#Pretender: Not very good at fighting. prefers luring in enemies and killing them before a fight can start.

[spotaus]

Pt 10! (Very relevant to all their stories!)

[randbwrite]

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 1 Part 2

Words: 1907

TW: Blood, graphic violence, death

CW: War, attempted assassination, vampires

B: Near silent footsteps didn’t announce Derrick’s presence so much as the scampering of a happy stoat pattering across the stone ahead of him did. The man was massive, how on earth he could move so quietly was a mystery Rapscallion wanted to solve one day. Whenever he got around to it. 

“They’re waiting for you upstairs.” With his bland tone of voice, Derrick could’ve been discussing the weather.

For all that Rap could be seen to care, they might as well have been. “I know.”

“It’s inadvisable to make them wait.”

“So?” Indifferent shrug.

“There’s a difference between cute and stupid. You crossed a line earlier, and you’re going to drag your feet now?”

“Yep.”

“They want me to drag you if necessary.” Both of them knew how that would end. 

“Aww, I knew you cared!” 

“Never tried to hide it, unlike some people.” 

“Oh stop it, you’ll make me blush.” Rap’s devil may care smirk nearly brought one to Derrick’s expression, but he had to be serious!

“Palavering isn’t going to change the situation...”

“Yeah, but!! If they’re annoyed enough, they’ll give the orders without the imperious preamble and pomp. Here’s your orders and off you go! Works like a charm.”

“Right.” Massive arms were crossed over an equally broad chest, the quirk in his eyebrows reminding Rap his friend really will carry him off if need be. 

A huff lifted a pesky lock off his forehead momentarily, exposing the brilliant emerald orbs beneath. “I’m going, I’m going! I’ll catch ya later. Or not.”

Derrick shook his head, one scarred hand messing up the extraordinarily unkempt rusty mop Rap called hair. He knew what was meant. They couldn’t promise anything, nor really ask, but the unspoken request every time was to take care. Try and survive, eh? Wouldn’t be quite so exciting without the other around. They should probably wonder about how much nonverbal communication went on between them, but such was life. Full of the oddities that made it...so alive.

.....

The board of impassive faces that met Rap would be unreadable to most. Decades of training had refined their poker faces, but everyone has their tells. Tiny twitches, the way certain coifs had been fixed endlessly before he arrived, notebooks, bracelets, rings all adjusted to the nth degree...they should really watch their perfection of accoutrements more carefully. It all but telegraphed their mood. Course they’d never asked him. 

Uhhh...okay, wait. They all had that same creepy dead look in their eyes except one. Dude off to the left, madness gleaming usually signaling blood lust. Did he do anything to tick that one off recently? ...No, not that he could remember...few times over the years, sure. The last prank hadn’t been his, but he took the blame for it. The crazy stunt had gotten a larger contingent of the assassins caught up in it and made them all want to kill him for a few weeks. That wasn’t too much of a deviation from the norm however. With a bit of time they’d all drop it, move on to the next frustration or take it out on their targets. They’re not allowed to kill one of their own anyway. 

Missions were usually handed out by one person. Not a tribunal. Must be another meeting taking place, killing two birds with one stone. This wasn’t set up as a retribution either or he’d sense more of his fellow assassins in the shadows. That’s a delayed relief and he knew it, but hey! He’ll take what he can get.

“So! Whatcha got for me? Who’s incurred the wrath of the great and powerful Assassin’s League? Besides me of course.” 

A minuscule draw to the head assassins’ brows was his reward, but the gleam in the other’s traveled from his eyes to a wide, manic smile. It was also he from whom the instructions came, a mission that per the norm wouldn’t allow for denial in accepting.

“Your target is la Comtesse Arcanum. She will be taking part in a battle between the French army and the German forces. Shoo now. Off with you.”

A noble. Right! That should be easy enough. So why was that gleam now being shared among most of his peers? He almost preferred when they all were content to be blasé about everything to...this. Esh.

Rap was on his way quick enough. It only involved avoiding the booby trap someone had set for him in the hallway to his storeroom. Place didn’t so much count as a bedroom as he rarely bothered to sleep there: gathering up an array of...necessary supplies and hopping a horse he’d leave in the nearest town to the battlefield; he was good to go.

Mission was simple, least to his mind. These commanders tended to do their leading from behind, strategizing based off of reports and keeping themselves safe in a tent far removed from those who gave and lost their lives for whatever ideal or land being quibbled over. Surrounded by soldiers, they thought themselves to be safe. Protected. Untouchable. Heh. People assume in order to be an assassin you have to melt into the shadows. Not true. Humans jump at shadows! They distrust their own even. Disappear into the mundane though...no one will look twice. 

Think about it. Your water boy scurrying to keep the retreat horses fresh? What about the cook’s kid running rations, a medic’s assistant supplying fresh bandages, even an officer with the bearing and urgency demanding he not be stopped for anything or anyone, ducking into the command tent. It was always some variation and pretending to be in a hurry was the only steady requirement. When he got to this battlefield however, he couldn’t stop the swear word from being muttered.

“What the—? Lemon juice.”

No bustle to a central command tent. No commander in that one large, ostentatious tent either. A map, little flags which could surely help anyone intending to spy on their contingency plans, but no female commander. He was going to have to go into the fight himself, and he was beginning to see why they’d thought this would be such great fun. Fun for them.

A survey of the map showed him the general lay of the land, an idea of the commander’s intentions, how she had spread her troops, and where he might lure her to take her out. It wouldn’t be easy as she had plenty of people who were going to be trying to kill her. An entire army as a matter of fact. But if they sent him out there, the army wasn’t going to be enough to take her out.

Something about how the pattern was laid out was bugging him: only when he discerned she wasn’t the singular high ranking officer on the field did he understand. Sort of. Who fought with their own vanguard rather than dividing forces? There must be a purpose for it... He was going to need a vantage of the battle before he went out to join it.

Donning a uniform of the French army, he fished out a spyglass and took a cursory view of the battlefield, suppositions holding true. A maelstrom of blood and chaos was the field, soldiers and grass on fire, blades flashing, one of the soldiers fighting seeming to be made of fire and still plowing on. It was a mess. Rap shrugged and put away his tool. He’d picked out a spot to lead la Comtesse and his target to distract her with, which just so happened to be the second most dangerous force on the field to contend with. Who was on fire. According to the excited rumors in camp, that was the man he was looking for all the same. His own eyes confirmed it from the way the two moved in concert as well, even if logically what he was seeing was defying rationale.

By the time his traps were laid, set for both his target and those who may get between them, the battle had become more of a slaughter than an even fight. It was a matter of time before the opposing commander sounded the retreat; with the lack of officers on the field of battle it seemed surrender wasn’t to be the intention.

Anyone approaching the man on fire had been incinerated, disturbing visions of boiled metal and bent airwaves lending credence to the notion that whatever was actually happening over there and however the frak it worked, it wouldn’t be a bright idea to get anywhere close. Instead, Rap took advantage of the pile of discarded corpses surrounding the indefatigable duo and...played dead. The winds were probably changing soon, based on the way the clouds were moving. He was gambling on the hope this fire man wouldn’t want to risk accidentally burning his commander or allies, never mind the fact Rap had NO IDEA how in the name of insane bonfires anyone could survive being in the middle of those high temperatures, let alone send them off. 

It worked. It worked!! Fire man moved with the wind, using it to carry his incendiary discharges towards his enemies rather than risk his own. A useful breeze, the coat that surely served to project further fear in his enemies and protect the backs of his legs lifted. Just enough. A series of tainted projectiles fired in quick succession, more than half hitting the small target that was the back of fire man’s knee. Good thing Rap had gone with his metal options rather than the more innocuous wooden ones. Easier to hide the evidence afterward, but they wouldn’t have survived the heat. Then again, usually his targets weren’t walking infernos. A notion for further consideration later. Much later. 

It didn’t take long, though fire man must’ve had an elephant’s metabolism to not have dropped immediately, but in under a minute he was finally down on one knee. It would continue to work through his system; the flames guttering along with his strength. The delay gave Rap enough time to move into position though. He would lure the commander to his choice in battlegrounds. Not far from where they were, but just enough that his traps would remain untouched by the unwitting and unintentioned. He held his blow gun aloft, a short sword in his other hand. France’s coat of arms emblazoned on his chest and a very unsoldierly smirk on his lips completed the visage. 

Make her feel rage. Take away her calm. Peel back the strategy and finesse that made her a terror in her element. Force her to step into his world, one without rules of combat, and that would be the only chance he had to take her out. Then again...something made it seem like all his efforts wouldn’t matter. As if she would step just as easily from her realm into his and beat him at his own game. He would not, should not consider defeat. That would mean accepting death, and this had only just begun!

The cocksure rise of lips and brow would not betray fear’s frigid grip trailing sweat down his spine nor the faint tremor of nerves knowing this time, among all the others, the League had no intention that he should come back alive. They might just be right. But he’d never willingly give them the satisfaction.

Standing stock still in the open went against every single instinct in him, nearly all the training he’d received and the adrenaline screaming he move! Fight or flee, pick one!! But for this to work, she had to come to him. A few steps were all it would take and the first of his traps would be sprung...

[mysaldate]

headcanons on how the slayers would react to an impossible battle situation - facing an upper moon. they do have the option of running, but innocent lives might be at stake owo for isanami, sasuke, saizo, kakei-san, and rokuro

I was trying to look up about when did Muzan create the Demon Moons but the timeline is so messy and makes so little sense that the best guess is it being some 120 years before the main story or somewhere around that. Since Brave10 timeline comes way before this, I don’t think Demon Moons would be around at that time but it’s not unlikely that demons of similar power levels were around – they just didn’t give the warning with their eyes.

Also I will open each character up with some basic info on their general battle style since I haven’t mentioned it yet but it will affect their reactions.

I’m also writing this to calm down after my rant so sorry if some of them feel just a little out of place. I’ll be trying hard for that not to happen though.

Brave10 Demon Slayers facing a certain defeat headcanons

Isanami

She usually leaves the fighting to Saizo and makes sure the people are alright but at the off chance they got separated and she is forced to fight, she can be surprisingly capable. Her small build and amazing flexibility are her main advantages in a fight and she also has a surprising amount of stamina.

With that all being said, she is still quite weak so even a demon of slightly lower power levels than those of an Upper Moon is already a serious problem for her. However, if a demon that powerful was to show up, the gap between them would be enormous.

If there are no civilians at the scene, Isanami might use the sixth form to attempt to blind the demon and then escape using the fourth form. How successful she would be depends mostly on her surroundings. She’s quite capable of disappearing from sight in a forest and thanks to her being very light, she doesn’t make much noise either. In an open field however, she might not be that lucky.

If innocent lives are at stake, Isanami will go on defense, trying to protect them to the best of her ability. She might even offer to give up without a fight if the demon spares the people around (have I mentioned she’s quite possibly a marechi?). If the demon allows it, she will then write a letter to Saizo and Sasuke since she doesn’t want to leave them without a goodbye.

She still won’t let the demon eat her until she is absolutely certain all the people are safely gone. She may be naive when it comes to her fellow slayers but she knows well enough not to trust a demon just that easily.

Sasuke

Sasuke specializes in a stealthy battle style. He stays hidden as much as he can and deals surprising attacks that bring most enemies down before they even realize what hit them. He uses his connection with nature to read his enemies’ movements and figure out the best course of action.

As such, the demons he would have most trouble slaying would be either those staying in a house or mansion (like Kyogai) or demons capable of manipulating nature around them. The later especially could pose a serious threat to him as his most important source of information and cover would be completely cut off.

He generally tries to get fights as far away from civilians as possible so he doesn’t have to worry about protecting them while fighting so it’s more likely he would find himself in such a situation aside from people. Sasuke doesn’t have an ego that would prevent him from running from a fight he clearly has not chance of winning. Thanks to the footwork of his second form, he might manage to get far enough from the demon’s immediate reach to then make a run for it. He’s quite fast on his feet, even faster than most demons, so he has high chances of making it out alive.

However, if a fight was to break out around other people, things get a little more complicated. Sasuke would constantly have to switch between offensive and defensive style, trying to both protect the people with him and keep the demon at bay. He knows he can’t send the people ahead of him since the demon is so strong he couldn’t keep it away from them anyway so the best he can do is fight with all his might to protect everyone.

He will send one of his owls, or possibly the messanger crow, to bring help. He doesn’t really count on making it out alive but if someone can come and protect at least some of the people there, then that’s enough for him.

Saizo

Saizo tends to push his limits as far as they would go in every fight. Even when fighting weaker demons, he’s not exactly good at saving his energy. His fighting style is powerful but not efficient. He rushes to end every fight before the demon can properly warm up and before it can drag out for any longer than necessary.

He doesn’t do very well in long fights but he’s pretty durable so sheer raw strength won’t be enough to knock him down. It’s much more dangerous if the demon merely blocks all of the incoming attacks and tires him out first. While this was already pointed out to him, he doesn’t really know how to fix this little problem and still charges in head-on. The fact that he can’t use the full potential of Breath of Darkness also plays its role.

Like Sasuke, he much prefers to fight aside from any human community, though it’s more to fit his lone wolf aesthetics (shattered when Isanami insisted on joining him) and his general dislike of crowds. While he doesn’t mind to fall back for a while, he’s not used to leaving a fight unfinished so he might pretend to run, only to then turn around and try again, using the increasing speed of fifth form to at least deal as much damage as he can as well as block the enemy’s attacks.

While he would complain about having to protect someone, he’s not about to let women or children just die, especially since he’s a demon slayer. He struggles with defensive techniques though and his only real solution would be luring the demon’s attention away by relentlessly attacking. He would leave the people with Isanami and just hope she will leave with them and won’t come back to help him fight.

He has also thought of sending the crow to get help but in the end decided against it. The demon is already most likely going to kill him and help wouldn’t get to the soon enough anyway. If another single slayer was to face the same demon alone, it would be a pointless loss. Rather, he will have the crow record what went down and report everything properly so adequate actions can be taken.

Kakei

His style focuses mostly on the advantage he can gain by keeping his distance from the demon. Kakei doesn’t posses extraordinary speed or stamina but he’s extremely durable and quick to get back up after receiving a blow. Thanks to mastering the Breath of Fire as well, he can use combined techniques, either using Saya as a blade or taking up the sword of one of his fellow slayers – though he doesn’t do that often.

His weakness would most likely be close combat so if a demon is quick enough to avoid his shots or can block them effectively enough to get close, he might get into trouble. It’s also particularly dangerous if a demon can use long-distance attacks with a range superior to Kakei’s.

His fourth technique will get used a lot if the demon gets close and he’s alone. Saya is, unsurprisingly, great at breaking bones and can be used as an extremely violent stabbing weapon if used with enough strength. And Kakei certainly has this sort of strength. Even if he knows he has no chance of winning, there’s no way he’s just giving up. If he has to, he will take the demon to hell with him.

This goes all the more if there are innocent bystanders nearby. No way in hell will he allow anyone else to get hurt on his watch. He will take even close-range shots, no matter how much the recoil damage hurts him. And if worse comes to the absolute worst, his fifth form is on the list as well. He will blow the demon’s head to ribbons if it’s the last thing he can ever do.

Rather than sending his crow off to get back-up, he will order it to take the people to safety. With his bullets, he can prevent the demon from going after them and take it on by himself for long enough for them to escape. It still would bother him that he never got to make up for his failure as a father (in his eyes at least) and that he will die before ever doing that but he also understands that there are bigger things in life than himself. Protecting more innocent lives is one of them.

Rokuro

He is an incredibly balanced fighter. One of the few who can keep up incredibly well on both offense and defense, he’s also fast and agile. With his excellent eye-sight, he’s definitelly one of the strongest demon slayers of his generation. When on a mission with Yukimura, he also makes the best of his excelent insight into the enemy techniques and weaknesses. They make a great team but some would argue Rokuro is more efficient on his own when he can focus solely on fighting and less on protecting his master.

As such, there’s not really a particular set of abilities a demon would have to have in order to gain any advantage over him. That’s not to say he can’t be simply overpowered but unlike Kakei or Sasuke, this pillar has no clear weakness. Meeting a demon who can surpass him in one or more ways, of course, is entirely possible and if separated from Yukimura, it’s not improbable he might even make a mistake of judgment.

If he realizes he’d be overpowered on his own (and believe me, he would realize that before the fight even starts), he’d probably fall back, sending a message out and asking for further orders. He will try to collect information on the demon without being seen or felt – and he’s probably quite successful in that area as well. He’s deffinitelly not seeking a fight and if it seems neccessary, he will take the chance to flee.

Things take a turn if there’s a chance of the demon going after other people. If Rokuro is given enough time ahead before the demon can reach them, he is likely to find a safe hiding spot for them to stay at or to organise some sort of an escape. He’s likely to stay behind and distract the demon, even if just for a short while. But he also has no intention of dying there so he will just hold the demon off and then flee the scene as well.

If he’s not given any time, however, he will need to think on his feet. And his first priority, of course, is ensuring the people’s safety. He would most likely use his second additional form way more than he normally should, exhausting himself thoroughly but there’s no way he’d give anyone over. He might switch into other forms briefly to recover at least a bit of his stamina but he will most certainly remain on the defense. At this point, the crow is sent out. Not for back-up but to warn any lower-ranked slayers possibly in the area. Though don’t get it wrong, he’s not telling them to run, just to be careful. It’s in his best interest to have more hands to use to protect everyone and hold off the demon after all.

[ganymedesclock]

saw someone say that lotor hates the idea of "being controlled by women" and that he doesn't like women who have agency, which is a reason he hates haggar, and a reason why he had the generals, because he thought they "didn't have agency" and that he thinks his charms work on them... what kind of bad take is that

I mean, if you consider the generals plus Allura and traits they have in common as people that Lotor’s drawn to and finds very appealing as business partners and friends (since he clearly makes his relationship with them more than practical- he opens up to them emotionally more than the situation warrants) the pattern emerging is that Lotor prefers peer groups composed of ambitious women who are proactive in pursuing their own goals.

It’s very significant that the generals under Lotor compared to other people they’ve worked under who we know are very controlling (Zarkon and Haggar) that the Generals under Lotor were way more emotionally invested in what they were doing. They had a lot more energy and cared a lot more about what they were doing.

Furthermore you would have to be really, really unobservant in a way that Lotor isn’t to think the generals are docile sheep to be led around. Again, they’re very ambitious people. As soon as Lotor does something they don’t like (admittedly something that’s a very understandable deal-breaker, the death of Narti) they reevaluate and get out of there. Their loyalties to Zarkon and Haggar genuinely only go as far as it’s useful.

There are many points in s5e2 where the generals could have intervened in the fight, could have put Lotor down- all three present were highly capable ranged fighters and Lotor had his back to them the entire time.

And we see in s5e6 that Haggar’s soldiers- who probably don’t scare easily- are afraid of the generals. Ezor and Zethrid’s casual discussion of what they could be doing for their own advantage is framed by two very nervous infantrymen that are clearly listening in. Ezor discusses the possibility of taking over the galra empire for herself, Zethrid points out they could seize territory and enter the emerging civil war for themselves.

They also have very little faith in Haggar because she won’t talk to them, because they don’t have that role in forming plans they did back under Lotor.

And separated from the generals, who’s the person Lotor latches onto, takes a real shine to- but Allura, who has the strength of spirit to assemble an entire coalition. Allura, who’s driven, leaderly, proud, strong-spirited, and who Lotor in his private interactions with her has been showing an awful lot of his vulnerable side, which is a big deal if we consider that the only places we’ve seen Lotor’s vulnerable side before was with the generals, and feigned towards Zarkon the one time he really wanted Zarkon to dismiss him.

I’ve heard a lot of people suggest Lotor was manipulating the generals and is manipulating Allura, and I think that it places an inordinate amount of power on Lotor that he doesn’t canonically have.

Lotor is not in a “good” place to emotionally manipulate these people, because none of them, the four generals and Allura, are in a “good” place to be victims. (”good” in this case meaning, what he would want as a hypothetical abuser, which is not really good.)

Manipulative people generally rely on isolating their targets. If they’re in a group, the manipulator wants them to distrust other members of the group. They try to foster a sense of dependence between their target and themselves. If they play the victim, they want their target to feel like the only person who can save them, and in general, they want the victim to feel like they rely on the manipulator’s approval.

Even though we see very little of how Haggar relates to her favored prisoners, we can see a lot of this at work. Prisoners Haggar takes an interest to, like Myzax, are stored separately from others while other cells are communal. They’re offered special treatment, but still prisoners, and everything about their lives is controlled by the empire, and thus by Haggar, who stands very near the empire’s apex.

With Myzax, who does as she wants, she’s warm, and talks as if what she wants him to do is exactly what he wants- getting revenge on Shiro. With Shiro, who didn’t do what she wants, she sets out to hurt and scare him, even when she could finish a fight she doesn’t. She blames him, and says things as if everything Shiro suffered isn’t her fault, she did him a favor, the only person making this relationship painful or unpleasant is him, nasty stupid little child.

Contrasting that to Lotor and the generals, as an indication of how Lotor prefers things when he seems to have a fair amount of control of the situation...

As mentioned before, Lotor sought out highly ambitious, proactive, and driven people. This is one of the early major contrasts between him and Zarkon, where we’ve seen that Zarkon punishes the proactive (as he did with Prorok) for acting without his permission. Conversely, Lotor quite often sends the generals to act alone and gives them basically free reign to decide however they should complete their objectives.

Most importantly, many of the generals’ outside assignments consist of gathering the information that Lotor bases his decisions on. In s3e2, one of the first characterizing things we see the generals doing is Ezor and Acxa reporting back after having mapped out the Lions’ movements.

The generals show a strong relationship between them, a great deal of autonomy, and repeatedly evaluate anything they’re signing up for. They question, discuss, and are concerned with the details of everything they’re doing.

And Lotor not only respects this, he encourages this. The one time Lotor tells Ezor to be quiet and obey him without question is a sign everything is going horribly wrong post-Narti, and she takes it as such. Lotor’s never observed to punish informality or casualness with the generals, and if anything, on Puig he lightly chides Acxa for trying to enforce formality onto a stranger.

The first scene between Lotor and the generals establishes that their most important role, in Lotor’s eyes, is as conspirators. Ezor is first shown lurking around on her own, and her first spoken line, a cheerful “That went well,” tells us that Ezor knew exactly what the plan was all along.

Again, this is set up to contrast us from Zarkon. Zarkon’s commanders are very independent agents who are kept in line by the threat of Zarkon above them- he seldom trusts them, he outright sneers at Prorok for trying to understand him. Even when his plans would be easy to explain, he keeps them in the dark because in his opinion it’s not their place to know.

In contrast, Lotor’s team is small, but very intimate. There’s absolutely no infighting here- which is a big contrast if you consider without Zarkon, his commanders devolved into civil war big time, while without Lotor, the generals have yet to really significantly argue and continue to stick together as a unit.

In pre-season 3 promos, the writers stated that Lotor picked the generals as people who thought the way he did. Both that and canon would suggest that what in the generals appealed to Lotor was their minds- that they’re crafty and ambitious and able to reevaluate situations separately from him.

Someone trying to control others would not find the generals appealing. The only reason Haggar and Zarkon get along with the generals is that the generals are very clearly filing their edges off- they’re presenting a very dull, passive front that we know they don’t feel because behind the scenes they’re still earnestly discussing whether Haggar can get them what they want, and if that’s not the case, they really ought to ditch her.

If anything, the generals have an abundance of natural barriers to being controlled. They have a built-in and under Lotor, lovingly nurtured, sense of solidarity, they watch each others’ backs, they don’t want in on anything they don’t either know exactly what it’s going to get them, or have an established history of trust with the individual asking it of them, and when Lotor does things to challenge that trust, they don’t stay with him for long.

And Lotor verbally vindicates them even when their autonomy, ambition, and interconnection lead them to depose and capture him as leader. At this point, he still doesn’t seem to bear them any lasting ill will, considering his hitting Acxa with the black bayard was suspiciously minimal damage given he was using a weapon we’ve seen kill grown adults in a single blow.

Allura also fits nicely into this when we look at how Lotor’s built an interaction with her. From the start, he’s focused on her as a leader, an authority figure, a decision maker. While he’s snippy with her at first in s5e1, the power imbalance is also not in his favor at all- he’s quite literally Allura’s prisoner and she is not shown isolating herself or doing anything that would make her susceptible to underhanded tactics.

And as I’ve said before, Lotor’s history of neglect isn’t just here as a “this is why you should feel bad for Lotor because his life is very sad”. It meaningfully informs his worldview. One of the major ways that it does is that Lotor wouldn’t use a vulnerable facade to manipulate someone the way people believe he’s doing with Allura. Because when Lotor acts vulnerable to manipulate people... simply enough, he uses the tactics of a killdeer bird.

A killdeer will lure enemies away from its nest by pretending to have a broken wing and fluttering along the ground limping away from the predator, who will follow them in hopes of an easy meal. Basically, it’s feigning helplessness, but specifically to entice someone to go “wow, you’re defenseless, and thus easy pickings.”

If Lotor is going “look at me, look how scared and helpless I am” he’s setting up his enemies to bite him.

What Lotor’s doing with Allura is pretty clearly not that tactic, nor is it a sympathy grab tactic. As I’ve mentioned in prior posts, Lotor doesn’t ever bring up that he’s half altean until Allura already trusts him, even though it wouldn’t be hard at all to assume Allura would trust a fellow Altean a lot more than she’d trust a member of the galra royal family.

If Lotor’s trying to manipulate Allura’s feelings, then he’s missing golden opportunities to do so. Also, so far the things he’s talked Allura into doing, heading towards Oriande, he’s done so by encouraging and praising her, telling her to have more confidence in herself, and ultimately getting over his own disappointment to talk up how it’s absolutely fine if the spoils of the Oriande expedition go exclusively to Allura, and thus, that any of his future progress is going to need Allura as an active, knowledgeable participant if he wants to use those ancient secrets.

Assuming Lotor is manipulating the generals and Allura requires the assumption that Lotor has far more control of the situation than they do, which has repeatedly shown to be not the case. In the case of the generals, once Lotor decisively did something they didn’t want, they had no issue ripping him off like a bandaid and they haven’t exactly been moping around lamenting the good old days when Lotor was leading them.

(I do think they’re nursing the broken pieces of that team, much as Lotor himself is, but they’re not openly grieving it any more than he is)

And Lotor... in almost all prior continuities, Lotor’s infatuation with Allura is in looks alone, that she’s a beautiful woman and he wants her for himself. And this is usually paired with indications that Allura’s not even the only one at all- prior incarnations of Lotor tend heavily towards, well, misogynistic sleazeballs that surround themselves with beautiful, scantly dressed women who are often not in a position to refuse him at all.

In contrast to this, it’s clear that VLD Lotor is most interested in Allura’s mind, capabilities, and opinions. That Allura is a great beauty, as has been confirmed repeatedly from many sources, is not the burning concern in Lotor’s eyes. He’s more interested in her as a leader (talking about a royal alliance) and a magic-user, to the point that when Allura confesses she doesn’t think she inherited Alfor’s gift, Lotor is right there suggesting Allura is more powerful than she believes.

And he’s thrilled- genuinely openly amazed and excited- when she makes the compass stone work.

It’s possible they are retreading prior continuities and this is the beginning of a fledgling crush on Allura for Lotor, but if it is... he’s honestly doing a lot better than prior continuities because he’s illustrated very clearly as seeking Allura’s consent. When he tries to stop her from leaving Haggar’s lab, he does so by clasping her fingertips loosely- which is very clearly an emotional appeal rather than a physical barrier.

And even before they were allies, the things Lotor remarked on about Allura in s3e3 were her cleverness- she impressed him by being able to hide, and then again by figuring out the Blue Lion’s controls and getting that decisive shot on him. In fact, given Lotor goes into s3e3 disappointed by Voltron’s capabilities and leaves it confident enough to send them into the rift fairly sure they’ll return, it can be said that Allura alone elevated Lotor’s esteem of Voltron as a unit.

This is also repeated by Zethrid in s3e6, who finds Allura a worthy opponent and before that appears to have zeroed in on her as the biggest threat.

In that sense I get very frustrated that meta-wise, people keep comparing the generals to the harem girls Lotor kept in prior continuities.

Because these ladies... I don’t think they were ever named or their situation explained. There wasn’t much sympathy for their position as literal sex slaves, and the narrative treated them like furniture, basically.

The only thing the generals have in common with the harem girls is they’re women interacting with Lotor. They have way more in common with various commanders or generals that have been depicted working under Lotor in previous continuities- characters like Cossack, Mogor, or Merla.

The generals are not only developed and diverse characters immediately identifiable from one another, they have independent relationships with each other and other characters (whether or not you believe Acxa is Keith’s sibling, the two of them are definitely connected in some significant manner) and their breaking off from Lotor in s4e5 guarantees they have greater plot than just being an extension of Lotor himself.

Frankly, you couldn’t pick a worse group of people to try and manipulate. They’re incredibly close to each other, talented, perceptive, nosy, tenacious and vengeful if they feel like you’ve wronged them.

And frankly, in that sense, Allura’s easily good company with them, and rather than Lotor as an ineffective bumbling manipulator who doesn’t know what he’s doing, it seems a lot more likely that this is by design- that, again, Lotor finds these very appealing qualities in people to work with.

Which makes a lot of sense considering there being a lot of evidence that Lotor’s had not only a very unhappy existence under Zarkon, but a very lonely one. Far more than nubile attractive bodies, it seems like Lotor really just wants to have friends, the way Zarkon and Haggar repeatedly have thwarted him from by destroying anywhere he’s felt safe enough to build relationships.

So, is Lotor attaching to Allura the way he attached to the generals? I sure think so, but it stands that neither of those relationships were malicious exercises in control, it’s just... Lotor really genuinely wants to be able to trust people.

It’s pretty conspicuous here that with both Allura and the generals, out of a group of people Lotor’s clearly gravitating towards those he has things in common with. The generals were a bunch of disenfranchised half-galra that wanted power. Allura’s a charismatic royal altean with great personal admiration for King Alfor. That’s not the behavior of a manipulator, it’s the behavior of someone looking for friendship.

[babydarkstar]

R u still accepting reylo prompts? Here is one;Kylo is a KGB spy and Rey is from MI6 while they are trying to prevent each other getting a very important file, a feeling starts growing (old years)

hell yes nonnie, i’m always open for prompts! (btw, LOVED this one) this is a little different from what i usually write. and it’s a little graphic. actually just kidding it’s graphic af, read with caution.

i hope i did okay at a slow burn in the one gigantic chapter i allowed myself to write for this. some of the historical stuff i wrote is a lil bit unrealistic, but for the sake of fiction pls forgive.

angst. sassy mouths. blood. rough foreplay?

enjoy.

a petite playlist to accompany your reading:

catapult - arctic monkeys;

cherry - lana del rey;

wham bam shang-a-lang - silver;

express yourself - charles wright & the watts 103rd street rhythm band

this short is lovingly dedicated to @coupdefoudrey as something to soothe the ache that has plagued her (and all of us) as of recent. much love and happiness to you, coupy. i hope with all my heart that you like it.

xx anya

If his whisper splits the mist, just think of what he’s capable of with his kiss…

Any other night, she could have handled this.

Any other night, she could have taken the job in stride and done what any one of her other fellow agents were capable of.

But this wasn’t any other night, and any other agent couldn’t do what she could.

Highly sensitive data on American nuclear advancements had found its way into the wrong hands and would soon be transferred to a third-party organization that sought to use it for destruction. Since it landed in the UK, it was Rey’s job to obtain the file to be returned to its rightful place behind allied US borders. Easy enough, but only on paper.

Data never found itself someplace easy. It always had to be in someone’s home, or in a vault. This data was at a party.

No matter how upscale the venue, the sixties held fast to the glitz and glamour of the cigarette, deigning it almost a staple at each and every dinner party the decade hosted. This party was no exception. Smoke clouded the room in a grey haze, impairing her line of vision and forcing her to remain acutely alert. She was beginning to regret her decision to stay up researching in the archives at the office instead of going home to sleep a few extra hours before heading to where she sat now. No sleep. No back-up, either. The assignment held a certain level of secrecy that few knew about, and the other two souls executing the plan believed her to be the Prodigal Son of field work, not in need of a team to help her.

As she scanned the area for exits, obstacles, and possible setbacks, her breath caught in her throat at the one person she had prayed wouldn’t be there. Dread filled in the pit of her stomach as her fears were confirmed. Her eyes trained on the back of his head with laser-sharp focus, willing that she burn a hole into his brain to prevent him from mucking this up. And she tried to glance away, but before she could he turned his head and they locked eyes. Her heart stuttered in her chest, an anxious and irritated hiccup that only occurred when she found herself in his presence. She should have put a bullet between those dark eyes long ago, but the opportunity never arose when she could.

Often times, the second they met each other’s gaze, the clock started ticking to see who could grab the objective first. They would race, biting and kicking and scratching, scrapping like strays over food. She was prepared to lunge from her seat the moment he slipped into the crowd, fully prepared to chase him and tackle him in order to keep him from those coordinates.

So imagine her surprise when he instead strode towards her like she was an old friend. A stark-white cigarette hung loosely from his lips, unlit and begging to be shoved down the throat of the man attached to it. He walked with an unavoidable confidence that turned heads, but she quickly averted her eyes and pretended not to notice his advancing figure, still looking away even as he stood before her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean against the bar, resting on his forearm as leisurely as if this were nothing more than a simple get-together between companions.

In drifted a familiar voice from beside her: “Care to offer me a light?”

Her blood boiled and she clenched her fists at her sides, hoping to relieve the pressure she felt building up. She had never wanted to see his face again after the last time they encountered one another. Yet she supposed it would seem strange or rude to any onlookers if she were to continue ignoring him, so she forced herself to look up at him with somewhat of a neutral expression.

He was surveying the clusters of people dispersed throughout the room, gaze distant, but his upturned mouth told her otherwise. She studied him with a vague curiosity, as this was the first time they weren’t covered in blood and sweat, hidden by the darkness of night. Even in Rey’s eyes, he was handsome, but in a tragic and devious sort of way. Deceptively warm brown eyes lured in anyone who stared, and his pale face held constellations of beauty marks, a flawed yet nicely put together canvas completed with plump, pouty lips and dark hair. His features meshed together in such a way as to make him stand out above the rest, but he stood out to her for entirely different reasons. Lethal reasons, specifically.

“Ren,” she said, her voice clipped and precise. It was not their first interaction; they had come to know each other through a series of unfortunate events, many of which involved scaling buildings and firing off guns at each other, sweat dripping off their brow as they kept each other from taking what they both believed to be rightfully theirs. Removing the unlit cigarette from his mouth, he took her hand into his and pressed a burning kiss on her skin in greeting. She wanted to throttle him, her heart was beating so fast.

“Kenobi,” he purred smugly in that Russian drawl, glancing up at her from behind dark lashes, and his deep baritone was smooth as silk as her name rolled off his tongue. His warm lips were still resting against the delicate skin of her hand, and she felt him smile before gently letting go.

Any other girl would have found it absolutely delightful and swoon-worthy, letting him nail her right then and there, but Rey just rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the obnoxious man. She knew who he truly was, knew what he wanted. To her, KGB officers stuck out like sore thumbs—the men did, at least. The USSR took the handsomest, most impeccably fit and gorgeous men and threw them into the field to go undercover as someone who was meant to blend in. They were expected to walk the walk and talk the British talk, but poshness was not something they had mastered yet. The problem with blending in was the groups of girls who giggled as they walked by them, practically shooting off a flare to the SIS.

They simultaneously eyed each other, picking one another apart with the scrutiny of a Catholic schoolteacher.

“Blue?” he asked of her velvet calf-length gown, the one which hid an arsenal of petite weaponry and supplies underneath. His tone contorted into curious innocence, but she knew of his mockery.

“Red?” she fired back, only for a moment forgetting her purpose there as she critiqued his ironically-hued suit, one that made him stick out like a sore thumb. Soviets.

He offered his hand for her to take, an invitation to dance, and she reluctantly took it, ignoring the pulse jumping in her neck. She shouldn’t be doing this; she had a directive, and engaging the enemy was far from the right thing to do, especially when she knew he was here for what she wanted. But the bed had been made, and now they had to sleep in it.

She tried to keep an aura of sophistication about her as she let a dainty hand fall to rest in his massive one, forcing her chin to tilt upward in minuscule defiance.

When his fingers spread themselves across her hip, it took everything in her not to gasp at the harsh way in which he pulled her in, pressing on a particularly bruised patch she received two weeks ago from their last encounter. Russian intelligence didn’t mess around, and an incident involving a 24-flight commercial building and sensitive nuclear data made no exception. He fought hard and showed no mercy, his style reminiscent of someone who seemed to actually gain strength through pain, somehow growing stronger as the fight prolonged. However, she had to give him props for treating her as his equal rather than a weaker being or someone who “belonged at home.” That was something unfamiliar to her, and in some twisted way, she felt that it allowed for a mutual respect to form between them, however tiny it was.

Despite her efforts to mask the dull ache she felt, it must have shown on her face; he chuckled darkly and took her into his arms, a swinging waltz paving their trail.

“Still sore from last time?” he mused, eyes glinting in sardonic amusement as she felt his fingers twitch playfully in the same spot. She knew not whether to blush or punch him in the throat; the latter, while unrealistic, seemed most appealing. Instead, she shot him a burning glare and killed him in her mind in the slowest, most painful ways imaginable, hoping that it would remedy her itch to slam her palm up into his nose and kill him right there.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. “Perhaps you would prefer me to be gentler?” Her lip twitched irritably at his teasing, and when she didn’t respond, he continued as he guided them around the floor, “Hm, no. That would do you no good. I know how you like it.” His voice was exceptionally deep and ever so soft, quiet to where only they could hear. She could not tell whether his lips had brushed against her ear or if she was imagining things, but the involuntary goosebumps that raised told her the truth. The words he spoke next left her seeing red.

“You like it rough.”

“You filthy—I should have you arrested immediately,” she bit out, smiling to cover her harsh tone, being extra careful not to draw attention to them. Though that could hardly be helped, for in a sea of black and white and darkish hues, they shined brightly in jewel tones, taking away the breath of both the men and women who watched.

Ren only laughed slightly.

“Oh, but who would make your life a living hell?“ he breathed into her ear.

The bastard.

The quartet had ceased the unique quick-stepping waltz and began a slower piece, one that sounded melodic and dark, almost seductive. So with the tempo as their guide, they slowed down, swirling in and out amongst the other couples who danced. She jolted when he once more found his way into the crook of her neck, but this time he spoke nothing but a whisper of breath that fanned against her skin in such a way that she shivered. He smirked at her involuntary movements and dipped her low, his strong arm the only thing suspending her. She let her arm stretch out wide as her neck of pearls climbed to her throat with the sudden shift in gravity, her loosely curled hair nearly brushing the floor. She felt his eyes, along with the rest of the room’s, burning holes into her flushed chest as it rose and fell with small swells. A few of the younger single women audibly sighed, either envious or adoring or both of the beautiful couple who danced with such poise and fluidity, none of them knowing how unseen this truly was.

It felt odd to Rey, dancing instead of fighting, somewhat-playful banter drifting between them. And, as all agents must be trained to pique perfection, he danced with an eloquence she had yet to see in other men. It was…nice, if not absolutely inappropriate.

When she returned upright and felt normal color quickly returning to her face, she dug her perfectly manicured nails into the shoulder pad of his jacket. She was quite thankful she had gone for stiletto-tipped nails for this assignment; it gave her much needed relief to pierce something, and if it couldn’t be skin, fabric certainly sufficed.

“I hate you,” she spat between a lovely smile, feeling the need to let the words be known once more.

“I know,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly, seemingly unaffected by her declaration. It wasn’t like she hadn’t said it before.

“And you don’t intimidate me.” It was childish, but she wanted to have the last word.

“I know,” he repeated, amused. She almost huffed as anger flared in her gut, but stopped herself in time, instead trying to think of something else to say.

One more comment hung from the tip of her tongue, but before she could so much as open her mouth, the piece ended and soon there was a hand thrust beneath her nose, one belonging to a man with sharp features and red hair. For a moment she stood there, hands clasped firmly on the partner in front of her, staring dumbly at the pale outstretched palm. But her manners quickly returned and she plastered a smile on her face, quickly regretting taking the hand when she watched Kylo slip out of sight the moment he released her.

She barely danced with the tempo of the song, shifting and fidgeting awkwardly against the stiff man’s frame, accidentally stepping on his shoe once or twice, and only because she had let him out of her sight and the damn bastard would find the file before her and she would absolutely die of shame if the Soviets turned the planet into a nuclear wasteland because of her. Her pace quickened, panic setting in at the fact that this fear could quickly turn to reality if she did not act.

“Forgive me,” she said distractedly as she pried herself from the man’s grip, barely noticing the way in which he stared at her as if she had killed his own mother.

She felt like a lethal Cinderella, running towards a corrupted prince instead of away from him, trying to keep the spell contained instead of letting it be her ruin. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floor of the desolate upstairs as she roamed the dark hallways, and as she approached the cracked door to an office, she wished she had been quieter. Rey put her hand on the door and slowly pushed it open, letting herself inside once she checked it was empty. The room was dark, illuminated by a single lamp in the corner, and smelled heavily of paper and old cigarette smoke. It was large, for an office. There was a green leather couch and a matching chair that surrounded a glass coffee table to the left as one stepped in, and a window adorned with artificial plants straight ahead. The window led to a balcony, which overlooked

To the right of her mere feet away on a desk laid Ren’s ruby red jacket, and placed next to it appeared to be the file she needed. She squinted suspiciously, and before she could put two and two together, the door slammed shut and rough hands grabbed at her.

He slammed them into the wall, bringing her into him, her head coming to hit against his broad chest as they both grunted from the impact. Yet the violence came as a steady relief compared to the sugary sweet hoax of earlier.

“I thought you’d never come,” a deep voice breathed into her neck, a verbal calm inside the physical storm that raged between them, “What happened, darling? Weren’t enjoying the party?” The saccharine pet name fell from his tongue too easily for her taste, and she was forced to push down a twist of jolting electricity that writhed in her gut, willing it to go away as she reminded herself of their position. He had her physically restrained and pinned against his body. Nothing about that was normal.

She slammed her high heel into the toe of his shoe and dug in as hard as she could, but he didn’t even flinch. Of course he would wear steel-toed boots, knowing her track record for sharp shoes. Unsure of what to do, she bit the hand that covered her mouth and his grip faltered, loosening enough to where she could escape his grasp.

Yet freedom is always short-lived for them, and he once more reached out, his fingers gripping her sides. Rey was quick enough this time and he received an elbow to the face for his effort, knocking him back against the wall.

She turned to find him quite literally charging at her, and her eyes widened.

A startled yelp escaped her when he slung her up and over his shoulder and oh, God, did she want to slit his fucking throat, but all she had were her fists and a sturdy back to pound on. He held on tightly to her legs with an iron grip, never moving even as she assaulted him. Her bruising fists only seemed to get worse when she thrashed hard enough to disrupt his balance when his fingers brushed the back of her thighs; he hitched the soft skirt of her dress up to her back, exposing every garter and every little secret she had hidden from him. He hummed his interest and she felt his hair swish against her leg as he shook his head, fingertips drifting over each one of her knives and tools.

Her mouth went dry and her lips parted slightly at his feather-soft touch, her steady fists faltering at the feeling. Her hands ceased altogether when he spoke.

“Le Papillon?” he asked of her butterfly knife as he traced its outline on her skin and the lacy fabric of her garter, making her shiver more than she could admit, and she wondered not only why he chose to speak the words in French but also why they sounded so nice coming out of his mouth. “I hoped you would have been a bit more creative for me. I feel like I deserve it.”

His sounded slightly pouty, and it would have almost come across as sincere if not for the smirk she heard in his voice. But that did not stop her from panicking inside. One of the most dangerous men she had ever had the pleasure of working against had her slung over his shoulder like she was a rag doll and was flirting with her knives. And his fingertips were dangerously close to her center and she hated the quickened pulse she felt all over her body, knowing that it came not from anger but something more feral, more forbidden. She was meant to hate him, not fall victim to his teasing like the schoolgirls on the street, melting into a puddle of lovelorn nothingness.

“A knife is nothing more than a distraction,” he scolded, and she felt like a petulant child, “If you should ever want to kill me, do so with your hands.”

“I shall kill you twice, once for you and once more to prove a point. And I’ll do it with my hands and my knife,” she hissed.

“You’ve already killed me once,” he said, and she wondered what he meant by that, but only briefly. Her plan had been made, so it was time to execute it.

Rey twisted her torso upward and she grabbed his head, yanking him back so they would fall. And fall they did, right into the miniature living area, smashing the coffee table to bits with a loud crash of glass and wood and grunts. The force of the fall was doubled when he landed on top of her, crushing her torso, and Rey had to gasp to pull air into her constricted lungs. Shards of broken glass dug into her back, but the pain was barely there as she gathered her surroundings. With a hard shove of her legs, she managed to kick him off and distract him enough to overpower him. Rolling on top of the freshly-bloodied man, Rey crushed his wrists with her knees as her feet hooked onto his legs, holding him securely in place. Tendrils of her brown hair that she had so painstakingly styled fell into his face when she leaned over and dug her blade into the fragile skin of his throat.

“Three strikes and you’re out, Ren,” she fired back, tongue as sharp as the knife she pointed at him. A drop of blood creeped down from the little line she had drawn on his neck and he swallowed, the muscles of his throat shifting beneath his skin. What a strange thing it was to look at him like he was human, not some relentless beast with ungodly stamina.

Instead of the expected fear in his eyes, she saw only amusement, as if this was some fun game they were playing. Flames of anger rose in her gut and she felt them burn her insides all the way up to her throat. How on God’s green earth did he manage to be intimidated by absolutely nothing?

The answer almost saddened her when she realized: He had nothing to lose.

Many times, agents of any type of intelligence agency were asked to abstain from personal or romantic relationships for the sake of their job. Aside from a few of her friends, Rey stayed true to that rule. It was lonely and sad and everything she had opposed when she was younger; all her life she had wanted a family of her own. But soon she realized that protecting the world from potential destruction by herself was better than bringing children into a world of nuclear warfare. It still hurt to know that she might never have a family, and neither would he, judging by her observations. But she wasn’t going to allow her bleeding-hearted feelings get in the way of worldwide justice.

He only further validated her theory when he opened his mouth.

“Go ahead,” he whispered breathlessly, and this time there was no humor in his eyes. Just a cold, dead, emptiness that haunted her. “Do it. Slit my fucking throat.“

His words startled her and she stared at him with her brows furrowed, chest heaving.

Was Kylo Ren, the untamable and merciless assassin, begging her to kill him? She would not allow him the pleasure.  

So she told him as much, sure to emphasize how pathetic it all sounded.

“I’m a little disappointed,” she said. But he merely laughed, a dark laugh that sought to humiliate her.

“I knew you couldn’t do it. Knives are your distraction,” he repeated in a mocking, sing-song voice.

“What’s mine is yours,” she cried suddenly, dragging herself to her knees and crawling to the file that awaited her so patiently.

A determined cry fell from her lips when she felt him grab her hips and drag her right back, but she was having none of it. Grabbing her beloved butterfly from the bust of her dress, she whipped it open and swung her arm back, stopping only when she felt it sink into flesh. She let it stay planted where it landed, instead determining to take advantage of his low growl and loosened grip by stumbling up and grabbing the folder with bloody hands. Relief flooded her senses and she turned, expecting to find him on the floor, but saw that he had a hand on his shoulder where her knife protruded and was staggering unevenly towards her. Her eyes widened.

“Give it to me,” he growled, his eyes dark and lusting for blood. A deep crimson stain seeped through his white shirt and grew by the second. As he made his approach, she frantically looked around for something, anything to help her. But she soon realized that the only way to stop him was to give him what he wanted—or what he thought he wanted.

Rey had to think fast, else she would miss her opportunity. And like the gods above had sensed her, he tripped over a broken lamp, giving her the perfect window to switch the file with a different one in the desk. Without thinking, she decided to tease him like he had to her, so she shoved the fake file down the front of her dress, letting it peek out. It was so immature, but what else could she do to distract him?

“Come and get it,” she taunted, trying to project a tone of seduction like he had, but it really just sounded like a pup standing up to the alpha wolf: meek intimidation at its finest.

She saw his eyes widen, and for a moment she believed it worked. But then—A booming laugh fell from his lips and he stopped right in front of her, seeming genuinely amused. Rey fumed at the twinkle in his eye, a little embarrassed but more angry, crossing and uncrossing her arms over her chest before deciding to inflict pain by jerking the knife out of his shoulder with an abrupt swipe. He stopped laughing at once and made no noise when she did so, but his nostrils flared and his breathing quickened as he worked his jaw, confirming her belief that he actually did feel pain.

She wiped the blood from her knife with her fingers and swiped it over his sleeve, making doubly sure that the shirt could never be repaired. Before she could even smirk at her handiwork, he had her pinned the ground, stepping on her hands hard enough to immobilize her. She should have expected this, but it made her gasp nonetheless as the wind was knocked out of her. Shards of broken glass that had lodged their way beneath her shoulder blades dug into the floor and pushed deeper into her skin, causing her to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming.

“You think I’m afraid to stick my hand down your dress like we’re schoolchildren?” he chuckled, “Think again.” The problem was no, she didn’t. In fact, she very much knew that he wasn’t afraid to touch her, which made her wonder why the hell she even did this in the first place. He crouched over her, hair falling into his face, and tugged down the fabric of her bust with one finger. She drew in a sharp breath. What the hell was she doing? With his other hand he gently and ever-so-slowly eased the file out from its hiding place, eyes locked with hers the entire time. It slipped against her breasts, running over her tense buds, and she fucking hated the awfully sexual way in which this whole situation felt. Worse yet, she hated that she almost liked it. Masochistic behavior, she thought, would get her no where.

This was, horrible, forbidden. Taboo.

But before she had time to overanalyze anything, the moment was gone, replaced by him returning to a standing position and taking inventory of his surroundings.

Swiping the red jacket from the desk, he carefully fed his arms into the sleeves and slid the file into an inner pocket. He glanced at himself in the mirror on the wall, adjusting his tie and smoothing down his hair. Rey observed him from her position on the floor with curious if not speculative eyes. He would have appeared to be in mint condition if not for the bloody nose she had given him, but it felt good knowing that he was hiding a world of pain beneath that tacky red coat.

“Until next time, then,” he said, that ever-present smirk adorning his face once more. And then, like some superhuman from outer space, he trotted to the French double doors and swung them open before stepping over the railing on the balcony and disappearing.

Her chest fell and rose rapidly as she rubbed her aching fingers, but she wasn’t panicked. In fact, she was relieved. He hadn’t killed her. And she managed to grab the file.  

She let out a little laugh before slowly easing herself up, the pain finally kicking in, and revealing the papers she had concealed behind her fall.

The file was right where it needed to be.

But later, as she mulled the scenes of the night over in her head, she couldn’t help but feel that her heart, her soul wasn’t.

moral of the story? don’t be an operative unless you’re willing to handle the consequences, i guess.

(an update on the status of the phantom of the opera prompt by @alicethealias ​: who would have thought it would be this hard? but i’m getting there. it will have three parts, and i hope it doesn’t disappoint. until then, accept my meager offer of something entirely different. love ya!)(update on others: they are coming, my friends, and i will get to all of them, no matter how long it takes! patience is key.)