if he no longer is Sect Leader, if he stepped down for whatever reasons, people should still seek him out for his expertise and knowledge.

Lan Wanyin is on the cusp of asking, when Lan Xichen abruptly turns away from him, walking out of the Hanshi and clearly expecting Lan Wanyin to follow him.

Lan Wanyin swallows his questions down and trails after Lan Xichen to the training grounds.

“Do you have a spiritual tool?” Lan Xichen asks him and Lan Wanyin nods.

“I play the xiao,” he says and Lan Xichen looks startled.

“You—of course you do,” he finally says and Lan Wanyin frowns at him until he explains. “I do, too. It truly does seem like you have my place in your world. Maybe I do have your place, then, in Yunmeng Jiang,” he muses and Lan Wanyin promises himself to find out about Lan Xichen’s whereabouts, once he’s back in his own world.

“How does this help me with Zidian?” Lan Wanyin wants to know, and shakes himself out of these useless thoughts.

He can do nothing as long as he’s here, in this world, so there’s no point in making plans for now.

“If you already know how to use a spiritual tool, channelling energy into Zidian will be easier,” Lan Xichen explains and Lan Wanyin flushes, because he should have realized that himself.

Lan Wanyin takes a deep breath and pushes his embarrassment far away, because it’s never helpful while practicing and instead he concentrates on channelling energy into Zidian, just like he usually would with his xiao.

It doesn’t take long at all for Zidian to spark purple and then suddenly it’s no longer a ring, but a whip in Lan Wanyin’s hand.

“Very good,” Lan Xichen says with a smile and then steps away from Lan Wanyin, clearly giving him space. “Try it out,” he encourages him and Lan Wanyin does just that.

Controlling the whip is much harder than he imagined it to be, though. He can feel some confused resistance from Zidian, and Lan Wanyin is surprised to find that the tool notices that he’s not its usual master.

Jiang Cheng really has quite the priceless weapon at his disposal.

During the course of the next hour Lan Wanyin whips himself on accident more often than he really cares to admit, but it only plays into his stubborn streak; he is going to master this tool, and if he comes out of it bloody, then so be it.

“I think you need to arch it further over your head,” Lan Xichen suddenly says from the side and Lan Wanyin startles so badly he nearly whips himself in the face.

He completely forgot that Lan Xichen was there.

“Sorry,” Lan Xichen says with a grimace.

“How would you know how to use Zidian?” Lan Wanyin asks him, frustrated by his lack of progress so far, so his voice comes out more biting than it should. He takes a deep breath to calm himself before he goes on. “Have you used it before?”

“No,” Lan Xichen rushes out, blushing at the suggestion. “But Wanyin and I fought in the same war; we have been on some night-hunts together as well. It’s hard to miss how he uses Zidian,” Lan Xichen explains and Lan Wanyin frowns at him.

He still tries to do what Lan Xichen told him to and to his surprise it works out quite well. Lan Wanyin is aware that his posture is not perfect, but he’s getting there and he thinks with a bit more practice he could master Zidian, especially now that it seems to have accepted him.

Lan Xichen continues to give him a few more valuable tips and while Lan Wanyin does try each and every single one of them out, he can’t help the nagging thought in his head when Lan Xichen keeps talking.

“You’re in love with him,” Lan Wanyin says out of the blue after yet another successful manoeuvre and Lan Xichen freezes on the spot.

“You are,” Lan Wanyin says, taking Lan Xichen’s reaction as confirmation and then he watches as Lan Xichen goes red, before all colour drains from his face.

“I am not,” he tries to deny, but it’s a little bit too late for that. “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t learn these kind of tricks by picking up on a few things during night-hunts,” Lan Wanyin says, calling Zidian back and returning it to its ring form. “To notice the things you notice you’d have to watch him pretty closely.”

Lan Xichen opens his mouth as if to argue, but he can’t seem to find his words and so in the end he simply closes his mouth again.

“Have you ever told him?” Lan Wanyin wants to know and is surprised by the bitter laugh Lan Xichen lets out.

“Of course not,” he whispers and then looks away from Lan Wanyin. “I’ve been in love with him for so long, but I never dared to say anything. And now it’s just—” he trails off with a shrug and Lan Wanyin wonders just what the hell happened for Lan Xichen to think like that but before he can ask anything else, Jin Ling approaches them.

“You can wield Zidian,” he says, and it sounds so accusatory that Lan Wanyin flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes and has half a mind just offering the tool to Jin Ling for safekeeping when Jin Ling lets out a rough breath.

“I’m here to apologize,” he says, not looking at Lan Wanyin directly, but he seems very determined.

“There’s no need for that,” Lan Wanyin says, because he can understand why Jin Ling freaked out when he realized that it wasn’t his jiujiu he was talking to.

“There is. It’s not your fault you’re here and I don’t hate you. I’m sorry I said it,” Jin Ling says, clearly uncomfortable with the apology, but he’s still doing it and Lan Wanyin thinks that Jiang Cheng really did a great job, raising him.

“It’s alright. Thank you,” Lan Wanyin says and once that is out, Jin Ling looks at him.

“I just miss my jiujiu,” he says, voice small, and Lan Wanyin notices yet again that Jin Ling barely looks older than Lan Wanyin is.

“I miss my xiongzhan too,” Lan Wanyin admits and Jin Ling nods.

“I’m sorry I can’t be around too much, but I have a Sect to lead, too,” Jin Ling says, and Lan Wanyin aches for him because no one that young should ever have to shoulder that kind of responsibility.

Lan Wanyin knows he couldn’t.

“It’s alright,” he says, because he guesses it’s only partly that, and mostly the fact that Jin Ling can’t bear to look at him and know that it’s not actually Jiang Cheng, and he’s not holding it against him.

Jin Ling nods brusquely at that, and then turns to Lan Xichen.

“I expect a proper courtship afterwards and you damn well better ask me for permission,” he hisses at Lan Xichen and then he simply stalks off again.

“Everyone seems to know you’re in love with Jiang Cheng,” Lan Wanyin mildly observes, thinking back to what Lan Wangji had said too and he watches as Lan Xichen blushes slightly again.

“It doesn’t matter. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know and he doesn’t feel the same way, and there’s no chance that will change now,” he gives back and he sounds more composed than Lan Wanyin expected him to.

“How would you know if you never confessed?”

“You’re not wrong. I have watched him a great deal. So trust me when I say that he doesn’t. Jiang Cheng is never subtle with his feelings and especially not when he loves.”

“Is he in love with someone else?”

“I don’t think so,” Lan Xichen admits.

“Then there’s hope for you,” Lan Wanyin shrugs, even though he can’t be sure of that at all.

He doesn’t know Jiang Cheng after all, but if he came here on Lan Xichen’s request—in a rush nonetheless, too, if he didn’t properly explain things to Jin Ling—then he must at least treasure their friendship.

“Thank you for saying that,” Lan Xichen whispers though he doesn’t sound convinced at all and Lan Wanyin turns away from him.

He doesn’t feel like practicing with Zidian anymore and the encounter with Jin Ling just reminded him who he is missing as well.

“I wonder how xiongzhang and shufu are doing,” Lan Wanyin mutters and startles when Lan Xichen puts a hand to his shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go see Wangji, but we can go visit shufu,” Lan Xichen says and Lan Wanyin turns towards him, his eyes wide.

He hadn’t dare to ask after Lan Qiren, too scared that he wouldn’t like the answer, and since no one had brought him up either, Lan Wanyin had half convinced himself that Lan Qiren didn’t exist in this world at best or was dead at worst.

He never dared to contemplate this.

“Can we?” he asks and Lan Xichen nods with a smile.

“Of course,” he agrees and then leads Lan Wanyin away from the training grounds.

Lan Xichen doesn’t act like Lan Wanyin has to pretend with Lan Qiren, so Lan Wanyin guesses he must have been told about what happened.

His suspicions are confirmed when Lan Qiren greets them.

“Xichen, Lan Wanyin,” he says with a nod and they both bow to him.

“Shufu,” they say in unison and despite the tight feeling in his chest Lan Wanyin has to hide a smile.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Lan Xichen says and promptly leaves Lan Wanyin alone with Lan Qiren who motions for him to sit.

“How are you doing?” Lan Qiren asks him and Lan Wanyin has to fight against the tears.

His uncle is exactly the same here in this world and Lan Wanyin feels so homesick, it threatens to overwhelm him.

“Good,” he somehow gets out, even though his voice is all choked up.

“I see you got a forehead ribbon,” Lan Qiren says, and while he doesn’t say it with any form of judgement Lan Wanyin rushes to explain.

“It’s not Lan Xichen’s! It’s a spare one! Nothing inappropriate happened.”

“A shame,” Lan Qiren mutters. “And here I thought the only nephew with taste would also finally be man enough to do something about it.”

Lan Wanyin presses his lips together, because apparently really everyone knows about Lan Xichen’s feelings for Jiang Cheng but when he sees the twinkle in Lan Qiren’s eyes he allows himself to smile.

“Maybe they will figure it out eventually,” he says and Lan Qiren sighs.

“Maybe,” he agrees, though it seems like he long ago gave up hope for that.

“Do you like Jiang Cheng? Would you approve of him?” Lan Wanyin asks, even though the answer seems pretty clear.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren easily admits and he doesn’t explain anything, so he really must hold Jiang Cheng in very high regards if he thinks it should be that obvious.

“He will come back to you all, soon,” Lan Wanyin whispers, hoping that he is missed in his own world just as dearly as Jiang Cheng is being missed here.

“He no doubt will,” Lan Qiren agrees but then he reaches out and cups Lan Wanyin’s cheek in his hand, stunning Lan Wanyin into stillness.

“But until then we’re all very happy to have you,” Lan Qiren says and Lan Wanyin swallows against his emotions. “Now,” Lan Qiren says and clears his throat. “How do you feel about a lesson?”

“I feel very good about that, shufu,” Lan Wanyin admits and when Lan Qiren falls right into explaining something Lan Wanyin feels settled.

It feels a lot more like home this way.

~*~*~

Lan Wanyin continues to spend his days training with Zidian before he goes to Lan Qiren for a lesson. Like this it doesn’t feel like he’s missing out on so much back in his own world, and the Lan Qiren of this world is just like the Lan Qiren of Lan Wanyin’s world.

Strict, but loving and Lan Wanyin wonders if he ever thought to appreciate that before.

He doesn’t see much of Lan Xichen for a few days, because he leaves Lan Wanyin to his own devices more often than not, but when he returns to the Hanshi in the evenings Lan Xichen seems troubled and stressed but he won’t talk about it, no matter how often Lan Wanyin asks.

Jin Ling seems to be staying in the Cloud Recesses, too, because he sees flashes of his golden robes more than once, but Lan Wanyin is in no rush to bother him again.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian continue to be evasive, but it’s not like Lan Wanyin saw much of them before so their absence doesn’t seem all that strange.

Until he walks back into the Hanshi, almost three weeks into his stay in this world, and everyone is there waiting for him.

So this must be what had Lan Xichen so stressed over the past few days, Lan Wanyin thinks as he settles down at the table, expectantly waiting for someone to say something.

“So,” Wei Wuxian starts, nervously fiddling with Lan Wangji’s fingers. “Here’s the thing. We decided to tell you a few things, since it seems like they might still happen in your world and we don’t actually want you to have to go through them,” he says and Lan Wanyin frowns.

“Does this have to do with all the topics you keep glossing over? Like why Lan Xichen is no longer Sect Leader and the history between Wangji and Jiang Cheng?” he asks and everyone nods at him.

So this is not going to be fun then, Lan Wanyin thinks and he is right.

It’s a nightmare, if he’s being honest, and his mind is reeling when everyone finally falls silent again.

“We’re sorry about simply dropping this on you, but we think it’s better if you know these things,” Wei Wuxian says with a wince and Lan Wanyin cannot believe that he was dead for sixteen years.

“I—” Lan Wanyin starts, but he doesn’t actually know what to say to any of that and so he falls silent again.

He compares the things they talked about to the political landscape of his own world, and he realizes that they are probably steering towards the same war. The Wens are trying to reach for power; Sect Leader Nie’s father already died and no one believed Nie Mingjue when he said that Wen Ruohan had a hand in that.

There will be a lot to do for him, once he gets back to his own world, Lan Wanyin realizes and he grows cold with horror at the thought that maybe he cannot prevent any of it.

“I need to talk to him alone,” Jin Ling suddenly says and glares at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, before his gaze goes a little bit warmer when he looks at Lan Xichen. “Would you allow us to talk here, for a moment?” Jin Ling asks, suddenly all polite, and Lan Xichen is quick to nod.

“Of course,” he says, as he gets up, doing his hardest not to meet Lan Wanyin’s eyes but before Lan Wanyin can say anything he, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have left the Hanshi.

Jin Ling walks after them, making sure they really leave, before he puts up a silencing ward on the Hanshi.

“What else?” Lan Wanyin asks, rubbing his head, because this cannot be good.

If Jin Ling send everyone else away, this cannot be good at all and Lan Wanyin is not sure if he wants to hear it. His mind is already reeling and he still feels faintly sick from all the things he just heard, but Jin Ling fixes him with a hard glare.

“Jiujiu did not go back to Lotus Pier to retrieve his parent’s bodies,” he starts with, simply diving right in as it seems and Lan Wanyin frowns.

“But that’s what Wei Wuxian said.”

“Because he doesn’t know better. He thinks that’s what happened. But it’s not true. My jiujiu got captured because the Wen soldiers were about to capture Wei Wuxian and jiujiu distracted them,” Jin Ling says and Lan Wanyin is glad he’s already sitting down.

Jiang Cheng sacrificed himself to keep Wei Wuxian safe, only to have it all ruined when Wei Wuxian gave him his core.

“They don’t know?” he asks, even though the answer is obvious.

“No. Jiujiu never wants Wei Wuxian to know that and so you’re not going to tell him either.” There’s an underlying threat in his voice and Lan Wanyin is quick to nod.

“Of course not,” he agrees. “But why are you telling me this?”

“Because I don’t want the same to happen again,” Jin Ling says. “I don’t know about your relationship with your brother and I don’t know if there’s a Wei Wuxian in your world and if he has a brother, but maybe you should keep an eye out. They seem to think things are going to be the same in your world, and this is something you need to know as well.”

Lan Wanyin nods, his mind still spinning, and this new information does nothing to calm him down at all.

“Did he know he would lose his core?” Lan Wanyin asks and he watches in horror as pain flashes over Jin Ling’s face.

“He expected to lose his life,” he whispers and Lan Wanyin can’t even imagine how much Jiang Cheng must love Wei Wuxian to do something like that, expecting it to cost his life.

“I see,” Lan Wanyin whispers and wonders if he would be strong enough to do the same for Lan Wangji.

He hopes the answer is yes, but he also hopes he never has to find out.

“Thank you for telling me,” Lan Wanyin mutters and Jin Ling nods, before he destroys the talisman.

“I’ll get going then,” Jin Ling says, suddenly back to his awkward teenager self and Lan Wanyin musters up a smile for him.

“Have a safe trip,” he says, praying to all the gods he knows that the next time Jin Ling will see his jiujiu again.

“You too,” Jin Ling says, clearly not doubting for a second that Wei Wuxian will figure out how to send Lan Wanyin back and then he’s out of the door.

It’s not long before Lan Xichen comes back, but he’s still avoiding Lan Wanyin’s gaze and Lan Wanyin frowns.

“What is wrong?” he wants to know and watches as Lan Xichen flinches even as he plasters a smile to his face.

“You can request to be housed somewhere else until Wei Wuxian figures out how to send you back,” Lan Xichen says, his voice stiff and formal and Lan Wanyin’s frown only deepens.

“Why would I do that?” he demands to know and Lan Xichen shrugs.

“You heard what happened. I gave A—him the tool to murder my sworn brother and I never noticed a thing,” Lan Xichen says and Lan Wanyin pretends he doesn’t hear how his voice breaks over the almost uttered name.

“As did no one else,” Lan Wanyin hotly gives back. “So everyone else is at fault, too. And besides. He was your sworn brother, too, was he not? You should have been able to trust him.”

“I should have noticed,” Lan Xichen insists again, but Lan Wanyin shakes his head.

“He shouldn’t have done it,” he counters, but now it finally all comes together.

If Lan Xichen thinks he is guilty—an accomplice, almost—then of course he would step down as Sect Leader. Of course he would think Jiang Cheng could never fall in love with him.

“You said Jiang Cheng and I are quite similar, right?” he demands to know and Lan Xichen jerks his head in a nod.

“Then he must feel the same about this. It’s not your fault. You were all deceived. I doubt he thinks of you like you seem to fear.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Lan Xichen says and it rankles Lan Wanyin to be spoken to like that. “It’s more personal for him. He lost so much because of what happened, because of what I allowed to happen.”

“Everyone allowed that to happen. Everyone who didn’t say a thing and simply followed. Do you think he’s angry at the whole world?” Lan Wanyin wants to know and he is almost relieved to see a small smile on Lan Xichen’s face.

“He’s angry a lot,” he whispers but then he grows serious again. “Our relationship changed quite a bit once the truth came out.”

“Could that maybe be because you went into seclusion and withdrew?” Lan Wanyin wants to know and Lan Xichen looks startled by that suggestion.

“I don’t—” he starts but Lan Wanyin shakes his head.

“He came here when you wrote him, right? Didn’t he visit you before, too? I certainly wouldn’t do that with someone I hold responsible for a crime of any kind,” Lan Wanyin says, because he does feel pretty confident about that.

Lan Xichen swallows heavily before he nods once.

“Thank you for saying that. I will give it some thought,” he whispers and while it’s not exactly what Lan Wanyin wants to hear, it’s better than nothing.

Small steps.

~*~*~

Lan Xichen and Lan Wanyin have just settled down for a relaxing breakfast when Wei Wuxian barges into the Hanshi without properly announcing himself.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen says, not as biting as Lan Wanyin would have expected, but then again Wei Wuxian seems too excited to properly remember his manners.

“I figured it out!” Wei Wuxian yells, disregarding yet another one of their rules and with every time that happens Lan Wanyin understands the pinched lines on Lan Qiren’s face more and more.

“You figured out what?” Lan Xichen asks, clearly practiced in wheedling out the necessary explanations of an excited Wei Wuxian.

“How to send you back, of course,” Wei Wuxian says with a maniac grin as he looks at Lan Wanyin. “Come, come, we gotta get started right now,” he rushes out and darts forward to take Lan Wanyin’s hand and drag him out of the Hanshi.

“Xichen-ge, you better wait here for now,” Wei Wuxian calls back when it becomes clear that Lan Xichen intents to follow them and when Lan Wanyin looks over his shoulder he sees the lost look on Lan Xichen’s face.

“Don’t worry,” he calls back, trying to sound more confident than he really feels, but Wei Wuxian’s manic energy doesn’t inspire trust at all.

Lan Xichen nods at him and doesn’t make a move to come after them and Lan Wanyin finds himself wishing that he could have said a proper goodbye to him.

Provided that whatever Wei Wuxian figured out actually works.

“Are you sure about this?” Lan Wanyin asks as he’s being dragged after Wei Wuxian, who nods so frantically that his hair goes flying.

“Of course I am! I never make mistakes,” he cries out and Lan Wanyin raises a very judging eyebrow at him. “Okay, maybe I do make mistakes, sometimes, rarely, but I promise you this will work out just fine. Don’t worry.”

Lan Wanyin of course still worries—how could he ever do anything else—but he also follows Wei Wuxian more freely.

He’s not surprised to be brought back to the Jingshi, but he is surprised to see that Lan Wangji is obviously missing.

“Can’t have any other qi mess up my careful planning,” Wei Wuxian cheerfully explains when he sees Lan Wanyin’s searching look and then he simply pushes him into the centre of the room.

There are papers strewn all over the Jingshi and Lan Wanyin’s fingers twitch with the need to tidy up in here, but then Wei Wuxian whirls around to him.

“Now, channel your energy into Zidian,” he demands just as some dark mist starts to swirl around Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wanyin has never seen demonic cultivation in person and it takes him a moment to shake off his instinctual horror but then he does as Wei Wuxian asked of him.

When Wei Wuxian’s and his energy come together the papers around him start to glow and Wei Wuxian lets out an excited yell.

“Yessss,” he hisses and then gently guides Lan Wanyin to lay down. “Tell your Lan Zhan hi from me,” Wei Wuxian says with a wink and it’s the last thing Lan Wanyin sees and hears before everything goes dark.

~*~*~

“You know the rest,” Lan Wanyin says, and sinks deeper into Jiang Xichen’s embrace, content to feel his heartbeat through his back, as he tightens Jiang Xichen’s arms around his middle.

Lan Wanyin can’t help but to appreciate his own forehead ribbon wrapped around Jiang Xichen’s forearm, but when he reaches out, Lan Wanyin fingers stray towards Zidian.

“That’s why we did so well in the war,” Jiang Xichen mutters and presses a kiss to Lan Wanyin’s head. “Because you knew what was going to happen.”

“Enough things were different that we still struggled,” Lan Wanyin says, feeling yet again like he failed everyone who died in the war.

He always gets upset over that, and his fiddling with Zidian gets stronger.

“Can you still wield it?” Jiang Xichen asks and swiftly slides the ring off his finger, before he puts it on Lan Wanyin’s.

“Xichen!” Lan Wanyin yells out in surprise, because it’s a family heirloom, and he really shouldn’t be holding it.

“Don’t you know that you can use it?” Jiang Xichen mutters in his ear and when Lan Wanyin tries to direct some energy into the ring, it promptly responds to him.

“Xichen,” he says, much more softly this time and Jiang Xichen noses at his cheek.

“What belongs to me also belongs to you,” he whispers and presses a kiss to the corner of Lan Wanyin’s mouth. “You should know that.”

“You should know that as well,” Lan Wanyin says and puts his hand over his forehead ribbon on Jiang Xichen’s arm.

“Oh, believe me, I do,” Jiang Xichen suggestively says and Lan Wanyin lightly slaps his arms, even as Jiang Xichen pulls him closer.

“But you know, I’m actually kind of upset now,” Jiang Xichen finally says after a while and drags Lan Wanyin out of his comfortable doze the soft murmuring of the lake lulled him in to.

“About what?” he whispers and turns his head so he can kiss the underside of Jiang Xichen’s chin.

“It’s clearly not me who caught your eye. You didn’t even know me. But from the way you talked about him it seems like Lan Xichen caught your eye.”

“Well, just like Jiang Cheng caught yours, right?” Lan Wanyin says and untangles himself from Jiang Xichen, just so that he can turn around and straddle his lap instead of sitting with his back to him.

“But it was me who managed to keep your eye, remember?” Lan Wanyin whispers into the space between them and he cannot believe how lucky he is when Jiang Xichen looks up at him with nothing but love on his face.

“Yes,” he whispers but when he strains up to get a kiss from Lan Wanyin he slightly leans back, just enough to stay out of reach.

“And you are the one who managed to keep my eye,” he tells Jiang Xichen and only when he sees the possessive happiness on his face does Lan Wanyin lean down and meet him in a kiss.

They get lost in it for a while, and when they finally part, Lan Wanyin moves around so he sits sideways on Jiang Xichen’s lap and can tuck his face into his neck more comfortably.

“I just hope that Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng figured it out on their end as well.”

“Well, Jiang Cheng seemed pretty flustered with me. I’d say chances for them are good,” Jiang Xichen says with a small laugh and Lan Wanyin hopes he is right.

Lan Xichen deserves to be just as happy as Lan Wanyin is right now.

~*~*~

Lan Xichen stares out over the water, thoroughly enjoying the silence at his favourite pier, even though the cold is slowly creeping in.

It’s been years since he came to call Lotus Pier his home, but there are days where he can barely believe that he got this lucky at all.

That Jiang Cheng came to love him back, even though Lan Xichen doesn’t deserve it. And he’s pretty sure that Jiang Cheng’s stay in the other world has something to do with it, even though Jiang Cheng never really told him exactly what happened there, always blushing furiously before changing the subject.

Lan Xichen wonders if they would be here like this, today, if that experiment hadn’t gone wrong and then he wonders if Lan Wanyin also managed to get this lucky in his own world.

He definitely deserves it.

“My light, what are you doing?” Jiang Cheng suddenly asks from behind him and Lan Xichen cranes his neck to look up at him. “It’s too cold still for you to sit like this,” he berates Lan Xichen, but Lan Xichen can see the blanket in his hands and he knows that Jiang Cheng is simply worried.

“Maybe you should keep me warm then,” he gives back and he feels entirely too indulged when Jiang Cheng immediately settles down behind him, putting the blanket over his front and pulling him into his chest.

“You’re going to get sick like this,” Jiang Cheng grumbles but he presses a kiss to Lan Xichen’s hair as he says it. “What are you doing here, though?”

“I was wondering about Lan Wanyin,” Lan Xichen admits and snuggles into his husband’s chest. “Do you think things on his end turned out okay?”

“You told him what to look out for, right?” Jiang Cheng asks and strokes his hand up and down Lan Xichen’s stomach in a soothing motion. “And I doubt he was stupid enough to disregard everything you said to him. It should be fine.”

Lan Xichen hums at that, because he hopes Jiang Cheng is right.

“Do you think he got as lucky in love as we did?” Lan Xichen asks after a while and he doesn’t even have to look at Jiang Cheng to know that he’s blushing again.

“No one is as lucky as we are,” Jiang Cheng says but then he sighs. “I would think so,” he then finally admits. “I might have been a bit careless with his forehead ribbon,” Jiang Cheng finally admits and it’s surprising enough that Lan Xichen turns around to him.

“You what?” he wants to know but he’s smiling giddily when he sees how embarrassed Jiang Cheng is about this.

“I met your counterpart,” Jiang Cheng admits. “Jiang Xichen.”

“Ah, so that’s where I went,” Lan Xichen nods, finally being able to put that nagging thought to rest.

“Yeah. You had your hair in Yunmeng braids and you were wearing purple,” Jiang Cheng admits and he reaches up to tug on Lan Xichen’s braided hair and then he smoothes his hand over Lan Xichen’s side, clearly appreciating the deep purple that his robes are.

There is still some blue mixed in, but it’s subtle enough that one might miss it on first glance, and Lan Xichen doesn’t mind it as much as he once might have thought.

His heart belongs to Jiang Cheng and that means his everything belongs to Yunmeng as well. It’s only fair that his look reflects that.

“And?” Lan Xichen probes when Jiang Cheng falls silent and then he can’t help himself because he simply has to kiss the blush on Jiang Cheng’s face.

“I was in a sixteen-year-old body,” Jiang Cheng says as if he needs to defend himself and his actions upfront. “There were a lot of hormones I wasn’t used to anymore.”

“And?” Lan Xichen asks again, a smile curling around his mouth because he might see where this is going.

“And Jiang Xichen was smuggling in alcohol past curfew and he was being a little shit and he looked so strange without his forehead ribbon. And I wasn’t used to mine,” Jiang Cheng mutters, clearly embarrassed beyond words and Lan Xichen laughs.

“So you gave him yours?” he snickers and Jiang Cheng pinches his side, before he chases away the sting of pain with a kiss.

“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng whispers against his lips and Lan Xichen hums.

“I thought you were different when you came back,” he admits and a tiny part of Lan Xichen can’t help but to wonder if they would be here at all if Jiang Cheng wasn’t forced into that other world.

If he ever would have come to love Lan Xichen on his own.

“Stop it,” Jiang Cheng chastises him and cups Lan Xichen’s face in his hand. “I love you,” he firmly states. “And I would have come to love you without those three weeks as well. I was already falling for you,” Jiang Cheng promises him and Lan Xichen has to blink back his tears.

Jiang Cheng does know him too well.

“And besides, you don’t have room to judge,” Jiang Cheng finally huffs out. “You gave me your ribbon as well, after all,” he says and tangles his hand in the trailing ends of the slightly purple ribbon Lan Xichen is wearing.

It’s not his Lan ribbon, that one is braided into Jiang Cheng’s hair like it should be, but it still sends a shiver down Lan Xichen’s back when Jiang Cheng lightly pulls on it.

“And you accepted it,” Lan Xichen gives back, because he still can’t believe that some days, but when Jiang Cheng smiles at him, all thoughts flee his mind.

“I love you,” Jiang Cheng whispers, straining up to kiss Lan Xichen, who happily leans into the contact.

He’s too busy kissing Jiang Cheng back to say the words as well, but Lan Xichen figures since he’s wearing purple, proudly displaying Jiang Cheng’s braids in his hair and with his forehead ribbon forever in Jiang Cheng’s possession, it should be more than clear.

He wholeheartedly belongs to Jiang Cheng. 

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[lesdemonium]

romtober day 19: yelling first kiss

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 1977 Summary: Jaskier gets very jealous when Geralt shows interest in someone else.

read on ao3

Jaskier played on, fingering the strings of his lute like he was born to do. The crowd was eating it up--Jaskier had been impeccable at winning their favor. A well-timed wink, a smirk in the right direction, blowing a kiss or two. They were eating right out of his hand, and nearly everyone was dancing, singing, or at the very least stomping their feet. To his crowd, Jaskier was irresistible.

His witcher, however, was another story entirely.

Geralt was not paying attention. This wasn’t entirely surprising--when Jaskier performed, Geralt really only seemed to have a perfunctory interest in what Jaskier was presenting. Though Jaskier ate up any attention he could get, he couldn’t fault Geralt for this. After all, Geralt was his first critic every time, of every song. By the time Jaskier’s songs made it to the public, Geralt had heard every iteration of the lines possible. Even a robust love would temper and fizzle under circumstances such as these, and Geralt had professed no great love for Jaskier’s “pretty lies,” as he often called them.

However, it was not simply that Geralt was not paying attention that was eating at Jaskier--it was that he was paying attention to someone else . Jaskier prided himself on his ability to read a room while also performing, and he had tracked the changes as they were happening.

There, Geralt’s eye was caught by something-- someone --just to the left of Jaskier. At first, Jaskier had giddily mistaken it for a glance in his direction, only to quickly grow hot with shame as he realized that the look was not meant for him at all. As Jaskier turned about the room, he saw the object of Geralt’s interest, and the young man was just as interested back, if his furtive glances were to be believed. Jaskier thought, with no small amount of hope, that this was where things would end. Geralt didn’t often express interest in men, and he even more rarely did anything about his interest.

This time, however, boldness came down to the newcomer. Jaskier missed the moment he stood up--Jaskier had been far too distracted by flirting with a young woman who, in return, gave him a very generous tip. When Jaskier had his wits about him enough to check, the man was gone entirely, only for Jaskier to find him at Geralt’s table.

The worst part, the part that made Jaskier’s heart sink into his chest, was that Geralt was smirking at the man. How many times had Jaskier gone to Geralt with that very same stance, to get nothing but icy stoicism in return? Now this man walked up with half the swagger Jaskier had, like a dimmer, duller version of the bard himself, and he would have the honor of Geralt’s bed?

Jaskier had a performance to attend to. Adoring fans. Pretty women with prettier smiles, handsome men with eyes that sparkled in his direction. Jaskier would just have to hone this energy, this itching beneath his skin, this hurt in his chest, and aim it toward a more worthy nighttime companion. But every time he tried, he caught a snippet of the conversation Geralt and this stranger had, or his eye landed on the way the man was now touching Geralt’s arm, and Jaskier’s blood coursed through him, icy hot and devastating.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, how he could process this better. Should he continue playing, to try to distract himself, or should he end his performance now, leave his audience wanting more, and leave to lick his wounds? The decision was made for him, however, when Geralt and the man left the tavern. There was no continuing after that, after the silent, delicate rush of pain as his heart chipped off just a bit more. Jaskier finished his set, thanked his audience, then retired to their room.

When Geralt found him, Jaskier was nothing more than a lump on the bed, curled up inside himself and pretending to the world he did not exist. Dramatic, certainly. But to fight against one's own heart was futile at best.

Geralt snorted. “Don’t tell me. You drank too much too early, and now you’re already hungover?”

Jaskier didn’t answer. No barb, no sarcastic retort, nothing. He realized, in an absent sort of way, that he probably should have, as that reaction was far more likely to convince Geralt to leave him alone. Still, he said nothing.

“Some lady broke your heart, then?” Geralt teased further. When Jaskier only huffed, Geralt shoved at his shoulder. Jaskier waved him off. “You’re melancholy tonight. Come on. Up.”

His order was paired with a, quite frankly, rude display of strength by pulling Jaskier up and off the bed. Jaskier stumbled as he was forced to his feet, and fell face-first into his witcher, much to his own personal embarrassment. Jaskier shoved Geralt off with a scowl.

“Leave me alone, you great brute!” Jaskier snapped, his hands landing on his hips. “I don’t appreciate you man-handling me in whatever direction you prefer!”

Geralt’s smile was small, but still managed to be shit-eating all the same. “You were on my side.” He shrugged, then pushed past Jaskier and onto the bed.

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Jaskier said, stepping in front of Geralt again. “I am not sharing a bed with you. You are--are sweaty and--and.” He paused, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Geralt. Geralt hardly looked as if he had just had a romp in the hay, as it were. He looked entirely too put together, his hair barely even mussed. Not even the slightly swollen lips that would evidence a particularly heated makeout session. “Why do you look so…. Sheveled?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself. “Sheveled?” he repeated.

“You--I saw you! I saw you leave with that man. Why do you look so damn put together?” Jaskier’s hands went back to his hips. Geralt was trying to make Jaskier look like a fool, Jaskier knew it. He would not stand for it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now, though, he grunted, and avoided Jaskier’s gaze. Instead, he turned his back on Jaskier.

“The hell you don’t! Gods, you must think me the stupidest man alive. I pay attention, Geralt. You can’t just act like I have no clue what I’m talking about whenever I hit on a subject you don’t care for.” Jaskier didn’t want to know, not truly. He couldn’t imagine a subject he wanted less details about than whatever Geralt and this man got up to. But now that he had started in on it, he couldn't stop. He was powerless against himself.

“Jaskier, drop it.”

“No, Geralt, I don’t think I will! You’re the one that condescended to talk to me when I so clearly wanted you to leave me alone , I think it’s only fair that you now have to deal with the consequences of that decision! I saw you . I saw that you were interested in him. So why are you here ? Why are you decidedly unfucked ?”

“Why do you care? What do you need to know of what we did or did not get up to?” Geralt crossed his arms and turned to give Jaskier a hard look, but Jaskier could not stop this forward momentum. Apparently, his mood had turned him self-destructive.

“You go in for that now? You’re so rare about showing affection for men, I had convinced myself you weren’t interested at all! So, what was it about him? Was it his look? I suppose he was handsome, in a common sort of way.” That was a lie. Geralt’s taste truly was beyond reproach, but Jaskier had to dig anyway. “No surprise you like them bold. After all, your last fixation was Yennefer. So, tell me, Geralt. What exactly is your type?”

“What are you--” Geralt started, but Jaskier interrupted him. Jaskier could see the confused look on Geralt’s face, he didn’t want Geralt to voice his questions. Jaskier was half afraid he’d answer them in his tirade.

“And then you don’t even fuck him! Even he wasn’t good enough for the great Geralt of Rivia? Is anyone? No, you just need to exert your own might over everyone. Get their hopes up and then leave and go back to your own room as if nothing happened!”

“You’re mad that I didn’t have sex with him?” Geralt sounded amused. Jaskier did not find the humor in this.

“‘I’m the White Wolf, I’m ridiculously handsome with a body sculpted right from the Gods themselves, I like to force bards out of beds when it suits my needs and force them to talk and when I leave with someone I don’t fuck them because all I really want to do is make people fall in love with me and remain cooly detached from everyone because I apparently get off on it .’”

He wasn’t aware of when he started yelling, but he was definitely yelling at Geralt now. And all Geralt did in return was smile at Jaskier. It infuriated him further. Jaskier would have much preferred if Geralt took the bait and yelled back, turned this into a ridiculous fight. Instead, he smiled. He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. And, oh, if that didn’t make Jaskier feel as if he was on fire.

“Jaskier, are you jealous?” Geralt asked, and his smile turned crooked.

“Of course I’m not jealous!” Jaskier retorted. His face felt hot as the embarrassed flush spread over his whole body. “You are a brute! You just--just do whatever you want with no regard for how those around you might feel. It’s-It’s selfish, it is! And I will not put up with it, and-and--” He stopped, abruptly, and suddenly he felt short on air. Jaskier was so worked up, he could hardly focus on anything beyond the way Geralt was stepping closer to him.

“Why do you care what I did or didn’t do with him?” Geralt asked, and his voice was soft. So soft, so gentle, something in Jaskier’s brain broke.

“Because it wasn’t me !” he exploded back, and closed his eyes in his shame. There would be no coming back from this. Not from the yelling, from the odd ranting, nor from the confession. Jaskier wished more than he had ever wished for anything to just be burned on the spot.

Instead, though, he heard Geralt come closer. He felt the warmth of Geralt’s hand just before it delicately cupped Jaskier’s jaw, turning his head just the slightest bit up. Jaskier melted into the kiss, his bones turning loose, liquid, as he stumbled forward into Geralt’s chest again and grabbed at something, anything, to hold onto. Jaskier’s fingers twisted into the soft, worn fabric of Geralt’s shirt, and Geralt caught him with a hand around his waist.

If they had stayed there even a moment longer, Jaskier would have forgotten his own name. He didn’t think he needed it anymore.

“It wasn’t you,” Geralt agreed. They pulled away, only to breathe, which hardly seemed worth it to Jaskier now. Geralt’s words were hot on Jaskier’s lips and it took a moment before Jaskier’s brain caught up.

“Of all the times to kiss me, you choose when I’m hysterical and yelling at you?” Jaskier groused, but his words held no bite. Especially not when paired with the desperate way he was pecking at Geralt’s lips.

“I wasn’t sure. You’ve never been so jealous before.”

“He… reminded me. Of me. But you liked him , I didn’t think you liked me .”

Geralt hummed, and captured Jaskier in another long, thorough kiss. “I do,” Geralt said, after, and Jaskier almost forgot what they were talking about. That was okay, too. Jaskier had done quite enough talking tonight.

[thiswasinevitableid]

93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

---------------------------------------

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

--------------------------------

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

----------------------------------

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

------------------------------------------

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

[firefly464]

The Real World - Chapter 7

did i have to google symptoms of ptsd and do a solid hour of research for this chapter? Perhaps. Do I regret it? Nahhh it was fun :D

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now​

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

~~~

When Tommy woke up the next morning, every muscle in his body ached. God damn it, this was why he hated working out. Who the hell in their right mind actually enjoyed it? It was just fucking stupid. Sure, he was much stronger and healthier in the SMP world than he was at home, but the past week of not doing anything had taken a toll on him. He still didn’t understand how the other Tommy had gone through so much effort to work out. Maybe he actually had been a psychopath. 

“Ughhhhhh” he groaned, remembering his promise to George. It was too early to go and talk to Wilbur, much less tell him that he was from another fucking universe. From the look of things, it appeared to be around 10-11 in the morning. Whatever. It was still too early to deal with this. 

~~~

Ten minutes later, Tommy stood outside the entrance to a long, underground tunnel. He hadn’t actually had a chance to visit it yet, but he knew that at the end of the tunnel was a small, underground bunker that everyone had been living in for over a week now. He could remember digging out the tunnel the day before the big war stream. The day before he had been forced into a world that wasn’t his own. The day before he was forced to leave his family and friends, and unable to say goodbye. 

Tears started to well up in his eyes. No. No he couldn’t lose control of his emotions now. He had to talk to Wilbur. Crying wasn’t going to help with that. He had already grieved over his lost life. It was time to focus on the present. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his eyes, and stepped in. 

He was maybe halfway through the long tunnel when the deep, haunting sounds of a bell echoed throughout the cavern. The sound was low, almost too low to hear. That didn’t exactly matter. It may have been low, but it was loud. Loud enough to cause Tommy’s eyes to vibrate. He stumbled back, clutching his head. He felt like his skull was about to burst. It was like someone had hooked up a speaker to the inside of his brain and played the lowest note they could at max volume. 

Almost as quickly as it had started, the sound cut out. The young blonde was left on the ground in the fetal position, shaking and trembling. The tears that he had tried so hard to keep from spilling over were now streaming down his face. “What the actual fuck. What the fuck was that. What the fuck is going on,” he muttered desperately, “Christ almighty I just want to go home… I want to fucking go home.”

“Tommy? Are you alright?” A voice asked, cutting through the fog in his mind. Tommy looked up to see Wilbur himself standing over him, looking very concerned. 

“W-wha? Y-yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just a bit startled. What the fuck was that?” he said, standing up and brushing himself off. He stumbled slightly, still shaky from the overbearing sound. 

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed as he placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to steady him. “It was the bell. You know, the one that they ring whenever someone new shows up? Are you sure you’re ok?” 

“O-oh! Yeah, yeah of course. The sound must have just shocked me a bit more than normal,” he quickly replied, trying to make the lie sound convincing. “Why on earth do they have to make it so loud?” 

His friend didn’t look convinced, but didn’t continue to press for answers. Instead, he gladly took the change in subject. “I swear, you ask this every time it goes off. It's just part of the enchantment.” 

“Since when is there an enchantment for that?” Tommy muttered under his breath as the two of them walked into the fresh air. He took a deep breath, unbelievably grateful to not be trapped in the suffocating darkness anymore. 

“What were you even doing in the tunnel anyways? I thought you hated it in there.”

“Oh, uh, I was looking to speak with you about something…”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Perhaps you could tell me now?”

Tommy shook his head quickly. “No, it can wait until after this. I’m sure this is more important.”

The two men walked in silence for a bit, neither one quite sure of what to say. As they climbed the walkway that connected L’Manberg to the DreamSMP, Tommy couldn’t help but marvel at how incredible the world around him looked. Sure, he had seen it all before in-game, but there was something different about seeing it all in person. Something different about actually walking down the wooden path. Hell, even his little hobbit hole base looked different in person. He couldn’t help but stare at it as they passed, earning a strange look from Wilbur. 

They turned at the fork in the road, heading down towards the dip in the wooden path. Tommy could feel his heartbeat quicken as they approached. He knew that he wasn’t in any immediate danger, but just standing in that spot was enough to make him panic. Hell, the planks beneath his feet were still stained a deep red from his blood, despite someones obvious efforts to clean it. This was the same spot that he had stood when his friend had shot him in the heart. This was the spot that he had stood when he had been forced to leave everything he knew behind. 

A hand rested on his shoulder. Tommy looked over to see Wilbur giving him a reassuring smile. “Hey, it's alright. Next time, we’ll be sure to change the meeting spot,” he assured him. 

Tommy felt a wave of gratitude towards his older friend. He hadn’t even needed to say anything and his friend could tell exactly what was wrong. It was nice, to say the least. 

That's when he finally looked at the group of people that had gathered on the bridge. Tommy felt his breath catch in his throat. As he stared at the newcomer, Tommy found himself face to face with his friend Jack Manifold. 

“Jack? What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, trying to figure out what was going on. Had he been transported like Tommy and Dream had? Had he found a different way to enter the SMP world?

However, his friend just stared at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asked. 

Tommy swore under his breath. He had forgotten what Tubbo had told him. People would show up in the woods sometimes with no memory of how they got there, or what their own past was. All they knew was their own name, age, and how to survive the world around them. Any other memories were gone completely. Family, friends, homes, none of it mattered. It was all just gone. 

He tried to cover up his mistake with an excuse, but the damage had already been done. Everyone was staring at him in shock. 

“Tommy,” asked Tubbo, “Tommy did you remember something? Do you know this guy?” his eyes were alight with excitement and hope. 

Tommy made a big show of grabbing his head like it hurt “I… I thought I did. It’s nothing, never mind.” 

Tubbo’s shoulders slumped in disappointment “oh…” 

Dream and George were both staring at him, asking a silent question. Tommy nodded ever so slightly, showing that he did in fact know Jack. Wilbur watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, slightly glaring at Dream and George and shooting a questioning look at Tommy. 

He shrugged it off, trying to act casual. He was going to have a lot to explain later. 

George glanced to Wilbur, then back at Tommy, once more asking a question. Tommy shook his head, trying to communicate that Wilbur didn’t know yet. He sighed, and looked disappointed. Tommy raised his hands in defense, earning another strange look from Will. 

‘One week’ George mouthed silently. Tommy nodded. He had one week to tell Wilbur, or George would do it for him. 

~~~

Tommy rummaged through the closet in his room, trying to find clues about who he was in this world, and what sort of part he needed to play. So far, he hadn’t found much. There were mostly just bins of old clothes. He knew that the strange device on his desk likely held mountains of information, but even just looking at it made him want to throw up. It brought back too many painful memories of what Dream- no, what he had done. 

“You alright man?” Tubbo asked. Tommy jumped in surprise, but quickly shrugged it off. He had nearly forgotten that his friends were there. Tubbo was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. Wilbur had claimed the chair. 

As Tommy looked to his friend to reassure him, he noticed something strange. “What the hell is that?” He asked, pointing to the strange object. 

“Uh, a sword?” Tubbo replied. It was the foam diamond sword that Tommy had owned for years. Why was he so confused by it?

A bark of laughter escaped his friend as he went over and picked up the sword. “Please, this isn’t a sword. You couldn’t hurt a fly with this thing, even if you tried”

“It’s… it’s not for actually fighting. It’s just a toy,” Wilbur said, his brow furrowed in thought. 

Tommy’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right? A sword isn’t meant to be played with. It’s a fucking deadly weapon. God some people…” he muttered as he threw the foam toy into the bed and continued to dig through the closet.

Tubbo and Wilbur looked at each other in concern. Since when did Tommy give a fuck about weapons? Much less swords. 

“So uh… Tommy, what exactly happened to you?” Tubbo asked, trying to change the subject. Wilbur shot him a glare and shook his head, trying to get him to stop. Who knew if Tommy was in any sort of condition to talk about what had happened to him. 

However, Tommy just shrugged. “Dunno. I can’t exactly remember any of it.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He really couldn’t remember anything from the past week. He just wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth. 

Wilburs eyes narrowed. That was complete and total bullshit. One look at the young teenager and it was obvious that something bad had happened. Something that he was desperate to escape. 

Tubbo on the other hand, just looked concerned. “Really? You don’t remember anything at all?”

“Nope.”

“What about beforehand? Do you remember anything from the stream at all?” he asked, once more ignoring Wilbur’s glare.

“Uhhhh, the what?” Fuck. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He had no idea what they were talking about, much less what had been going on before the swap happened. He would have to play dumb. It was honestly his best bet right now. “It's all a bit fuzzy. Maybe you could jog my memory a bit?” 

Tubbo glanced at Wilbur, as if only now seeing how his plan could possibly go wrong. Wilbur just shrugged. If Tommy was asking, then he figured it was fine. “We could just pull up some clips. It would probably be easier.” He spun the chair around and faced the computer. “What's your password?” 

“My wha…?” 

Wilbur typed something in and waved his hand “Nevermind, I’ve got it” Soon enough, he had pulled up the most popular clips from the stream. The one at top was obviously the one where Tommy had vanished, but he figured that Tommy wouldn’t exactly want to see that. So instead, he went to the second most popular one. The clip of Eret betraying them. 

Tommy stepped closer to the screen, fascinated by the flashing and glowing lights. His breath caught when he saw the thumbnails for the clips. That was… That was his home. But it was different… It was blocky, and weird. But there was no denying the fact that it was his home. “What the fuck…” he whispered softly. 

“You do remember the SMP, right?” Wilbur asked as he pulled up the short video. 

“Home…” That was when he finally noticed what clip had been pulled up. The starting frame was a shot of them all following Eret down a long tunnel. Tommy felt his heartbeat start to quicken. No, this couldn’t be what he thought it was. That would be impossible. His hand went up to touch a scar on the side of his neck that was no longer there. Of course it wasn’t there. This wasn’t even his body.

The clip started playing. As he watched, Tommy was forced to sit down on his bed in order to keep from passing out. It was all too similar. The dark tunnel, Eret’s reassuring voice, him and his friends following like lemmings. He couldn’t watch. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fucking right. He could feel tears start to flow down his face. It was all coming back to him in a massive wave.

The way that Eret had promised he had a safe place to go. The way they had all been herded into the small room like cattle, no way to run or hide. Eret’s face as he hit the button in the center. The sound of the pistons releasing. The sharp sting of the iron needle being stabbed into his neck. The way he had lost all control over his own muscles and collapsed on the ground. Dream stepping over each and every one of them, taunting and jeering. The white mask that had shown no emotion. Only a sadistic, simple smile. It was too much. He couldn’t fucking handle it. 

“S-stop! Make it stop!” he cried out, gripping his hair. His eyes were shut tight, but tears still flowed freely from them. He was terrified that if he opened his eyes, he would see the porcelain mask. It was coming for him. It was never going to leave him alone. Dream would never let him live in peace. He was curled up in the fetal position on his bed, rocking back and forth. 

“Tommy?! Tommy are you ok?!” Someone asked. He didn’t know who. It sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel, faint and distant. He felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. It was Dream, it had to be. Dream was here to finish the job. He was here to kill him finally. His eyes shot open as he kicked whoever it was that was touching him in the gut and scrambled back. He needed a weapon. He needed to defend himself. His hands desperately grasped at the nightstand, trying to find something, anything that he could use as a weapon. All he found was a couple of pencils. Whatever, he would make it work. 

“Tubbo, go get his parents, quickly!”

Who were they talking about? He didn’t have parents. It must have been some stupid code. “NO!!!” He screamed. He wouldn’t let anyone else hurt him. He wasn’t going to just sit there while someone tried to attack him. He wasn’t going to sit there uselessly again while those around him got hurt. Not again. Not ever, ever again.

~~~

Master Post

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[jemmahazelnut]

Petty crimes and good deeds

Summary: Every year there’s a period in which demons come to Earth to tempt humans, and in that same period the angels come down from the skies to control demons and prevent them from doing damage. [Freed/Laxus]

Link: AO3

Fraxus Week 2021, Day 2. Prompt: Demon in disguise x Angel undercover

Petty crimes and good deeds

“What would you be willing to give up to get his heart?” the demon asked, peering at the girl in front of him. She looked at him with conviction and declared: “Everything” without any hesitation. Freed smiled. Well, he had the girl where he wanted. It was really true that love made you crazy, even if in that case Freed had to work less than expected. She had clearly said everything, which included many things. He began to think about what that girl could give him when he felt a presence behind him. Freed rolled his eyes recognizing him before he even spoke.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but I’ve a date with him,” said the boy placing a hand on Freed's shoulder and smiling gently at the girl, who completely lost interest in what she was asking. She let Freed's gaze slide to the newcomer, for a moment she looked confused and then stood up.

“Sure, I… well, it was nice meeting you, Freed.” She greeted him and then she walked away down the street. Freed turned annoyed at Laxus, nudging his hand away from his shoulder.

“What do you want?” he blurted out irritably. The blond arched an eyebrow.

“You know I have to supervise you,” he told him quietly. Freed stood up.

“I was just chatting,” he retorted. Which wasn't entirely a lie, until Laxus arrived he hadn't done anything else. Of course, if Laxus had come after, Freed would have taken the opportunity to grant that poor girl's wish. It was just charity, nothing negative in Freed's opinion. After all, everything had a price. If he decided that price, he didn't see what was wrong with it.

“No, you were tempting her,” Laxus said starting to walk beside him. Freed gave him a dirty look.

“Do you have to follow me for a long time?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ve to check that you behave well,” Laxus said, just as irritated. Freed snorted.

“Damn angels” he mumbled as he started down the street, he was about to cross it without looking but Laxus grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back. Certainly not to save him, Freed couldn’t die. He had only done it to prevent an accident that would have involved other people.

“Behave like a human” he warned him in his ear. Freed rolled his eyes. He honestly didn’t understand why of all the angels he had caught just that one. Annoying, extremely conceited and devastatingly handsome. But above all, an angel who didn’t fall into temptation. Freed waited impatiently for the light to turn green and then finally drove along the pedestrian crossing.

“Don't you have something better to do? I don’t know, do things… like angels, always if you do something fun,” Freed commented harshly as he walked towards his favorite spot. Laxus continued to follow him undeterred.

“You’ve strange ideas about angels, it's not that we don't have fun,” he objected. “We just do it without causing harm to others, which you demons aren’t able to do,” he said a little annoyed.

“Yeah, I guess just your kind of fun. All peaceful dancing in a flower meadow” Freed commented almost disgusted. He wasn't really interested in what angels did. In fact, the farther away they were, the better off he was.

“Better than having fun causing innocent people pain,” Laxus objected immediately.

“Innocent?” Freed asked turning to him and stopping in the middle of the road. Laxus pulled it partially when he saw that a moped was about to crash into the demon. “Do you really think humans are innocent?” he asked still skeptically. Laxus snorted.

“I know they're not all innocent, but everyone deserves forgiveness,” he declared.

“Sure,” Freed said wryly. Not wanting to start an argument with him, he started walking again, headed in a specific direction. He was going to a club to look for some humans to have fun with, someone to dance with a bit and then take him to bed, and maybe make him fall into temptation and get more out of him.

“You're going to that shit bar again?” Laxus asked. Freed glanced at him for the first time surprised. He stared at him for a few seconds in silence wondering if he had heard right. Laxus frowned. “What do you have now?” he asked.

“I thought the angels didn't swear,” Freed explained. “Maybe I'm already leading you on the wrong path. It would be fun to tempt an angel,” he then commented with a smirk. Also, because he knew that Laxus was no ordinary angel. Indeed, he belonged to one of the highest skies. The blond arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve rather strange ideas about us” he replied “And I’d never be tempted by a demon” he added immediately after convinced. Freed stopped in the middle of the road caught by a brilliant idea. He smiled in amusement and eyed the boy. He knew that any angel wouldn’t accept, but Laxus was a little different from the angels he had met before, and Freed was a little intrigued by him. He wasn’t like the bigot angel who had found himself the last time he went to Earth. Laxus looked… almost more human.

“I propose a deal”.

“I don't make deals with demons,” Laxus cut him short immediately. Freed snorted lightly.

“At least listen to me before you decide,” he said. The blonde said nothing but stared at him expectantly, so Freed went on. “Let's have a challenge, if I win, I'll show you what real fun is for me. If you win, you can show me how you have fun, or… I don't know, ask me to do something like an angel,” he said. Laxus thought about it for a moment and Freed shivered. Oh yes, he would have led that angel on the wrong path. After a while, the blond grinned.

“Why not? But I decide the challenge and you’ll keep your bargain,” Laxus said.

“Of course, I will,” Freed said immediately. “But we decide the challenge together. We can also do more challenges, so we have a fun day,” he said as the devilish grin widened. Oh yes, so he would take an angel to Hell. It would have been his greatest satisfaction. Laxus nodded.

“Okay,” he decided.

-First challenge-

Laxus didn't believe it. He had lost. He had really lost to that damned demon. It had been a stupid challenge but the blonde was sure he could win. But he now found himself having to do whatever Freed told him. Honestly, Laxus was also a little worried, he didn't really want to hurt anyone or kill anyone. He had suddenly regretted making that pact.

He turned to Freed who smiled devilishly as he thought about what Laxus should do. He was looking around and Laxus saw that his gaze was directed towards the children. Oh no. He wasn't going to hurt children at all. He didn't care about the deal, he would never do it.

“Follow me,” Freed said starting to walk. Laxus followed him pale in the face. Why the fuck had he had that unhealthy idea of making a deal with a demon?

“I'm not going to do anything to those children,” he immediately clarified in a growl. Freed turned in surprise to him and then followed his gaze.

“No, I don't want to have anything to do with brats,” he immediately clarified. “Don't worry too much, I'll be lenient. You'll just have to go into the shop and steal some stuff. I'll tell you what,” he told as he walked into the clothes shop. Laxus stared at him in shock. To tell the truth, he was a bit relieved. Sure, he didn't want to steal anyway, but at least he shouldn't have hurt anyone.

He followed Freed into the shop and looked around, seeing that the boy was heading towards a specific department. Laxus just followed, crossing his arms in irritation, just hoping to get out of there quickly. The demon looked at him and then took a shirt by lifting it and seeing if it could be Laxus' size, after which he satisfied, he handed it to Laxus. The blond took it without saying a word, while Freed continued to take clothes: shirts, pants, underwear... When he seemed satisfied, he told Laxus that he could go and try everything. Laxus grunted but obeyed. It could have been worse. He went into the dressing room to change and shortly after came out with the new clothes.

“What should I do?” he blurted out, glaring at Freed, noticing that the demon had also taken something for himself. The sunglasses he was trying on in the mirror were among them. The demon turned and eyed him.

“Don't make that face, you should be glad. At least you'll dress decently,” Freed said. Laxus raised an eyebrow. He had nothing to say about the clothes the demon had given him. They weren't ridiculous, in fact, they suited him quite well. But he still wasn't happy to be there.

“Like I'm dressing weird,” he objected. Freed raised his eyebrows.

“Do you really want to compare that leopard-print shirt you wore with this one?” he asked derisively. “You should seriously thank me, at least you won't be walking around dressed ridiculously again,” Freed said. Laxus glared at him and crossed his arms.

“It's the fashion of humans,” he said. Freed looked more and more skeptical. He was about to say something but then he shut his mouth and shook his head almost resigned.

“I refuse to discuss fashion with you. Now stop complaining, try the rest and then you'll go out in all those clothes without paying,” he ordered. Laxus snorted but didn't object. Better to steal than hurt someone, he kept thinking. He finished trying on his clothes as he thought about what to make the demon do next. Because he would surely have won the next challenge.

But when the time came to steal, Laxus began to go into crisis. How was he going to get out of the shop without being seen, with all that mountain of clothes? He refused to ask Freed, and it was forbidden for angels to use their power for personal purposes. Damn, he liked that business less and less. He kept telling himself that it could have been worse but after a while Freed pulled the dressing room curtain.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. Laxus glared at him and Freed raised his eyebrows. “Don't tell me you're having a panic attack for just two clothes,” he mocked. The blond wanted to throttle him.

“No, you piece of shit,” he growled and Freed smiled more and more smugly.

“I see that I’m already leading you on the wrong path. I'm happy,” he commented. “If you want to steal those clothes, remove the anti-theft tags. I really have to teach you everything.”

“I know how to do it,” Laxus growled.

“I doubt it, since angels don't steal,” Freed retorted with a smirk. “If you want another piece of advice, just play cool. Nobody will stop you if you’re sure of yourself. You can look like I do. You see, I found this pair of jeans and I'm wearing them as if they were mine already, by the way, you say they look good on my ass?”.

“I say you have to fuck off,” Laxus snapped, refusing to answer him. Freed chuckled and then quietly walked out of the shop. The blond almost hoped that the alarm would go off. But it didn't happen. Freed had passed quietly with some clothes and the new pair of sunglasses. Laxus snorted. He began to remove the anti-theft systems and soon went out. Maybe he would have preferred someone to have stopped him so he could pay for everything, but no one stopped him and as soon as he was out, he felt the guilt as he watched the cashiers who had nothing to do with it.

“I'm really happy. I convinced an angel to steal,” Freed said. Laxus turned to him as nervous as ever.

“Let's see the next challenge,” he growled.

-Second challenge-

Freed was a bit irritated and was almost tempted to pull back from the pact he had made with that angel. But he wouldn't do it, he just hoped that whatever Laxus had in mind for him to do was short and quick. Like to give his money to a person. Freed would be annoyed, but at least he wouldn't have to waste any more time. He looked at Laxus impatiently and after a while the blond turned to him with a grin on his face.

“I’ve decided your good deed,” he told him.

“Quickly,” Freed said. Laxus grinned.

“What's the rush?” he asked. “See, those kids are having a birthday party. It would be nice for someone to entertain them a little,” he said, pointing to some brats at a park. Freed stiffened. He hated children. He hated dealing with them. And Laxus must have understood that. Damn bastard. Freed tensed his jaw in irritation.

“I don't know how to entertain children. I'd probably scare them,” he said hoping Laxus would change his mind. Why couldn't he just give some money away? It would have been much easier and painless. But Laxus didn't seem to want to change his mind.

“Quiet, I already know what to make you do” he told and walked towards a shop with carnival clothes. As soon as he was in there, he handed him a wizard's top hat, a cloak and an elegant suit. “Can you do any magic tricks? Or use yours without harming anyone. You'll just have to entertain those children. If they don't laugh or if you scare them, I'll make you do something more ridiculous” Laxus explained, handing Freed some objects that he should have used. The demon stared at him more and more irritated. But he couldn't back down.

“Good,” he growled.

“Good,” Laxus agreed more and more satisfied.

Freed walked towards the park, trying to ignore the surprised looks of the people. He arrived at the park and tried, as much as he could, to smile at those damn brats and get their attention. Fortunately, with that dress it wasn't difficult at all and after a while Freed had them all around us looking at him curiously. Freed took out the fake coin and tried to figure out how to make it disappear from his hands, but it fell to the ground because obviously he had never started doing magic games, and some children giggled.

“Are you really a magician?” someone asked and Freed heard Laxus chuckle. Freed gave him a dirty look. The blond was sitting on a bench a few meters from him and was clearly enjoying the show. Bastard. At that point Freed decided to give up on coins, rubber balls and handcuffs -he was sure he would imprison himself- and took his hat. He would use his true magic and amaze all those children. So, he put his hand inside his hat and looked at a little boy.

“What do you think will come out?” he asked.

“A rabbit!” the child exclaimed. Freed made a brief face. He raised his hand and revealed purple butterflies, which fluttered around and then disappeared into the air. The children widened their eyes and were amazed. Freed turned to Laxus, hoping his performance would end there, but the blonde waved him on. At that point Freed pulled out a purple rabbit and the children were even more amazed.

“How does it stay in there?” one asked.

“I want to see the hat, can I?” another asked and Freed handed it to him.

The children began to get more curious and kept asking for more, while Freed did various spells. He hated using his own magic for those purposes. He was a demon, damn it! He imprisoned people, could bring down mountains and instead found himself having to create flying butterflies for the amusement of a couple of brats. But he had to make the best of a bad situation and at one point he sat cross-legged between them and created large purple flowers with runes. He put some in the hair of the girls, who looked at him enthusiastically.

When the parents finally called the children to eat the cake, Freed got up and turned to Laxus, taking off his hat and wizard jacket and joining the angel.

“Are you happy now?” he asked annoyed.

“Yes. Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it, I felt like you were getting a taste of it,” Laxus answered.

“No, it was awful,” Freed immediately declared. “Use my magic for stupid butterflies, I fell low” he mumbled as the angel giggled.

“At least those kids enjoyed it. Look how happy they are, and it's your doing,” Laxus told. Irritated Freed didn't even look at them.

“And I haven't even been paid,” he growled. Laxus shook his head with a smirk.

“It was a good deed, not a job,” he told him and stood up. “I think I'll be the one to lead you on the right path,” he added later.

“Tsk. I don't think so,” Freed snapped.

-That evening-

Laxus watched as the demon used his power to help a struggling girl with her job. They had spent the whole day challenging each other, Freed had forced him to do small crimes, even if nothing so serious and Laxus had forced him to do good deeds. He was beginning to change his mind about that demon. Not so much for the good deeds he told him to do, but rather for the crimes that came to mind. Some Freed did just for fun, such as when he forced Laxus to steal an expensive car to give it a ride -Laxus the next lap forced Freed to bring it back to the owner and apologize, paying him for the trouble.

Some crimes, however, made him think. Freed never took it out on innocent people, rather he organized revenges against people he believed had harmed others. For example, he had made him destroy the huge garden of a rich bastard who mistreated his employees. Laxus wasn't sure it was the best way to get revenge, but it wasn't exactly a bad deed for no reason. Freed always had reasons behind it.

Laxus watched the demon who had just made the girl find her dream job. Laxus observed Freed, who found himself being hugged by the tearful girl who was thanking him. The demon was clearly uncomfortable, and he ran his hand over her shoulder perhaps more to detach her than to comfort her. But when the girl started down the road, Laxus noticed that Freed was watching her with a slight smile on her face. As soon as he turned to him, however, he became serious again.

“Satisfied?” Freed asked annoyed and Laxus eyed him.

“You are,” he said.

“No,” the boy said.

“It's not a question. You're glad you helped that girl,” the blond insisted.

“I’d have preferred to get paid,” Freed objected, but he wasn't as upset as he had been that morning. Laxus smiled slightly.

“You're softening up,” he said.

“No. You're becoming more and more bastard with humans,” Freed replied. Laxus raised an eyebrow. He just didn't seem to him. “Last challenge of the day?” Freed proposed and the blond nodded.

Since they had run out of ideas and were both tired, they sat down at a bar table and played a simple game of cards, and Laxus didn't worry too much when he lost. Freed would probably have made him do some minor prank. Like scaring kids or something like that. But the demon looked up at him and leaned forward with a sneaky smile.

“Here's what you have to do: give me a kiss,” he told. Laxus stared at him in shock and for a moment he thought he had misunderstood.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard right. You have to kiss me,” Freed said, smiling broadly.

“Why?” Laxus asked him at that point. Maybe Freed was attracted to him, it could be, but Laxus didn't think the demon would have any qualms about trying to openly.

“Well, the greatest aspiration for a demon is to tempt an angel,” Freed explained. “I just want to see how you’ll return to Heaven by reminding you of what it’s like to taste a demon. I'm also sure your fellow angels will be very happy with it, especially after learning about all the crimes you've done down here” he concluded ironically. Laxus raised an eyebrow. It was just a kiss, that demon was definitely exaggerating.

“As you like,” he said with a shrug. He moved the chair so as not to have the table in the middle and without hesitation leaned over him, joining their lips in a sweet kiss. He didn't know how intense Freed wanted it to be, but he didn't mind running a hand through his hair and pushing him against him.

What he didn't expect was how the kiss was becoming more and more passionate. Freed sat directly astride him, running his hands through his hair and lightly rubbing against him. Laxus moaned softly, putting an arm around his waist. He would have lied if he said he didn't like it. He would have lied even if he said he would forget about that kiss in no time. Indeed, that tempting demon -in every sense- was giving him doubts and uncontrollable emotions, which he had never felt before.

When they broke away from the kiss, they were both panting and for a while they looked into each other's eyes in silence. For the first time since he had met him, Laxus saw a spark of fear mixed with surprise in Freed's eyes. He didn't know what it was, but he wasn't going to stop there.

-A month later-

Freed yawned wearily as he woke up and rolled over on the bed, reaching for Laxus' warm body and hugging him. He didn’t know what that angel had done to him but he didn’t intend to complain. That feeling of calm and affection he felt was very pleasant. He felt Laxus' hand caressing his back and Freed smiled slightly, opening his eyes and meeting the calm and reassuring gaze of the angel. The angel who had framed him. Freed had hoped to make him give in to lust -and actually he had done it- but in doing so he got stuck in something bigger and unknown. But he hadn’t regretted it. In fact, he would have done it again. Too bad that would be the last day they would meet. Laxus would return to Heaven and Freed to Hell. Only on the next round on Earth would they meet.

“You look angelic when you sleep,” the blonde murmured and Freed stared at him for a stunned moment. Laxus certainly meant it as a compliment, but Freed wasn't quite sure how to take it. The angel chuckled at his expression. “You heard right,” he told, leaning towards him and kissing him. Freed practically broke away in the kiss and when they parted, he smiled in amusement.

“There are a thousand other compliments you can give me,” he pointed out.

“I know,” Laxus smiled. “But I wanted to see how you reacted,” he admitted. Freed said nothing and crouched even closer to him, while the blonde chuckled. “In the mood for pampering?” he teased him.

“Pff, no. You're just hot.” Freed muttered but he smiled knowing full well he hadn't convinced Laxus. Not that he wanted to convince him. To tell the truth, he was a bit sad to go back to the Hell. It was nice to be with Laxus, he didn't want to say goodbye to him.

“We'll meet again next year,” Laxus said and Freed looked up at him.

“I bet you’ll jump through hoops to be entrusted to me,” he said with an amused grin.

“And you hope I succeed,” Laxus replied, holding him in his arms. Freed nodded, seeing no reason to deny it.

“Mhmh... next time I'll show you other sinful sides,” he told, nibbling his lower lip.

“Oh?” Laxus said amused. Freed nodded with a mischievous smirk and the blonde chuckled. “I can't wait for it,” he replied.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

[ironmanstan]

Rating:Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:Graphic Depictions Of Violence (tw for: self-harm, vomiting, canon-typical violence, intrusive thoughts, self-worth issues)

Categories:F/F,Gen

Fandom:Apex Legends (Video Games)

Relationship:Wattson | Natalie Paquette/Wraith | Renee Blasey

-----

-Renee Blasey felt like the name of someone else. Like the name you found in the back of the book you bought at a thrift store. Foreign, strange, completely removed, yet tied to you in a small, tenuous connection. A name where you know of the owner, but they will never know of you.'

Renee Blasey didn’t, and would never know Wraith. But Wraith felt like she was learning more about her everyday. ---

Wraith thought she stopped being afraid a long time ago. The voices disagree.

-------

This is a fic I've been wanting to write forever, the voices of the voice always struck me as similar to my intrusive thoughts, so this is my interpretation of Wraith having OCD. This isn't beta-read so please let me know about any inaccuracies or grammatical/spelling errors. 

Reblogs > Likes :)

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Renee Blasey. 32 years old. Home planet: Typhon, destroyed decades ago.

 None of it seemed to fit. 

 She’d thought finding answers, having a place to start, would make everything feel worth it. But it only brought on more questions. More fear.

 Typhon, where the IMC tested their fold weapon? Were her parents IMC? Was that how they evacuated the dying planet after she was born? Were they still alive. Still working for the IMC, stealing from the world like a blight of roaches?

 She may never find out.

 It didn’t discourage her. But it felt… Weird. She’d thought she’d have a moment when she heard her name for the first time. It’d fit like a missing puzzle piece and it would sound familiar. She’d wear it with pride and regain a part of her identity.

 Renee Blasey felt like the name of someone else. Like the name you found in the back of the book you bought at a thrift store. Foreign, strange, completely removed, yet tied to you in a small, tenuous connection. A name where you know of the owner, but they will never know of you.

 Renee Blasey didn’t, and would never know Wraith. But Wraith felt like she was learning more about her everyday.

 She didn’t often think about her home planet. There was nothing remarkable she’d found about Typhon from her searches. A research outpost for the IMC’s ARES division. Destroyed in the battle of Typhon. All she was left with was knowledge of a place that no longer existed. Typhon was gone, just like Renee. She didn’t have a home waiting for her. She wasn’t even sure if she had any family who would be waiting for her.

 The most home she had was here. The Apex Games were, ironically, the most stable thing she’d had in her new life. No more worrying about where to sleep, or whether she’d eat that day. She had her own apartment in the dorms provided by the games. She hadn’t known what it was like to have a place to call her own before.

 She’d wake up and go eat breakfast in the commons. Watching the resident nerds, Elliott and TaeJoon, bickering over engineering schematics. Usually ending in Elliott pouting and TaeJoon rolling his eyes. Ajay smirking as she pissed both of them off with a “Why dontcha just kiss already!”.

 It was always strange when a newcomer joined at first. But over time they always melded with the group. Natalie was a great example. Renee could often find her with Caustic. Talking in that bright, sweet voice of hers, as she rambled about her inventions. The fact that he never told her to be quiet or to stop talking surprised pretty much everybody.

 Wraith wasn’t sure if, after all this time, she’d melded like the others.

 There was that separation she couldn’t help but keep up. The internalized fear that wouldn’t go away. The pain and the memories of the facility she’d been trapped in since she’d woken up. The IMC was ruthless, and crafty. She wouldn’t put it past them to send someone after her undercover. A legend infiltrating the games to carry a mission out for them was a plausible worry.

 At least, that’s what the voices said.

 The voices were the other thing that kept her from getting too close. They’d gone beyond their usual problems. Which were their constant chatter, and warnings. A few had split off, and become paranoid.

 The anxiety she felt from them wasn’t normal.

 The paranoia was intense, and seemed never-ending in the moment. When she got stuck in a cycle of it it felt like she was trapped. Everything was worrying and nowhere was safe. She was a bird in a covered cage. Or rather, a bird in the trunk of a moving car. Scared, alone, and not sure what the hell was going on.

 The paranoia was strange. It always found some arbitrary thing, some stupid, small detail to hook its claws into. Then the voices would obsess, and obsess, and obsess . No issue passed without being checked from top to bottom for something to worry about.

 Like Bangalore mentioning the long lost IMC scientist, Renee Blasey. It obviously meant she knew that was what Wraith really was. It meant Bangalore’s life as a soldier was a cover story, a lie. It meant she was here to capture her for the IMC.

 Obviously.

 The IMC was dead, defunct. Even Bangalore couldn’t find their survivors. Even if the IMC was looking for Wraith, seeking to dispose of their experiment gone wrong, they would’ve found her by now. How long had she been a legend, known to the Outlands as the universe’s only voidwalker? If they weren’t competent enough to find her by now, she shouldn’t worry for the future.

 And yet their mantra would circle her constantly, for hours on end.

  The IMC will find you in your sleep. They’ll find you and kill you. They’ll kill everyone else too. You’re not safe here, and you never will be.

  She couldn’t be afraid forever.

 The conclusions she had to jump to, to confirm the thoughts, made no sense in her moments of clarity.

 And those moments were far and few.

 She always had to disorient her mind to see things for what they were. These voices loved it when she was tormented, in pain. Hurting herself, wasting her time, disrupting her body. It was the only way they could be satisfied, the only way to quiet them.

 They craved power over her actions, forcing her to do against her will. But the blurry state of mind after she did what she was told made it harder for their words to hit their target.

 She couldn’t sleep until she did what she was told, she couldn’t do anything. She wasn’t allowed to, or else bad things would happen.

 But tonight she’d done what she was told. For once she’d given in. Fingers down the throat made quick work of it. Vomit it out, flush the thoughts away, take it all away. A quick burn for a night of peace, why won’t you just get it over with? Do it. Do it now.  please PLEA̢̽Ś̯͇̽Ẹ̌ ̼͕͍̄̉N̜͍͎̟͕̋̓̏͐̋O̹͉̜̠͊͒̍̚͘ͅW̢̗̰͎̌̿̎͆͜͠

  The voices were convincing, to say the least.

 Vomit in the sink.

 Vomit on her fingers.

 Vomit on her lips.

 Renee’s breaths were slow, and reverberated on the tile walls of her bathroom.

 Her mind was silent for the first time that night. All she could hear were her shivering fingers hitting the porcelain of the sink, muffled by the hum in her ears. The hum being the hundreds of thousands of voices, the other Wraiths. They were all stirred together in her mind. It'd sounded like they'd melded into a singular tone once she started vomiting.

 She didn’t do this often.

  Often enough.

 Only when she needed the voices to stop.

 The sinking feeling in her chest told her what she was doing was wrong, dangerous even. She buried it, shoving it down. What else could she do? Let the voices scream and wreak havoc? Let her brain catch fire every time someone looked at her wrong?

 She turned the faucet on, washed her hands, her face, and brushed her teeth. She turned the water off, and looked in the mirror.

 If she was seen by anybody else, they’d think she was like them. Not always hearing voices from other worlds. Not paranoid and terrified at every waking moment. Just her. Thirty-two year old Renee Blasey, standing in her bathroom, getting ready for bed.

 She watched her reflection a few more moments. She sighed in relief when she didn’t see her eyes shift. They always did when the voices spoke to her. She pulled her gaze away, stepping off the bathroom carpet and leaving to her bedroom.

 It wasn’t always like this.

 She sunk back into the softness of the pillows and fresh sheets around her. She stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts for once not racing, no stray voices crying out in fear every few seconds. She shut her eyes, feeling herself start to drift. All she could hear were the comforting voices. The familiar ones who’d been with her from the start. The ones who caused her pain, who made her go through task after task, ritual after ritual until it all felt right--until it felt safe ; those ones had shown up later, and made themselves right at home with the rest.

 She was fine. She could deal with it. Another obstacle in her way. Nobody needed to know, nobody could help her anyway. The worst they even did was disrupt her in the arena. They’d never come on strong enough for her to not resist them. Yet, she still worried. Whether it was the paranoia overtaking logic, or the tasks they made her carry out to be relieved from the pain, she knew her mind was a risk.

 Without the voices there to spiral her thoughts she brushed the worry away with relative ease. Vowing to think about it in the morning. For now, she slept.

 -----

  This is stupid, I don’t need to do this.

 She shook the thought away as she pulled the elastics of her face mask behind her ears.

 It was morning, and she was getting dressed. The walk from the apartments the legends stayed in to the drop ship that took them to the arena wasn’t that far. She was still worried. Recognition from fans was one thing. Recognition from an IMC agent is another.

 The chances were slim, sure. But, the fact there was a chance at all, was too big a risk to take. The voices would rationalize. And after all, even if there was no danger, wearing a mask and a hood wasn’t hurting anyone.

 She checked the sides of her mask in the mirror, making sure they were secured. The front was decorated with pale pink cherry blossoms, like her legend card.

 She’d seen Crypto drawing once before they dropped in for a match, and asked if he’d help her with a design for her mask. He still had her on edge with his whole act of being touchy, secretive even. Especially when people asked anything personal. But he hadn’t done anything to give her a reason to think he was IMC.

  Not yet anyway.

  She shut her eyes, taking in a breath, ignoring the voices. She pulled on a hoodie and sunglasses, to hide her eyes, and made her way to the door. The constant heat and humidity of Solace City hit her face like a bucket of water. The sweat was worth relieving her of fear. 

 --

 It wasn’t long after she’d left her house when Natalie spotted her. No matter how hard she tried to hide herself, Natalie always was able to pick her out of a crowd. Maybe it was the way she walked, or the fact she looked so covered up on a planet stuck in endless summer. Either way, Wraith would never know.

 “Bonjour Wraith!” Natalie called out from across the road. Wraith waved in response as she crossed over.

 Natalie was wearing her signature chunky sneakers. A light denim jacket, adorned with patches covered a white t-shirt she wore underneath. All paired with white shorts. She’s so cute. Wraith caught herself thinking, almost blushing in embarrassment at her own thoughts.

 Natalie was picking the threads at the ends of her jacket sleeves and smiling. Wraith couldn’t help but stare. At the light freckles dotting her full, round face. The way her blonde hair was frizzy, standing on end in the summer heat. Her bangs making a curtain over her blue eyes, glinting in the sunlight.

 Wraith couldn’t pull her eyes away, even if she wanted. Natalie seldom made eye contact anyway, Wraith wasn’t worried her staring would be noticed.

 “Sorry I didn’t swing by your room yesterday.” Nat started, grabbing Wraith’s hand loosely and walking alongside her. She struggled to keep up since her legs were a bit shorter. Wraith held her poker face, though inside she was on fire. She couldn’t tell if she was imagining how warm and soft Natalie’s hand was. “-But I was really busy working. I thought of new ideas for my interceptor pylon, and how I could make it more useful in the ring you see!”

 Wraith looked over to her and nodded, humming an “Mhm?” in response. Natalie loved electricity and all the different ways she could harness it. Wraith often heard her in the mornings, talking over its properties and uses with Caustic. Both of them having intense discussions over coffee.

 It’d been a while before Natalie started opening up to her about her interests. A little ramble when Wraith asked a question here. A squeal of delight when she thought of a solution there. And bright, beautiful laughter that Wraith thought she would die from if she listened too long. Lighting up the room with pure joy, paired with her stimming her hands, when something went right. That was all Wraith would catch a glimpse of before they really got close.

 And she was glad they did. It felt like she could hear Natalie talk about anything for hours on end. No matter the subject. It didn’t matter if she understood the technical terms, or wrapped her head around how it worked. The pure joy in her voice was fulfilling enough. She wanted the melody of Natalie Pacquette’s voice to envelop her completely as she melted at her words.

  What if that was her plan all along?

  She jumped out of her thoughts at the voice chiming in. Natalie stopped mid-sentence and looked over, brows raised.

 “You okay Wraith?” Her hand held on tighter, squeezing Wraith’s gloved one in reassurance. Wraith screwed her eyes shut and muttered under her breath at being so noticeable.

 “Yeah I- I’m fine don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand, like she could brush the issue away. Talking about her problems was moot. It made the people around her feel bad for her. And that didn’t help anybody. She especially didn’t want to do that to Natalie of all people. She had enough shit to work through, she didn’t need to hear about what the voices did to her everyday.

 “Are you sure?” They’d stopped walking, stuck at a crosswalk, waiting for traffic to pause for them. “You’ve seemed sort of, on edge the past few days. And I don’t know if I remember the last time you hung out with us, or even left your room this week.” Wattson burrowed her other hand into her pocket. She was bobbing her head, moving along to music that wasn’t there.

 Wraith sighed out of her nose. She pays attention to me enough to notice that? She held back her smile at the thought. Turning back to Natalie’s concern.

 “I’m, good I just, feel kinda out of it lately. The voices y’know, sometimes they can be overwhelming.” She tried not to get too in detail.

 Natalie didn’t need to hear about how her throat was still burning. How she’d go into a frenzy, holding her head in her arms and crying, trying to scratch the thoughts away. How she’d stay up all night cleaning and organizing her apartment because what if they find me and I can’t get out of my room fast enough. 

  What if Natalie’s one of them??

  The thoughts were overwhelming. It felt like she was strapped to a chair, forced to look at something she didn’t want to. The harder she tried to shut her eyes or turn away, the clearer they became. She often ended up shaking her head at them, shutting her eyes or plugging her ears. Trying to get away from her own brain. Even if she resisted, and did nothing, it just felt like acceptance.

 “I get feeling overwhelmed,” Natalie replied. Her voice lower, more monotonous as she dropped the peppy mask she often put on. “When I get overwhelmed it’s like everythings closing in and I can’t get away. I’ve got to push it all out and curl in on myself until I feel better. It’s awful.”

 She re-threaded her fingers through Wraith’s and smiled up at her. Her bright, half-lidded eyes, filled with understanding. “If you need to talk about it more, I’m always here for you Wraith.” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek before continuing. “I-It’s hard for me, to tell how others view me, but I hope you can see me as someone to trust.” Her voice was quieter this time, but still filled with the same softness, and genuine love.

 Wraith felt like she was going to burst at the seams.

 “Y-yeah I. Of course I trust you Natalie. You’re one of my closest friends here, I’d trust you with anything.” She let the words spill out, curiosity and concern jumping out at the pain she heard behind Natalie’s words. The voices stirred, uneasy. She could feel them analyzing everything Natalie said, trying to find all the wrong ways to interpret it. 

  Don’t let her tell you we’re hurting you.

  She raised a brow. So that’s where they’re going with it.

 They continued, ignoring her casual observation, drowning her out.

  Who was it who saved you from the lab?? Who did the Voidwalker say to trust???

 She shook her head, willing for them to go away. But as usual, nothing happened. Luckily for her, they had other things to focus on. They’d arrived.

 The gates to the boarding area for the dropship were in front of them. The rest of the legends were gathered around waiting to board. All except Elliott, who’d probably woken up late again. Wraith wondered how angry Anita would be with him this time.

 When they finally boarded, she stayed in her area of the ship. She could hear the stories the others told amongst themselves. But she stayed alone. Stuck with her voices as company. The quiet wasn't ideal, but it was better than talking to people. Their words were ammunition for the storm in her head.

  She wants you to stop listening to us. She’s trying to take your power away from you. She's with the IMC͙̑ ͇͗Y̱͠OU ��̝KN̬̊O̢̾W S͚̒HE I̻̮͑͂Ŝ̙.̰̙́̀

 She bit down on her lip and hoped the flight wouldn’t be long.

 --

 Her back hit the ground with a heavy thud.

  You’ve let your guard down.

  She grunted, eyes opening, then squinting at the brightness of the sun. Her ears were ringing, and her body was sore. Her back was raw like she’d been dragged. Her chest heaved. She winced at the burn in her throat, and pushed on the ground to lift herself up.

 It was the second-to-last ring. They were in the endgame of the match. This was what they’d been building up to. Her, Wattson, and Bangalore were on a squad. The three of them working in almost-perfect harmony.

  Almost.

  The match had been wearing down on her. They barely had time to loot for supplies, to find higher ground to survey from. Squad after squad rained bullets down on them. For once ultimate accelerants were a thing of desire. The three of them were tired. But they had to press on. They’d almost won this.

 The last squad they’d downed was Octane, stuck by himself after his team had died to the ring. Wraith might’ve been fast, but he was faster. She was down before she could blink, crawling away in fear.

  There’s no more respawn beacons. We’ll lose if I die now.

  He’d crept after her, ready to finish her off, when, in the distance, Bangalore took her shot. A loud crack echoing across the canyon. Wattson rushed down after Bangalore killed him. She'd ran out to get Wraith up under the cover of smoke Bangalore had thrown down. 

 “Wraith, let me help you!” Wraith paused at Wattson’s voice. Her vision was still blurry, but she could hear Wattson loud and clear. She let herself be guided into a sitting position. And shuddered as she felt Wattson kneel over her. Wattson's hand hovered over Wraith’s chest ready to inject her with the syringe.

 “You ready?” She asked softly. Most other legends would just hit you with the needle without warning. Wraith always felt a sense of fondness tighten her chest when Wattson asked first. She nodded in response, and gripped the hand Wattson offered to brace herself.  

 This time, it didn’t happen like it usually did.

 The smell of fire, the ringing in her ears, and the needle piercing her body. It was too similar, it felt too much like a memory she’d thought she’d forgotten.

 The soreness in her head grew instead of lessening as the medicine entered her body. The comfort she felt was replaced with fear and anxiety. She could almost smell the scent of rubbing alcohol. The smell that’d lingered in every crevice of the medical facility she was kept in so long ago.

 Her hands shook. Her armband, a gift from the Voidwalker, beeped. Telling her that her portal was ready. The familiar noise drew her further into the fear.

  It’s just like before it’s just like before it’s just like before it’s-

  Calm down, it’s okay. It’s okay, she’s just trying to help.

 As the syringe released its last drop of fluid she let go of Wattson’s hand. Wattson gasped as Wraith suddenly lurched backward. Her legs kicked about, sloppy from the after-effects of the medication. She couldn’t think straight, overwhelmed so suddenly by the voices, it was all too much. She grabbed the syringe out of Wattson’s hand and flung it away into the swamp grass.

 Both her and Wattson stared after the syringe in the grass as Wraith’s breaths slowed. God damnit. She didn’t want to act on her impulses , especially not in front of Wattson.

 She slowly crawled out from underneath the other girl and stood to her feet. Trying to move on from it, she reloaded her weapon and turned to Octane’s deathbox. Wattson sat there for a moment longer, before she got up and joined Wraith in looting.

 “Are you alright Wraith?” Wattson whispered, glancing at her face as their hands brushed together. She’d already noticed Wraith seeming antsy, on edge because of the voices. Sure if she was having trouble it would be a hindrance to their game. But a loss was a loss, Wattson would live through it and try again. It was Wraith that she cared about.

 Wraith pursed her lips and nodded, feigning interest in the large array of healing she’d found in the box. We can handle it, it’s fine. The less she knows, the better. Besides, what if she’s looking for information on us? The voices were quick to share their distrust. Wraith went along with them out of convenience. There was no point in worrying her, especially this late in the game.

 They’d find the last two teams, take them out, and be done with it. The voices would calm after the match, they’d have nothing to discuss. Simple.

 The sound of gas canisters being thrown in their direction was the first sign of her plan going downhill.

 They were down in the stream where Bridges used to be. A ravine of sorts. Perfect to line with toxic gas and trap the two of them in. Caustic didn’t think twice about taking his chance.

 Wraith’s voices, the good ones, the ones she trusted, hit their target first.

  There’s a shooter, move.

  Traps being placed, it’s not safe here.

  Two sentences, calm and collected. That was what the voices should always be.

 She grabbed Wattson’s hand and outstretched her free arm, opening a portal through the void.

 “Someone’s got a shot on me, pretty sure. Let’s move.” She turned to see Wattson nod in response, her question to Wraith forgotten. Wraith pulled her through the portal behind her. They ran. Circling the broken-down buildings and heading to a zipline. Riding it up to where Bangalore was sniping.

 “Caustic’s close by, probably up at the top near you, we’re heading over.” Wraith spoke into her ear piece. Bangalore copied back with an “Affirmative.” And their plan was in motion.

 They lurched out of the void together as they reached the top. Bangalore was already in combat. Caustic was with Bloodhound, both of them trying to force Bangalore out of hiding behind a boulder further up on the cliff.

 Bangalore aimed and took her shot, and a loud ‘crack’ split the air. She didn’t have much, but she did have a Kraber, the strongest, and hardest to use, sniper in the outlands. And had downed Bloodhound in a single hit.

 Wraith ran up alongside Wattson. She slid behind the boulder with Bangalore, pulling out her own sniper rifle, a Triple Take. She leaned it on the rock, preparing to take aim, when the voices shouted.

  He’s throwing something, MOVE.

  She dropped down, a loud hiss moving over them, before a cloud of toxic gas filled the area. She felt her eyes burn, and her lungs heaving as she breathed in the fumes.

 Wraith choked and coughed. She pushed through the burn as she trudged forward in Caustic’s direction. She switched her weapons, pulling out her R-99, raised it up, and looked through the sights, trying to spot him. She heard movement behind her, and turned on her heel, but Caustic shot before she had eyes on him.

 Wraith fell to the ground, coughing up blood and wheezing as her gun was kicked away. 

  What’s wrong with us what’s WRONG WITH US GET UP NOW.

  Trap this is a trap this is a trap it’s a tRA-

 Caustic aimed his gun down at her, ready to finish her off, when Bangalore’s Kraber echoed through the canyon a second time. He fell, standing on his knees for a moment, before his body dissipated. Leaving behind his deathbox of items.

 Wraith leaned back on her hands, gasping for air. She wasn’t fully downed again, so she got back to her feet. Her hands were trembling around her gun, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

 The voices were scared. They watched every direction, scanning the world for its dangers. Hundreds of thousands of eyes staring from the void, circling her head. Are there more? Are we safe? Where are the others? We’re going to die that was too close too close too clOSe we need to watch out, watch out, watch out-

 She paused.

  Anxiety. It’s anxiety. Calm down.

  She tried to tell herself that. She wanted to believe it was anxiety so strongly. But it felt wrong, like she was lying to herself. The voices had their own verdict.

  Our chest is so tight̤͂.̻̇ W̝͘H̨͗y̞͐ ca̤̔n̙̎;t ͎wḙ͂ ̖̺̏̏b̲͈͊͛r̒͟EA̘̝̐̔th̢̅e.̪̤̌̌? ? ? ̨͋WHERE AR̛̲E T̛̟̒͢H͕̩̀̚E̲̰̍̑̚ͅ Ř̺Ĕ͎͍͒Ŝ̫͠ͅT̤̝̟͖̙̋̒̇͊̈́

  ̟͍́̒?̣̞͞  ͙̞̣̲̌̋̓͜͠͝?͚̜̱̥͊̓̌̊̚͟ ̤̮̣̘̰̌͌̀̾͠ ̧̦̖̠̀͐̋̓̈́͢?̖̥̱̼̬̿̂͌͠

 It was louder, clearer. She could feel them filling her ears, screaming. ͈͂LIS̪͋T͓̉E̽͜N̜̼̎̌ T̎͢O̜̒ Ǔ̩̝̆S̹͚͂͗ͅ ͔͐P͚̲̦̐̇L̗̏Ę̫͙̲͆̓͠͠AS̗̲̬͋̇́Ȩ͉̠̲͑̏͆̚͟͠.̡̠̼̯̺̈́͐͊͌͘

 She could hear Wattson calling for her to come loot with them in the distance. Bangalore yelling, asking if she was okay. The two of them, realizing something was off, calling across the cliff what was wrong. Feet hitting the ground as Wattson jogged over to her.

 Her breaths were going faster, faster, faster . She could barely hear over the screaming in her ears.

  Danger, move.

 She couldn’t tell between the real warnings and the paranoid ones.

 Her hand reached up to her forehead. Digging into the skin. Like she could tear the voices out of her mind. She dug her nails further. Stop stop stop please just stOP.

 Her knees hit the ground. She screamed. Mouth still closed. The noise rumbling in her throat. Warmth ran down her hand and stained her forehead. Blood blood blood… Faster. Faster. Her breaths were going faster.

 The whir of Wattson’s interceptor, usually held on her back, drew Wraith’s attention. She jolted at gloved hands touching on her shoulders. She could barely hear now. The voices. Everything. It was all just so LOUD.

  Run.

  Get away from her get her away from us now now run rUN.

 It was all they could agree on. Get away, get to safety, from one voice. Get away, don’t let them see us like this, from the other. Either one worked.

 So she did.

 She shoved away from Wattson’s touch, heels kicking into the ground before she burst into the void. Bangalore and Wattson left behind as she ran through the opening in the mountains. Running. Running. Running. Through the Repulsor Station. Down the stairs leading to the Swamps. Run. Keep running. Don’t stop. Not until we’re safe.

 The swamplands were just ahead. Filled with enough buildings and crannies for her to hide away. Perfect. Behind her, she heard their voices. She jumped out of the void. Staying in too long made her feel like she was burning.

 Bangalore and Wattson's voices echoed on the buildings around her. Sounding like they were still back at Repulsor. She threw her arms behind her, and holstered her weapon. She zipped in and out of the void to lose their trail.

  Don’t let them find us get away get away we’re not safe here.

  She crossed a shoddily-made bridge across the swamp water, and slid into a house. She slammed the door behind her and sat there, gasping for breath. 

  What the fuck am I doing.

 She couldn’t stop her thoughts from swirling. She felt like throwing up, or crying. Anything to pour it all out. She couldn’t focus on the game. All she knew was that she was in the ring. She could hear her team, both of them both shouting on her ear piece. Wattson, desperately asking where she’d gone. Bangalore telling her they needed her back in the game. They both knew Wraith was too serious to play around. Something was wrong.

 She pulled the piece out.

  Break it break it what if they find us what if they find us and CATCH US.

  Don’t let them find us don’t let them find us.

 Sparks jumped under her boot as she stomped it into the wooden floor beneath her. The shouting of her teammates silenced.

 She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. She clapped her hands over her ears as she shook. She fell to her knees, and lowered her head. Her whole body was trembling. Every breath strained against her lungs. Air felt scarce. She felt light headed.

  cant breathe cant cant cant see what is, whats what happening

  how do we calm down how we calm down how do we

  Her hands clawed at her throat.

 Everything was so… Loud. Gunfire. Shots rumbled beyond the windows of the building she hid in. Her own breaths were so much for her to hear. Her throat felt like it was closing. Closing… Cutting our air off. Can’t breathe. Can’t hear. Her grip on her throat tightened. More. More. Until she was dry heaving. Head thrown back. Eyes wide. Staring at nothing. Burning bright white.

 The voices were screaming .

 Her nails dug in further. 

  Need, air. Need to BREATHE.

 The dry heaving kicked up.

 Her stomach lurched.

 She snapped out of it and fell. Body falling in a heap. Eyes rolling back as vomit flowed out of her mouth. She laid there for a moment.

 Vomit on her lips.

 Vomit on her face.

 Vomit on the floor.

 The voices had fallen back to a hum. She didn’t have long. She could still feel them. Like the water in a pot before it boiled over. She clenched her teeth and balled her hand into a fist. She pushed herself up from the floor, and staggered to her feet.

 Her eyes rolled forward. Returning to their usual piercing blue.

 “Wraith!”

 She jumped back at Wattson’s voice. Which didn’t sound too far off. The paranoia had settled. For a moment. She still felt uneasy. Her hand hovered over her gun in its holster.

 Wattson hesitated before she knocked on the door. She’d been running around, looking for Wraith for a few minutes now. Searching while Bangalore closed off a spot for them to spend the final ring in.

  We don’t have time for this. The thought had crossed Wattson’s mind many times by now, but she brushed it away. Wraith knew better than any of them not to mess around in the games. Something wasn’t right. 

 “Wh-What do you want.” Wraith's voice was scratchy. A side effect from the vomiting. And it quivered, sounding weaker than her usual stoic tone.

 “I just want to know what’s wrong. This isn’t like you.” Wattson stood her ground with baited breath as she waited for a reply. She heard shuffling, and then a sigh.

 “I-I don’t, I don’t know what’s wrong.”

 Wattson’s face fell further, a pang of sympathy echoing within her when she heard just how small Wraith’s voice was. Shaky and scared. She took a few steps closer to the building. Her hand settled on the front of the door, as she eyed the handle. She edged her hand closer to it, but stopped when Wraith started talking again.

 “It feels like everything's swirling and I can't tell what’s real anymore. All my thoughts are awful and I can’t think straight. I-I mean I know the awful ones aren’t mine. But, I just. I don’t know. I-I aaAHH!” Wattson flinched as a sudden ‘thud’ hit the wall. Probably Wraith’s fist. 

 “Can I come in, Wraith? Are you okay?” Maybe she had a bad reaction to the medicine. Maybe it messed with her voices. Theories ran through her head. She could never be sure. Wraith was the one who knew the voices best after all. She waited for a response, but she got none. Her hand reached for the door handle, and pushed slowly, when it slammed shut from the other side.

  “Just leave me alone!” Wraith hissed out. Her voice was.. Off. It sounded like it wasn’t just one of her talking. Like the voices were bleeding through, and talking alongside her. Some were lagging behind, making her sound glitchy, and skewed. Her eyes were visible to Wattson through the dirtied glass of the door. Wide, and crazed. 

 White as pearls.

  “Why do you wanna help anyway??! Just leave me here and win the match without me.”

  “I-I care about you Wraith. I don’t care about the game if something’s wrong. I want to help.” Wraith stepped back from the door when she heard that. The voices in her head were tugging her in all different directions. She couldn’t tell what to do.

  She’s lying!!

  She just wants to help!!

  Tell her to fuck off!!

  Let her in!!

  “You only- You’re only here because you’re with them aren’t you. You don’t care about us. Y-you want to hand us back over. Their expe̤̿r͖͞i̹͛ṃ͂ē̟̻͠ṋ̡́̅t̼̪͎̦͚̐̇̒̿͛.”

 Wattson’s brows furrowed in confusion. She didn’t know who they were. Or what experiment she was referring to. She drew her hand around the door handle, and cracked it open slowly.

 “I don’t know who or what you’re talking about Wraith,” She said softly. “-But I’m not here to hurt you. I love you, mon ami, I need you to try to breathe, and stay calm. Let me help you.”

 She opened the door wider. Wraith was crouched back in the corner, R-99 raised at the ready, aiming for Wattson’s arm.

  “Don’t, move.” Her words were slow, and surprisingly calm. Dried blood was caked on her forehead, and vomit still coated her teeth. Her eyes were wide, and white. A stark difference from her voice.

 Wattson wondered if her Wraith was the one speaking.

 “Wraith, please. I know you’re in there. If you just let me i-” Wraith stopped registering her words as soon as she took a step closer. It was probably absent-minded. She probably didn’t mean to encroach on her. She probably didn’t mean to go against what she’d just asked.

 The voices didn’t care.

  She’s going to hurt us she’s going to hurt us she’s going to hurt us she’s one of THEM.

  “Wraith, please,” Wattson said softly. She leaned closer to Wraith, reaching her hands to pull her up from the floor.

 BANG!

 Time seemed to slow.

 Blood flew past the two of them, less than Wraith thought would. As her eyes adjusted after the muzzle flash, she saw why.

 Metal scraps flew through the air. One of Wattson’s jacket sleeves had torn and burned at the gunshot. Revealing the synthetic metal arm underneath. Wattson’s arm was scorched and dented after being hit with bullets. She looked down at Wraith in shock. Her outstretched hands hesitating before she turned her attention to her broken arm.

 “Wrai- Wraith, merde. What the hell-” Her wide eyes caught on Wraith’s frantic ones, clouded with fear. Wattson ignored her arm for the time being. Teammates were unable to permanently harm each other in the arena, she wasn’t worried for herself. It was the fact that Wraith had acted out so violently. Shooting her like it would do something, like she needed to protect herself from Wattson. It worried her more than the sparks bursting from her sleeve.

 Wraith crawled back. Furthering herself from Wattson and fumbling with her grasp on the gun. Her portal armband beeped, signalling her portal was charged again, and turned her head.

 She raised her arm behind her, wind whipping up from out of nowhere, and a hole to the void ripped through the air. She raised her gun again at Wattson as a precaution, and pushed herself backward, lurching into the void.

 “Wraith wai-!” Wattson’s words were cut off as Wraith disappeared. All that remained where she’d been on the ground were purple wisps of smoke.

 ---

 She gasped for breath as she fell through the other side. She stood on her hands and knees, coughing, rubbing a hand across her face.

  Around her, all around her, everyone was trying to cage her in, catch her off guard, make it easier to capture her. We told you so didn’t we. But no, you didn’t LISTEN.

  The tears fell fast, but she brushed them away. Crying didn’t have a place in the face of danger, and she couldn't afford to be more distracted than she already was.

  BEHIND YOU!

  A shot hit her side before she could react. She spun on her heel, firing two blindly at whoever was behind her. She let herself fall a bit when she heard a cry of surprise, and a thud on the ground. She grunted at the swivel, the wound on her side ripping further. No worrying now, no time.

 She sprung forward. Hissing at the pain. She chased after her attacker, before they'd have a chance to recover and run.

 A few feet away from where she stood in the mud of Swamps, was Mirage. He was hiding (or at least trying to) behind the pipeline stretching the ground between them like a line in the sand. Blood was settling in the pools of water around him. And his leg was drawn close to his chest, a long tear across his pants gushing with blood.

 “I know we’re fightin’ and all Wraith,” She heard him call out between swears and gasps of pain. “But like, are you good?” 

She heard him hiss out “Fuck this burns,” Before he continued. “You don’t "ty-tycip-typical,” He stuttered, cursing under his breath as he thought of another word. “You don’t often cry after seein’ my good looks.”

 She didn’t care to roll her eyes at him, she couldn’t risk letting her guard down because of a stupid joke. Even if she could hear the concern dripping through his tone.

 She shut her eyes. The voices knew what to do. They were here to keep her safe. She took a step. And another. Her pace quickening with each one. She pulled herself over the pipe, and leapt forward. Closing in on the hobbling Mirage, trying to escape the inevitable.

 She ignored the shots that landed in her arm, she ignored the dirt that kicked up into her face. She unclenched her teeth, closed her eyes, let out a breath, and crackled out of existence, into the void.

 Mirage stood his ground. Blood dripping from his leg and his mouth, bubbling in his throat, ears ringing like a fire alarm. He took his window of time to pull the mag out of his gun and swap it for a fresh one. His fingers shook as he pushed the bullets into his Wingman. Wincing as he tightened his grip on the grooves of the pistol’s handle.

 “Damnit Wraith.” He swore under his breath. “One on one, one on one. I can do this. We’re both wounded, it’s fine.”

 He didn’t say another word that match.

 Wraith, no. The Voidwalker, ripped back into reality. Behind him.

 She didn’t give him time. Not to turn. Not to scream. Her kunai blade, usually held at her hip, was in and out by then. Resting on it's strap in her belt as he fell to his knees. His gun skittered away from his hand, sinking in the swamp mud. His respawn card glowed against her blood-smeared face as she crouched over his body.

  He’s got healing, shields. Need to protect ourselves. Keep us safe from the others.

  She pulled what he had, dropping it in her bag, when her vision obscured. The world went dark, and her limbs went numb. She stood up, spinning around in the darkness, reaching for something, anything-

 Then the words pierced the silence.

 You are the Apex Champions.

 …

 He was the last one.

 They'd won.

 Nothing was wrong.

 She was safe.

 “Oh no.”

 ---

 “Wraith, Wraith over here!” She walked past the reporters, ignoring their desperate pleas. “What happened out there? What were you saying to Wattson when you shot her?! Are you working with the criminal TaeJo-” She tuned them out. Wraith’s eyes hadn’t un-widened from the shock at what she’d done. She looked like a ghost, living up to her name. Trailing through the lobby, walking the red carpet laid out for the winning team. Her hands were shaking. And the voices, of course, were silent.

 Natalie and Anita trailed behind her, both of them quiet. Wraith couldn’t bring herself to face Natalie. Nat had reached over before, when they’d left the hospital wing. She'd tapped her on the shoulder, startling Wraith.

 “Wraith, what’s going on? What happened out there?”

 She’d walked away without answering.

 ---

 The voices were quiet that day.

 And the next. 

 And the next…0

 It felt like the first time she’d truly had her mind to herself in months, maybe years. It was so quiet. Almost too quiet. 

 Whatever space the voices left for her was filled with her own rushing thoughts. Screaming internally over everything that happened. Every time she saw Natalie she averted her eyes. Every time she heard her tell-tale, skipping footsteps, she turned in the other direction. She couldn’t think about it, she wouldn’t let herself. Thinking about it meant remembering how awful she was, how she’d hurt Natalie. Thinking about it meant scratching at the healing wounds up and down her arms, put there in the first place when the voices got to be too much. Thinking about it meant retching from the anxiety that it gave her to recall the look of horror and disgust on Nat’s face when her arm had been shot through by Wraith. 

She could barely tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. 

 She knew when it was real, she could feel it, whether it was a gut feeling, or something striking a chord with her soul, she didn’t know. She always could tell just by instinct. But it was so hard to believe what she saw, even when it was right before her eyes. 

  She hates me she hates me she fucking hates me.

 She’d gotten nothing but smiles and kind words from Natalie all week. She’d apologized to Natalie, (“Oh don’t worry Wraith! Are you.. Feeling okay? You seemed very on edge.” “Oh yeah, I’m fine it’s nothing. Just kinda spooked is all.”) Nothing to tell her the contrary of the fact that she’d forgiven Wraith. She couldn’t accept it, she just couldn’t. Nobody gave that kind of mercy to Wraith. Maybe they gave it to Renee Blasey, but she wasn’t Renee anymore. 

 Renee died in that lab. 

 She was Wraith now. An experiment gone wrong. An error in the system. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist but damnit she was here to stay. 

  Didn’t mean she deserved to stay.

 Or that anyone was happy she was there. 

 She was used to the hard stares, the cold expressions, the whispers behind her back, the loss of trust. She was well acquainted with the fear glossing over peoples eyes when she leaned over them, pressing them against walls, gritting her teeth, asking for answers. 

 Nobody trusted the Voidwalker. Nobody spoke ill of the Voidwalker. Nobody acknowledged the woman behind the wraith.

 So when Natalie played off that she’d even had her arm shot through, sparks flying, fear in her eyes as Wraith had leaned over her, gritting her teeth, asking for answers, it didn’t compute. 

  What is she pulling? What's she going to do? Are we in trouble? Is there danger whATS GOING ON-

 Even the voices didn’t have a clue, with all their paranoia scattered around, they couldn’t land on a single conclusion. 

 The idea that anybody willingly would care for Wraith and try to understand her as a person was so unbelievable she didn’t allow herself to seriously consider it. She’d spent countless nights fantasizing, imagining finding that perfect person. Someone who understood her flaws, her issues, her past, and loved her for it. Someone who didn’t care that she saw herself as wrong, a bastardization of the woman Renee Blasey should’ve been able to be. 

 She thought of Renee Blasey often. In a guilty sort of way. She’d researched the name thoroughly once she’d found it in the uncovered lab in the canyon. An old recording from Renee had stuck with her. She played it every once in a while, astonished at the weirdness of hearing your own voice saying things you couldn’t remember saying, or even understand. She’d never been drunk (at least while being Wraith) so she couldn’t relate the experience. Renee’s calm voice listing off the formulas and the evidence behind her theories for Project Wraith were often played before she slept. The only time of day she felt somewhat clear headed. 

 Every morning her eyes were red, and puffy. Often enough where nobody wondered if she’d been crying all night, sobbing at the fact that she’d stolen this woman’s life, and work, and everything she’d worked towards, and turned into an anxious, paranoid fuck up. Something nobody wanted to get close to. 

 She thought about every time someone had tried to get close, and gravitated away, realizing the layers underneath the exterior were too much for them to handle. 

 She thought about how Natalie didn’t back away. 

 And then she forced herself to face the reality that Natalie would never extend herself and try to get any closer than she already was to Wraith. It was selfish, childish, and downright stupid to think so. 

 Wraith called herself Wraith because she didn’t deserve to parade around using Renee Blasey’s name as her own. She wasn’t a thief, and even then, she could never live up to the void scientist’s name even if she tried. 

  And heaven knows she’s tried.

 Every day she’d tried to do her best.

  It’s never enough. 

 Maybe one day, when she died, she could meet Renee Blasey. The woman she couldn’t be.

 Every night, after she’d cried her eyes out, and her throat ached from holding in the sobs l’est someone heard and pitied her enough to check in on her, pretending to care only because they’re people, amazing people, and felt empathy towards her. She stared at the ceiling, thinking above it, to the stars, the galaxies, and everything beyond, and hoped that Renee was somewhere out there, watching what's become of her corpse. 

 She hoped she'd be proud.

-    -

  Why do things always have to happen like this?

 It never felt like she could have a break, between fucking up, and having things around her be awful. Either the lab was getting uncovered, and she was forced to relive the memories of being trapped inside, or she was hurting Natalie. 

 This time, it was closer to the former.

 Things were bad enough when Revenant had joined the games. A demon forged through metal. She’d tried her best to avoid him. The voices rang out so clearly around him, more than around any other “person” she’d met. Wraith didn’t fear anyone, but if she never had to be near him another day in her life, she wouldn’t object. 

 Then Loba joined.

 And more IMC and Hammond tech was uncovered.

 If the screams of the voices were audible, they would’ve deafened her by now. 

 “We’re dropping at Salvage.” The idea of seeing the wreck of the first place she remembered living in made her stomach quiver like nothing else. She’d never thought that match with Natalie would be topped, but she was so, so wrong.  

 “Watch out, they’ve laid traps.” She spoke over comms to her team. Her feet hit the dry ground, kicking up dust clouds as she turned the corner. 

  Stop, danger.  

 She skidded as she realized she was at the edge of a cliff, freshly made once half the fucking canyon had collapsed. She stared out for a moment, eyes captivated by the glimpses of metal, ruins of old lab rooms and hallways scattered amongst the rocks belows her. Cold, white, metal rooms. Scented with rubbing alcohol and gun metal. Suffocatingly small, and hundreds of feet underground. 

 She couldn’t hear the yelling of her teammates in her ear piece. She couldn’t remember to grasp her weapon. Her knees buckled before she could say a word. Eyes rolling back as she fainted, falling over the edge.

 ---

  WHAT’S WRONG WITH WRAITH? 

  WRAITH FREEFALLS, OFF THE EDGE, AND DOWN THE LEGEND RANKS.

 The articles written about her performance didn’t hold back. 

 The other legends didn’t either.

 The concern the concern the conCERN.

  It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real.

 They were never mad at her for losing. For ruining their game. Fo R FUCKING UP OVER AND OVER AND OVE-

 “Are you alright mon ami?” 

 Natalie had walked into the common room, and noticing movement on the balcony, saw Wraith standing alone, clutching tightly to the railing, staring out at nothing. 

 Back heaving as she tried to control her breathing. 

 The glass door had slid open silently, and with the voices rambling on and on, Wraith hadn’t noticed Natalie stepping up behind her. She jumped, whipping around and moving her hand in front of her in defense. Natalie looked over her spooked figure and felt apologetic immediately. 

 “Aah I’m sorry!! I didn’t mean to startle you Wrai’, I was just checking on you.” She waved her hands around as she spoke, over-expressive as always, and mentally felt like kicking herself. Natalie slowed down when she looked past the shocked and curious expression on Wraith’s face and realized how red her eyes were, and how the moonlight glinted off of her wet face. 

 “Really, Wraith, are you okay?” 

 Natalie asked, hiding the uncertainty she felt, but it still stewed underneath. The unknowing at how she was supposed to handle situations involving other people. Day to day chatter she’d gotten good at, once she’d been told, either through people ignoring her, or full on yelling in her face, about how much they didn’t want to hear about whatever project she was working on. 

 Wraith and Dr. Caustic were anomalies on that front. 

  Am I supposed to comfort her? I don’t know how I'm supposed to. Do I hug her?? I’ll just, I’ll just do how Ajay did for me when Papa died. 

Wraith just stood there, frozen. Hands shaking at her sides as she felt the pressure build up inside her. She didn’t feel Natalie brush her hand down Wraith’s arm, wrapping her fingers around her palm. She barely registered her arms pulling her close.

 “Wraith, what’s the matter?” Her voice was so soft, barely audible above a whisper, each sentence ending with a tone of unsurity. It made Wraith’s heart swell, that she was trying so hard. Natalie barely talked to anyone outside of her and Caustic, and maybe Octavio, just because of how hard it was for her to talk to people. And here I am making her do all this just to check on me being an idiot.  

 She sat there, numb, unmoving, as Natalie held her in a stiff embrace. She didn’t mind it, she knew the effort she put behind trying to comfort anyone and appreciated it all the same. 

 Wattson lowered the two of them to the ground, holding Wraith snug to her chest. She gripped her tight, just as her papa had when she was having a meltdown . Like a weighted blanket helping to ground her.

 “You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to, I mean, I don’t want to-to force you to talk you know?” Wraith shivered from the chilly air around her and pondered for a minute. 

  Don’t tell her she doesn’t need to hear this from us right now you’ll just be bothering her. 

 “I-I… “ Her voice trailed off as she searched for something to say. Natalie had taken to brushing her fingers through Wraith’s hair, which just made it harder to form a coherent thought. The voices commanded her to keep her mouth shut. 

 “I lied.” 

 The words hung in the air, Natalie stopped brushing through her hair to glance at her face, and didn’t get anything out of Wraith’s blank expression. Wraith sat there in her lap, eyes wide, mouth parted. 

 Screaming

 All she could hea r was scREAMING. 

 Her body started to shake as she heaved on another sob, holding it in so Natalie didn’t hear. Stupid stupid stupid why did I SAY that it’s so loud it’s so loud. Tears threatened to spill over the edge again, and her cheeks flushed red. Hold it in, hold it all in you have to- 

 “-I lied when I said I was fine. After everything, you know.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet Natalie’s eyes. She didn’t get any indication of how she was feeling from her body language. Her hands didn’t shake like Wraith’s did when she was nervous; her breathing didn’t hitch when words wouldn’t come; her eyes didn’t spill over with tears she wouldn’t let anybody see. 

 She envied her in a way.

 Then again. She remembered how it was when her dad had died. Nobody saw her for days, until Ajay and a few others had found her hiding under a table in her house. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, hadn't spoken to a soul since they put him in the ground. 

 It struck her as similar to herself in a way. 

 Both of them quietly felt their pain until someone came to tell them it was okay.

 Maybe that’s why Natalie was sitting here on the balcony, holding Wraith’s head to her chest as she listened to her try to explain what Wraith barely understood herself. 

  Don’t get too hopeful there. 

  Nobody’s that nice. 

 “Why?” 

 “Huh?”

 “Why did you lie about how you felt?”

 Genuine curiosity strung through Natalie’s voice and Wraith couldn’t tell if she was listening too hard for it or if she had been blessed in some way in the form of Natalie Pacquette. No matter what she saw herself as being more deserving of, Natalie had asked a question, and who was Wraith to not answer?

 Natalie had already seen her like this. If she was going to be abandoned or seen badly, it was too late to fix anything. She may as well accept her fate and lay her cards on the table. Maybe she’ll understan- no. 

  Don’t get your hopes up.  

 “The voices don't always help me. Sometimes, they get paranoid, and scared, and act out. And it’s overwhelming. I can’t tell sometimes which thoughts are me and which thoughts are them .” 

 “Sometimes that means I feel like everyone hates me and I’m going to die, and-” 

 “Sometimes, it makes you fear that we’re a danger to you. That you have to protect yourself from your own friends.” Wattson finished for her, raising an eyebrow as she questioned whether her addition was correct.

 She looked up in shock at Natalie’s face. She’d told people about this before yeah, but she’d never gotten a hand reaching out to grab hers in the darkness. Nobody ever tried to understand before labelling her a freak. She’d been scared when she first made it known she even heard the voices of the void. But she’d been too scared to speak further on it. 

 “E-exactly.” She was speechless. Her eyes locked onto Natalie’s as she tried to process but the words wouldn’t come. Just speak. Keep going keep going!! She’s listening to us!

 “Why didn’t you just say that though? We could’ve talked about this, or you could’ve gone to the medbay for help?” 

 “And get treated even more like an outcast? Like I’m not human anymore I’m just the freak everyone always assumes I am? You think you’re the first person I’ve told this to before?? How do you think EVERYONE else reacts to this shit?!” 

 She hadn’t meant to sound harsh but it still came through in her tone. Confusion turned to compassion turned to frustration. WHY is she listening to me?? Why is she acting like this is normal is she stupid?? It’s not fucking normal what the fuck is she doing??? 

 Wraith stood up out of Natalie’s lap and took a few steps away, her shoes sounding against the wood of the balcony floor. She stood there, quiet, fingers curling and uncurling into a fist. Natalie stayed where she was, knees slightly drawn up as she watched Wraith stand there in silence. 

 “I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t think about it like that. I get it, in a way.” She stood up and approached Wraith. She hadn’t reached out like before. She kept her hands to herself, fiddling them together as she rocked on the balls of her feet.  

 “It’s not the same, but people always told me I was annoying or weird for talking about things I liked, things that were close enough to me to be a part of me,” She started. She couldn’t see Wraith’s expression, and reading the room was hard enough. She let out a breath and continued, hoping to everything that she was saying the right things.

  “I get not feeling comfortable telling people about these things I mean. That’s, that’s a big thing to tell people about and I’m glad you told me, especially if it was hard for you. It- it shows how much you trust me. Honestly you and Dr. Caustic are the two people I’d trust most to talk to about things like this and I’m-I’m glad you feel the same as far as I can tell Wraith, I really am.”

 She’d been watching the floor while she spoke, she barely looked at people while she talked anyway, why should I when she’s got her back turned. She glanced up when she was done though, and almost jumped when she saw Wraith was watching her, turned to face her now, closer than Natalie remembered her being before. Natalie looked up into her eyes and felt her heart strain at the fresh tears resting in the corners waiting for their release. 

 Wraith started gasping for air and Natalie was confused, until she realized, with mild shock, that she was sobbing. Nobody’d seen Wraith cry, let alone sob so freely before. She almost felt privileged, but didn’t have time to think over the implication of her being the only person Wraith allowed herself to break down and look weak in front of.

 “Breathe Wraith, breathe,” Wraith could barely focus her eyes on Natalie’s face but she did as she was told. Shutting her eyes, relishing a bit in the way her name sounded when Wattson said it. 

 She reached out and hugged Wraith, properly, holding her close and shoving down the fear of overstepping their boundaries, just for then. 

 She felt Wraith’s breaths shuddering against her chest. She didn’t know what part of what she’d said had hit her, but she was glad she’d made an effect at all. Sometimes what she said missed the mark, sometimes it hit far too close for comfort. She’d learned by now the look on people’s faces when she finished talking was the easiest identifier of when she’d crossed a line. 

 “It’s okay ma chérie, I’ll stay here with you, I promise.”She said softly. Her voice was so quiet, so gentle. Wraith could barely be in the moment, but she’d heard that. She wasn’t sure if it was Wattson’s promise to stay, or the way she’d said it. But tears welled back up all the same. Rolling down her cheeks silently and wetting Wattson’s jacket.

 “ I’m s-sorry I’m so fucking sorry.” Her voice was so small but it reflected exactly how she felt. Oh she’d yearned , for a moment like this. To hear words like that from someone. She’d never felt this, unconditional love expressed to her when she told someone about the pain she went through every day and every night. She wished it hadn’t had to come to her hurting Natalie to show a sign of something being wrong. She hated that it had gotten so out of control that she risked her relationship, risked losing this moment, and risked hurting her. 

 “ I’m so sorry for-for everything, fuck.” She buried her face in more, and they leaned back, sitting in one of the few chairs decorating the balcony. She tried to ignore the way her heart sped up when Natalie pulled her further in her lap, and felt guilty in a way. Her thoughts focused on light-hearted stupid things. Like how she could smell the sweet scent of conditioner still lingering in Natalie’s hair while her head rested on her chest, or how nice it was when she trailed her fingers through Wraith’s hair. 

 “If I’m being honest, it feels like you do more apologizing than anything worth saying sorry for.” Natalie remarked with a slight laugh, looking up at the sky around them and breathing a sigh of relief. “It’s not like you hurt me back there. Our wounds are healed after the match, and you hit my false arm, it’s not your fault mon ami. I’ve forgiven you to the moon and back for that.”

 Tears welled up again. She pressed her face to Natalie’s chest and let them fall. She breathed her in, the vague scent of metal lingered in her hoodie she was wearing, but Natalie herself smelled... Like lemons. Tangy, exciting and electric, just like everything else about her. 

 Wraith couldn’t explain the sensation she felt. Little did she know Natalie was mulling over the same thing. The feeling of utmost safety and comfort, like she could bleed every scar she’d bore over the years and Natalie would still wipe her tears away and call her a piece of art. 

 The reality of night settled into her thoughts, her eyes closing against the fabric of Natalie’s hoodie as her sobs turned to sniffles and hiccups. Natalie’s fingers gently ran down her scalp, brushing through her hair, nails scratching ever so slightly, in rhythm with the low hum Wraith heard building in her throat. 

  I’m going to die. Wraith thought. I’m going to die right here right now in Natalie’s arms oh my God. 

 “ Je t'aime toujours ma chérie. No matter what’s bothering you. I’ll stay here with you, I promise. As long as you’ll have me.” 

[shippy-pjo-shipper]

🥀Kinzylla🥀 Repeating Mythology!AU (Orpheus and Eurydice)

"As long as you can pay young lady, you're welcome on board."

But I already had put a purse full of a dozen of drachmas in his hand before he could end his not very subtle flirting. Argh, men. All the same, mortals and immortals.

Without a second look, she got on board. Charon spent the whole crossing talking about his new suits and how the bunch of newcomers allowed him to receive a pay rise. Disgusting, how could he talk about her fellows sisters' death like a good opportunity to refill his wardrobe ? How could he speak about her like that ?!

Of course he didn't know who she was, and if he did, he wouldn't care. For the creatures of the Underworld she was nothing more than a ghost among ghosts, for the survivors she was just an amazon among the Amazons, but for Hylla, she was everything.

What would she say if she could see her right now ? Probably something along the line of "You're the most reckless stupid person I've ever known." And would she be in the wrong ? This plan was crazy, selfish and based on nothing more than the Pluto's daughter's allegations. She said it would work, she said her and her brother had talked to him, but still she doubted it. Hades, Pluto, no matter his identity he was a God, a male God, and at the exception of Mars they weren't really her favorite kind of being.

But I was ready to face anything; gods, men, monsters, none of them could stop me from fulfilling the crazy resolution I took before her funeral pyre : I'll bring her back, even if it costs me my own life. Without her, it didn't have much meaning anyway.

"And here we are, enjoy your visit in the Underworld, don't touch anything, don't come to close of the dark pit or your soul will be damned forever, see you soon, at least if you plan to leave and still have money for the return." Lost in her thoughts, Hylla hadn't noticed that the ferry had reach the other side. Not losing a minute she stepped out and walked at fast pace in direction of the king's palace.

---

At the gigantic door, she was welcomed by some skeleton who led her to the throne room, and here he was, Pluto. He didn't seem surprise to see her, so Hazel and her brother didn't lie, which lifted a weight from her shoulders.

"So...The Amazon Queen, isn't it ?"

"Yes my lord. It's an honor to meet you." She flattered him, hardly putting aside her ego.

"Last time I used your services my delivery arrived in poor condition."

"I'm sorry lord Pluto. We'll make sur-"

"Hades."

"Oh. I apologize lord Hades, it won't happen again."

"Hum." Shit. Not only did she have to deal with the God of the Underworld but it was the greek one. Couldn't be worst.

"Honey? What is it?" Just when I was trying to find a bunch of meaningless compliments to use with the greek god, a voice came from the end of the hallway. "I cant believe you! I just came back after this awful year and you're already back at doing business ?!"

Of course, Proserpina! I mean Persephone? Argh it hardly mattered, no matter which one she was, she barely paid attention to me, too busy scolding her husband whose mask of mightiness and darkness quickly fell at her entrance.

"Honey... Sorry I'll be free soon, I was just welcoming this half-blood."

"Half-blood ?" The queen of the underworld finally seemed to acknowledge my presence, but she only looked at me with mistrust and disgust "Whom is she ? Another one I need to know about ?" She said with an anger she didn't care to hide.

Pluto -I mean Hades- was uncomfortable like I had rarely seen someone be, first time I see a God and he's being put in her place by his wife. Hum, I can at least recognize to this greek Pluto that he knew what his place had to be in his marriage.

"No my queen." I answered, not missing to use her title, from a queen to a queen I can guarantee that any demand works better with the use of the title. "My name is Hylla Ramirez-Arellano, daughter of Bellona."

"Bellona ? Hum." She eased herself. "What are you here for ?" She asked summoning her throne and sitting on it beside her husband that she completely ignored.

"I came to ask you a favor. A great one." There it is, the decisive moment. It didn’t have a single chance to work but I had to try, I own it to her. And I knew from the old tales that the best way to have the Lord of the Underworld in my pocket was by passing by his wife. "I came to ask you...To allow me to bring someone back!"

"Who?" The queen asked in voice sweeter than before. "A friend of yours?"

"Yes...A person really dear to me. My...my second in command." Talking about her this way was even more disgusting than flatter Hades, but I couldn't show them what place she holded in my heart. I couldn't look weak.

"A friend ?" Hades added after minutes of silence. "That's not what I've been told." I lifted my head to meet his eyes. I wasn't sure but I felt a mix of sadness sweetness in his voice, like if he was thinking about someone dear to him who shared my situation.

"So this friend..." Started Proserpina with a restrained anger which seemed directed to her husband. "What's her name ?"

"Her...Her name's Kinzie, my queen."

"Ow, I see." Added the goddess side eyeing her husband. "Many half-bloods died during this war. Why her more than anyone else?"

"I...need her! I mean the Amazon tribe needs her. After this war we need a strong lead and her absence is very noticeable among my rank." I painfully lied.

"I see. Well you can do something about this, isn't it honey ?" Said the spring goddess to her husband.

"Hum, well, yes, but you know it's forbidden. If she doesn't at least have the protection of an Olympian it could cost her and even me greatly and-"

"Oh don't act like if it was the first time it happened." She said with spite, before turning malicious. "I like this one. So give her back her friend," she said, mockingly insisting on the word friend. "And father won't be informed of the date of birth of some of these precious golden seven demigods." Hades turned paler, if it was possible. I wasn't sure of what his wife was threatening him with; but the goddess of spring was manipulating her husband on my behalf so really, who was I to complain ?

"Fine." He finally stated. "But it's the first and last time of this century that I allow something like that to happen. And she'll have to remain discret."

"Don't worry, with all the dead coming they won't notice if one comes back." She answered him gleefully. "So," she continued firmly claping her hands together. "Come with me Hylla Ramirez-Arellano."

---

"Oh you're back. Still have some drachmas for me lady?" Barely listening to what he said I put two in his hand and got on board. He seemed disappointed by the bare minimum of money I just gave him, but I couldn't care less.

My heart was beating so fast in my ribcage, I couldn't hear anything else than my own breathing. She was there, right behind me, but I couldn't look. Proserpina had been quite clear : "don't turn back before you both came out or you'll never be able to see her ever again."

Was it a trick ? Just an easy way to get ride of me ? Maybe Kinzie wasn't even behind me, and when I'll be out, I'll be unable to ever come back. I was silent the whole crossing, wild thoughts running through my head. Could I trust this goddess ? She didn't have much opportunities to amuse herself this year, maybe she just saw me like a new entertainment ?

"And here we are." As soon as the ferry reached the living side of the river, I got out of it and started walking quickly to reach the stairs. "Enjoy your life solitary girl!" Shouted Charon, making me stop in my track. Why did he say that ? Does that mean I'm alone? Have I actually been tricked. I wanted to turn back and threaten him to get the answers at my questions, but I already heard him leaving, huming what sounds like the last released pop song. More dubious, I kept walking.

---

The exit was in sight, finally I would have my answers. I opened the last big door which separated me from the human world and stepped outside.

There is the moment I should have turned back to finally know if I was a fool or not, but I couldn't, I didn't dare, my feet were like stuck to the ground.

Pitifully, unstoppable tears started falling from my eyes. I was an idiot, what kind of queen let herself be overwhelmed by her emotions ? Why did I come here in the first place ? Why try to save her and not another one of my fellow amazons ?

I tried to find myself various excuses but it was meaningless. I knew why I was here. For Kinzie, cause I loved her. After Reyna left me for Camp Jupiter I lost all sense of purpose. My father, my sister, and now the love of my life ?! Maybe it was my punishment for being a bad sister, a weak daughter of Bellona, a weak queen, even weaker since she lost what kept her together. It was an egoistic decision, a stupid decision. I will never see her again, I didn't deserve her anyway.

Slowly, I prepared myself to leave, but it's when I was about to take my first step away from this damned world that something stopped me, something I've longed for for days.

"Hylla ?"

***

Yes, I know, I know it's the Repeating Mythology/Angst day but I'm too soft okay?!? I don't know how to write sad endings, so let's just keep it opened to interpretation, fair?

@them-awesome-rarepairs

[sallowhillshq]

EVENT 002: my bloody valentine CLUE DROP 003: suspect information

official suspect list:  abby anderson, adrian tepes,  armitage hux, baz grimm-pitch, link faron, michael langdon, sam giddings, victor zsasz

trigger warning for this clue drop: various criminal activities mentioned, such as murder. 

This wasn’t the worst this day could go. There could be multiple bodies across multiple streets, or all of Market Street could be blown to bits of cobblestone and wiring. They had been lucky, incredibly lucky, to only end up with one tiny, fairly contained disaster. Yet Armes was doubting how long they could continue to contain this disaster, with the clamoring of upset townsfolk directly outside her office window. 

Soon, this would no longer be her problem. Soon, this would entirely become  Ms. Kane and Ms. Brown’s problem. Armes would let them do the job they were created for as she dealt with the more clandestine issues of the town that required her direct supervision. 

Speaking of Ms. Kane and Ms. Brown,  the two sat in her office now.   They were professional,  clearly.   If they thought they could hide their training,  they were clearly mistaken.  Which is why they would be perfect for taking over the disaster.

“I’ve created a starting point of sorts, for our suspects,” Armes passed two identical lists to her newly crowned investigators. “Those I didn’t see at the dance who have violent proclivities in their pasts.”

“Arthur didn’t do it. He wouldn’t- get off me, Kate-” The blonde one, Ms. Brown, shrugged off Ms. Kane’s hand that had been placed lightly on her shoulder. “I get he had to do some bad shit in his past. Trust me, I get it. But he was a king in a time people were killing each other left and right for fun. He’s not like that anymore.”

“He was what?”  Ms. Kane interrupted her younger companion.

“A king, Kate. I thought I told you?”

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this,  but we can talk about it later.”

It seems, Ms. Brown is in trouble with her elder. 

“And anyways,” Ms. Brown’s face turned smug in a way Armes had only seen cats look before. “Arthur was passed out on our couch this morning with Merlin on top of him. I bet they haven’t moved, if you want to go check.”

“Ah, no. I’ll take your word for it. Arthur Pendragon is no longer a suspect,” Armes slashed through his name with red ink. “Abby Anderson, then?”

“I ran into her in the park recently.  If she did this,  it wasn’t her intent but rather her instinct protecting her.  I say we check,  but if it was her - we proceed gently,” Ms. Kane said.   An intelligent response.   They’ll be good for the investigation.  

“Seconded! And same with Sam Giddings. She’s kinda rough around the edges but I know her friend and it wouldn’t be because of any maliciousness,” Ms. Brown practically shrieked. 

Armes was starting to wish this list was far smaller, just so Ms. Brown could leave her office sooner. She was too old to be dealing with overgrown teenagers like this. 

“For our local vampires, every single one is a suspect. We haven’t had the best of luck with them, I’m sure you both remember how Halloween turned out,” Armes fixed them both with a look that had sent her best researchers running for the hills. Best to strike the fear of the gods into them, especially the young one. 

“It’s hard to forget,” Ms. Kane muttered under her breath.

“Baz Grimm-Pitch and Adrian Tepes are the two vampires we should look out for, they both have people in town willing to lie for them,” Armes continued. 

Ms. Brown, as always, decided to chime in at an inopportune moment. “Isn’t Adrian Tepes the weird guy who lives in a creepy log cabin out in the woods?” 

“No, Mr. Tepes lives in a castle out in the woods,” Armes said. “Link Faron is the one in the log cabin, who is also on our list. He has a violent history, starting at as young as ten years of age. Slaughter, trauma-”

“I don’t think we need his entire resume, Ms. Sallow,”  Ms. Kane interjected.   I suppose I’ll forgive it this once.

Ms. Brown made a small “oh” sound, suddenly very interested in the sheet of paper in her hands. Good. Perhaps now the blonde would allow them all to carry on with the investigation uninterrupted.”

“Armitage Hux.  Sounds like a rogue name, but who is he?”  Ms. Kane,  good with moving the conversation along clearly.

“A trouble-maker,” Armes had no patience for those of Mr. Hux’s background. She’d seen the effect his kind had on the world and was not keen to see one of them wreck havoc on her town. 

“He works for the Research Center, correct?” Ms. Kane asked,  though it seemed like she already knew the answer to that and was satisfied with it.

“Yes. One of the few there I could never get a handle on.” 

Armes let her eyes trail down the list again. If it were up to her, none of them would even be in Sallow Hills. They were all trouble-makers, even the two in front of her. Pulled from their different worlds to be a direct cause of Armes’ migraines. She had her own issues to deal with, with the original townspeople. Until her researchers discovered the secret to the barrier, Armes was slated to deal with all of the newcomers and all the disasters they brought with them. 

“And Damien Thorn? Why is he clumped together with Michael Langdon and Lucifer Morningstar?” Ms. Brown asked, voice finally at a reasonable volume. 

“Lucifer, while an annoyance, I doubt would pull something like this.  He’s smarter than leaving a dead body where anyone could see,” Ms. Kane said.

“While Mr. Morningstar is a hindrance at his worst, we can’t deny the… demonic parentage of the former two. And how that parentage may be Mr. Morningstar,” Armes coughed. She never did like talking about their kind either. 

“You’re kidding right? The actual Antichrist exists and there might just be two of them walking around?! Was anyone going to say anything about that?” And there it was, Ms. Brown back to her usual, screeching volume. “And you think Damien Thorn, the same Damien Thorn who was cleaning up broken beer bottles in the Community Center, is one of them? I don’t think he would even kill a fly with his own life on the line.”

“We can take Mr. Thorn off if it upsets you so dearly. Mr. Morningstar too, however I fear he may take that as an insult.” Pick your battles, Armes. 

“Well I agree with the Langdon kid.  He looks like the cult type.”  The way it was bit out by Ms. Kane,  Armes suspected there was some … resentment between the vigilante and cults.  Ms. Brown nodded along,  clearly also having some experience with cult things.

“If he didn’t want us to think he was a cult leader, he wouldn’t look so much like a cult leader.” Such a bitter statement, for one as young as Ms. Brown. “And with how specific some of the vic’s wounds are, it could be an initiation killing.” 

Oh joy, a cult. This would have never happened had all the newcomers not been here.  Cults! In her town!

“Speaking of cults,” Ms. Brown piped up again. “The Winchester guy, doesn’t he feel a little ex-culty to you? Very secretive, ‘we protect our own’, and the sheer amount of supposedly hidden weapons I’ve seen them carry. I don’t know, they seem like cult members.”

“I’ve seen him, Sam?, at the library.  He seems focused on that - and on the head librarian Will.   Troubled past, maybe, but not the ‘murder right now’ type,” Ms. Kane added in.  “But didn’t he hang around at Zsasz’s shop?”

“He did, which doesn’t help him in the slightest. Victor Zsasz was actually one of the first I put on that list, along with Michael Myers. Along with Oswald Cobblepot, all of them are-”

“It’s not Oswald!” And now Ms. Brown was standing, hands slammed down on Armes’ desk. There was a hostility to her, one that Armes found she did not like one bit. “He doesn’t even remember Gotham, there’s no way he could still remember how to be a professional killer. I can’t believe you would try and bring up a past he doesn’t even know about against him!”

Was this depth coming from Ms. Brown? The blonde was holding back tears, face contorted into something twisted and tense. It was clear she had a history with Mr. Cobblepot, a familial bond even. Armes had struck a nerve that ran deep. She was about to speak, but decided that a thinly veiled, scathing remark was not the proper response. 

“We’re taking the Bird off the list.  Michael - he’s done nothing more than creep some people out around town.  And you have here that the fingerprints were cut off.  Do you think he knew how to do that?”  Ms. Kane stopped the younger one from going off again,  which was a blessing really.

“Take Oswald off. Or Kate and I leave. Have fun figuring out how to deal with a potential serial killer on your own,” Ms. Brown said through gritted teeth. 

Armes gave a sigh that spoke of her long, long years of life. Hand reaching to scratch out two more names in brilliant red ink, she couldn’t believe she was bending before someone who was only a few years out of childhood. 

“Mr. Cobblepot and Mr. Myers are off. Are we done here, or is there going to be another tantrum over a criminal?” 

Ms. Kane stood at that,  tucking her list into a case she had brought with her.  “I think we’re done, Ms. Sallow.  And I’d prefer if you not insult either of us if you want us to help you.  Steph, ready?”

Armes watched as Ms. Brown gathered up the crime scene photographs and suspect lists into a folder, eyes hard. Daring Armes to pick a fight. What a child. Armes waved the two off, watching as the younger closed her office door with a slam that rattled the hinges. If those two were ever in her office again, it would be too soon. 

Her hands reorganized the mess littering her desk, reaching out for the latest report on the barrier. Finally, she could focus on the issues plaguing the real townspeople.

[asexual-hugger]

Allison McQueen arrives on her parents’ front porch with her boss, Detective Ernest Sinclaire, in tow. Before the trip, Sinclaire had asked Allison what he was supposed to bring with him.

“Something lightweight and your own sweet self,” she had responded. “It’s a farm, so you won’t want to wear anything heavy. It can get hot out in the fields.”

“Am I expected to do any physical labor?” he’d asked. “Not that I wouldn’t be open to it, but I thought your mom wanted your help.”

“Don’t worry; she’s going to get it,” Allison had said. “When I mentioned getting hot out in the fields, I meant being outside. Our porch is fairly big, and we have some VERY comfortable lounge chairs set out on it. You and Kade are here to relax, and I’m here to be the farm girl I was raised as. If anything confuses you while I’m working, you can always ask Kade.”

Now the two of them stand on the large porch Allison had described, and Sinclaire’s eyes keep roving over the chairs and table with awe.

Not long after Allison rings the doorbell that the door opens, and the face of Lady Eleanor McQueen pokes through the crack.

“Allison! You came!” She swings the door open and wraps her only daughter in a huge hug.

“Yeah. I came. Hello, Mom.” Allison squirms slightly in her mother’s strong grip, forcing out the words.

“I didn’t think after our phone conversation the other day that you would make it.” Lady Eleanor releases her and Allison steps back, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking flushed as she meets Detective Sinclaire’s gaze.

“Please. What kind of daughter would I be otherwise?” Allison asks. “Yes, I made it, and I, er, brought someone.” She nods behind her.

“Oh!” Lady Eleanor appears to notice the newcomer for the first time, and she lets out a low gasp. “Forgive me; I didn’t see you there!”

“No worries, Lady McQueen.” Sinclaire boldly steps forward and manages a proper bow. “Detective Ernest Sinclaire, Private Investigator. I’m your daughter’s employer at work.”

He holds out his hand to her, and when she takes it, he turns it over and kisses it in his gentlemanly fashion.

“Oh!” Lady Eleanor says again, only this time it’s almost girlish. “Why, aren’t you becoming! It is such a pleasure to meet you, Detective. I feel as if I know you already by the way Allison gushes about you all the time. I didn’t think you would be so young, let alone dashing! Come in, please, both of you!”

She holds the door open while the two of them pick up their suitcases.

“I’m very sorry to come by unannounced into your home, Lady McQueen,” Sinclaire says, his face flushing. “Allison invited me, and I couldn’t turn her down. I do hope it’s all right if I’m here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Detective; of course it’s all right!” Lady Eleanor waves a hand at him dismissively. “I trust you have been taking very good care of my daughter. Any friend of hers is more than welcome into this household.” She nods over his shoulder at Allison, mouthing, ‘he’s CUTE!’

“I appreciate that.” Sinclaire hesitates and looks back at Allison as if waiting for her cue.

“Go ahead,” Allison urges. “I’ll catch up.”

“So Allison has been ‘gushing’ about me, has she?” Sinclaire looks at Lady Eleanor, and then back at Allison, with amusement. Allison looks at the ground, face hot and unable to meet their gazes.

“Oh, most definitely,” Lady Eleanor tells him, grinning slyly. “She sings your praises all the time. Until today, I never would’ve imagined such a handsome fellow. Her description of you certainly did not lie. Are you absolutely certain you are her employer? Because you don’t look a day older than she.”

“I can assure you, Lady McQueen, I am most definitely her employer,” Sinclaire explains. “And I do wish to hear more about what she has told you regarding myself. I hope she has said encouraging things?”

“Nothing but encouraging,” Lady Eleanor answers. “Every time we talk she raves about her job and how much she’s enjoying it. I take it you are keeping her busy?”

“As much as I can,” Sinclaire replies. “Allow me to state that she is the best assistant I’ve ever hired. You raised a good one, Lady McQueen. She’s dependable, reliable, punctual, and has an excellent attitude. Yes, we may not be all that far apart in age, but I built my detective agency from the ground up all on my own, and until Allison entered the picture, there wasn’t much joy in the business. Your daughter has that presence that fills a whole room with light.”

“I am thrilled to hear you say that, Detective,” Lady Eleanor beams. “Our Allison has always been the light in the darkness. After having two older boys, I begged for a girl, and somehow, after she was born, I just KNEW. I knew she was something special. She brought joy everywhere she went.”

“I have to agree with you on all accounts, Lady McQueen.” Sinclaire tosses glances at Allison as he speaks. “Thank you for being so accommodating.”

Allison grips her suitcase tightly and walks through the door, and he follows soon after. Lady Eleanor calls out into the living room the instant they’re inside.

“Sebastian! Kade! Guess who just arrived!” Her tinkling voice echoes through the house.

“Hey hey hey!” Allison’s father, Lord Sebastian, enters the room carrying a glass of wine. “Is that our little lady?”

“Hi, Dad.” Allison lets him place a fatherly peck on the cheek before he turns and spots her guest.

“Oh, hello. Allison didn’t say she was bringing company.” He seems to be examining Sinclaire from head to toe.

“Er, I’m very sorry, sir,” Sinclaire apologizes, his gentlemanly manners always making him even more adorable. He stammers at the sight of the large man. “Your daughter invited me to stay here while she helped you with the farm work. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll stay out of the way as much as possible. My name is Ernest Sinclaire. I’m a private investigator with Ledford Park Detective Agency. Allison is currently my assistant, and...”

“AHA!” Lord Sebastian utters the word so loudly that both Allison and Sinclaire jump. “So YOU are the famous Detective Sinclaire that my Allison can’t stop raving about! I should have known the second you set foot into this room!” He grins widely and holds out a beefy hand for the private eye to shake. “Welcome to House McQueen, my ever-loving detective friend!”

“Oh, er, yes, I’m that Detective Sinclaire.” Sinclaire shakes his hand. “As I was telling your wife just now, Allison is the best assistant I’ve ever had. She works hard and makes sure everything is done thoroughly...”

“Say no more!” Lord Sebastian downs the wine and thumps the glass on the coffee table. “I am Lord Sebastian McQueen, Allison’s father, and you’ve clearly already met my wife, her mother, Lady Eleanor McQueen. I am very sure my girl is working hard and well at her job. As the man of the house, I say: make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Lord McQueen.” Sinclaire places his suitcase in the hall out of the way and seems to look less intimidated by Lord Sebastian’s large form.

Good god, he thinks. Allison’s father is a mountain man!

Allison certainly did not get her delicate, waif-like ballet dancer’s body from him. “Mum, where’s Kade?” Allison’s voice lifts Sinclaire from his thoughts.

“Oh, yes.” Lady Eleanor leads her to the family room, where the Hide-A-Bed is set out. “He’s in here. Come say hello.”

“Come on, Detective,” Allison urges, taking Sinclaire’s hand. “Come meet my brother.”

“Big sister!” The boy on the bed gives a joyful yelp when he sees Allison. He’s lying on the hideaway bed surrounded by blankets and pillows, and his foot is wrapped in a heavy cast.

“Hey, Kadeo.” Allison leans down and very gently wraps him in a hug. “Looks like you really took the spill this time, buddy.” She eyes his cast and cringes slightly. “That looks a lot worse than Mum described it.”

Kade McQueen shrugs. “It’s no different than last time,” he says indifferently. “Last time it was the stool in the stable. That was super freaky.” His eyes travel over her shoulder and his face brightens. “Oh, hey there! I’m Kade, Allison’s brother. Allison didn’t tell me she was seeing anyone!”

“Actually, this is my boss,” Allison corrects him quickly.

“Hello, Kade.” Detective Sinclaire approaches and smiles at the boy. “I’m Detective Ernest Sinclaire. I’m a private investigator currently working with your sister as my assistant. How’s the foot? Allison told me you fractured it?”

“Yeah, jacking up the plow,” Kade tells him. “It’s no big deal, really. I’ve had a lot worse than this. My family calls me Kade the Klutz. Which, of course, fits me to a T.” He grins widely at Sinclaire before giving him a good long look. “Are you absolutely CERTAIN you are my sister’s boss? Cause you look kinda young, almost like you could be her boyfriend.” He turns to Allison. “Don’t deny that you wanna eat him alive with your eyes right now. You look like you could rip each other’s clothes off any second.”

“KADE!” Allison gapes at her brother, horrified.

“What? I’m not judging!” Kade insists. “You two make a cute couple. If I had any say in this relationship, I’d vote Boyfriend-Girlfriend over Boss-Employee any day. The Titanic of Love has just set sail from the Southampton docks. Woo woo!” He makes a boat whistle noise and pumps his fist.

“Ughhhhh.” Allison covers her madly-flushing face with her hands and groans. “I am so sorry about that, Detective! He must be on some new medicine or something. There’s no way he would act like that if he weren’t high.”

“There’s no apology needed,” Sinclaire assures her. “I actually think it’s kind of cute. Your little brother apparently supports my being here just as much as the rest of your family. I’ve never felt more welcome or loved by anyone before. Do you think we make a cute couple, Miss McQueen?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Allison answers. “But you’re my boss. You even said it yourself. That kind of relationship is forbidden. Business first, personal second. I know you told me you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” Sinclaire says. “Not at the moment, anyway, but that’s only because I haven’t found the right person yet. It’s not because I’m not ready to start dating. However, I do know the right person is out there, and she’s much closer than I ever would’ve imagined.”

He sneaks a glance at Kade over Allison’s shoulder, and when he’s sure Kade is watching, he winks at him.

“Titanic of Love, baby!” Kade swoons. “Titanic of LOVE!”

“Yeah, yeah, buddy, we all know how much I love the Titanic,” Allison says matter-of-factly.

[knuffled]

discipline & punish - chapter two

the new chapter is here as promised! hope you all like it! it would make my day if you reblogged! 

here’s the ao3 link

bloodflood

The waves were choppier the following week. The beach overlooking the sound was besieged by churning, gunmetal gray waves tearing away at the sand, like the sea sought to devour the earth. Annabeth rarely went to the beach as it was – she never felt safe there – but she had even better reason to avoid it now.

She hardly registered time passing that week – an hour spanned the length of a year and a day passed in the blink of an eye. There was something heavy in the air. It was like waiting for an inevitable storm, not the kind you marveled at behind your bedroom window, but the kind where thunder rang too closely, too loudly in your ears and the torrential downpour sounded like gunfire.

Annabeth couldn't help feeling like she had brought a ticking time bomb into her camp. All week her thoughts strayed to Percy, and more than once she'd felt short of breath, like his hands were still wrapped around her throat. When he was finally recovered, she knew that he would confront her, and this time he wouldn't be slowed down. This time he would be at his best.

If Annabeth was being honest, she wasn't sure she could handle his best, although she would never admit that out loud. It wasn't her fault though – years of peace had dulled her instincts. She was grossly out of practice. The traces of the fiery sixteen year old driving a dagger through Kronos's heart in the ruins of Mt. Olympus seemed a distant dream from another lifetime.

Her conversation with Reyna had done nothing to assuage her mounting anxiety either. She had Iris Messaged the praetor of New Rome a few days after her skirmish with Percy in the hospital to get her opinion on the situation. Although they weren’t particularly close, there had always been a mutual respect between them given that they were both leaders of their respective communities.

When her face showed on the Iris Message, Reyna had smiled tiredly and said, “What a surprise. It’s not often that I hear from you.”

“Life’s been busy,” Annabeth said.

“Isn’t it always?” Reyna said, picking at a fraying strand of her cape. “How is New Athens coming along?”

“Good,” Annabeth said, sighing. “It’s just that there is always more to do. You have to come by once it’s finished. I’ll give you a tour.”

Reyna smiled again, more warmly this time. “I’ll have to take you up on that offer. I could certainly use a break.”

“Being praetor sounds stressful,” Annabeth offered.

Reyna pressed her hand to her forehead and sighed. “Not much more than being Camp Director, I would imagine, but you’re right. Neither of us enjoys playing politics and dealing with bruised egos, but that’s not something we can avoid, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve got that right,” Annabeth said, laughing.

“Well, enough of my rambling. I’m sure you’re calling for a reason,” Reyna said, straightening in her seat.

Annabeth bit her lip and tried to think of how best to phrase what she wanted to say. “There’s a new arrival here at camp that concerns me, and I wanted to get your opinion,” she said.

Reyna raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, color me intrigued. It’s not very often to see you bothered by another demigod.”

“He’s – well, he’s different. The main reason I wanted to ask you about him was because he said that he came from the Wolf House,” Annabeth said.

Reyna frowned. “That’s probably a lie. If he was from the Wolf House, he would’ve been sent to Camp Jupiter, not all the way across the country.”

Annabeth nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought at first too, but I don’t know – I get the sense that he isn’t lying.”

When Reyna was silent, Annabeth said, “Do you know a demigod named Percy?”

At the mention of his name, Reyna’s countenance darkened, which did nothing to soothe Annabeth’s growing sense of despair. Reyna screwed her eyes shut and exhaled sharply.

“So that’s where he’s gone,” she muttered.

“You know him?”

Reyna opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes, he came to New Rome, early last summer. At first, we tried to accommodate him, but it became clear that we couldn’t control him. He picked fights wherever he went and clashed with me and Frank over the right to become praetor.”

“What happened?” Annabeth asked.

“He nearly killed Frank. Then when I intervened, I didn’t do much better. Neither of us were prepared for him. Maybe it was because we were so out of practice. I can’t remember the last time I was in a fight to the death, but Percy, on the other hand, seemed very accustomed to it,” Reyna said.

She shifted her toga so Annabeth could get a better look at her shoulder, and Annabeth stiffened when she saw a long jagged scar that ran from the top of Reyna’s shoulder down the side of her stomach, stopping above of her hip.

Reyna must’ve noticed Annabeth’s shocked expression because she grimaced and said, “You should see Frank’s. He was far worse. Spent nearly three weeks in the hospital.”

“So how did you get him to leave?” Annabeth asked.

“It took me and a battalion of other legionnaires to fight him off. Even then, he killed seven of them and injured thirteen others before we succeeded,” Reyna said.

“Jesus,” Annabeth muttered.

Reyna nodded and said, “He’s dangerous, Annabeth. He’s not the type that listens to logic or reason. You need to get rid of him, or you’re in for bloodshed.”

That had been nearly three days ago, but Annabeth still hadn’t made a decision on whether or not to exile Percy from camp. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Reyna or her judgment – it was more so that she wasn’t sure it was fair to exile someone for a crime they had yet to commit. At the same time, Annabeth knew that as Camp Director, her obligation was to the citizens of New Athens and that she couldn’t jeopardize their safety for the sake of one camper. Furthermore, if he was strong enough to push Reyna to the brink, then he was truly dangerous indeed. Annabeth knew firsthand that the praetor of New Rome was powerful enough to rival her.

Despite knowing all these things, there was some resistance to taking preemptive action against Percy in her that Annabeth didn’t understand. Her indecision lasted too long, however, and the window to act slipped away because Percy finished recovering only a few days later.

:::

He found her in the forest behind New Athens. In her younger days, Annabeth had played Capture the Flag or tamed wild pegasi there, but now she went there for peace and quiet. Nonetheless, when he found her that day, Annabeth had been coaxing a wild pegasus to eat an apple she’d brought with her.

The pegasus was as white as fresh fallen snow and very haughty, even more so than other pegasus. It took Annabeth nearly half an hour for the pegasus to even trust her enough to approach her. Eventually, it allowed her to get closer and sniffed and examined the apple before taking a tentative bite. As it ate, Annabeth took the opportunity to run her fingers through its white mane and marveled at how the thin hairs appeared incandescent beneath the dappled sunlight.

That was when she noticed someone was watching her. When she turned around, she almost didn’t recognize who it was, but the newcomer’s eyes gave his identity away. Percy looked completely different with his haircut, now that his face was no longer obscured. Although it wasn’t a word typically used to describe men, Annabeth couldn’t help thinking he looked beautiful. Not beautiful like a jewel safely stored behind a glass window but beautiful like the curve a hawk’s talons, somehow elegant and savage at the same time.

“How’d you find me?” Annabeth asked.

Percy shrugged and moved out into the copse. “Wasn’t hard. You’re the only one around here that smells strong.”

At this proximity, that weird scent of his washed over her, nearly making her stagger. It was stronger now than it had been before. It had already been potent enough beforehand, but now it was taking a lot of conscious effort to maintain a hold of herself. She found herself clenching and unclenching her fingers in an effort to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair. How much more intense would the smell be if she buried her face in the crook of his neck?

Annabeth shook her head in a futile effort to clear her mind. “What do you want? I doubt you made it all the way out here just for some fresh air,” she said.

Percy’s lips curled upwards in the ghost of a smile, but the gesture conveyed malice more than humor. “You know why I’m here,” he said.

“You’ll have to spell it out for me,” Annabeth said.

When he sauntered towards her, Annabeth’s hand twitched towards her thigh before she remembered she hadn’t brought her dagger with her.

“I want to fight for the right to rule,” he said.

Annabeth blinked. “The right to rule?”

Percy nodded and said, “Yes, unless you’re fine with me living as I please and ignoring your rules, but something tells me you wouldn’t agree to that.”

“If you’re staying here, you have to follow the rules,” Annabeth replied. “What makes you think you have any right to lead the camp as a newcomer?”

Percy shook his head and said, “You misunderstand. I have no wish to command. All I want is to do as I please.”

“That’s not the way society works,” Annabeth said, narrowing her eyes.

Percy shrugged and sad, “The strong do not need to bend to what society wants.”

“You think just because you’re powerful, you get to do whatever the fuck you want?”

Percy frowned, like what she’d said was absurd. “Isn’t that only natural? Do you think a dragon cares about the opinions of a rat?”

“You’re not a dragon, and they aren’t rats,” Annabeth said, feeling her irritation mounting.

“That’s not how I see it,” Percy said.

Annabeth grit her teeth. What a little shit. There was no point trying to philosophize with him. He didn’t seem like he would change his mind unless he was beaten into submission.

“So you want the two of us to fight then?” Annabeth asked.

When he nodded, Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I don’t see what I have to gain by fighting you.”

At this, Percy offered a wolfish grin. “Is your life not prize enough?”

Annabeth felt her jaw tighten. Reyna was right. The boy didn’t listen.

:::

A small crowd formed at the training arena that night in preparation for Annabeth’s fight with Percy. Even though they didn’t know what was at stake, they still seemed to sense that this fight was more important than a regular bout of sparring. Annabeth did her best to ignore them, but she could catch scraps of whispered conversations amongst them.

The moon was missing from the sky that night, and the darkness seemed overbearing. There was a chill in the wind that seemed out of place for a night in August and tension hung in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Not for the first time, Annabeth wished Chiron were still here and in charge. He would probably know how to deal with this situation better than she did. He might’ve have been able to figure something out that wouldn’t end in bloodshed.

At the other end of the arena, Percy looked through an assortment of imperial bronze and celestial gold weapons to fight with. His face was perfectly blank, so Annabeth couldn’t tell if there was anything he preferred or didn’t. She had already begun to size him up – looking for clues in his mannerisms, body language, facial expressions, eye movement – anything to give her an idea of just what exactly she was up against. Unfortunately, he gave her nothing to work with.

Eventually, he settled on picking out a half-and-a-half sword made out of celestial bronze. Annabeth watched as he gauged the heft of it in his hand, trying to find its center of gravity, before he moved on to some test strikes with the blade. She’d already had a glimpse of his speed and combat prowess in the hospital, but she was taken aback when the blade vanished in a blur, moving faster than her eyes could track. A pit formed in her stomach – he moved the blade as if it weighed nothing more than a reed and it was clear that he knew how to use it. It was hard to tell under the cover of darkness, but she thought she saw his lips curl upwards in the ghost of a smile.

When he turned towards her, the feral quality inherent to his eyes seemed amplified. Annabeth’s senses already began to sharpen as he walked over to her. It felt less like she was fighting another human being and more like she was preparing to get pounced on by a wild animal. There was something about him that felt definitively inhuman, something about the way he carried himself that screamed that he wasn’t like other people, that he was a different breed altogether, like he was designed to hunt human beings, not live amongst them.

“Are you ready?” Annabeth asked, clearing her throat.

When Percy nodded, she said, “We’ll go three rounds. First to two victories will be the winner.”

Percy barked a laugh. “Do all your opponents give you three chances to take their lives or are you trying to insult me? No, in a fight to the death there can only be one round.”

Annabeth grit her teeth and unsheathed her dagger. “Fine by me.”

They stepped closer to each other, close enough for Annabeth to see the faint splay of freckles on the bridge of his nose. If the crowd was making any noise now, she could no longer hear it. Her hands were not clammy – years of experience had seen to that. Fear vanished and was replaced by a savage excitement as the thrill of the hunt consumed them both.

Percy struck first, his blade moving faster than it had even during his test strokes. Annabeth stepped back, but the tip of his sword caught her cheek and left a small cut. Her senses sharped impossibly further.

This was happening.

Annabeth made a move of her own, stabbing for his inner thigh. Percy parried her strike, but Annabeth was already in motion for her next attack. She swept out with her leg to try to knock him off his feet. The maneuver failed, but that was expected. All she needed was for him to be off balance for her next move. Percy neatly jumped over her leg, as anticipated, and Annabeth continued by thrusting forward with her free hand, aiming for his windpipe. He reacted in the nick of time and ducked to evade her strike, but his pressure stopping her dagger had lessened imperceptibly, which was what Annabeth had been waiting for.

She thrust at his stomach, but Percy failed to avoid it. She felt a surge of triumph when the blade cut through his shirt and slit the side of his torso.

Percy retaliated with a savage strike with the pommel of his sword against the side of Annabeth’s head. Her skull burst with pain, nearly leading her to get decapitated by his subsequent strike, but she managed to parry it with her dagger just barely.

The fight seemed to last an eternity as they exchanged blows. Annabeth realized immediately how he had nearly killed Frank and given Reyna so much trouble. The way he fought had no rhyme or reason. Everything was unpredictable and improvisational. He did things she had never seen anyone else do, such as using the flat of his blade as a blunt instrument or taking advantage of the soil they fought on to subtly unseat her balance. Percy utilized all of his appendages in battle and they were just as deadly as the sword he carried – she could block his blade only to catch a knee to her ribs or an open palm to her ear.

What frustrated her most was that she was unable to get a sense for him at any point in the fight. No matter how strong her opponents had been in the past, after a certain amount of time fighting, she got a sense of their habits and unconscious biases. Perhaps they favored attacking from one side or found it uncomfortable to defend attacks from a certain angle. All human beings had preferences that they were unaware of.

Percy, it seemed however, was an exception to that rule. Just when she thought that he preferred slashes to thrusts or that he tended to pivot with his left foot when he dodged, he would do just the opposite with equal prowess and throw off her assessment.

However, what made her realize that she would lose the fight was that strange fucking smell that clung to him like a perfume. At the beginning of the fight, her senses had been so sharpened and focused on her survival that she had been able to tune it out, but as the fight progressed, it began to seep through her focus. It would cause her to respond sluggishly or lose concentration for just fractions of a second, but against an opponent of Percy’s caliber those fractions meant the difference between life and death.

As a result, she gradually accumulated more and more injuries as the fight drew on. The fact that she was woefully out of practice only sealed with greater certainty that this fight would end with her loss. Despair settled in and she began to get increasingly desperate. Her attacks became progressively sloppier and her defenses more lethargic.

A line of searing pain burst through her when Percy cut the side of her face, carving from the tip of her ear down to her jaw. Blood seeped into her eye as he moved to his next attack. Time slowed down. Annabeth could see that his next strike would skewer her stomach and lacerate her intestines. Even if she were to evade him, Annabeth honestly could not see how to win the fight. At best, she was prolonging the inevitable.

Instead of fear, the emotion that erupted in her at that moment was anger. White, hot anger. This little, eighteen year old fucker who she’d saved from certain death was trying to take her camp from her. Her camp. The one that she spent the last half-decade of her life building, brick by fucking brick.

But what infuriated her more than anything he had done was the fact that she feared him. Deep down in her heart, she was afraid she would lose, and that was something she could not abide by. She had killed the enemies of literal fucking gods. She had looked into the golden eyes of the Lord of Time and stabbed him in the heart and watched as his golden blood coated her fingers. To think that she was afraid of a stripling like Percy was an insult she couldn’t bear.

For once in her life, Annabeth allowed herself to give in to that dark part of her that fought constantly with her for control of her soul, the part of her that sought to dominate and bend others to her will, the part of her that would rather die than allow herself to be ruled by another.

Percy’s sword drew closer to her stomach, but she didn’t step away from it. Instead, she moved slightly to the side. It sank into her flesh and brought with it a bolt of pain unlike anything she’d ever experienced, but that didn’t matter now. Instead, Annabeth curled her free hand around the blade and barely registered how it sliced into her palm and fingers.

For the first time during their fight, Percy looked surprised. Percy tried to unsheathe his blade, but again Annabeth gripped it with all her strength and it would not budge. They locked eyes, unable to look away from each other, and the sound of her blood dripping from the blade seemed unnaturally loud in her ears.

Annabeth’s subsequent movements were utterly unplanned and transpired with an addictive fluidity. She hooked her foot behind Percy’s right heel knocked him off balance. The maneuver would have failed, but Percy knew he couldn’t surrender his blade if he wanted to win, which locked him in place and made it impossible for him to evade her. As Percy fell to the ground, Annabeth pressed her knee to his stomach and followed him down, carefully holding his sword so it didn’t drive further into her as she fell. When he hit the ground, her knee knocked the breath out of his lungs, giving her a split second to press her knife to his throat.

By the time he recovered his breath, she had her entire body weight on top of him with her knife pressed against his throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood, her hand still wrapped around his sword with a death grip.

“Yield,” Annabeth grit out.

For a few seconds, Percy silently glared up at her, so Annabeth dug her knife further into his skin. With a little more pressure, she would cut his windpipe and kill him. Percy realized this and finally released his sword and held his palms up in surrender.

His voice was low and raspy as he said, “I yield.”

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day One | Shining Armor ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ]

[ Previous || Next ]

It all comes down to this.

Checking and double checking his gear, Obito can’t help a worried sigh. For weeks he’s been considering giving a new hobby a try, and even before then he’d started saving for something to do. He stumbled across a possible activity completely by accident when making a detour home one day from work. In a park he’d never visited was a group of twenty or so people - adults, mind you - doing what looked to be some kind of...really involved make-believe.

A little research revealed it to be called LARPing. Live-action roleplaying. Like taking one of his favorite fantasy videogames or a tabletop campaign, and making it as close to real as one can really get: literally acting it out, in real time, with real people. Dressed up as their characters and everything!

He was hooked.

Hours of research later, he’d gotten started: crafting his outfit, weapons, supplies, and a character to play. A barbarian warrior...something he thought suited his build, and his appearance.

No real need to explain his scars, that way.

It took a while to build up the nerve, but he finally approached one day and asked about how to join. Most events were just day-long ones as opposed to full weekends, he’d learned. And an entry fee helped cover a few costs like extra props, costumes, and even food for the players over the course of the day. Fifty bucks and he could hop in.

He hadn’t done so right away, still fiddling with all the details of his character. He wanted it to be perfect…! But eventually there was nothing left to procrastinate, so...he packed up his gear and headed out.

And now here he is, standing with a few other newcomers. Thankfully his underclothes were normal enough to walk here in, and he starts strapping on armor he’d made. It’s nothing too fancy, but he managed to get some metallic paint to make it look like real steel. Overall, for his first go of it? He’d say he’s done well. There will always be time to improve as he goes, right?

It’s a high fantasy setting, as he’s learned. Elves, magic, that sort of stuff. Pretty typical, as far as he’s read. And while he’s set to be a moldable, playable character, so too are there those who play more static roles for the players to interact with...as well as those helping to craft the stories. Each only takes six to eight hours, as not to drag on past each day gathering. But some end up interconnected. Today, it seems, given all the new faces, they’re starting a new event.

The main coordinator and storyteller gathers the characters together to give a brief overview, as well as introduce the NPCs before they start. But once it begins, there’s no breaking character. Hours of being someone else for a day - no longer is he Obito, but Garver the Crushing, complete with a mace and shield he found tutorials for online.

With the plot set, everyone disperses, taking their places and readying for the game to begin. Obito, along with a few others, start by browsing the “town” to gather supplies for an upcoming battle set to take place. His character doesn’t know any magic...but he can certainly use things like throwable weapons, and potions to ensure he doesn’t get taken down too easily.

But the NPC selling potions is swarmed first, so he idles around for a bit, browsing a selection of weapons available for gold...or in this case, real-world quarters used in place of anything too fancy. In the end he picks up a dagger, not wanting to eat into his character’s savings too much.

He then finds the potion “shop” empty of other patrons, and shyly makes his way forward.

Right away he can tell, this one’s a pro. Not only does she have a good array of props, but her outfit looks entirely legit. Within an actual period-appropriate tent are few shelves, complete with a banner: White Dragon Remedies, it proclaims. Bottles filled with shimmering liquid are made of a squishy, clear material to prevent any breaks. She also has some “enchanted” clothing: more glittering fabric to indicate their magical properties.

Turning to face him, she reveals more of her outfit. While her actual dress is a rather plain dark grey, it’s her cloak that makes his jaw drop comically. White with silver embroidery work, it’s a piece of art in and of itself. It sweeps the grass, a wide hood draped over her head, still revealing her fake (but very convincing) elven ears.

Her eyes are a light grey, almost white to match her colorless locks. Even her brows and lashes are white! He wonders if it’s makeup and a wig, or if this is how she actually looks.

“Greetings, traveler,” she offers with a smile that makes his chest clench. “Are you in need of my brews…? Or perhaps something laced with magic to protect you?”

Still a bit shell shocked, Obito flounders for a moment like a fish out of water. Clearly she’s a long-standing player to be this prepared and decked out. “Uh, I...y-yeah. Um…”

As he stutters, she can’t help a glint of amusement in her eyes he’s pretty sure isn’t in-character - she’s actually having to hold back a laugh, he can tell. “I have a wide variety of wares,” she offers, clearly trying to help him regain his head. “Potions of healing, articles of protection, and even scrolls of contained spells for those unable to cast enchantments themselves. All highly valuable on the battlefield for a warrior such as yourself. Is there anything specific you’re looking for…?”

Trying to delve back into his character, Obito looks around. What would Garver like to take with him…? “I’ll take healing potions, at any rate. What do they cost?”

“I’ve one that can heal a minor wound, and one for a more...serious injury. The former is ten gold, and the latter twenty.”

Ooh, he...won’t be able to get too many. His ears turn red in embarrassment at his both in- and out-of-character poverty. Weighing his coin pouch, teeth nibble the scar along his lip in thought.

“I also have garments that help reduce damage taken. More costly, but also more effective over time. You’ll need fewer potions for as long as you have it, my lord.”

“Oh, I’m no lord,” Obito quickly refutes. Garver is a simple mercenary, after all.

“Any patron of mine receives my respect,” is her polite rebuke. Reaching for a verdant scarf, she holds it aloft for him to look at. “This will halve any damage you take. A robust enchantment indeed.”

Something about it catches his eye. “...and the cost?”

“Fifty gold is all. And, since you’re a new face in town, I’ll throw in a lesser potion of health for good measure, no extra charge.”

“But -?”

“Dark times lie ahead, traveler. We must all be cautious. And you’ll need to survive them to visit me again when you’ve more coin to spend, hm?” She winks an eye, and his chest flutters again. “Consider it an investment in your well-being. And perhaps mine, if you ever return.”

Blinking at her, Obito then looks down at the scarf. It does sound like a pretty good deal… “...I’ll take it.”

“Excellent!” Folding the scarf as he counts out his quarters, she fetches one of the blue sparkling potions. “I wish you luck, traveler. May fortunate winds blow at your back.”

“A-and you,” he stutters in reply. “...thank you.”

“Save your thanks for when that scarf saves your life, stranger.”

“...Garver.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I - my name, it...it’s Garver.”

Her expression brightens. “Ah! A pleasure, lord Garver. I am Wyria of the White Dragon. I hope our paths will cross again sometime.”

Not sure how to reply, Obito just gives a sheepish nod before retreating. Nearby, another male player seems to evaluate his gear.

“Well met,” he offers, nodding to Obito in greeting.

“Hello.”

“Been to stock up on potions, have you?”

“Er...yeah. Yes. I...can’t afford much.”

“A mercenary’s life is spent in constant search of coin, eh? You must spend it to make it.”

The corner of Obito’s mouth twitches. This interaction seems a lot...easier. “True enough. Though just once I’d like to get ahead.”

“All it takes is one lucky break! And just one unlucky one to have it all come to a screeching halt. We walk a blade’s edge, my friend.” Holding out a hand, he offers, “Irkvar.”

“Garver,” Obito replies, shaking it.

“So...what think you of the potion seller?”

“What do I...think?”

The other man grins. “A beauty, isn’t she? Not often you see elves this far north. They seem to prefer the warmer climates. But she keeps us all stocked and alive.”

Before he can stop it, Obito’s brow furrows. “...seems we’re lucky to have her, then.”

“Indeed.” Glancing around, the man then leans in and whispers, breaking character for a moment. “She’s a professional cosplayer. Goes to cons and makes big bucks with photos and shit. She’s huge on Instagram, too. All-natural hottie - no wig or anything, that’s just how she looks. Makes her super popular if the cosplay fits well. Wouldn’t mind getting to know her better but she tends to ghost once the events are done.”

At the rather...objectifying language, Obito scowls. “Can’t imagine why,” he mutters sarcastically.

But his tone seems lost on his companion, who then slides back into character. Yet even as the idle speech drags on, Obito can’t help but remain annoyed with the guy.

What an ass.

Once the prologue is completed and the characters found to be ready for the next phase, Obito manages to evade his new “friend” and immerse himself more into the story. The city has received word of an impending attack...and he has a choice to make. Stay and fight for the city, and receive less gold...or betray them and join the attacking force, which has more gold to spare.

Thinking of the goods he could acquire with some extra spending money, Obito nonetheless finds himself tugged toward the moral high ground. So after some debate, he decides to remain in the city. A few more darker-aligned characters actually swap, and he finds himself preparing to face them.

It’s them, or him.

Hours pass as skirmishes start and stop. Strategies are laid out, twists in the story guided by the NPCs. Obito, scarf around his neck, manages to keep his character alive, relying on his single potion as the battle seems to wane.

But then the boss appears...and he realizes he’s made a grave mistake. There’s no way he’s going to make it with no more potions! He could do the cowardly thing and run, but -?

“I cast Wall of Spectral Light!”

Jolting, he turns to see the potion seller. A hard glint is in her eyes, staring at the boss with a snarl.

Seems she’s decided to work to protect her home.

The narrator calls out the spell’s effects, proclaiming that her actions help protect a section of the defending army...including Obito. No damage is taken, but the barrier can only repel so much damage. From a belt at her waist, she begins tossing extra potions to the players.

“I’ve no gold,” Obito replies.

“We’ll settle any debts later, should we live through this,” she replies, looking to him gravely.

For a moment, Obito forgets this is all a game. He meets her desperate gaze with one of his own, and there’s a sort of...spark.

But they don’t have much time to chat.

The battle rages on, player characters calling out spells as Wyria and other NPCs lend scripted hands. And just as the sun starts setting, someone lands the final blow...and the boss collapses, dead.

A chorus of triumphant cries echo out over the park, and characters celebrate, embracing and beating chests. Obito sags in relief. In truth...he’s exhausted. More so than a day at work!

And as the cheering goes on, it’s joined by children who had stopped to watch, Obito sheepishly waving to them and earning more excitement. Seems they’re convinced this is all real: the joys of childish imagination.

Looking just as tired as the rest of them, the NPCs offer their congratulations to their heroes. And Wyria greets Obito, much to his surprise.

“So, seems that scarf served you well, Garver,” she offers with a wry grin. “I think you can properly thank me, now.”

“It did...as did your potions. I owe you more than just gold - I owe you my life.”

“You and a few others,” she replies cheekily. “But all debts will be settled in time. I’m sure  I have a job or two you can do for me sometime.”

Grinning tiredly, Obito watches her for a moment before everyone is gathered for a final celebration in the town. As it begins to wind down, the storyteller declares the event over, and everyone is allowed to break character at last.

Sighing in relief - yet wholly satisfied with his Saturday - Obito glances around. It’s then he realizes he didn’t see Wyria in the party, and indeed she’s instead been packing up.

Seems the man from before is right - she doesn’t waste any time. It wilts his expression, as he’s pretty sure he understands why. Keeping his helmet tucked under his arm, he sheepishly approaches. “...need any help?”

At his voice, she spins around, eyes wide, still dressed in her attire. But she softens as she recognizes him. “Ah, sorry...I thought you were, uh...nevermind.”

“I think I know who you mean,” Obito assures her. “So I thought I’d lend a hand, if...you want it.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

They finish dismantling her setup, which Obito compliments. “This must’ve taken a lot of time.”

“And money,” she assures him dryly. “But...I love it. It’s been worth every dollar and hour. I love acting and dressing up, so...it only makes sense. I was one of the people who helped set up the LARP group here.”

“Really?”

“Mhm! Right out of high school. It was really small and...cheap at first. But we’ve grown a lot over the years. We even put on shows for schools sometimes. Which helps earn more money to keep the group going.”

“That’s awesome!”

“Maybe you’ll join us for one?”

“Eh…” At that, he hesitates. “...maybe. I’m still, uh...new. And…” He gestures to his face, wilting. “...not sure I’d be good around kids.”

“They seemed to love it before. And they’ll just believe it’s part of your character. Are…?” It’s her turn to pause. “So...those are real?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. The hair and stuff, I mean.” Her eyes roll. “Used to get me bullied, but I do pretty well thanks to it now.”

“Someone mentioned you cosplay professionally…?”

“Mhm. It’s not a full gig, I still work. But it helps. And it’s a lot of fun, when...people aren’t being jerks.”

Obito sours. “Yeah...I caught a whiff of that earlier. I’m sorry.”

“It comes with the territory. Just...wish that it didn’t.” After a pause, a box of stuff in her arms, she offers, “I...just realized I never introduced myself! My...real self, that is. I’m Ryū.”

“Obito.”

“Nice to meet you. And thanks for the help.”

Helping her load the last boxes into her car, Obito can’t help but ask, “So...do you always play an NPC?”

“I do. As much as a character is fun, I enjoy being part of the structure. And since I’m one of the founders, I feel more...set in stone that way. I play Wyria every time. So I’m almost like a playable character, just...set to a script. I’m the same person for every story, but I enjoy it a lot. I feel like a piece of the foundation that way.”

“I think I understand.”

Closing the car door, she gives him another look. “Thanks for helping me pack up. And…” She glances past him for a moment, and his head tilts. “...for helping ward anyone else off.”

Obito nearly turns to look, but brightens in understanding. “...oh! Yeah, sure. Any time.”

“So, will you be back next weekend?”

“Er...maybe.” He itches his neck guiltily. “The, uh...ticket price is a little steep for me.”

“Yeah, it can be. Very few people come every week. Mostly it’s every other, or once a month. It keeps the group fluid, though. A different pool every time.” Ryū gives a smile. “But it’ll be cool to see you again. You did really well for a first timer!”

Obito feels himself get warm at the compliment. “Y-yeah?”

She nods. “Did you do any theater in high school?”

“A little, yeah.”

“That helps. And it only gets easier the more you do it. I’m sure Garver will be a staple pretty soon. And Wyria will always be happy to sell him some potions...for the right price.”

Smiling bashfully, Obito then stiffens. “Oh -!” He reaches up and takes off the scarf. “Here, I -”

“No, that’s yours.”

“...but -?”

“You bought it in-game, so it belongs to Garver.” She waves a hand. “I get material and stuff pretty cheap, don’t worry about it. And players trade things back in for upgraded stuff, so it usually cycles back. Just don’t lose it, okay?”

“Oh...well, thanks.”

She just smiles in reply. “Well, I guess I’ll see you whenever you can make it back in! Take care, Obito.”

“Yeah, you too.” He steps aside, letting her pull away from the park’s lot in the dusk of evening.

He needs to get home, too...it’ll be dark by the time he gets back. Stripping off his gear and putting it back into his duffle bag, Obito smiles to himself. It was a really good day…! Better than he’d feared. And maybe he’s even making a new friend, both in and out of character. Sadly his low wages mean it might be a while before he can come back, but...well, it’ll be worth the wait.

Replaying it all in his mind, he starts back toward home, unable to help but linger on the scenes with Garver and Wyria. Partly he feels bad - he doesn’t want to be like Irkvar. But, well...her character is interesting! And Garver just...enjoyed her. That’s all.

...that’s all.

     Aw yisss, we’re back with another ObiRyū October, y’all! And the first piece is set in a modern verse with some LARPing, cuz...Obito is a canon professional LARPer, after all xD And the prompt just fit too well, I couldn’t not do it lol      I have a few buffer days built up JUST in case I fall behind (as I...always do), but I’ll still be writing to try and keep up. Otherwise, as per usual, I’ll be doing my best to post once a day through the whole month in celebration of my OTP!       So on that note...I better start working on more xD Thanks for reading!

[monochromemedic]

Bar Chat

I stood nervously at the bar, shifting my feet as Deacon laughed and leaned against the wall, staring me down. from behind the lens.  “You just took down a group of super mutants! And you can’t order a meal or a drink. You just gonna let me go thirsty Jen?” Deacon opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out a little bit, pretending to lick up any moisture in the air “I’ll just... hope there’s a few water droplets in the air and... drink from that.” “You’re such a drama queen...” “Hey... i’m a king, baby.” Deacon retorted, giving a couple of snaps of his fingers before going up to the counter, and beginning to talk to the bartender, holding up a couple of fingers as he talked. I stared at him and sighed, crossing my arms and looking to the ground, nervously thinking about the eyes that would dart from me and Deacon, the newcomers, or just about how Deacon would take the lead in more social situations.  Bartering was a big one. If it wasn’t for Deacon i’d be selling guns for 5 caps a pop no mater how fancy it was. Convincing people of things or pushing people at times could come, depending on how severe it was needed like serious situations but as for how well it worked... well. It was not alot.  Deacon was the charmer, the face, the chatter box, the looker.  And I was more of the uh... gun. Deacon was also a gun but out of the both of us he was certainly more of the hide and prod. I was the uh... heart? The bullet sponge that was for sure... Deacon came back, smiling wide as he tapped two glass bottles together, handing me the Nuka-cherry. “Look what they had in stock~. Look at how considerate I am, remembering your favorite drink and even picking it up... “ I smiled a little, perking up and grabbing the drink. “I owe you. I’d say I could even kiss you.” “Well you know this cheek is always free for kissin” I felt my cheek grow pink as I struggled with the cap on the bottle, tapping it a bit before trying to yank and twist it open.  I shifted a bit nervously, not wanting to ask him for help. It was just a bottle I could open it. I could feel Deacon’s shadow form over me, hand reaching over to grab at my bottle. “Baby... baby, baby hands... Baby hands give me. Big strong dad hands will open it for the baby.” My cheeks reddened more as I turned away from him, trying to twist it harder and hurting it in the progress. Deacon’s hand grew closer, fingers twitching. “Little infant hands... so soft...” “You... are so mean to me.” I whined, sighing and giving up my pride as he easily opened it, pocketing the cap for himself. “I’m only mean to the people I care about. You should be jumping for joy when you hear my insults! Every insult is hand crafted, analyzed with such precision to tailor just to you...” Deacon opened his beer and took a swing, eyeing up a table in the progress.  He moved over, sliding a chair out and sitting down, nudging his head over to the chair beside him. “Take a load off.” I sat down in the chair, scooting it close to him  and leaning my head against his arm. “Maybe I should insult you more... I mean like... if it means you love or care about someone then I should give some harsh love.” I turned to look at him, squinting as I tried to pick at something to rag on. “I uh... hate how you can just go up and talk to people. Like you own the damn place.  You don’t you own nothing your... you’re the owner of nothing. “ “Bad, but you’re getting somewhere keep going.” He encouraged. “You... act like your such hot shit... Your voice is so sickeningly sweet at times it’s like... are you compensating for something? You... you uh... got a little dick?” I asked, giving a little laugh before looking away, smacking my head on the table and resting it there at my shitty insult. Deacon feigned a gasp, putting a hand to his heart “How... dare you... I’ll let you know I have a surprisingly average penis. But then again I don’t kiss and tell.” “How do I know that’s not a lie hmm? You are a liar.” “Oh well... maybe just ask around more. People will tell you about how good I am. Or you could just find out for yourself-” I cut him off by coughing and choking on my cola, hand hiding my face as I gasped for breath. “D...Deek. You can’t just say that...” “What you were dishing it out, why can’t I say some stuff back?” I pressed my hand against my mouth, eyes darting away from looking at Deacon. Deacon was a bit of a flirter, then again he flirted with everyone. It was his charm. Though he seemed to do it alot with me. Was it because he was comfortable, or that I was his friend? Was it because he knew that I loved him?  I could never tell and it drove me crazy. I eventually l looked over at him, Eyes lidded as I searched him and down. “I mean you can it’s just...  I uh... Well I just... you know how I am.” “...In this context? No.” “Uh well a romantic... nervous. Shy.” “Oh I mean yeah. But you make dick jokes all the time. Does me just saying stuff make you nervous cause you know if I say something you don’t like you can just tell me.” “It’s... not that. I just.. When... you say it.” He paused, tapping his bottle and giving a soft ‘oh’ in response. A small silence filled the air as we listened to the chatter of the bar, the sound of diamond city radio in the background. “I shouldn’t tease you about that. I’m... being a real ass about that. That’s not fair.” He spoke up “I don’t wanna give excuses but, well I uh... I don’t get that alot. Maybe... drunk one offs or... alot of one offs. They don’t end anywhere. That’s not... love it’s lust. They don’t know who I really am but I told you... things. Things I don’t tell anyone and you still stick around, hell you got even closer. I don’t get that and I don’t deserve it so I just... joke. You know.” I gave him a little smile, hand nervously and gently touching his arm. When I saw he wasn’t pulling away I spoke up. “It’s ok Deacon, really. It doesn’t bother me that much, just makes me blush. And I mean... your going though some emotions you don’t get alot. I’m doing it too.. We’re both just awkward assholes. Just two dumbasses not knowing how to deal with shit. And well... you know how I feel about your past and showing more of yourself. I just care about you big guy, You deserve good shit. Even if you don’t reciprocate it just knowing that someone thinks you’re a stud,” I stopped to laugh, pushing a strand of hair back “It feels good. At least, I think it would, to be called hot shit so... just take the damn compliment is what i’m trying to say “ Deacon seemed to let out a breath, a smile returning to his face as he took his other hand and placed it on top of mine. “You’re nice... and right. I should take the compliment. So thank you for saying i’m a total hunk. I’ll be sure to rub that in Carrington’s face.” That earned a little laugh from me, nudging his side. “There you go, that’ll piss him off like nothing else.” Another small silence, as we closed up our thoughts on that matter. I tried to savor the moment, touching the rough skin of his hand and arm, feeling his grip tighten a bit before letting go, going back to silly chats as Deacon ruined the moment by commenting on the goofy painting that was plastered on the wall, making me chuckle. Maybe he didn’t love me. Maybe he would never love me but just having him around and being my best friend would be enough for me in the end.

[etherian-affairs]

Flagrant Breaches of Conduct

@crimson-r wanted these posted. Enjoy our OC ship nonsense because we’re garbage. These are based on/stories for crimsons art. Also this is a two for one.

Content warning for space lezbeanz partaking in some light spice. 

Bed - Story for this piece.

ESS-1172's eyes shoot open at exactly 0400 ship time. No matter when she falls asleep she will wake up at that time or whatever her internal chronometer believes that time is. Surroundings are analysed immediately. She is aboard the Samos. She is in The Madame's bedchamber. She is in the Madame's bed. 

There's a blanket over her. There's hair brushing against her skin. The Madame is with her, to her left, turned away and still. Hera is asleep. Not dozing, but properly asleep. They share the blanket.

ESS-1172's honed mind analyses their body positions. Noting the quickest ways to plunge her teeth or talons into the Madame. Noting how peaceful and calm the Madame's entire body appears. How uncharacteristically serene she is. 

By 0401 ship time ESS-1172 is making note of a strange wiggly feeling in her chest. Unfamiliar emotions squirming in there. It's not unlike when she looks at a beautiful weapon or watches a city burn. Different somehow though. If it is unfamiliar it is likely irrelevant. 

Instead ESS-1172 decides to focus on a different feeling. A lower one. The Madame is beautiful, unmarred. Her physique is perhaps a little unhoned but there is allure to those slight hints of comfort. The specialist props herself up, and leans in to softly blow on the upper curve is the Madame's ear. 

With a flick of the ear and a murmur Hera is roused from slumber. Her head turning to catch 1172's gaze. Red eyes momentarily confused, then annoyed at being woken up. 

"ESS-1172 what are-" the Madame doesn't finish that thought. The specialist doesn't care about what she has to say right now. 

The annoyance in those red eyes becomes surprise when the specialist suddenly leans in and passionately kisses her. A murmur escaping when ESS-1172s reaches around her to grab her hip and roll her onto her back. The Madame's eyes close. 

The specialist is filled with her own desire now. Like the anticipation for a kill but somehow better. Once the Madame is on her back 1172 shifts herself to press a knee between Madame's legs, spreading them so her curled knuckles can begin to tease Madame's sensitive core.

A moan escapes the Madame and vibrates through the specialists body, then suddenly a hand is around the back of ESS-1172s neck, holding her in their passionate interlock. It's not a strong grip by the specialists standards, but somehow it feels inescapable regardless.

When Madame's claws dig into 1172s arm, drawing blood, that wiggly feeling in the chest wells up again. The strange emotion just drives the specialist further. She wants more of those moans. She wants to see the Madame buck and curl.

Then she wants to watch the Madame sleeping peacefully again.

Wall - Story for this piece.

Madame Hera was starting to actually have some trouble focusing. While yes it has been days since she got a proper night of sleep she has been supplementing with the occasional doze. Normally that would be enough to let her keep going well enough for this long. No it really was the tedium of the current work was starting to take its toll.

Hera has been working with the government of a new world she has 'adopted' into the Horde non-stop for days. They were already united under the victor of a world war they had just fought a couple of their decades ago, and when the Madame arrived they seemed quite amenable to the Horde.

Then they revealed themselves to be so very boring.

That isn't to say the initial political maneuverings weren't quite enjoyable. First contact was, as it often is, quite an entertaining affair, and as talks of integration into the Horde have evolved the first hours and even days at the table were a wonderful duel of political interests!

Then she got past the initial stages of setting up the framework for negotiations and it all ground to a complete halt. Not even in an interesting way. Rather the bureaucracy involved in this species planetary government can only be described as insanity. It feels as if every sentence needs to be passed along a chain of people that stretches around the equator of the stupid little planet they call home.

It's all so exhaustingly boring.

Madame Hera's eyes look up from the file in hand as someone new enters the informal conference room she's sitting in. She had hoped going back to a more casual setting would help expedite things but that didn't seem to be panning out. At least she can do her work from a sofa now. The newcomer is ESS-1172, in her full armor but lacking her assortment of weaponry. The specialist hasn't been needed for any of this but Hera has noted her orbiting the talks a few times over the days. Never this close though. ESS-1172 finds a place in the back of the room, looking at some papers laying on a table. 

Hera finds herself dreadfully curious about what the specialist is up to, if only because nothing else going on is very interesting.

Frustratingly ESS-1172 does not do much of note. She stands there, looks over the room. Picks up and reads, or pretends to read, some documents. Someone asks who she is and Hera hears her say she's a special military consultant. A surprisingly good lie from the killer. Though perhaps her breed are trained for such things.

It's as the Madame finally decides that ESS-1172 must just be here out of boredom and ceases her discreet observation that she feels the looming. She looks up too see the familiar blank helmet staring down at her. Was 1172 waiting for Hera to stop paying attention to approach?

"...Yes?" Hera asks blandly.

"There's a private communication for you Madame, you should take it outside." ESS-1172 replies quickly and curtly. Some of the other Horde personnel here glance around quizzically.

"Very well." Madame Hera stands, straightening out her dress. ESS-1172 is up to something and if Hera is lucky it's a bombing. 

That's not true. A bombing would actually be bad considering that things are going positively, just slowly.

So Hera heads out, and ESS-1172 follows, into the corridors beyond that room. "ESS-1172 what is going on?" Her voice holds a tone of annoyance. 

"You're unfocused. Tired." The Specialist says evenly. Then suddenly she grabs Hera by the arm and pulls the Madame into a side corridor! "You've been showing signs of it steadily over the past few days but these last hours have been bad." 

Has ESS-1172 been observing her in detail? Can the specialist tell her mental state that easily? And she also has the audacity to grab her Madame?! "ESS-1172 unhand me." Hera hisses. Venom dripping.

"Of course, Madame." The specialist replies in her normal way as she suddenly pushes the Madame into… a closet? What is going on here? She does let Hera go after that moment though.

The Madame is furious. How dare this underling touch her without permission, manhandle her and pull her into some closet for no reason. She is about to reprimand the specialist when suddenly the door is shut behind them and the specialists helmet is pulled off with a hiss of seals opening. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Hera demands. Now furious and marginally confused by ESS-1172s strange behavior. Her claws are flexing on instinct.

The lavender eyed demon takes a moment to floof her hair up before replying. "You're unfocused." She repeats. "Your emotional energy is low and your work may suffer for it. It also makes you more vulnerable to attack." 

"That does not explain this unacceptable behavior." Hera's voice isn't raised but it holds a tone. Fury, superiority, like the wrath of God. This is in effect her yelling voice.

"I'm helping raise your endorphin levels." There's a glint of lavender teeth in the dark now. ESS-1172 Apparently completely unphased by Madame's anger. This is followed quickly by the specialist lowering herself down. Placing kisses and light bites on the exposed skin on Hera's side as hands grip the Madame's hips.

Oh.

"ESS-1172 we are in the middle of importaHH" teeth dig into her side, at the same time one of the other woman's talons cuts through the Madame's underthings. Emotions mix in the Madame now, her fury still there but swirling with excitement and desire. This is unexpected, incredibly disrespectful, a complete breach of conduct, and wildly exciting.

Suddenly Hera feels the specialists hands reach around to her backside and she's lifted up off the floor with ease. Her back pressed against the wall behind her. ESS-1172's powerful physique manipulating her as if she's nothing. Her legs are thrown over the specialists shoulders and met immediately with biting and nibbling on her inner thighs.

The Madame gasps. It's becoming increasingly clear just how pent up she has been, how much she needs this. As the larger woman's face nuzzles into Hera's core and her tongue teases across the Madame's sex it becomes clear how much Hera wants this.

"Do not tease. No time." Hera gets out. Her command obediently met as 1172's tongue snakes in properly. ESS-1172 loves to play, and often Hera is happy to indulge and let things drag on but there is in fact a political meeting happening in the other room. 

The Madame manages to keep her noises relatively quiet at least.

When all is said and done Hera pants lightly from her seat on the floor, regaining her composure slowly. She does indeed feel reinvigorated.

Then she spots ESS-1172 pull a pair of black lace panties from a pouch on the belt of her armor. She hands it over to the Madame.

Hera almost laughs. "You came prepared."

"It would be a potential disadvantage to return to the talks without. You despise disadvantages." ESS-1172 is smirking. Pleased with herself.

Hera is rather pleased with her as well. Though there is still the matter of how this was all initiated to deal with.

"I'll punish you for your insolence later." The Madame finally notes before getting herself up. "You will communicate your intents clearly going forward." She adds. 

"Of course, Madame."