#Name That Bird was midway through

[ultimateinferno]

Congrats to the newest Game Changer episode for setting the record on pissing Brennan off the fastest at 3 minutes and 30 seconds.

[plutolovesyou]

Bro I literally eat up ur writing every time😭can u do ellie using a vibe on u?

before you read.

☆: KILLING 3 BIRDS W ONE STONE HEHE. i feel these all go well, so why not. sorry for the insane wait, and the wildly lazy writing...me putting this off forever only to bang out a crappy blurb in like 2 mins...also can't stick to a single aesthetic WHATEVA.

◇: vibrator use, fingering, porn w/out plot (sawry), dom-ish ellie (but she's still kinda silly), overstimulation, squirting, aftercare at the end (all r! recieving).

"you can take it, doin' so good." she murmurs under her breath, her face contorted in concentration.

you squeal when ellie presses the vibrator hard against your poor, overworked clit, the sensations almost too much to bear. but no matter how overwhelming it may be, it's still so mind numbingly good. the device has been set on a mode midway for the past...however long, and you've completely lost count of how many times she's made you cum thus far. for all you knew, it could have been well into the double digits, and she didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

ellie’s eyes were dark, low with blown out pupils. they remain trained on you, flickering between observing your facial expressions, your squirming body, covered in a shiny layer of sweat, and what's going on under her hands. "...ellie, hold on...wait." you gasp out, struggling to catch your breath.

she detaches the device from you, her tattooed hand traveling up your body, settling on the side of your face to cup your cheek, and wipe away a stray tear that had escaped from your eye. "need a break, babe?" she says, her gaze softening. that honey voice she puts on, featuring a light domineering timbre, it immediately makes you wet all over again and you whimper quietly, bucking your hips up in pursuit of more stimulation. she notices—of course she does, observant as a fox—and her lips stretch into a sneer, "yeah that's what i thought, still need more." she chuckles, before thrusting the tip of the toy back onto your swollen clit, biting her lip when she watches you arch backward, mantras of her name and pleas falling from your lips.

her free hand, which was previously resting on your knee, flies down the inside of your parted thighs, grazing the heated skin, and she teases your hole with two digits, eagerly observing the reactions. she quickly stuffs her middle two fingers inside with ease, slick and pearly cum leaking down her slender knuckles. curling upwards to massage your g-spot, the pleasure is causing explosions of colors to appear in your vision, your eyes are filling with tears once again.

"just gimme one more, okay?" ellie orders gently, clicking buttons to increase the intensity of the vibrator even more, and you nearly shriek. out of instinct your legs fight to close around her hands, but she's quick to push your knee to the side again, tutting. "nuh-uh, don't do that. just one more. say the safeword if you really want me to stop, alright?" you open one eye and nod meekly at her, and she resumes. within no time at all you feel the brink of orgasm swell in your lower abdomen once more, your legs trembling at every purr of the toy. and she can tell as well by the way you're whining and panting, all with a fucked out, lazy smile playing on your face.

silent moans trapped in your throat, you feel the blinding ecstasy overtake your body, blacking out your senses for a moment. she has lessened the setting to work you through it effectively, all while muttering sweet praises throughout.

"god, look at that." she whispers in awe once it's over, discarding the device on the floor and rubbing her hands across your legs to ease the tension in your thighs, making sure you're okay. she hovers over you to press a tender kiss to your forehead, then over your entire face, grinning when she hears you laugh.

her goofy tone returns, "fuckin' squirted all over me, baby. we'll clean up just gimme a sec." she cuddles up to you, nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck, sighing and softly stroking the top of your head. "next time we'll do a couple more, make a new personal best, whaddaya think?"

tags (idk why some didn’t work): @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @lanabaezzzz

[fastandcarlos]

My Hero : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: when your heel breaks, you don’t quite know what to, luckily for you, charles is there to save the day

It was typical. Just your luck.

You were used to going to busy events, glamming yourself up and making sure that you looked the part by Charles’ side. Every time you had the same pair of shoes that you trusted to wear that kept you safe and left you without any injury. You loved how comfortable they were, when everything else around you was so frantic, it was a huge relief knowing that you could get from A to B without worrying about falling over or having to hold onto Charles to stop yourself from losing your balance.

However, as you headed to the restaurant you were meeting some colleagues at, your trusty shoes broke all of that. As you went up the kerb the heel got stuck, and as you tried to untangle it, you could hear the crack. Luckily for you, no one was around to see you troubled, but that didn’t stop you from silently cursing under your breath how you were going to get through the rest of the evening.

Thankfully for you, your colleagues were just as organised as you, with one of your closest friends carrying a spare pair of shoes in her bag which managed to fit your feet in. With that, you tried to enjoy your evening, but it wasn’t quite that easy. Behind your smile you couldn’t help but worry, it would take forever for you to find a pair of shoes that would be as comfortable as these, to find a pair you could wear to one of Charles’ formal events without living in fear that you’d end up embarrassing yourself.

Whilst you sat feeling sorry for yourself, your phone buzzed beside you. You quickly picked it up, feeling your smile turn up as you read a familiar name on your screen. It was if he knew that you needed just a little sign to try and brighten up your evening a little bit. You grabbed your phone, unlocking it so that you could read through the message that Charles had sent you properly.

Charles: hope you’re having a good time love 🥰

Despite the fact he was enduring the busiest time of his year, in the middle of preparing for yet another race weekend, he still thought of you. It was never a text to tick a box, it was always a text because he genuinely cared and was wanting to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Charles was the one who pushed for you to go out that night, knowing that it would be a great opportunity for you to bond with some of your colleagues.

You tended to know where Charles’ line of questioning came from, once he started, it didn’t take long before he desperately asked you how long it would be until you were home and back with him.

You: aside from breaking my heel, it’s pretty fun!

You barely had time to breathe before your phone buzzed.

Charles: damn, you’re not serious right?

You: afraid so 💔

The feeling of someone looking over your shoulder is enough for you to put your phone away again. You shared quite a bit with your colleagues, but your phone conversations with Charles were not one of those. Your attention turned back to what was happening at the table, midway through a conversation you weren’t quite sure what was going on, opting to nod along and hope for the best.

What started off as fun, began to bore you pretty quickly. Your eyes started to dart off in all directions to try and keep entertained, looking around the restaurant until they landed on something you were not quite expecting. A familiar figure is stood in the entranceway to the restaurant, eyes scanning around the room.

Charles looked messy, his clothes weren’t straight, his hair was like a bird’s nest and he still had his glasses on from whatever he was doing at home. You could tell he had moved quickly to get to the restaurant and find you. As he continued to search for you, you decided to put him out of his misery, excusing yourself from the table, dancing through the tables until you were stood directly in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered across to him, not wanting to cause a scene. “I’m supposed to be having dinner.”

You’d never seen Charles look so relieved as he studied you closely, checking you over. He was silent for a moment, which left you feeling worried, taking a tight hold of his hand and leading him out onto the cold street so that no one was able to see the two of you.

“Charles?” You questioned again, poking gently against his chest. It was your turn to look closer at Charles, he had beads of sweat dripping down his face, his hands were clammy, surprising considering the chill in the air. “Are you planning on talking to me at some point?” You pushed beginning to get concerned as to why he looked so erratic in front of you.

“You’re okay.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion, “of course I’m okay.”

Charles didn’t take your word for an answer and still checked you over one last time. “I thought that you’d hurt yourself, I thought I’d have to take you to the hospital.”

Your head shook in disbelief, “why would I need you to do that for me? Perhaps, do you need to go?”

If it wasn’t for the streetlight next to Charles you were concerned that he would end up passing out. He was barely able to catch his breath, sweat still dripped down him leaving you perplexed.

“What did you do? Run here?”

You were expecting Charles to immediately tell you no, but instead there was a bit of a pause, leaving you wondering if perhaps your assumption was correct.

“I didn’t run here,” he eventually responded, “but I moved a little quicker than I usually do when I think the person I love is in trouble.”

“In trouble?” You frowned, glancing down at the new pair of shoes that you wore.

“I told you I was on my way,” Charles informed you, “you said that you broke your heel, I was expecting to see you on the floor or something.”

The penny finally dropped, pressing your hand to your head. “You thought I meant my actual heel?”

“Oh…” Charles stuttered as you reached into your bag and took out the broken one that you carried. Charles’ smile dropped as he realised his mistake.

Your laughter grew louder as Charles’ cheeks turned darker

He reached out for your hand and pulled you into his body, squeezing you tightly with relief that you were alright. Only when he’s convinced that he’s got the wrong end of the stick can Charles finally let himself laugh about what’s happened, finding himself able to catch his breath and steady the beat of his heart again. You were alright, and that was all that mattered to him.

As funny as the situation was, it was yet another reminder for you as to how much Charles cared about you. He had never felt a fear like it thinking that you had broken your heel, no other thought entered his mind other than the one to get to you as quickly as he possibly could. The only thing he wanted to do was get to you as quickly as possible, terrified that you would end up going through something so horrible alone.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” you teased, throwing your head back to be able to look at Charles.

“How was I supposed to know it was your damn shoe?” He huffed, smiling innocently back at you, “you gave me such a fright.”

Your head shook as Charles kissed gently against your lips. “You really are my hero sometimes, aren’t you?”

Charles hummed in agreement with you, “you know I always want to save the day for you.”

Again you wanted to snigger at him, but he was just too caring for you. “Are you heading back home? Shall I come with you?”

“Stay. Enjoy your dinner, I’ll be at home waiting for you,” Charles instructed, “but don’t stay too long, it’s lonely being home alone.”

“Try not to break a bone or anything on the way!” You called out as Charles waved goodbye to you, heading down the road.

“Shut up!” He shouted back, earning a few glances from some of the other people around you. You poked your tongue out as Charles as you headed back into the restaurant.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Once you were back at home, you threw yourself down on the sofa and opened up your phone, finding the messages that Charles had left you after you put your phone away.

Charles: I’m coming, don’t move sweetheart

Charles: I’m so sorry this happened

And then came another, sent just after you’d said goodbye to Charles again.

Charles: I’ll always be your hero ❤️

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[starrclown]

SunBurst duo headcannons that I have but can't explain why I have them but it's special to me.

(Look at them yall <3<3<3)

Before Wukong got comfortable with Pigsy, he was really shy about asking Pigsy to keep his food cool because he can't eat hot food. Mk started to ask for cooler noodles for Wukong.

They switched hair colors once. Wukong had dark brown hair and Mk was ginger. Wukong didn't like it but Mk really liked his. Pigsy made him dye it back because no one got used to ginger Mk.

Mk doesn't like peaches. At all. Wukong tells him it's alright and that he doesn't have to eat them but Mk forces himself to out of respect.

Mk has seen half of Wukong's glamors off. Wukong is still too afraid to let them all drop.

Mk has absolutely dressed up as Wukong for Halloween.

Mk didn't know what grooming was so when Wukong kept trying to mess with his hair, he kept swatting him off. Wukong eventually stopped and didn't attempt again. Mk then later found out monkies groom to show love and he cried. (This actually happened to me! My cousin has a capuchin monkey named Debbie and she did this to me when I was like 8. I didn't get what she was doing so I kept swatting her off. I got SO upset when I found out what she was going.)

Mk is Wukongs emergency contact number in his phone.

Mk knows some of the baby monkies by name. He even got to name a newborn.

Mk and Wukong like to color together. They even made a coloring book together!

Wukong sometimes turns into a small bird or cat and hides in Mks gold cart so he can go on Mk's noodle runs.

Mk just hops on Wukong when he wants a piggy back ride. Wukong started doing I too so now they just piggy back ride on each other.

Mk sometimes has nightmares about Wukong getting possesed or Wukong being trapped in the scrolls. Wukong usually has to comfort him.

Mk gave Wukong his own headband. Wukong uses it as a ponytail holder when his hair gets to long.

Wukong bites everyone as a love language. Not hard, just a little nibble. He first did this to Mk during midway through season 2 and season 3. Mk was confused but kinda rolled with it.

Wukong wakes up and attempts to take care of himself. Brushing his hair, teeth, and getting his clothes. Mk wakes up, puts his headband on and just goes. No thoughts.

Those two watch cartoons for HOURS on end. They have little movie nights :)

Mk was caught so off guard when he found out Redson was Wukong's nephew.

Mk before he knew about glamors, wondered why Wukong didn't look like how he was described (4 foot, red eyes.) but he was to scared to ask.

Mk stills feel bad that he didn't have faith in Wukong when he met Macaque. Wukong doenst hold it against him, he gets it.

Mk sometimes wears gold eyeshadow to match Wukong's blue eyeshadow. Sometimes they switch it up and change colors. (Bai He, Mei, and Redson sometimes join.)

I found this in my drafts and wanted to post it. Live laugh love SunBurst Duo.

(If you like Soysause duo more then GET OUT 😡

/J.) (Kidding)

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

[yournightmary]

i feel like toxic!ellie williams is good for angst or like ex! ellie williams, i luv ur writing !

Toxic!Ellie HCs

content warning:: fem!reader, modern!AU, mentions of being drunk/high, cheating, manipulation i guess? just anything you can expect from toxic!Ellie.

AN:: Lowkey inspired by the song below. (sorry if you have to search up a translation)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who at first seems like a really nice person, maybe even too nice. She makes you feel like your life is a movie for like, the first few months and then everything goes to shit.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who is very much a gaslighter. You saw her hanging out with some girl? No you didn’t. You glanced at her phone when she got a ‘come over;)’ notification from an unsaved number? Babe it’s just some spam shit, you know that.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who forbids you from going out without her, while she goes out alone all the time. Yeah, alone…

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who can cry on command. Every time you guys argue she realizes she’s in the wrong midway through the fight and just starts crying. Not in a bawling her eyes out way, just letting out enough tears for you to feel bad and welcome her back into yours arms.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who texts you that she wants to talk something out only to come over and reek of alcohol, maybe even weed. Probably just falls asleep on your couch and by the time you wake up she’s already gone.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who has called you from jail multiple times, full on begging you to bail her out. You always tell her that ‘it’s the time’ but come on, you know it’s not.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who never forgets about your birthday/anniversary. No matter how much you guys fight (or how many times she cheated on you), she’ll always be standing in front of your door with your favorite flowers. And probably weed so you’ll be at least a little relaxed when you notice the hickeys on her neck.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who always places her phone with the screen facing down. She has you on her wallpaper though, so… that’s a win.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who says that kissing isn’t cheating if she doesn’t love the other person. That only applies to her, of course. If you even try to do something like that she’ll be throwing fists.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who got your name tattooed as an apology. In a really visible place too, maybe on her cheekbone or something like that.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who lets other girls flirt with her just to make you jealous. Definitely gives them her number too.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who is the biggest domesticity hater. No making breakfast with her, no going shopping together, no nothing.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who will always pick you up or drive you no matter what- well, if she isn’t drunk or high. So not that often. She tries though:)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who steals gets you expensive jewelry for your birthday. And as an apology for ghosting you for almost a week straight. Kill two birds with one stone, right?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who loves to call you ‘her girl’, even if she has very serious commitment issues. Honestly, she probably wouldn’t even ask you to be her girlfriend- or give your relationship any kind of label.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ toxic!Ellie who kind of takes you for granted. She knows that no matter what she can always come back to you, even if it results in another screaming match.

I love that song, literally my guilty pleasure.

[elizabethemerald]

Son of the Red Hood: Part 2

Timely Conversations and New Fathers

Diana Prince strolled through the gardens of Themyscira enjoying the moment of peace in between missions for the Justice League. Flowers of all manner were blooming and flourishing in the gardens, small birds and butterflies flying lazily from flower to flower. She smiled to herself as she rubbed her fingers against one of the blooms, releasing more of the heady scent. 

“Diana!” A voice she recognized called to her from behind. 

She turned and midway through the turn realized something was wrong and pulled her blade as she completed the turn. Sophia, her dear friend stood a few yards away, her arm upraised in greeting, though frozen in place. The butterflies were similarly frozen in place, some mid flap of their wings. 

Diana turned again, keen eyes trying to pick out any threat. When she once again faced the same direction she had been walking in she saw a grandfatherly being with teal skin and a purple robe. She may not recognize the being’s face, but she could feel the energy coming off him well enough. She slid one foot back as she settled into a fighting crouch. 

“Lord Kronos.” 

“Peace God-Killer.” The being said. “I have no wish to cause harm to you, your home or this world. Besides, your work is already completed in my regard.” 

She stayed tense, ready for any attack but when none came she strode forward and thrust her sword into the being’s chest. Kronos looked down at the blade with a grimace but didn’t otherwise react. 

“You are a spirit.” Diana said simply before withdrawing her blade. 

“Yes I am. Among my kind I am known as Clockwork now.” 

Diana stepped back, but stayed wary of any trick. Spirits were just as known for trickery as Titans were known for aggression. She did not know what to make of the spirit of a former Titan. 

“Very well, Lord Clockwork. Why have you come? And what have you done to the inhabitants of Themyscira?” 

“I have simply frozen you and I in a single moment. When I depart things will resume as they were before. As for why I have come…”

Clockwork hesitated, and before her eyes aged backwards until there was a young man standing before her. His hand went to his chin as he considered the problem before him. 

“I have come to ask for your help in training the next king of my kind.” He finally said. 

Diana paused in confusion. Of the great many things she had expected to be asked, assisting in training was not one. 

“The next king of the Titans?”

“No. The next king of Ghosts. The last king, a tyrant by the name of Pariah Dark was dethroned in combat by a mere boy. A child, half of this world, half of the next. He has much he needs to learn before he takes up the crown and while I have given him as much time as I can he is still largely untrained.” 

There was a lot of information there. Diana felt for a moment that she was sitting in one of Batman’s debriefs. She settled back from her watchful stance to consider the issue. 

“If the boy-king needs training, why not train him yourself? Or have another of your kind do the deed?”

Clockwork sighed, Diana watched as he deaged again until he looked like a child himself. 

“While the boy is powerful, wise and just beyond his years, in my efforts to buy him the time needed to be the best king the Infinite Realms has had, I have made him vulnerable. If the ghosts who wanted the throne knew of his vulnerability they would take advantage. I am restrained in how much I can interfere. Besides all that he is of the world of men. He needs as much training in this world as he will in the next.” 

Diana considered his words carefully. Finally she nodded. 

“I will train this little king. Where may I find him?” 

“You may take your time to search your histories and consult with your sages, I don’t expect you to take me at my word. But you will find the boy-king in a city shrouded by darkness and cloaked in death, guarded by one to whom the shadows cling. When the time comes, follow the one who calls to you.” 

Diana blinked at the riddle and by the time her eyes were fully open again, Clockwork had disappeared and she could once again hear the sound of bird calls. 

“Di-Oh! Diana! Have you been training with those speedsters of the world of men? I’ve never seen you move that fast.”

She turned to address Sophia who seemed to be unharmed from her brief moment being frozen. 

“Sophia, were you calling for a specific reason?” Diana asked as she turned to her friend. 

“No reason, I just was wondering if you would be joining us for a celebratory dinner tonight.” 

Diana nodded. 

“I may be a little late. I need to spend some time in the archives. I have much to consider.” 

Sophia looked a little confused, but ultimately didn’t bother her, she knew Diana had many responsibilities from her work with the Justice League. 

“Very well, Diana. I will be sure to save you a plate.”

Diana smiled at her friend and strode quickly towards the Library of Themyscira.

.

 Jason swung through the city of Gotham from one grapple point to the next. Normally when he went through the city he took his bike. The grapples he stole from the bats just weren’t made to carry the amount of armor and weapons that he normally carried on his person as Red Hood, but sometimes, he just needed to remember what it was like to fly. 

Now he needed to fly because he was following a strange pull on the Pit. Anything that made the Pit sit up and pay attention was something to be concerned about, especially when whatever it was pulled him to a building just outside his turf. That seemed deliberate. Like someone was purposefully trying to draw him out of where he controlled. 

Jason hated the Pit. It was rage and hatred and vengeance, and he thought he had wanted that, but it was also blood and death and threatening his family, and fear in their eyes and their blood on his-

Now that feeling in his chest that burned and turned his vision green called like a siren’s song. He needed to find whatever was calling him. If it was a threat he would remove the threat with extreme prejudice. If not… then at the very least he would remove it from anywhere it could threaten the rest of the bats. No need for anything Pit related to be outside Hood’s territory. 

He landed in a crouch on the rooftop that had been calling him and stood cautiously looking around for any threat, or the source of the call. He didn’t have to look very hard. There was a child laid out in the center of the roof. 

A child. Alone. On a rooftop in Gotham. If Jason wasn’t seeing green before he certainly was now. He dashed forward, keeping a weather eye out, just in case one of his enemies decided to use a kid as bait. If they were he was going to tear their bodies apart. Their corpse would be unrecognizable as human. 

Jason fell to his knees alongside who couldn’t be older than five, a small collection of personal items next to the kid like they had been dumped here alongside the kid. Worst of all was the green glowing puddle next to the kid. It didn’t have the consistency of Lazarus Water and was closer to the thickness of blood. Jason’s hands hovered over the unconscious form of the child, their chest shallowly rising and falling with each breath. 

A crunch of gravel at the other edge of the rooftop made Jason whirl around bringing his guns up, his eyes blazing green. When his brain caught up to the fact that the person was Dick it took all of his self restraint not to squeeze the trigger anyways. 

“Dammit Dickiebird! You should know better than to try and surprise me!” Jason snapped, his voice harsh. 

“Oracle noticed you were out of your usual turf and I wanted to make sure-” Dick froze as he looked past Jason. “Is that a kid?”

“Yes, it's a kid! It’s a kid and he’s hurt and he’s barely breathing and for some reason I can feel him through the Pits!” Jason’s voice was hoarse as he whispered, he holstered his gun, trying to ignore the way his hands shook. 

Dick was immediately at his side, kneeling next to the kid. He looked over the other things, the hat, the gloves, a teddy bear dressed as an astronaut. That last one was actually kind of adorable. 

“Who just leaves a kid on a rooftop? In Gotham of all places?” Dick said. He picked up the teddy and looked at it closely as Jason returned his attention to the kid. 

“Someone who wants them found by a Bat I’ll bet.” Jason said softly. 

Dick examined the bear for a moment longer before he squeezed the bear’s paw. Both of them were surprised when they heard the voice of a young woman come from the space themed bear. 

“I love you so much Danny, no matter what.” The voice said. They were both just as surprised when the kid, Danny maybe? stirred and looked around. 

“Jazz?” The kid said as he sat up. 

Jason immediately put a hand on the kid’s back to keep him as steady as he could. 

Dick pressed the bear’s paw again and that same voice called out. 

“I love you so much Danny, no matter what.” 

Danny reached for the bear and Dick willingly handed it over. The boy looked confused at the beat before pressing his face to the bear’s fur. 

“Hey kiddo. Are you Danny?” Dick asked. 

The kid nodded his head. 

“Is your mom named Jazz?” Jason asked. It wasn’t the weirdest idea that the kid would call his mom by her first name, but Danny immediately shook his head. 

“No! Jazz is my sister!” Danny had the pouty voice of a toddler who thought the other person was being stupid. “She’s the best!”

Dick grimaced, but carefully hid his face before Danny could see it. A child abandoned on a rooftop and a sister missing in the wind. None of this seemed good to them. Danny made to stand on wobbly legs, but winced and held his stomach, falling back onto his backside. 

“My tummy hurts!” 

Dick and Jason immediately crouched at his side again, concern clear in their movements. 

“Hey buddy, tell us where it hurts.” Jason said, trying to keep his words soft past the voice modulator in his helmet. 

Danny grabbed his side, just below his ribs. Jason reached towards the buttons of Danny’s star themed footie pajamas with shaking hands. 

“Do you mind if we take a look? If you’re hurt we can take care of you.” 

The kid thought for a second before nodding. Jason helped him undo his buttons one by one. He could feel a burning rise in his gut as the top of a scar revealed itself. A few more buttons and he could see where the two up branches of the scar joined in the center of his chest and continued further down. Someone had vivisected this kid. 

Someone had VIVIsected this KID. 

sOMEone HaD cUT OpEN thIS KID

Someone had Cut open this KID

Green filled Jason’s vision and with the last of his self control he turned away and marched over to the edge of the rooftop. He was going to kill- he was going to tear them- Blood he needed blood- All he could feel was rage-

He felt a small hand take his own. 

His head snapped down to look at the hand with unnatural speed. Through the haze of green in his eyes he could see the little boy, pajamas still unbuttoned, had grabbed his hand. Danny was desperately tugging on Jason’s hand, trying to pull him down all the while waving his other hand in the air as if he was trying to waft away smoke or bugs. 

Jason crouched down next to Danny. Distantly he could tell that Dick was watching him closely, hands anxiously outstretched in case he hurt the kid, but Jason could no more hurt this boy than he could cut off his own hand. As soon as he was on the kid’s level Danny used both hands to wave around Jason’s head with an annoyed look on his face. 

“Go away! Leave him alone, green monsters!” Danny shouted, still waving his hands around in the air. He scowled almost as well as Damian at whatever he could see around Jason’s head. 

The green that filled his vision slowly faded. He could still see the vivisection scar on Danny’s chest and it filled him with rage, but the rage was his own and there were no murderous impulses. Jason took a deep breath and slowly released it, letting the tension and fury drain from his body. Eventually he would deal with whoever did this to a kid, but until that time he had different priorities. 

“Thanks kid.” Jason said. He could see Dick relaxing in the corner of his vision, but he stayed focused on Danny. 

“Of course! It’s why I’m here! To protect you from the green monsters.” Danny said proudly, jutting his little chest out. Then he sagged against Jason, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Now I’m tired.” 

“Go ahead and take a nap kiddo. We’ll get you somewhere safe.” Jason said. 

It only seemed to take a moment before Danny was fast asleep, his arms still wrapped around Jason’s neck. He picked up the kid easily and settled him on his hip before he turned to look at his brother. 

“Dickolas. This kid just ended the Pit Rage by asking nicely. I don’t know what happened to him before, but if anyone tries to hurt him I’m going to end their entire bloodline.” He sighed out. “Until we find his parents or his sister, Jazz, I’m going to keep him safe.” 

“Understandable, though he might be safer at the Manor-”

“If you tell B about him I’m going to blow your brains out.” Jason interrupted. He wasn’t going to let B get another kid killed. Dick put up his hands in surrender. 

“I’m just saying, how many guns do you think are currently on your coffee table at your place?” 

Jason wanted to growl in annoyance, but he couldn’t really deny that. 

“Could you come with me?” Dick could have only looked more surprised if Jason had asked to have a family dinner with Bruce. “Just come, keep an eye on the kid while I baby proof my apartment.” Jason grit his teeth for a moment. “Please.” 

He could see Dick’s eyebrow raise even with his domino, but he nodded all the same. 

“Yeah, of course. What are brothers for if not for babysitting strange children with mysterious powers over the Rage of the Lazarus Pit.” 

Jason scowled but the two of them still descended the building together and made their way into Crime Alley towards Jason’s apartment. He kept a firm hold on the sleeping Danny the whole way there.

[delopsia]

The first thing you and Bob learn about Rhett is that he's a fancy dress and a fairy Godmother away from being a damn Disney Princess.

And the night that you met him and Bob was your first warning sign.

The three of you were curled into the back of his truck, sipping on drinks and fighting through a bout of uncomfortable silence, when all of a sudden, a bird landed on Rhett's boot. A little house finch, eyeing up the handful of sunflower seeds in his hand.

And out went Rhett's big hand, dirty palm full of more seeds than that little finch could possibly need. "D'ya think I can convince 'em to come home with me?"

Your head cocked to the side as you watched the bird hop right into his hand. Fearless. "That might cost you a lot of seeds."

"Are birds your favorite animal?" Bob had hummed. Some deep rumbling of words that had no right to sound as wonderful as they did.

"Nah," Rhett's head shook a little too fast, sending the bird fleeing to the safety of the roof of his truck. "don't think I got a favorite, actually."

For the longest time, you couldn't wrap your mind around why that was.

He's late to your second date because he's chased a stray kitten up a tree. Walks in the front door with his hair sticking out in every direction; doesn't realize that he's lost his hat because he's too busy apologizing for being so late. Midway through your meal, a little orange head pops out the neck of his shirt, defiantly yelling for a bite of Bob's raisin bread.

And that is how you meet Raisin.

Short for Raisin' Hell.

Raisin' Hell gets up on the kitchen counter two nights later and knocks several of Cecelia's beloved fine china onto the floor.

You'll never forget how Cecelia's voice traveled through the phone. "If y'dont get rid of that damn cat, then I will!"

Fortunately, Bob's friend Natasha is so enthralled with the story that she makes a pitstop in Wyoming to pick up the little ball of fluff. Justifying the adoption with a, "What can I say? The kitten has good taste!"

Coincidentally, a week later, Bob mentions his buddy Jake sneezing and complaining of a cat allegery.

Then, one day, Rhett drops off the face of the Earth shortly after telling you that he's heading to a livestock auction. You and Bob already know that he's out to fetch a pair of donkeys because they've recently developed a hell of a coyote problem. Yet, you're already making bets on what extra animal is going to come with the donkeys.

He wakes you both up the next morning, begging you to join the video call the second you get the chance.

"Look!" Giddy, as he triumphantly points to the little figure in the pasture, "I found a mini version of my horse!"

And it's a little black Shetland pony, a senior who has been retired to the pasture life. Affectionately named Fred by the previous owner. He came as a package deal with two donkeys, Zig and Zag. Royal is livid about the extra mouth to feed, but Amy is already attached.

Fred lives a good two years out in the pasture before old age takes him on a cozy autumn afternoon. He's buried out by an Oak tree in the South pasture, and a lock of his mane forever rests in Rhett's old wooden chest. Right next to the urn of a childhood dog named Rascal and the manes of his first two horses, Winnie and Coal.

Rhett's buddy Archie wakes you with a text one summer night, demanding that you get a handle on your cowboy. And you don't know why until Bob calls later that morning, asking if you've heard about the turkey.

How Rhett got shitfaced and acquired a whole, live turkey is anyone's guess.

Teddy the Turkey doesn't ever really leave the ranch. Maybe out of fear of Thanksgiving, being wrangled by another drunk cowboy, or just plain acceptance of his situation. Hell, it could be all of the above.

It must be a drunk thing because Cecelia tells you that he's come home with all sorts of things, from a family of bunnies to countless opossums. Every dog on the ranch has made its way there due to Rhett.

Then comes the move, and for the longest time, you expect for Rhett to come in with an armload of puppies and kittens. If he's even so much as a minute late, you're suspicious until he rolls in the front door, certain that some little critter is going to be in tow.

But he doesn't bring home a damn thing.

One afternoon, your phone lights up with a black-and-white photo. An ultrasound of...something.

Bob's name flashes across the screen next. Who's ultrasound pictures did you steal?

Then comes Rhett one more time. Someone's gelding wasn't a fucking gelding.

Rhett's mare being pregnant was not on anyone's bucket list for the year. But he loves that horse to absolute pieces, and it comes as no surprise that he's already looking forward to having a second pair of legs running around.

Archie offers to buy the little foal off of him.

Rhett almost eats him alive.

You suppose you shouldn't be surprised about that, either.

The vet says that Isabela can be ridden for a few more months, but Rhett's so concerned about accidentally hurting her and her baby that rides stop the same day. For the foreseeable future, Isabela's adventures are limited to long walks through the trails on the ranch he works on.

But having his only horse out of commission means that Rhett's cowboy career just got a little tougher.

Enter Sparrow, a bay quarter horse whom Rhett leases from a friend.

At least he leases Sparrow for the first month and then decides that Sparrow is the new member of the family. Which works out better than planned because on the months that he's off from a deployment, Bob loves to spend Sunday afternoons taking Sparrow out on trail rides.

Maeve is born a little under nine and a half months later. A black filly with a white blaze running down her forehead and an attitude bigger than she is. From the moment she's up on her feet, she's trying to buck and kick Bob, furious that he's trying to scratch her little hip. It'll be a few years before she can be ridden, but you already know that Rhett will have his hands full.

Maeve gets everything. Blankets, custom halters, handmade treats, morning and afternoon pets, hell, Rhett even figures out Instagram for her. You name it, she gets it. And not only is she the diva of the town, but when she gets older, she's one of the best horses in the area.

Never quite loses the attitude, though.

The first spring after Bob officially leaves the Navy, he decides to get chickens. Builds the coop himself and all. It's been on his bucket list for the better half of a decade now, and he's finally got the time to take care of them. He buys four Buff Orpingtons, but the girl at the feed store must have gotten confused because he comes home to find that he has three Orpingtons and a Silkie.

He goes back to get an extra Silkie so that the little dude doesn't feel like an outcast.

Rhett hates them.

"All those fuckers do is peck the shit outta me!"

"Because they're chickens, Rhett! They're gonna peck things!"

You fully expect him to come around and warm up to them eventually, but it never happens. A year passes, and Rhett's still side-eyeing the collection of poultry on the side of the house. Entering the coop only when you politely ask him to fetch you a few eggs, and even then, he furrows his eyebrows and grumbles beneath his breath.

Then there's one afternoon when Bob comes home from a meeting to a suspicious bowl on the counter.

A chirping bowl.

A bowl of newly hatched button quail.

"Yeah, I stuck 'em in there 'till I could find a place to put 'em," Rhett says when he meanders back into the kitchen, slightly larger box in hand.

You're the next to stumble into this situation, sleepy-eyed and rubbing at your cheek, halfway down the stairs. Aren't quite sure what is going on; all you know is that you've walked into a standoff, and something is wandering around by the sofa.

Something yellow.

A...tiny chicken?

Even as you scoop it up, it doesn't seem real. So incredibly small that it's closer to a toy than a living, breathing animal.

"What's this?" You yawn, holding your hand out, tiny bird on full display.

Little do you know, in your halfawake state, that some new members have joined your busy little family. Even if those family members were found at a gas station for twenty-five cents per dozen.

The coffee maker has just finished bubbling when it hits you.

Rhett doesn't have a favorite animal because every animal is his favorite animal, and he wants to take them all home with him.

Except for chickens. 

[proton-wobbler]

White-eyed Vireo

[image ID: quite a bright songbird is pictured. its white eye pops out amongst a yellow mask, which sits on a gray head. the throat and belly are also gray, but the sides of the bird are yellow. the back is olive-yellow, as are the wings. the wings also show two bright white wingbars. the bill and feet are blue. end ID]

Song:

Scientific Name: Vireo griseus

IUCN Rating: Least Concern

Habitat & Location: breeds in thickets and scrubby areas across most of the eastern US and overwinters across the southern US, into Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean

Fun Fact: Females of this species have been documented singing on the winter grounds

[image ID: a map of North America, focused mainly on the USA, Mexico, and the Caribbean. there are three distinct sections of the map- red for breeding season, purple to show the bird's presence year-round, and blue for the non-breeding season. most of the eastern and southern US is red. the purple band cuts through half of Texas and other southern states, though all of Florida is purple, and curling up to midway of the Atlantic seaboard and wrapping south around the Gulf of Mexico, halfway through the country. the blue region is from the middle of Mexico through the Yucatan and a few Central American countries bordering the Gulf, as well as Cuba, the Bahamas, and Puerto Rico. end ID]

Image Sources: bird (Jian Mei); map (birds of the world)

[letiel]

Kai/Evie - Questions

He walked past her door twice, slowing nearly to a stop each time before anxiety quickened his steps away and courage urged him to try again. Each time Kai got close his heart beat a little bit faster in time with the tug of war in his chest until finally, the scales of his knuckles rapped lightly on the wood with a soft *tap, tap*.

“Come in,” she called, just as softly, and it was too late to turn back.

Kai carefully slid the door open on its slide so he could step inside. Evie was kneeling on a cushion at the desk, dressed comfortably in a robe and slippers, midway through penning a letter. Her delicate script scrawled across the page in perfect rows all but forgotten now as she beamed. She didn’t even finish the word she was writing, all her attention belonged to him.

“Hey,” Kai managed, and his mouth felt a little dry. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” A shock of worry paralyzed him for a moment in anticipation of her response, but it faded just as quickly when she put the pen down and tilted her head ever so softly to smile.

“I’d love to walk with you! I need a moment to get ready.”

“I’ll wait for you outside then.”

A moment felt like an eternity. Kai had found a spot to sit to wait on the balcony overlooking the hostelry’s primary traffic. It was out of the way but easy to find. He fiddled with his pencil and the little notebook in his lap. The notes he had written for himself had blended into the patterns doodled in the margins. Ideas mixed with words he wanted to say to her, practice on paper when being alone lent itself to a less addled train of thought. Kai had to have read through them a dozen times, but he could barely remember the first few words.

Not a promising start.

Kai noticed Evie the moment she stepped out from private spaces to join the public and his heart skipped a beat. She had changed into a yukata, white at the shoulders and a darker shade of lavender at the bottom, blending in a lovely and subtle gradient throughout and under the white obi. Embroidered birds flitted about an assortment of flowers along the hems and sleeves. Her hair was loosely pulled back and held in place by a white headband and tucked behind her horns where it was long enough to do so.  

He immediately felt underdressed in his sleeveless top and black pants.

Evie noticed him in the same breath that she called his name and hurried up the stairs to meet him. Her tail was wagging so hard that thrice she very nearly fell over and he instinctively reached for her with his own to steady her.

“Where would you like to go?” she asked.

He blanked. Kai’s eyebrows raised by a hair, and he awkwardly glanced at his notebook for an answer. Finding none, he pocketed it. “Um.” “It’s okay,” she reassured him, “I have some ideas.” Evie’s smile softened and her tail slowed to a manageable wag. She grabbed one of his hands in both of hers and pulled him to his feet, already tugging him along to the Tasogare Bridge.

The late Summer sun and corresponding heat danced with the ocean breeze, alternating between the scent of warm stone and the salty sting of the sea. It swirled around the Kugane markets as they wandered, carrying sounds as well as smells, giving their noses a path to follow through the mishmash of merchants. They picked up takoyaki and dango, senbei and taiyaki, and all the while Evie’s tail wagged, even in the moments when his tail held hers.

Kai caught her stealing glances as the afternoon turned into evening. She was studying him, squeezing his hand, and gauging his level of comfort. The crowds weren’t his favorite. The noise *did* get to him but while he preferred quiet spaces, he didn’t mind them as much today. It was easy to tune out the world when she smiled at him. When she spoke all the other voices faded away into a distant background. When she pulled him along his stride reached to stay beside her as though he’d be swept away in the tide of people without his anchor, his rock, his light.

When the sun kissed the horizon and the clouds became fire against the dark velvet of the evening sky, they strayed from the beaten path. The market crowds, the colored lights, and cacophony of summer sales had morphed into a proper assault on the senses, and it was time for softer pastures.

They wandered instead to the quiet streets of the upscale citizenry, where soft lamps cast subtle glows along the paved road, sharing shadows with the setting sun. It was aimless but not lost, where they went ultimately didn’t matter, it hadn’t from the start. But as they moved away from the bustle and to the quiet, Kai felt the anxiety in his stomach like a pit, and he couldn’t hope to hide it from Evie.

She squeezed his hand and pulled him along, following the soft sounds of running water to a garden tucked in a space between buildings, a cultivated haven of nature, resisting the creeping of the city around them. Little lights along the pond made the scales of the koi glitter like gems in the dark water and cast shadows in the canopies of the sheltering trees. The flowers and the topiaries absorbed the rest of the lingering sounds and left them alone in quiet peace.

“Evie,” Kai started, and she paused at the foot of the bridge spanning the pond to look up at him. “I have a question for you. All those years ago, what made you approach me?”

Evie furrowed her brow a little and her tail stopped wagging. She let go of his hand to walk up the bridge and lean over the railing to watch the fish. Her lack of immediate response was making him nervous and he wondered briefly if he should have practiced some more.

Her tail swished back and forth, and she held out a finger for a firefly to land on. It flashed a pale yellow-green and considered its perch before lazily taking off to glide amongst its friends above the water.

“You were sad, and I wanted to help,” she thoughtfully answered, and Kai realized she was recalling the days of their youth. Evie held her hand to her chest, curling her fingers into a loose fist as though grasping at an invisible something there. “I remember feeling a nudge, no, a tug, deep inside. Almost like a voice without words telling me that someone needed me.”

He took the few steps to stand next to her and leaned so he could put a hand on the railing.

“It sounds silly when I say it out loud,” she admitted.

“It does,” he teased, and she playfully punched his thigh.

“Do you remember how ridiculous we were back then?” Evie asked.

“I was never ridiculous.”

“You were thin as a stick! And couldn’t stop fighting with Ori!”

“Ori couldn’t stop fighting with *me*,” he insisted, and his tail reached for hers.

She chuckled at the memory. “He won a few times.”

“He did not.”

“More than a few times!”

Kai huffed but smiled all the same. “His mudpies were better than yours.”

“He had more practice rolling around in the mud, caterpillar eyebrows!”

He snorted.

“I learned how to cook real food before he did,” she said.

“Debatable.”

Evie bumped him with her shoulder, briefly leaning into him before pulling away. “Better than you.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Noooo,” she tried to make a show of pouting and flopped over the railing with a huff, still smiling. “You two are still really competitive.”

“Not as much anymore.”

Evie gave him a skeptical look and he ignored it, avoiding eye contact.

A couple of the fish splashed in the water beneath them. The notebook in Kai’s pocket felt heavy and he shifted his weight as though that would offset the perceived imbalance. The sun had properly set now. Only traces of its light remained, and the brightest stars were blinking into life above them to compete with the lights of the city.

“Evie,” he started, and it felt weird pulling words from his core like this, practice be damned, “I enjoy being around you.”

“I enjoy being around you too, Kai,” she said, and he put his hand over hers. She blinked and looked at his hand, then up at him, only just now feeling the weight of his words.

“I mean it. You were always there for me even though I never said as much. You always knew what to do and I… I’m sorry for being so difficult at times, especially when we were in Ishgard…” he mumbled and studied the water, watching her reflection instead of her as the warmth in his cheeks spread to his nose. He pulled his hand back, putting them both on the railing, physically closing himself off to protect himself from how painfully awkward he felt. “Evie… I, um…”

Evie put her hand delicately over his. “Kai, I want to help you. I know it’s been a very long time since we were kids, and you’ve become so distant… but I know the Kai I remember is still in there; the Kai that I felt so drawn to, that I see in the little things you do and say every day, that I fell in love with.”

They both paused, processing what she said as they looked at each other. The color in her cheeks visibly deepened from a shade of pink to one of red.  

“I-I know this is a lot to ask,” she continued, getting even redder, “but would you want to try? Would you be my boyfriend?”

Kai had no idea how to react, so he didn’t, but Evie certainly did enough for them both. She wiggled in place, curled her tail, and buried her face in her hands.

“I-I’m so sorry!” she stumbled, “It’s okay if you say no! I-I really value our friendship too and I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable! S-So if it’s too much then we can stay friends!”

“No,” he managed to get out, little more than a peep as his brain rebooted after finally processing what she had asked.

“No, you don’t want to be my boyfriend?” she asked with a little bit of a quiver to her voice that she was desperately trying to squash.

He felt the panic in his whole being and hurried to reassure her, “N-No! I mean yes!”

She blinked and tilted her head, visibly confused, and Kai felt dizzy. It was suddenly extra hard to look at her and where did he usually put his hands? He felt feverish.

“Evie, I,” he tried but words had stopped working and he turned away from her instead to compose himself, maybe find a breath. He took a single deep breath and then Evie was hugging him from behind.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she mumbled into his back.

He shook his head and delicately untangled her arms so he could turn around and kneel to be closer to her level.

“Yes,” he said firmly. Then he took both her hands in his and said it again. “Yes, I want that.”

Evie blinked little tears from her eyes and smiled even more warmly than he felt. She took her hands back and delicately placed them on his cheeks to cradle his face. “My boyfriend,” she whispered.

They looked at each other for another moment, blushed even more deeply, and then they were *both* turning away in flustered confusion.

“Is it supposed to feel awkward like this?” she asked with a peep.

“Why are you asking *me*?”

“Cause you’re my boyfriend!” Evie’s voice cracked into a giggle when she said ‘boyfriend’ and Kai groaned.

“I take it back,” he grumbled and stood back up. She turned back around to hug him around his waist, still a little giggly.

“No, you don’t,” she mumbled happily to him, and he knew she was right.

“No, I don’t,” he agreed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And the red string of fate holds true! Took them long enough to get together >.> ~circa Stormblood era Kai Silberne and Evie Kiku belong to @ksilberne Always a delight to get to write them~ Thank you again for trusting your babies to me~ There is a sequel in the reblogs :3c Or here's a link if you're lazy: https://www.tumblr.com/letiel/722593687626022912/if-anyone-wants-to-know-how-evie-felt-about-all-of

[anjumzm]

Midsummer Night

A Legacy of Gods Fanfic

JerCes Daughter x LanMia Son

Chapter 17

Theodore Sokolov King

I could feel it in the air, adrenaline and excitement forged together. Tonight, as per my plan, would be the night I'd pull the rug from that rat Abazi’s feet. And then I'd get back to much more important tasks, like planning my dinner date with the little bird. Since it was crucial for me to make my move today, I'd had to postpone my date. That rat would pay dearly for ruining my me time with Aanya.

Gods, why can't I stop thinking about the damn girl? It's not like she's the only girl in London or the entire world.

But she's definitely the only one you have eyes for.

True. Even I couldn't deny the fact that I've never been this invested in anyone before. I had no patience to deal with the emotions that came with people, and eventually, the disappointment on their faces when they realized that I'm as unmoving as a stone when it comes to things like anger, despair, grief, or anything. I just couldn't bring myself to... feel. But for the first time, I felt. That day in my office, I'd felt desire and desperation to own something, and I wished to feel it over and over again. Somehow the Volkov princess had managed to imprint herself on me, and the worst part was she didn't realize it yet. No one did. Except for my Dad, because he was like me, and there's no way one can hide something from him. He's the prototype, after all. I'm a mere copy.

Speak of the Devil. My phone rang with my Dad's name on the notification bar.

"Quite a day to cause mayhem, isn't it?" his voice, as always, calm yet imposing.

"You're right, and I plan to please," I replied, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"As expected, Son. I always knew my genes were superior. Time you proved it to everyone. But be careful, Abazi is not as daft as you think him to be, and neither is Jeremy's son. I hope you've planned this through."

"You know me, Dad. After all, you're the author of whatever I am."

"True, but do let me know if you need help."

"Sure thing."

"Be safe, Son."

I smiled, knowing very well how Dad didn't show emotions often. But his actions always spoke to us. He loved me and Gina in his own way, but Mom—his entire existence was tied to her, to the point that he'd burn the world to keep her safe.

I gathered my gun, a gift from Grandpa Kyle, and headed to the SUV. "Pasha, is everything in place?"

"All good, Boss. We're waiting for your orders," Pasha replied through the phone.

"Good. This cannot go wrong, Pasha. I hope you understand."

"Sure, Boss. You need not worry; we're well prepared."

"Forward our location to Aaron Volkov. We'll be meeting halfway. Hopefully, things go smoothly with dialogue and without guns and fists."

I cut the call. Time for some action.

We met halfway as per our plan. As usual, Aaron had a scowl on his face. My soon-to-be brother-in-law didn't like the fact that we were working together, that he had to take my help.

"Lovely day, isn't it, brother-in-law?" I greeted him with a smirk.

"Stop calling me that, you psycho. I won't shy away from turning your good day into a bad one," Aaron snapped.

"Always the pleasant one. Remind me to team up with Caleb for adventures next time; he's the more intelligent of you guys, after all."

"Keep my family out of your business, King. You won't like the consequences."

"Not possible. After all, your sister is my business and by extension, so is her family."

"You little shi��" Aaron lunged, throwing a punch.

I sidestepped, catching his hand midway. "Let's continue this sweet talk some other day. I'm sure we have pressing matters at hand, don't you think?"

Aaron glared at me, yanking his hand back. "Lead the way."

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with tension. Abazi stood in the center, surrounded by his men, a smug grin on his face.

"Theodore King and Aaron Volkov, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Abazi drawled, appearing confused, yet offering us a polite smile. He knew he was outmatched.

I cut to the chase. "We’re here for the Black Book you stole from the Volkovs."

"Black Book? What black book? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Before I could respond, the doors behind us creaked open. Two of my men dragged in Alexei, bruised and beaten. Alexei, my planted spy, was about to play his part.

"Boss, this guy was trying to run," one of my men announced, shoving Alexei forward.

Alexei fell to his knees, looking up at us with feigned fear. "Please, don’t hurt me. I was only following orders."

Aaron stepped forward, his patience wearing thin. "What orders? Where’s the book?"

Alexei hesitated, his eyes darting to Abazi before settling back on Aaron. "Abazi had me keep the Black Book hidden. He didn't want anyone to know its location."

Abazi’s expression shifted from smug to shock. "What? That’s a lie! I don’t have your book, Aaron. Theodore King, you fucking bastard..." He moved forward to punch me, but Aaron caught him by his collar.

Abazi’s men stepped forward, raising their guns, but they were outnumbered. Our men slipped behind them, putting them all at gunpoint.

Aaron motioned one of his men forward. He came up and bound Abazi.

"Aaron, what the fuck? We're allies, remember? What's going on?"

"You dare cross us. You've become emboldened, haven't you? What did you think, hmm? That you would blackmail us and we'd bend to your whims as and when you please? You forgot that we're the Volkovs, and gods damn me if I let a rat like you challenge us."

"Aaron, you're—" Aaron backhanded him.

"Shhh....Don't talk. The more you keep quiet, the better." He called Alexei forward. His men punched him in the gut, making him drop to his knees. "Where's the book, and I warn you, do not lie. My patience has already run thin."

"It's in his basement. I kept it there myself on Boss’s orders."

"What?? What orders are you talking about, Alexei, you piece of shit! I'll kill you!" Abazi shouted, struggling against his bonds.

And while all this drama was going on, all I could think about was how good Aanya looks in black, how her eyes shine whenever she feels she's made her point in a conversation, or how her and Aaron's hair are the same shade. They have the same eye shape,but their similarities end there; he looks like a wild bull while my birdie looks ethereal.

Priorities.

Before Aaron killed Abazi and my spy Alexei, I stepped in. "Alexei, was that your name? Now, you said that the book's in the basement, and how you personally kept it there. My men here will search the entire place, and if what you say is wrong, I'll leave your fate in Mr. Volkov's hands here."

"Please don't kill me, I'm telling the truth."

What a performance. Remind me to pay him double the sum.

Just when I was about to order my men, Aaron stopped me and signaled his men to look around the basement. "I still don't trust you or your men, King."

"Ouch. I'm hurt," I mockingly put my hand on my heart.

As expected, soon enough, one of Aaron's men came out with the book in his hand.

"Boss. We found this."

"Abazi, you motherfucker!" Aaron all but choked the guy. Before he could kill him, I intervened.

"Now, now, he needs to be alive, if only to appear before the Bratva and give up the southern port's control to you."

"What makes you thi—" Before the rat could even complete his sentence, Aaron kicked him in the face.

"Listen here, you piece of shit, and listen carefully. You'll kiss our bloody feet if  I ask you to. You see, I literally hold your life in my hands. So during the next Bratva meet, you'll appear all calm and collected and give up the southern ports control to us. If not, trust me, I'd kill you, and when I'm done, not even your loved ones would be able to recognize you. Oh, and don't you dare try to outsmart me. I have eyes and ears everywhere. One wrong move and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

Abazi coughed and spat blood out. "Okay, okay. I'll do as you want. So leave me the fuck alone."

As Aaron and the Volkovs departed, I lingered behind. Abazi, now free of his bindings, approached me, his eyes burning with hatred.

"You think you’ve won, Theo? This isn’t over. I'll hit you where it hurts the most," Abazi spat.

I laughed coldly. "Weak men have weaknesses, Abazi. I don’t."

Abazi’s eyes gleamed with malice. "You don't have a weakness that I know of yet, but you will. And when you do, I'll be sure to exploit it just as you did today. I hope this little stunt was worth it."

I stepped closer, my voice a dangerous whisper. "Try it, and you'll regret it. Remember, this was me playing nice."

With that, I turned on my heel, leaving Abazi to stew in his defeat. As I walked away, my mind raced with thoughts of the future and the new threats that loomed on the horizon. But for now, I had secured my place and protected my interests, and that was a victory worth savoring. King style.

[en-scribed]

THE THREE BIRDS [fantasy short story]

Personified immortal Stars have lived secretly on Earth throughout history. This piece takes place in 13th century Iran, notable for astronomical scholarship, and Arabic star names are used as the main roots. Waqi (currently the Star Vega) leads Taira (Altair) and Dhanab (Deneb) on a mission to secure the Stars' carefully kept secret existence. The Stars' world was created by myself and @heirmyst. Next post: [ORION'S FINEST] [GATHERER OF GRAIN] [CENTER OF THE WORLD] Word count: 5,201

Waqi climbed the sky higher, relentlessly battling the air with every flap of their wings. As they gained altitude, frost dared to gather on their face. Unfazed, they summoned latent blue fire from within, melting it on immediate impact. 

Good attempt, nature, they thought, smiling into the forceful wind. But only I decide when to stop.

Except even the grandest flights rested on the premise of a zenith… and its aftermath. Finally, air thinned to nothing, and Earth below seemed a faint suggestion of matter. The time had come. Waqi slowed the frenzied movement of their wings.

They took a deep breath, savoring the moment. “Here it comes.”

Then, they let themself fall. 

The air just barely carried the sound they let out, halfway between a laugh and a scream of delight.

This was their favorite part. They would never admit it on the ground, where every part of them itched to fight the atmosphere with their wings and fly, however high the day would let them. Many times, they’d said to other Stars that they’d happily give up immortality if it meant they could fly for the rest of their existence, and the sentiment was barely a joke. But the fall? They lived for it, and the air as they burned their way down was the sweetest they’d ever taste.

Clouds faded into view, gray and rumbling, preparing to unleash a deluge onto Iran. Waqi’s fists heated up, glowing with ready blasts; they could not let this unacceptable weather stand. 

They plunged into the mess. When fog took over their vision, they pivoted sharply, punching at the nearest storm cloud. The lightning crackling inside was no match for Waqi’s own strikes of energy. They cut through the surrounding air in a wide arc, so swiftly that the clouds vanished with a whimper.

“You tried,” Waqi said, laughing to themself as they took off to vanquish the brewing storm from the rest of the sky. 

They moved with instinctive ease when they shed their corporeal form to become a merciless blue lightning bolt. It was less satisfying than punches and blasts, but it killed every threatened storm before it got the chance to materialize, all the while keeping Waqi hidden from any onlooking human’s eyes.

Of course, the tactic traded away precision for raw power. 

They didn’t process hitting the wrong target until the voices rang out. 

“Waqi!” Dhanab yelled, halting the excitement with a start. “What in the skies did you do that for?”

Waqi shifted back into their usual form, steadying their flight with their wings and blinking the scene before them into clarity. Their Star friends Dhanab and Taira hovered in front of them. Dhanab was scrambling to cover her head. Taira had stopped midway through braiding Dhanab’s hair, barely containing laughs. 

Slowly, Waqi turned around. Remnants of lightning floated in empty air, having burned a hole in the white cloud structure around them. They’d destroyed a Star lodging. For the third time that week. And this time, they didn’t get to pretend they were heroically fighting monstrous Hauntings, because this was nothing but a cloud punching spree.

They faced their friends with a sheepish smile. “I’ve interrupted something, I gather?”

“I’d say so, yes,” Taira said lightly, at the same time as Dhanab muttered, “Not the first time.”

“In my defense,” Waqi began. “I had—”

“North Star duties,” the two finished in unison.

Waqi looked away, sighing. There went their excuse. “I don’t suppose you’ll allow me to make it up to you?”

A scheming smirk crept across Dhanab’s face. “Taira?”

“Hm.” Taira stretched and cracked her joints in preparation. “Since you've so kindly offered...”

Waqi had barely enough time to summon a defensive forcefield when Taira shot toward them with unbelievable speed. She tackled them off the cloud’s ledge. Waqi fought to keep their flight steady among her unpredictable movements and countered her every hit. Laughing all the way, they tumbled wherever Taira wished, because as strong as a flier as Waqi was, they only fought the air; Taira held it at her command. 

“Unfair!” Waqi protested, pushing Taira’s voluminous wind blown hair away from their own face. “I’m taking this up with the king!” 

“What’s the matter?” Taira said, between laughs. “Holding back so I’ll be taken off guard by your next move?”

Waqi caught her next punches, holding both of her hands in place with a surge of lightning. They grinned. “You know me too well. This is a tactical liability.” 

She cried out as Waqi seized her hair and flipped her over their head. As soon as they readied their next blast, their arm locked up, illuminating with a silvery blue glow. 

The rest of their body followed. Taira also froze. The two Stars’ descent had been halted by a joy-killing outside force.

“Dhanab!” Waqi yelled to the sky. “It was just going to get good!” 

Taira snorted. “For you, maybe.”

Dhanab swooped gracefully down from above, landing only a few feet below without breaking her telekinetic hold on the other two. Waqi gaped. Were they that close to the ground already? 

“Do you want to let all of Maragha in on the secret?” Dhanab asked, gesturing frantically to the town behind her. 

“Oh, we’re in trouble now?” Taira asked.

“You will be, keeping this up,” Dhanab said. “Two wild winged beasts screaming and clawing at each other is hardly discreet.”

Waqi raised an eyebrow. “And two wild winged beasts suspended in midair by a third, decidedly more stuck-up winged beast… is?” 

Dhanab opened her mouth to argue, then shrugged. “Point taken.” With one wave of her hand, the glow faded, and Waqi and Taira collapsed in a heap on the ground. 

Waqi brushed themself free. Dhanab pointedly looked past them in favor of helping Taira up. Only Taira.

“The disrespect,” Waqi said with mock offense, forcing themself to their feet. “This is how you treat your North Star?”

Dhanab smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t dream of insinuating the North Star could possibly need my help.”

Waqi rolled their eyes and shifted their attention to the sky. At least from here, they could check whether they’d succeeded in averting the storm. They expected to see clear blue conditions, plagued by a few maddening remnants of a storm they happened to miss. Instead they were met with… a sunset. In the distance, the town of Maragha seemed to come alive, suddenly bustling with movement.

“Oh no,” Taira said quietly behind them.

“I know,” they agreed, exasperated, glaring at the accursed observatory on a nearby hill. “Now we’ll have to listen to the evening prayer.”

“I like the sound of the prayer,” Dhanab said quietly.

Taira shook her head. “It isn’t that! The sun set too early.” Oh, Waqi thought. They’d assumed they simply lost track of time once more. “Waqi,” Taira said, all humor gone from her voice. Disoriented by the sudden change in mood, Waqi turned to face her. “This is a whole hour early.”

Dhanab’s eyes widened. “An hour? Did the king tell you anything about this?”

Waqi laughed, but their voice shook with uncertainty. “There you two go, taking everything the sky does so seriously…” 

“Even if we didn’t, the humans would!” Dhanab argued. “Especially here. Their prayer relies on this, you think they won’t look into the situation? And if they look too deep, they’ll find us, and then the secret keepers might tell on us too, and—”

“Dhanab.” Taira wrapped an arm around her. “Slow down. Breathe.” She looked to Waqi for support.

 Their words caught in their throat. Skies above, they had not expected a morale strengthening task today. “I’ll… speak to Sol,” they blurted out, “and get this all sorted! He’ll play some trick of sunlight, hide the irregularity. This kind of thing is easy for him! It will be fine.”

The Star king’s name seemed to put the two at ease. Yes, Sol would fix this, and Waqi would have free reign to make fun of his overly dramatic success speeches to his face afterward. That was how this was supposed to go.

“Before that,” Taira piped up, “maybe we can go and ask director Tusi’s minions what they think is happening.” She tilted head toward the observatory. “To see how much damage we’ll have to undo.”

Waqi made a face at the thought of vanishing their wings. “Go and ask. In the guise of a human?”

“As a man?” Dhanab added, equally offended. “No, thank you.”

Both of them stared at Taira. She sighed, closing her wings and gathering up her long cloudlike tresses. “The usual, I see.”

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it,” Dhanab said.

Taira winked at her. “I let you off the hook only because you’re too beautiful to pass as a man.” 

Dhanab flushed, but got to work on tearing a section of her own outer robes, wrapping it around Taira’s hair as a makeshift turban.

“You could just give over your scarf,” Waqi pointed out.

“Waqi, please!” Dhanab said, scandalized. “I am not going to stay out here uncovered!”

That sounded absolutely ridiculous, but Waqi chose not to argue. They never did see the point in bothering with matters of earthly conduct, when by all means the Stars were meant to live above them all. This is why they could never stomach any task that involved walking among humans. Their status as North Star, Stardom’s first line of defense, would surely get lost among the endless customs and rules that every other little kingdom offered a different version of. Such a life was inconceivable.

Still, they noticed that Dhanab was pointedly trying to avoid being perceived with torn robes. Wordlessly, they walked in such a way to conceal her from any passersby’s view, keeping a low profile as they trailed Taira.

Not that Taira made it particularly easy. 

With a skip in his step, Taira closed in on the observatory hill at a quick pace. Too quick. The other two almost struggled to keep up and stay hidden at the same time.

“What’s his hurry?” Waqi whispered to Dhanab.

“You know Taira,” Dhanab said. “At least he hasn’t resorted to flying. Yet.”

Waqi and Dhanab stopped at a distance, hanging back as Taira went on. He reached the entrance of the central observatory tower, greeting the two workers outside like old friends. One of the men straightened up to receive the new company, while the other remained pointedly occupied perusing an astronomical manual.

“Peace be upon you, brothers!” Taira said. “I could not help noticing that the sun has been down for several counts too far, and I have not heard the call for Maghrib yet.”

“Upon you be peace. I do not know what to tell you, Al-Ta’ir,” the attentive man said, his tone apologetic, as if he was fully ready to take the blame for the heavens breaking an otherwise flawless pattern. “Sirvan and I have been in conversation all day, and we haven’t yet reached an impasse.”

“Forget this pretense, Payam. Tell him like it is!” the other man, Sirvan snapped. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration and, without warning, shoved the manual in Taira’s face. “Look at this!” 

Taira stayed silent for too long. “Yes,” he said, purely to appease the worker. “This is… most irregular.”

“Irregular,” Sirvan said with a bitter laugh. “For all our lives the sky stays constant! Predictable! ‘Study the heavens,’ Tusi tells us, ‘Mark prayers as God commands!’ How were we meant to know the sun can set anytime!”

Waqi rolled their eyes. Humans truly believed their neat tables could map the skies out to the letter. As if the Stars had nothing better to do than move in strict patterns for their convenience. An impulsive lightning blast threatened to break free at their fist. Dhanab touched their hand, stopping it right there.

“I believe I should call out Maghrib now,” Payam said carefully. “The people will be concerned.”

“Concerned?” Sirvan said, baffled. “This is unlike anything we’ve seen!”

Taira wisely saw his exit. “Thank you, brothers,” he said, though Sirvan’s diatribe about the fundamental principles of the sun’s movement drowned it out. “I trust your decision, and eagerly await your call.” Meaningfully, he caught Payam’s eye at the last word.

With that, Taira left the scene as swiftly as he’d arrived, regrouping with Dhanab and Waqi. 

“Overreacting scholars,” Waqi said. “This is probably nothing!” 

Taira ignored them. “Payam is the muazzin. I’ve dropped as many suggestions as it’s appropriate for me to do. I think we’ll be in the clear, if he can get his volatile brother calmed or distracted long enough to call the prayer.”

“I hope he does,” Dhanab said softly.

“That’s all we can do for our coverup on the human side, but we’ll stick around just in case.” Taira turned to Waqi. “The rest is up to you. Ask Sol what’s going on. He’s the only one who can make this seamless.”

Waqi nodded. This, at least, they could do. Leaving their friends at the hill, they crept a safe distance away from wandering townspeople’s eyes. 

Then, they opened their wings and shot off into the early night sky. The air was clear, carrying that sweet tropical taste that came only when the dark settled and—

Focus, they reminded themself, shaking off the intoxication. This flight had to be short, direct. Purely economical. 

They ascended just enough for their head to peek through clouds.

Waqi looked around, and almost didn’t recognize Sol’s home at first. They were so used to the sight of extravagantly piled clouds, reflecting sunlight with infuriating perfection, that they only processed the black clouds in front of them as an incoming weather disaster.

Somewhere on the way to destroying the storm, they realized it floated where their best friend’s home should have been.

“Sol?” Waqi’s voice broke embarrassingly at the call of his name. 

Any moment, the only part of them still clinging to hope insisted. Any moment, Sol would fly out, laugh triumphantly about his incredible unexpected practical joke, and fix everything.

No answer came.

Waqi rammed themself into the mass of black clouds, their mind racing. The structure fell apart pathetically, the only sign of Sol’s brilliant presence being stray plumes of flame. Actual flame. Not the inviting light that always decorated the king’s home. 

Waqi emerged on the other side into empty air. The home being deserted, leaving only storm clouds and flame, and whatever the early sunset was… 

All signs pointed to a struggle. 

Waqi glared at the remnants of black smoke around them with newfound hatred. This was no longer annoying weather. It was the herald of the enemies—assassins—who took Sol away… and after seeing it, Waqi was sitting here, staring into space like an idiot.

They needed to act now. In a flash of blue lightning, they dived, right back to the spot where they left their friends. The grass beneath them caught fire as the shock of the ground returned them to their corporeal form. Before they had time to breathe, someone grabbed their shoulder.

“Careful! You’ll—” Dhanab’s usual chiding stopped short, and her face softened into concern. “What happened?”

Waqi tried to contort their features into something less alarming. Judging by their friends’ confused glances, it did not work.

“What did the king say?” Taira asked. “He didn’t deny the request, did he?”

A laugh, clipped and shaky, escaped Waqi’s throat at the question. “It’s a hard thing even for him, to deny something he hasn’t even heard,” they said. “Something broke into his home. Only storm clouds remain there.”

A shadow passed over the other two’s faces. Taira took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me…”

“Hauntings?” Dhanab asked, her voice small. It was barely a question. 

“Listen to me,” Waqi said, grasping her hand, suddenly emboldened by their friends’ clear panic. Waqi couldn’t afford to be scared when they had other Stars to worry about. “No one can hear of this. Not until we get to the bottom of it.”

“Waqi,” Taira said. They couldn’t help but flinch. They hated when all playfulness faded from her voice like that. “This isn’t some accidental cabin fire we can just pretend is an act of nature. This is an attempted Haunting assassination, and if those monsters even got to the king, what chance—”

“They didn’t get to him!” Waqi snapped. “It’s Sol! Skies above, will you have some faith? For all we know, he reduced them all to ashes and is just… hunting for a new home. Or better yet, for the assassins’ allies.”

This half of North Star duties, the one which was conquered by words rather than fire, never came naturally to Waqi. Yet, often, they found they could simply speak anything into existence, and if it softened even a single line of worry on a fellow Star’s face, it would do the trick. For better or worse, Waqi held all the cards here. They knew Sol better than anyone; whatever they said about him, the other two had to take it by necessity. 

Waqi needed to take it too. It was all they had.

“You’re right,” Dhanab said, mercifully. “Yes, that must be it!” 

“So, all we do is track him down. It’s the same plan as before… just with this extra step.” They spoke feverishly right as the words came to them. “Taira. Those trails of dark smog from Hauntings are left in the sky for hours after the fact, are they not?”

Taira nodded, a hint of her usual laidback confidence returning to her eyes. “If the monsters escaped—”

“There’s no way in hell Sol would let them go free without pursuit,” Waqi finished. They braced themself for flight. “Lead the way. We’re right behind you.”

And so, the three Stars took to the skies. They cast jokes and idle conversation between themselves like playing balls, masking any unwanted urgency. The premature night hung around them heavily. Even as they followed the sickening, viscous Haunting trail, no one dared to suggest the unspoken; that the king was likely in danger and it may be up to them to save him. Sol was supposed to save them, not the other way around.

You’re fine, Sol, Waqi thought to themself repeatedly, reassuring their own mind and daring their friend to meet the challenge. They need you to be fine. You can give them that much.

Give me that much.

When the trail ended its forward snaking in the sky and dissolved into fog, Taira began to descend and the other two followed. An expansive lake awaited them below. It boiled furiously, despite the cool night, sending warm air towards the Stars.

“Here we are,” Taira whispered. “Now, either the Hauntings show themselves, or Sol comes out… let’s hope we don’t have to do something drastic.”

Waqi strained their eyes to see the lake past the fog. Why was it boiling? “I swear… why can’t we just—”

“Don’t summon a flame,” Dhanab warned, reading their mind. “Wait for it.”

“Wait?” Waqi shot back, incredulous. “For them to—”

Something shot out of the lake. One projectile gave way to several, piercing the silence with the high whistles of Haunting laughter. The fog stopped the Stars from seeing the attack, but they all heard it, and knew the lack of light would not let them dodge. Taira screamed as a Haunting assailant tackled her into the darkness.

“No!” Dhanab instantly moved to follow Taira’s faint white flame. 

Waqi prepared a blast. “Leave it to me!” 

Dhanab blocked their path, taking hold of their shoulders. “I’ve got her. You should look for the king.”

Look for the king. Waqi knew what she meant to say, but they resented the wording anyway. It was far too close to acknowledging the danger they’d so carefully chosen to downplay. Still, she stayed, her gaze lingering on them with clear anxiety. She wouldn’t go without their express order.

“Go,” Waqi told her. “Do… whatever it is you were already going to.”

She smiled, relieved. “North Star duty!” she called out encouragingly, flitting away to Taira’s aid. 

Dropping every precaution about stealth, Waqi lit themself up in a burst of blue flame. The fog lifted. Finally, finally, they could see their attackers, scattered in midair and on the banks of the lake; without the cloak of darkness, the Hauntings carried forms befitting creatures of earth, except far too big, and closer to humans in terms of gait and clarity of disruptive purpose. This assortment of aquatic bait froze in fear at Waqi’s explosion, even the overgrown shrimp that had Dhanab and Taira locked in battle. Waqi relished the look of shock on the monsters’ faces. Clearly, they hadn’t been expecting the North Star. 

Just as quickly, they recovered with shrill battle cries, and the inky fog wafted into the air once more. This time, Waqi was ready.

They shot lightning indiscriminately, warding off the first few human-sized black crustacean Hauntings that leapt up at them. The flame stayed steady all the way, keeping their sight clear throughout every scuffle. The effort of keeping up defenses still remained a liability. They could not take in a single iota of their surroundings if every moment was punctuated by a strike at the relentless Haunting flock.

“Clear me an opening!” Waqi yelled to their friends.

Practically before Waqi finished speaking, it was done. Dhanab seized telekinetic control of the flock’s edges, and Taira sped to take out anyone who dared step into Waqi’s radius. 

With newfound freedom, Waqi began a swift descent… and it allowed them a crucial glance at the mysteriously boiling lake.

A golden light flickered beneath, its glow coloring fire into the angry waters.

Sol.

Waqi didn’t think. They dove headfirst, the fall heating up their every inch. Hauntings cried out, attempted a poorly thought out deflection, but Waqi’s fire now radiated fatally. Just try it now, they dared the assassins. Naturally, not a single one met the challenge.

The saline water greeted them all at once. 

Any numbing power it might have had over Waqi was warded off by the burning field surrounding them. They had bigger concerns.

“You came,” said an unmistakable voice behind them, with a tone of never having expected anything else. “My one and only North Star.”

Waqi turned sharply to look at Sol, relief and frustration warring within them for the chance to guide their response. Neither got the chance, because an ink-black current hit them instead. 

The staggering force threw them back, until they wedged their feet against the lake floor and opened their wings. They summoned a field of energy, protecting them from the onslaught. Waqi stepped forward, fighting the water with all they had, and broke into a run. The Hauntings they rammed into crumpled at the slightest touch of fire. 

Waqi had help down here too. Sol’s pillar of flame, emboldened by the new arrival, burned brighter, working with Waqi’s to purify the waters. When the blackness cleared, the piscine Hauntings that cast the torrent at them instantly skittered away from fear. Good.

At long last, the sunny glow was uninhibited. Every malicious assassin who stood between Waqi and Sol had been vanquished. As for Sol himself, his wings had been folded down and forcibly fastened to a rock formation by the Hauntings’ signature viscous ink. His brilliant golden locks, plumes of flame that had been boiling the lake from underneath, finally settled into soft waves. Despite the tired, sunken shadows beneath his eyes, he beamed at his friend like nothing had happened.

“I take it you have questions,” Sol said, calm as ever.

“Oh, you don't know the half of it. Hold still!” Waqi struck Sol’s restraints with lightning, setting his wings free. Sol stumbled forward from the sudden unshackling, and Waqi moved to steady him. “Do you need a moment?”

Any sign of weakness faded as his eyes flashed with clear offense. “Who in the everloving skies do you think I am?” 

Waqi laughed. There he was. “I was only making sure. Come on!” 

They seized his arm, guiding him to the surface until his wings recovered enough to pull his own weight. Waqi made it to the surface first, taking in the taste of pure wind and then turning to help Sol onto solid ground. A clear night sky shone above them, decorated with stars, free of any fog. The smell of charred flesh and the odd black puddle on the bank were the only signs that Hauntings had even been there.

“Well done,” Sol said, finally allowing Waqi to unclench their muscles. He’d said the word, so the fight was over.

A short distance away, Dhanab stood over Taira, no doubt fussing endlessly over every minor scratch Taira had sustained during her scuffle with the shrimp Haunting. All the while, Taira stared at her, smiling like she’d won something beyond the fight, not making a single move to stop her. Waqi rolled their eyes fondly. Those two could accomplish untold feats exemplifying every Star ideal, and still act afterward more like illicitly close adolescent human girls.

Sol strode toward them. “I see I have you two to thank for this infestation’s defeat.”

Dhanab jumped to attention, rushing to adjust her scarf. “My king! It is… an immeasurable relief to see you again.”

He laughed good naturedly, extending a hand to help Taira to her feet. “Are you alright?”

She took it. “That shrimp was far sturdier than he looked.”

“You must forgive me for the confusion this must have caused,” Sol said, and Waqi made a considerable effort to not bite back in the presence of their friends. “As valiantly as you fought, I never like having to send you all into Haunting territory.”

Taira scoffed. “You didn’t need us, my king. We all saw how you boiled the lake. Waqi told us on the way you were probably destroying them already, and they were right!”

Sol turned to Waqi, an unspoken question in his eyes. Waqi met his eyes meaningfully. Later, they tried to tell him.

Dhanab cleared her throat. “There’s still the matter of… the early sunset,” she said, thankfully changing the subject. “The humans were very shaken up.”

“Ah,” Sol said, glaring at the sky with truly personal resentment. “An unfortunate side effect of my… divergence, after the assassination attempt.” He stood up straighter. “No matter. The irregularities will be smoothed over by next morning. And our North Star here can convey the desired story to the secret keepers.”

“What?” Waqi protested. “Please don’t make me talk to Tusi again! He’s insufferable!”

The other three laughed, because Waqi’s misfortune was the joke that united them all. Some friends, Waqi thought, though they couldn’t stop their smile. 

Taira stretched out her arms. They cracked painfully, sending out sparks, but she pretended not to notice. “Well, that’s taken care of. I should check Maragha’s parameter for any runaways.”

“Absolutely not,” Sol scolded. “Dhanab, get her straight home and make sure she doesn’t set a single wingbeat out until next sunrise. This is an order.”

Already at attention, Dhanab grabbed Taira’s hand and spread her wings. “Yes, my king! Let’s go, Waqi.”

“You two go ahead,” they said, mustering all the cheer they could. “I need to speak with the king.”

It was a common enough request that the two didn’t think twice about. Waqi watched as arm in arm, Dhanab and Taira took off into the sky, chattering between themselves about plans for the next day. 

Once they were sure the two were out of earshot, Waqi punched Sol in the face.

Sol, naturally, barely flinched. “And here I thought you’d be the bigger Star about this,” he said flatly.

Waqi swung another fist, overflowing with everything they’d been holding back. “The bigger Star? You—” They pointed an accusing, lightning infused finger, giving up all pretense of being the unbothered North Star. “—scared the absolute shit out of me, you know that?”

Sol sighed. “Of course. I realize it was not ideal, but—”

“I had to tell them you were fine.” Breathlessly, they laughed, because the absurdity didn’t let them react any other way. “I mean, even after the sunset, I’d seen the state of your home. And I had to look them in the eyes and tell them you weren’t in trouble. And all this time, the Hauntings actually overpowered you, imprisoned you in a fucking lake? They could’ve hurt you, or worse!” 

“They could have done no such thing,” Sol said, so emphatically that it actually gave Waqi pause. “I was in no danger. I knew you’d come.”

“Oh, please…”

Sol took their shoulders and stared them right in the eye. Quietly, with terrifying emphasis, he said, “I let them capture me.” 

Waqi froze, at a loss for words.

“I had no time to decide.” He spoke hurriedly, like he needed to make Waqi understand in the shortest time possible. “The assassins came, and all I could think was, are there others nearby, and will they hurt the other Stars if I don’t act? I allowed my home to be ransacked, and I allowed them the false sense of confidence to imprison me. And… the plan had been to do away with them all once they took me to their base, but…”

“The lake,” Waqi finished. “And the darkness, and the combined force of the flock. Just one of those three at a time you could’ve taken. Not all at once.”

“It did not end me, or even hurt much. It did worse, momentarily weakening me enough that I couldn’t fight back. I counted on you to finish it for me.” Finally taking a breath, he smiled. “And you did.”

Any trace of lingering anger Waqi might have harbored evaporated. They pulled Sol into an embrace, taking great pleasure in the fact that he, eternal king of Stars, melted into it instantly. “You know I always will,” they said, and they meant it. Sol was put on such a pedestal by other Stars, and Waqi knew how thin he was spread because of it. They were the one person he had to fall back on; this was the least they could do. “Still, for the love of the skies, never pull something like this again. Your grand kingly plans are going to be the death of me.”

“But you cannot die.”

“I’m also best friends with a king who believes the basic principles of reality are optional,” they joked, letting go of the hug. “It’s safer to not take anything for granted.”

“That sounds fair,” Sol conceded. “All of this aside, I will ask you… keep the reality of this day between us.”

Waqi nodded. As if they needed to be told. “I’m not your trusted North Star for nothing.” They beat their wings twice and rose, itching to take to a clear sky for the first time that day. “Get up here!” they called down to Sol. 

“To where?” he said with a laugh. “You know what became of my home.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I’m feeling daring today,” they said. “I think it’s about time I rebuild a cloud home, instead of crushing every one I touch.”

[duckapus]

Pokemon/WarioWare crossover because why not throw yet another Anime Rewrite AU that I say I'll write a fic for and fully intend to but never do on the pile? (i have issues...)

Five years before the start of the series Delia and Ash find a girl around Ash's age with red eyes lost in a park who can't remember anything about herself except that her name is Ashley. Fallers are a bit more common in this timeline than others (though still pretty rare and not yet well understood) so when the authorities investigate they realize her situation pretty quickly...particularly how near-impossible it would be to get a 5-year-old who seems to be from a world without Pokemon (Fallers typically remember what Pokemon are and can name ones they're familiar with, so the fact that she only refers to them by general terms like "cat" or "bird" and is confused by a lot of their behavior is very telling). Delia, of course, agrees to take her in permanently after they break the news to her (she'd already been looking after Ashley during the investigation because of course she would).

So now Ash has a not-actually-a-twin sister. She still manages to become a witch-in-training since she's still got her massive potential for magic and witchcraft is canonically a thing in the Pokemon Anime. She even manages to summon Red and make him her familiar at seven. She's a bit more outgoing thanks to being raised in the Ketchum household instead of growing up more-or-less alone in that haunted mansion, but at her core she's still the grumpy little witch girl we know and love.

Anyway, she and Ash both plan on challenging the Indigo League, though they're going to travel together at least for their Kanto Journey (...yeah they're definitely gonna stick together even after that 'cause this is still meant to be a canon rewrite), partly because they know ahead of time about the Starter shortage and they figure that as long as at least one of them gets a Pokemon they can help the other catch something on Route 1 so they don't have to wait a month for a new set to be available (what, you really think Oak would've left them in the lurch for a whole year if the shortage had been real and not a Timeline Preservation Measure? though given how big a head start that would give the other trainers (particularly Gary) it still makes sense why 10-year-old Ash acted like it was the end of the world).

Of course, their alarm clock mysteriously breaks and they oversleep and end up with a Pikachu who hates them and an Eevee with absolutely no thoughts in its fluffy little head.

Anyway, things are mostly normal for a while aside from Ashley and Red being along for the ride, up until Power of One, where they encounter Wario. Apparently he ended up in the Pokemon World because he found some sort of magical artifact during one of his treasure hunts. Notably, he isn't Amnesiac like most Fallers, and he's not from the version of the Mushroom World that Ashley originally came from, as evidenced by him recognizing her on-sight even though she would've disappeared before ever meeting him. Anyway, he helps them beat Laurence III, then decides to claim the Hikokyu as spoils of war and fix it up to use as the local WarioWare HQ. So he's settling down in Shamouti for the time being.

Meanwhile, back in the Mushroom world, the WarioWare crew and the main Mario cast are trying to figure out what happened to Wario. They eventually manage to create a pipe that goes between Diamond City and Shamouti at some point midway through Johto...and find out that he ran off to Johto with Melody to challenge their League because he found out that Pokemon Battling, especially official League matches, gets you prize money, and he needed funds for replacement parts to get the Hikokyu up and running. So Mario, Peach, and about half the crew are off to fetch him. They don't finally catch up with him until the Alto Maire incident. Ashley's part of the search party, so she and the AU's main Ashley (and both Reds of course) end up meeting and it's a bit awkward at first. They end up going by Ashley K (for Ketchum of course) and Ashley M (for Mushroom, since she doesn't have a last name and Ashley W would be too clunky to say, plus she wouldn't be caught dead naming herself after Wario) for the sake of convenience (the Reds follow suit, of course).

I also have the idea of having the Hikokyu set up shop in Orre after it's been made skyworthy again and fully converted into a second game studio, then having the WarioWare crew stumble into and run roughshod over Gale of Darkness's plot with their own brand of glorious mayhem while just trying to introduce their games to the fresh new audience the Pokemon World provides.

[bracketsoffear]

Coraline (Neil Gaiman) "The presence of another world that resemble the one you know but different, the Other Mother whole deal and the fact that she spies on people using dolls and sews buttons in place of her victim's eyes."

Who Goes There? (John W. Campbell) "A group of American researchers, isolated in their scientific station in Antarctica towards the end of winter, discover an alien spaceship buried in the ice, where it crashed twenty million years before. They recover an alien creature from the ancient ice. Thawing revives the alien, a being which can assume the appearance, memories, and personality of a living thing it devours, while maintaining its body mass for further reproduction. Unknown to them, the alien immediately kills and then imitates the crew's physicist, a man named Connant; with some 90 pounds of its matter left over, it tries to become a sled dog. The crew discovers the dog-Thing and kills it midway through the transformation process. Pathologist Blair, who had lobbied for thawing the Thing, goes insane with paranoia and guilt, vowing to kill everyone at the base to save mankind; he is isolated within a locked cabin at their outpost. Connant is also isolated as a precaution, and a "rule-of-four" is initiated in which all personnel must remain under the close scrutiny of three others.

The crew realizes that they must isolate their base and therefore disable their airplanes and vehicles, yet they pretend that everything is normal during radio transmissions, to prevent any rescue attempts. The researchers try to figure out who may have been replaced by the alien (simply referred to as the Thing), to destroy the imitations before they can escape and take over the world. The task is found to be almost impossibly difficult when they realize that the Thing is shapeshifting and telepathic, reading minds and projecting thoughts. A sled dog is conditioned by human blood injections (from Copper and Garry) to provide a human-immunity serum test, as in rabbits. The initial test of Connant is inconclusive, as they realize that the test animal received both human and alien blood, meaning that either Doctor Copper or expedition Commander Garry is an alien. Assistant commander McReady takes over and deduces that all the other animals at the station, save the test dog, have already become imitations; all are killed by electrocution and their corpses burned.

Everyone suspects each other by now but must stay together for safety, deciding who will take turns sleeping and standing watch. Tensions mount and some men begin to go mad, thinking that they are already the last human, or wondering if they could know if they were not human any longer. Ultimately, Kinner, the cook, is murdered and accidentally revealed to be a Thing. McReady realizes that even small pieces of the creature will behave as independent organisms. He then uses this fact to test which men have been "converted" by taking blood samples from everyone and dipping a heated wire in the vial of blood. Each man's blood is tested, one at a time, and the donor is immediately killed if his blood recoils from the wire. Fourteen men, including Connant and Garry, are revealed to be Things. The remaining men go to test the isolated Blair, and on the way, see the first albatross of the Antarctic spring flying overhead; they shoot the bird to prevent a Thing from infecting it and flying to civilization.

When they reach Blair's cabin, they discover that he is a Thing. They realize that it has been left to its own devices for a week, coming and going as it pleased, as it is able to squeeze under doors by transforming itself. With the creatures inside the base destroyed, McReady and two others enter the cabin to kill the Thing that was once Blair. McReady forces it out into the snow and destroys it with a blowtorch. Afterwards, the trio discover that the Thing was dangerously close to finishing the construction of a nuclear-powered anti-gravity device that would have allowed it to escape to the outside world."

[keyh0use]

Kinktober Day 3: Thigh Riding

Choking, degrading names, and Rafe calls Barry daddy twice

Barry heard Rafe well before catching sight of him.

The sound of the kooks obnoxiously loud dirt bike revving down the straight road, going way faster than it should be before coming to an almost abrupt halt outside the shop.

It would be embarrassing how relieved the older man feels just knowing Rafe is here, if anyone was around to witness the way his shoulders sagged and a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

Then bright eyes and even brighter swim trunks turned the corner, and in strolled Rafe.

"Thought you were supposed to be miles out on the ocean by now," comments Barry, not glancing up from the bike he's currently rushing to finish working on, a tinge of pink dusting his high cheekbones.

Rafe counters, "Wasn't supposed to be alone today."

And yeah, that's fair. The last thing the mechanic wanted to do on a Saturday was go into the garage and do another man's job, but someone had to cover the shift and get all the shit done by Monday.

"Yeah, well, some of us got jobs instead of trust funds, country club." Barrys sitting on a misshapen wooden chair and it pleasantly surprised when it doesn't collapse as the boy drops down to straddle his thigh.

Two arms twine around the older man's neck and Rafe is leaning in to press a kiss to his handsome face, all while Barry's focus remains on the task at hand, all too used to this sort of behaviour from his easily bored boyfriend.

Rafe asks, "Thought your job was taking care of me?"

"Ain't that what I'm doin'?" retorts Barry, nodding at the bike like it's a physical embodiment of the career he keeps to contribute to their lifestyle.

"Not what I meant." Leaning forward, Rafe licks a broad stripe up Barry's tanned throat, salty with sweat. A oil-stained hand smacks against the boys thigh, smearing grease on the milky skin exposed there.

Barry snaps, "Watch yourself, boy. We're in public."

Only they're not—not really.

The shop is quiet except for a shitty radio playing some fuzzy country music station and the faint sound of birds chirping outside the open garage door, barren road in the near distance.

Barry's only supposed to be filling in until noon, giving them another thirty minutes or so before his scatterbrained coworker shows back up.

Still, it's a bad idea.

Ignoring the warning, Rafe nips at the older man's earlobe and whines, "But I've been waiting all day." The dramatics are accompanied by a peppering of kisses to heated flesh and Barry doesn't have to see Rafe's face to know he's pouting.

"Don't be a brat, country club, you can wait 'til we're home."

Or at least in the truck on a back road.

Rafe tucks his chin down to bite at Barry's collarbone, coveralls unzipped just enough to grant him access, and he shuffles back to give himself more space. With a slight tilt of his hips, Rafe's clothed erection is pressed firmly to the muscular thigh beneath him, material dragging against material.

"Rafe," scolds the older man, lips pressed firmly together and hand hovering in the air, midway between him and bike with a tool he suddenly forgets how to use.

The kook rolls his cock onto Barry's leg slowly, almost as if he's trying to be discreet, like he doesn't want to be caught. Like he wants to get away with going against Barry's direct orders.

Exhaling deeply through his nose, Barry repeats the boys name sternly and gets nothing in reply but a pathetic whine, the continuous rocking speeding up.

Rafe whispers, "Please, daddy."

And metal clatters to the floor, whatever tool previously held now skittering beneath the lifted bike. Barry scans the yard with frantic eyes before wrapping a strong arm around the boys trim waist, hauling him in closer.

"Needy little bitch, gettin' off on my dirty clothes," Barry spits, free hand curling around Rafe's thin throat and squeezing just a little too tight to watch him wince. "You need cock that bad? Came all the way down here just to piss me off enough to give it to you?"

Wide, desperate blue eyes hazily follow the motion of Barry's hand falling to yank his leg up, the side of his knee pressed flush to the mans bulge, large and warm and throbbing.

Rafe whimpers, "Oh." "Could strip you down right here, sit your pretty ass on my prick," suggests Barry in faux nonchalance, grinning when the boy cries out and bunches his own shirt up, guiding the older man's warm mouth to his nipple. Barry busies himself with licking and sucking the tiny bud, rejoicing in the needy sounds falling from the boys slack lips. It's a scene of depravity; the two rutting against one another like if they stop, they'll die. Rafe's slender fingers twisted in dark hair, dry humping his man's thigh while simultaneously getting Barry off with the constant rub of his knee against the big, fat dick obscured by the coveralls.

Lust drunk eyes peer up at the panting boy above him when Barry leans back against the chair, wood squeaking in protest with every jerky movement Rafe makes.

Barry asks, "Would you like that, baby? Get caught bouncin' in my lap?" Shaking his head like a broken doll, Rafe insists, "Just for you, daddy, please."

"Please what?" prompts the older man, brow cocked and eyes heavy-lidded. It's getting harder and harder to keep his composure, cock giving a violent twitch every time the kook whines.

"Fuck me, please," begs Rafe brokenly, fingers flexing at the base of Barry's skull.

"I can't," Barry grits out, jaw clicking shut tensely at the thought. "'Cause you couldn't just fuckin' wait."

Rafe doesn't have much time to be frustrated over being told no, glistening lips wet with drool trying to form a plea his fuzzy brain can't come up with. Then the thigh he's shamelessly riding bounces and it's too much, the boy sinking against Barry with a cry.

The boy whispers again, "Please, please, can I—please!"

"I wanna let you come, baby boy," confesses Barry with a mean tilt of his head. "It's just you sound so goddamn pretty when you beg."

Tires squealing in the distance has Barry's head snapping up to the road lying right outside, sharp gaze searching for the passing vehicle before realising there isn't one, whoever it is pulled into the shops parking lot.

The hand that isn't buried in his curls makes a grab for the white undershirt peeking through his semi-open coveralls and Rafe is rutting wildly, hips stuttering.

Barry takes pity on him, given the situation. At least one of them should get the chance to come.

"Aight, fine. Come, baby, go 'head," he whispers in the heated space between them, attention never straying from the look of relief Rafe wears, which melts into bliss in seconds.

Fusing their lips together in a bruising kiss, sloppy and messy and desperate, Barry effectively swallows every pathetic sound Rafe makes as he comes.

There's no time for the boy to ride out his high, glassy eyes blinking back into focus while big, rough hands make a grab of his hips.

It's a scramble then to right themselves, Barry manhandling Rafe into a less suggestive position on his lap just as a car door slams.

Rafe squirms in place and Barry grins. "Made a mess now you gotta sit in it, huh?"

"It's gross," mumbles the boy, but doesn't look too bothered about it when he leans in against Barry's chest.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, gon' take 'em off and shove them in your mouth in a few minutes, keep you real quiet while I use you," Barry says while wrapping his boy up in a tight embrace, chin resting atop Rafe's head.

Before Rafe can react in any way besides shuttering in excitement, Barry's flaky coworker is rounding the corner with a sour look on his long face, offering nothing but a wave in greeting on his way into the back.

Rafe asks quietly, "We can go now?"

"Yeah," answers Barry, tucking his chin down to press an affectionate kiss to blonde hair. "But you'll be lucky if I even let you make it to the truck."

[devinescribe]

Through the Canopy of Our Memories

Ch. 1 of “My Sunshine” [Treech TBoSaS x reader]

Warnings: cursing, war, violence, uhhh your dads an asshole. Not physically abusive. But he's an asshole 😡

It was always a struggle for you to make friends. So when your book was taken out of your hands by some other kids, you just resigned to the fact you wouldn't get it back.

"Hey, give it back," a voice said.

You looked up shyly, seeing one of the boys in your class. Dark messy curls, dark eyes that were filled with rage at the moment.

The other kids scoffed, throwing your book down.

"You alright?" He whispered, walking over to you.

You grabbed you book and looked at him with a smile.

"Just dandy... thanks for helpin' me..." you said, noticing him fidgeting with his hands, his foot kicking some dirt near him.

"It's no problem... my names Treech..."

"My names (Y/N)... it's nice to meet you."

The day went on and you two became quick friends. Your only friend. He was a jokester. But quiet, calm, contemplative... and protective.

****

"My Pa says that we might be a target next," you mumbled on your walk to the school with Treech next to you. You had heard your father talking this morning about the bombings, and how the rebels and Capitol had a midway point here in seven to try and kill each other.

"Don't you worry. They'll stay out far, wayyy farther than the lumber yard and our part of the woods... and if they're here in town we'll be ok. Don't worry alright?" He gave you a toothy grin as you reached the school building.

His words made you feel comforted as you entered the classroom. The lecture was dull. And boring. Much like the day outside. You liked the clouds however. Made the sunshine seem even more beautiful when it was out. What wasn't dull and boring were the small pieces of paper, Treech would pass you under the desk. You had to stop yourself from laughing out loud, or risk getting caught.

When it was time for recess, you both ran to the big willow tree near the end of the playground. He grabbed your hand and smiled widely as you raced to it.

"Betcha you can't climb this one," he said with a small grin.

"Betcha I can," you smiled, starting the climb.

Soon you were both sitting on one of the highest tree branches that was sturdy enough for you both to sit on.

A yawn escaped you lips as you lay your head on his shoulder.

"Later tonight... the-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence as all of a sudden you heard kids and teachers screaming. Everyone ran back inside, and you tried to look between the thick leaves of the willow.

You saw smoke from the building next door, and some men with weapons. Rebels. Some men in uniform showed up not long after, going after them, shooting at them. Capitol soldiers.

A teacher cried out that this was a school and there were children to be careful and to leave, but that seemed to make them angry. You didn't see which side did it, but they shot her.

You gasped and started to cry, but Treech was quick to comfort you, trying to calm you down. You two were safe up here. No one should be able to see up into where you two where and besides, your clothing matched the tree almost too well. You always wore green.

Some rebel soldiers came close to the tree and shot up at it. Scare the birds away. Mocking Jays. One bullet scrapped by you, grazing your arm.

You almost scream in fear, and a little pain, but Treech's hand quickly goes over your mouth and he pulls you as close as possible.

With his other hand he puts a finger over his lips, making a shushing motion.

You two spent hours up there, waiting until someone came to say it was ok.

You heard his mom and dad calling for him, and you both quickly climbed down. He got down first and held his arms out for you. You took the short jump, and he caught you grabbing your hand tightly as you ran over to his parents.

His eyes filled with tears as he shouted for his mom.

"(Y/N), Treech! Oh sweethearts, oh goodness, are y'all alright?" His mom ran to the both of you, falling to her knees to hug you both.

"Mama, w-we were in the tree we-we- and then the rebels and the soldiers and we-" he couldn't stop stammering or crying so you gripped onto him tightly.

Your protector.

——

Tears rolled down your cheeks. It has been a week since your dad told you you would be packing up and moving to the capitol.

You told Treech to meet you out in the woods at your guys' spot.

"Hey there sunshine, long time no see," he chirped, using the stupid rhyme you'd come up with as kids as his greeting.

"H-hi lumberjack, did ya get stuck in a t-tree?" You whispered.

The smile immediately dropped from his face.

"Hey? You've been cryin'? Who made you cry I swear I-"

"Treech... Pa said we're movin' to the capitol. I-I should've told you sooner i-I," you stammered as tears rolled down your face.

He wrapped you up in his arms, hugging you tightly.

"When?" He asked. You could tell he was trying not to cry as he would never give you one word answers.

"Two days... two days and we're takin' the first train out... I don't wanna go... I-i-... this is my home. You are my home. I don't wanna go," you sobbed, gripping onto his shirt.

His eyes well up with tears and his voice cracks as he speaks the next words, "Then we are gonna make these last two days the best damn days."

Walking home, hand and hand. Like you'd done all your life. Treech demanded you let him walk you home.

"Mama says I can't let you walk home alone. Says she'll kill me. I believe her."

He had said that so long ago, back when you were little little kids. Yet he still walked you home everyday.

He left you on your porch with a smile and a promise of going out to the lake tomorrow.

Entering the door of your cabin you saw all the things packed up in boxes. You stared at them blankly and curiously. You weren't supposed to pack until tomorrow.

"Ma?" You called out. "Why are all of our things packed?"

"We leave tomorrow. First train in the morning," your father said, coming out of the room.

You shook your head.

"No. Pa, you said I have two more days. Two. No I'm not-"

"You said your goodbyes today. From tomorrow on out you'll be a Capitol girl, and you'll forget all about this... district. You'll forget all about Treech. Everything."

You shook your head, tears falling down your face. You turned around, running out the door.

Your heard your mom screaming out your name, but you ran. Down the dirt roads down the pathways until you reached the familiar cabin. You went around to his window and knocked on it.

It was only a few seconds before he pulled you into his room.

"What... what are you doing here? What's wrong? You're cryin' again..." he mumbled, drying your tears.

"Pa lied. We leave tomorrow. First thing in the morning..."

The next morning, Treech took you down to the train station. You'd stayed overnight with him. Your parents were already waiting.

Treech pulled something out of his pocket and placed it in your hand.

It was a beautiful ring, made out of polished wood. There were small flakes of gold inside it. A small, dainty golden chain was put through the middle. It was obviously much to big for him as of right now.

"Treech, I-.. I can't take this from you it's too fine-"

"It's for you to remember me... and plus, when you come back when we see eachother again, you can give it back."

You took your necklace that had your great grandmother's ring which was in similar fashion to the one he'd given you. It was much to big for you now, so you kept it on the chain. You handed it to him.

"Remember me?"

"Always."

You hugged him tightly, his arms wrapping around you as you cried.

You felt another pair of arms pull me away. You kicked and screamed and begged to have just five more minutes.

Treech grabbed your hand one last time as your father pulled you into the train.

****

It was reaping day and you couldn't believe that your father had made you late. You rush in quietly, seeing Sejanus had save you a seat.

"They already called your name by the way..." he whispered.

Dean Highbottom turned and gave you a questioning look.

"Sorry, I take responsibility for my being late. My father had a meeting and I needed to attend," you whispered apologetically.

He nods and continues on the list.

"You got the boy from district seven-"

You cut Sejanus off before he could finish.

"My Father has been hinting at something all week. And I am not ready to face if he is tellin' the truth..." you mumble.

Sejanus places a comforting hand on your knee.

"I got the boy from district two... used to have class with him," he mumbled.

You placed your hand on top of his, "I'm so sorry..."

After seeing Lucy Gray perform it brought a smile to my face.

"Coriolanus, you've got yourself a beautiful song bird," I whisper after we all stand up.

He turns with a small, fake smile.

"I uh... I have a favor to ask of you," he whispers, leading you out into the hallway.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of you needing my help?" You tease.

While you and Coriolanus had never been 'close', you two knew each other. It was through his cousin that you knew him and his family's situation.

"Cut the act. It's weird not hearing you talk normally," he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"What do you need?"

"Tomorrow. I'm heading to the train station to meet my tribute. I need her to trust me. I... I need to win. And Highbottom favors you, it's no secret. If I do something stupid and you're doing it too, maybe I'll be forgiven, or let off the hook easier...I know I haven't always been... the nicest to you.... But, please." he looks at you with pleading eyes.

"Alright. I'll see you then."

YIPPEE IM BACK INTO WRITING BOOM ANGST BOOM HAPPY? Boom 🤯

[averagejoesolomon]

Wowza! What a doozy. Thanks for your patience on this one—lots of moving pieces. I hope you're enjoying the action as much as I am. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3. Happy Friday!

Chapter Six

As a general rule, Matt’s not afraid of a little silence. These days, a good silence has a way of bringing him back to the ranch, on a cool morning after he’s let all the animals out to graze. He used to spend hours in that barn all by himself, cleaning the stalls and filling the feeds, interrupted only by the occasional bird or barn cat. There was a peace about it—the sun cresting over a windy wheat field, sparkling across the morning dew, as muscle memory took over and left his mind to wander. The silence gave him space to think. Gave him time to take a step back and appreciate the little things in life. A silence, when done right, is a lot like a prayer without any of the effort.

This is not one of those silences.

In the twenty minutes since a man named Edward Townsend—apparently of MI6 and apparently not scheduled to arrive in Moscow midway through a mission—was dragged by his collar into the Baxters’ scanned and secured bedroom, Matt hasn’t heard one peep from his London partners. Hasn’t heard a peep from Rachel, either, which is far more disconcerting given there ain’t an inch of soundproofing between the two of them. She’s always had a way of making her silences seem loud, but this one has a bite to it. There’s frost in her features. There’s ice in her eyes. She’s a frozen pond too late into spring, closer to cracking by the second.

She’s furious about the hubbub at the Bolshoi—at least, Matt supposes so, if her car ride spent glaring at Townsend is any indication. The second they got back to the safe house, she changed from black silk to denim-on-denim, and dove straight into a pile of passports. She’s elbow deep in the accompanying paperwork by the time Matt completes his scan of the main room and approaches the small dining room table, wishing he knew how to thaw her out. “Hey,” he starts, with a clumsy clearing of his throat. “Don’t beat yourself up about how tonight went. This place has a way of taking the best laid plans and shoving them through a meat grinder.”

This is probably an understatement, given the scene they caused by rushing out of the theatre during the second act, and Rachel doesn’t miss the opportunity to say so. Pencil still looping through a sloppy and efficient cursive, she glances up from the top of her eyes. “That wasn’t a meat grinder,” she says. “That was a slaughterhouse.”

It’s nice to see her back at her usual level of cynicism. He slides easily into the seat opposite her, resuming his role as the silver lining to all of her gray clouds. “Nah,” he assures her, leaning onto the hind legs of his chair. “I’ve seen slaughterhouses, and there’s always a lot more bloodshed. All of your people are alive, and that counts for a lot. Plus, we got what we came for, didn’t we?”

He gestures toward her small collection of emerald and navy vinyl, every booklet placed neatly in a grid. Knowing her, they’re alphabetized by last name and he wonders which one reads Morgan. Wonders how his own name fits into her report. “We did,” she agrees. “And then some.”

Cold front, moving through. Her severity fractures throughout all of her features. A crease in her brow. The appraising squint of her eyes. Her not-quite dimples are back, carved from a tight frown, and Matt reckons she must know something he doesn’t. With Rachel, it’s always a pretty safe bet. 

Even so, he’s got this urge to chip away at her and get back to the softness he saw at the Bolshoi. She’s nearly there, hair tied up in a baby pink scrunchie, pins and jewelry stripped, but there’s still something at the core of her that needs a little more work. “See?” he says. “That’s good news you can take right back to Virginia.”

This doesn’t land the way he hopes. In fact, it winds her up even more. Rachel takes on a particular type of grace when she’s trying hard to appear calm. It’s the kind of subtle thing that might go unnoticed by most, but Matt is in the business of noticing Rachel Cameron and he has been for years. He spots it in her now, moving with the practiced ease of forced fluidity, rather than the natural, absentminded elegance she usually keeps. It’s an act. It’s spycraft.

With steady, thoughtful hands, she collects each of the passports one by one. They sit neatly in her grip, a manicured hand wrapped around their spines. Intention guides her every move as she tucks them back into the beaten up messenger bag. “Matthew?”

He rocks on the unsteady lean of the chair, entirely thoughtless. “Yeah?”

“Why isn’t your passport in this bag?”

Now it’s his turn to freeze, right where he sits, midway through a rock. She doesn’t meet his eyes, focused instead on latching the patinated golden buckles that secure the bag’s leather flap. “What do you mean?” he says. “It’s not in there?”

When she does finally look up, dark brown eyes hold the depth of the mountains, long after the sun goes down, when the whole world feels black and imperceptible. She doesn’t reply with a yes or no, but she doesn’t need to. More of that bitter silence bleeds into the open air between them, and her expectant pause is answer enough.

“Well that’s more good news,” he tries, but he spots a pulse in her jaw, something tight and terse with all kinds of hesitation. All at once, it feels like Townsend isn’t the only one being interrogated, so Matt jumps in with a question of his own, just to even the scales. “That is good news, isn’t it?”

Her hands settle onto the table, folded into a purposeful clasp. “It could be,” she says, and now her words have adopted that same careful cadence as her movement. He wants to shake it out of her, and loosen her back into something genuine. “But it’s my job to consider other possibilities.”

“Other possibilities,” he cautions, but it leaves too much space behind. He doesn’t want her to fill it in on his behalf—Heaven knows the sort of nonsense she’ll think up. He supplies his own nonsense instead. “As in, someone else might have it? Took it before the trade?”

“Maybe.” It drives him crazy, the way she holds everything back. Each of her sentences have their very own miniature silences hidden in the cracks between each word. “Or maybe it was never there to begin with. Maybe, despite all of the work you do in the East, despite years spent dancing behind the Iron Curtain, despite the file Langley has on you, three inches thick, your passport was never going to be traded to the Soviets.”

She has a remarkable talent for making good news sound bad. “In other words, nobody wants me dead today,” he says. “In my book, that’s a success.”

“It’s not about whether you have enemies that want you dead,” she challenges. “In Moscow, with your mission history, that’s a given.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about whether you have friends keeping you alive.”

Crack. His chair’s front legs land loud against the tile, sharp as a gunshot. Rachel doesn’t even flinch, and all it only makes him want to draw it out of her. Maybe she doesn’t know how scary he actually is. Maybe he ought to show her. “Hold your horses, here,” he says, cresting toward anger. “I don’t think I like what I’m being accused of.”

She meets him right at the edge. “I would think not,” she huffs.  “Most people don’t like being accused of treason.”

He leans in, elbows poised on the table. “I don’t have friends in the Soviet Union.” 

She mirrors him. “You have friends everywhere. You’re friends with everyone you meet.”

Unbelievable. “I’ve got allies and informants, but I don’t have friends. Not here.”

 “My intel says you’re a top target. And all of those unsanctioned missions—”

“You’re serious?” But of course she’s serious. She’s always serious. “God, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Matthew.”

His name on her lips sends a burning buzz through his bones. “You’re impossible, y’know?” He jumps up, trying to shake the feeling from his body, but it’s no good. This is what people mean, when they talk about their blood boiling. “What the Hell happened to reliable and trustworthy? Remember that?”

She bolts up beside him. Maybe she’s boiling, too. “Well, what am I supposed to think?” she hollers. “Some of the CIA’s top Soviet agents are on the verge of exposure, and your name is conveniently left off the list?”

He ain’t usually the type of guy to pace, but she brings it out of him. “Let me get this straight,” he says, and his own movements get the better of him. He’s not sure how to stop it. Hands flying. Shoulders shaking. “It’s a problem when my identity is getting sold, because it suggests I’m a Soviet spy. But it’s also a problem when my identity isn’t getting sold, because it suggests I’m a Soviet spy. Is there any scenario here where I’m not accused of being a Soviet spy?”

She’s totally still. Got fists where her hands ought to be. “Where did the woman go?”

His hands, running through his hair. “What?”

Her jaw, set in place. “Don’t play the fool, Matthew. I saw her. I saw a woman with the passports, and you let her go.”

“I didn’t—Christ, I didn’t let her go. Townsend came bursting in—”

“Do not treat me like an idiot.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

This, at long last, gets something real out of her. None of that performance she puts on for the profession. Her jaw drops, and her cheeks flush, and Matt’s finally looking at the woman instead of the spy. “How dare you—you complete…you—” It can’t be the first time he’s ever heard Rachel fumble over her words, but he’s hard pressed to remember another. “Argh! You have a lot of nerve calling me an idiot when you—”

“Alright, alright.” He holds out a halting hand, drowning her voice in his own before she can say something she regrets. Lord knows it’s already too late for him, which is why he drops back down to something softer. “You’re right. That was out of line. I’m sorry. Name calling ain’t gonna get us anywhere, it’s just—I mean—” He spins on his heel until he’s firmly facing her, wringing out the heat in his veins for good. “God almighty, what are we even fighting about?”

More silence. He misses mornings in Nebraska. “I don’t know,” she admits, small and sincere. “But I think we’ve been having this same fight for years.”

It’s just another thing she’s right about. Another thing Rachel can see from her mile-high view of the world, that Matt wouldn’t stand a chance at spotting from his place down in the day-to-day dirt. “Yeah,” he realizes, thoughts stretching back to Baltimore, and a Chicago ballgame, and a bathtub in Italy. “I think so too.”

The safe house soaks up all the sound in the room, and it’s just her, waiting for him, waiting for her. This is usually the part when she tells him what’s next. When she gives him an outfit to wear, or a list to follow, or a codeword to use later on. For as long as they’ve known one another, she’s been the lady with the blueprints, telling him which ducts to crawl through and when. She’s supposed to hear all, see all, know all. But obviously there are some things not even Rachel can understand, because she asks, “So how do we stop having it?”

And in matters like these, Matt’s inclined to turn toward the experts. “Well,” he starts. “My mama always says that fights ain’t nothing but friends who can’t say what they’re really thinking.”

She nods, slowly, like maybe that sounds right after all. “Okay,” she says. “So what are you thinking?”

It’s the same thing he’s been thinking since he arrived in Moscow. Since her phone call. Since Baltimore. Now seems like as good a time as any to finally say it, because in a life led with nothing to lose, Matt’s starting to feel like he doesn’t want to lose her. “I’m thinking that I’m sorry,” he says. “For everything. For all of it. I’m sorry about how we left things after that big fight and I’m sorry you’ve always got to tell me what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m sorry for all the hollering. For all those nasty things I said. I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything. And I’m sorry I keep asking you to look the other way, because I know—I know—you can see when I’m lying through my teeth. But I hope you can also see that I’ve got a good reason for it.”

He doesn’t mean to say all that. Doesn’t even mean to say half of it. The truth of it all sends his heart racing, and the telltale taste of adrenaline sparks in his mouth. Matt’s been shot at, chased down, stalked, and beaten to bruises, but none of it holds a candle to the white hot overwhelm zinging through his every muscle in this moment.

When Rachel doesn’t answer, frosting up around her edges once more, Matt takes a crack at her before she can turn back to ice. “What are you thinking?”

The words don’t come as easy for Rachel, caught like hose water in the middle of March. “I’m scared that I was wrong about you—that I’m still wrong about you,” she starts, and it sounds like honest torture, the way she has to pull it out of herself. “I’m scared that the best double agents are the people you never suspect, and I’ve never suspected you for a second.”

This sounds like the end of it, but the momentum builds up, and she clears away whatever block keeps her words down, one second at a time. “And I’m scared that I don’t know you anymore,” she goes on. “Or that maybe I never knew you to begin with. Or that, worst of all, I’m wrong about being wrong, and you’re actually exactly as good as I think you are. That you’re kind, and smart, and humble. That in a world of liars, you’re the first one I’ve met who doesn’t find any glory in it. That in a world of men who don’t listen to me, you do. That you’re loyal, loyal, loyal all the way down. And I’m scared that I’ve gone and messed it all up and now… now you won’t even call.”

In the past five years combined, Rachel hasn’t said anywhere close to the number of kind things she’s just spit out in the past ten seconds. The whole thing leaves Matt’s head feeling a little dizzy, though he can’t name why. There’s too much to pull apart, so he starts with the last thing. The most important thing. “I’ll call,” he promises, and he reaches a hand out to her arm just to make sure it lands. “I didn’t know you wanted me to call.”

Her brown eyes strike again. This time, she’s looking up at him, and the light catches on flecks of glassy gold. “These last two years, I was scared I’d spend my whole life waiting for you to call again.”

She’s been waiting for him. “I didn’t know you cared about me that much.”

“Well,” she sniffs, “don’t you care about me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course you do.”

And that’s his answer. He should have known. He should have just done what Abby told him to do ages ago and manned up. Made the call. “I’ll call.” Two years. They’ve wasted two perfectly good years. “I’ll always call.”

Her breath falls. With it, her shoulders. She’s been holding that one in for a mighty long time. “I’ll be waiting.”

There’s more to say. They’ve got years to catch up on, after all, but they don’t get the chance. Just like that, a door opens and they’re all out of time. 

Abe’s voice booms into the small room. “Well, the good news is, he’s not a double agent,” he says, leading Townsend out of the bedroom by the crook of his elbow. “Bad news is, he’s a bloody idiot.”

Abe shoves Townsend into one of the dining chairs with the sort of force that makes it clear Townsend won’t be getting back up without permission. This doesn’t stop Townsend from tearing his arm out of Abe’s grip, then crossing both over his chest. With a scoff and the roll of his eyes, he grumbles, “Why on earth you would think I’m a double agent, I have no idea.”

Grace struts into the room at her usual lean and limber pace. “Honestly, Townsend,” she trills. “We’re waiting for the second half of a trade, then you walk through the door. You do the maths.” 

“You know me.”

“Yes, I know you,” Grace allows. “I know you to be an Oxford prick.”

This prompts another roll of Townsend’s eyes, this one even bigger than the last. The movement suits his boyish features, pairing nicely with the too-long curl of his hair and his perpetually turned up nose. Unfortunately for him, Townsend probably still has another year or two before he fully fills into himself, and his lankiness undercuts any weight he might be trying to throw around. Matt says a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that he himself is no longer in his early twenties, and never will be again.

Rachel, who has never been one to let youth stand in the way of a good lecture, locks on to Townsend like she’s got his heat signature on radar. “So,” she says, taking the seat opposite Townsend. “You’re the one who broke into the Bolshoi.”

Townsend sits up a little straighter, accepting her challenge. “And you are?”

Oh boy.

Matt’s ready to restrain her, in the event that this kid sends her teetering over the edge, but Rachel remains cool as ever. Rather than justify his question with a response, she shoots back one of her own. “What were you doing at the theatre tonight, Townsend?”

He slides his stare up to Abe, looming nearby. “I already explained that in great detail to your friends—”

“I’ll find out what you told them,” she assures him. “Right now, I’m interested to hear what you’ll tell me.”

Townsend is all huffs and puffs, with a tantrum just below a perfectly posh surface. “Fine,” he relents. “The woman you saw tonight? I’ve been tailing her for eighteen months.”

“Why?” says Rachel.

“That’s classified,” says Townsend.

For the first time all night, Rachel smiles. It’s a wry, amused sort of thing, which she immediately cuts in half. “Listen, bub, you just busted into the middle of my mission.” Townsend, who has almost definitely never been called bub once in his life, actually startles at the shift in her tone. “And because I’ve spent a lot of time planning that mission down to the minute, I can guarantee that you weren’t supposed to be there. In fact, I’d bet my salary you aren’t even supposed to be in the country, so you’ll tell me why you were tailing her, or so help me god, I will have MI6 open up an investigation on you that’ll have you sitting at a desk for so long, you’ll forget what fieldwork feels like.” 

A fella’s got to admire the way Rachel can humble the Hell out of a guy, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it’s the light, but Matt swears he sees Townsend blush a little. “I have reason to believe this particular woman is working within an underground network of compromised agents.” 

Freeze. Panic. Joe, Joe, Joe.

Every shred of Matt’s awareness wraps around Townsend’s voice, as though he can somehow tie it up and tug it away from the others. He runs through each word, picking out the important ones—woman, network, compromised—and hoping beyond hope he can yank them straight into the shadowed parts of his soul, where no one else can spot them for what they really are.

But before Matt is able to cut in, Townsend continues to explain. “I was attempting to corner her tonight, before she could trade the passports, but—”

“But instead you scared her off and made us look like fools in front of half the Russian government,” Abe finishes. “Job well done, mate.”

Townsend cuts Abe a look. “She’s slippery,” he defends. Then, with a renewed spark in his tone. “But she’s also desperate, and we have something she wants.”

When Townsend’s eyes fall to the messenger bag, everyone else in the room follows suit. Silently, a plan starts to form in Matt’s head, and he realizes that Townsend isn’t as inexperienced as he looks. This mission suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, slotting itself neatly into the behemoth of a mission that has run Matt and Joe’s lives for years. Moscow, in an instant, feels so much bigger.

Rachel’s laugh cuts through the thought, short and sharp. “Absolutely not,” she says, grabbing hold of the messenger bag and  “These are going straight to Langley, no detours.”

“Send them back to Langley and they’ll end up right back in her hands,” Townsend argues, and Matt knows he’s right. But Matt also knows that Rachel ain’t likely to be swayed, once her mind is made up. “This is bigger than the passports. This is about a network of spies infiltrating our agencies and—”

“No detours.” There it is. Rachel’s nos are dense, immovable things and this one weighs down the room. “Especially not at the recommendation of someone I just met.”

“This is important.”

“Bring it up with your superiors, Townsend,” she says. “In the meantime, I trust Langley more than I trust you, not least because they’ve been around longer.”

“And this network has been around longer than your beloved CIA.”

“It sounds like you’re an expert. And you know exactly how to find them without our help.” She stands, slinging the strap of the messenger bag over her shoulder. “Although, next time, I recommend giving your agency a heads-up before you endanger the lives of everyone around you.”

“You have to listen to me.”

“No, you listen to me,” she says. “You’re going to spend the night here, with one of us keeping watch over you all night—because we don’t trust you—and then you’re going to get on a plane with Abe to London. After that, I’ll let MI6 decide what happens to agents who blow covers and cause potential international incidents.”

Townsend seems to shrink where he sits, and Matt recognizes the look. Months of hunting the Circle of Cavan, thrown aside in the span of a moment. It’s a special brand of fury and frustration, mixed with the sort of despair only a spy can ever truly understand. It's the sense that something is bigger than oneself. The sense that something is more urgent than anything else. And the sense that no one will ever truly understand the way you do, because nobody is allowed to know everything you know.

But Matt understands. So maybe that’s why he says, “I can take first watch.”

Betrayal crashes across Townsend’s face, with the realization that everyone else in the room is against him. Matt hates to think the kid was holding out hope.

Rachel eyes Matt, then lands back on Townsend. “Fine,” she says. “I need to get all of this hairspray out of my hair anyway. I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”

“Sure thing,” he says. Then, to Townsend. “You want some coffee?”

“Coffee,” Townsend sneers.

Matt gets to work anyway, and it has just the effect he hopes for. Rachel retreats to her room and the Baxters, uninterested in what Abe once called “Matt’s bean water” find far more entertainment in one another, and lock themselves into their government-funded honeymoon suite until further notice. It takes time, but eventually it’s just Matt and Townsend.

Matt brings a cup of hot water and a tea bag to the table, as a peace offering. “You’ll have to forgive my partner,” he says, taking a sip from his own mug. “She’s been working on this for more than half a year.”

Townsend doesn’t take the tea. Instead, he props his head into his hand, listless. “I’ve been working my op for three times that long.”

If Matt can play this right, it'll be the biggest break in the Circle mission yet. “Sounds like you really know your target.”

Townsend huffs. “Understatement of the century.”

It's almost too easy. “Do you really think she’d come for the passports, if we offered them?”

“Not a doubt in my mind," says Townsend, and the facts fall out of him easy. Matt's mama always said he just has one of those faces. "As far as I can tell, she’s about as low as it gets on the totem pole, and she’ll do whatever she can to crawl her way up the ranks. Suppose it is a bit of a long shot though. I don’t know how to reach her.”

Joe, Joe, Joe. “What if I told you," says Matt, "I could deliver a message to her.”

Townsend smiles, his hope in Matt apparently restored as he drops the tea bag in his mug.