#and exchange currency for her head bones

[themirokai]

Teeth are so fucking weird. They are bones that fall out of your head when you’re a kid and it’s supposed to happen.

Of course we came up with the tooth fairy to make that experience a little more magical and rewarding.

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e88

There are 5 sets of footsteps and a slithering sound above them. Chetney senses a handful of reilorans, and something vaguely familiar but unrecognizable -- potentially a bormodo.

Telepathic bond is such a good spell, especially for this sneaky-ass b&e-obsessed party. It being a ritual is saving their asses right now

As they open the door to the basement, Laudna sees one of the sasquatch-like people, who is apparently directing a domesticated sand piranha (the source of the slithering sound).

They almost avoid detection, but one of the piranhas runs into Imogen and takes notice of her, starting initiative.

Name a more iconic duo than Laura casting inflict wounds and a natural 1. I'll wait

Fearne turns into one of the piranhas ("slithers") to try and trick the people above into leaving. At this rate, she's gonna be the one who gets separated from the party not because she got captured or anything, but because she doesn't know when the fuck to stop committing to the bit

She succeeds in luring them away, and initiative ends, but now she has to figure out how to get away from them and back to the rest of the group. She brings them to some random guy's door, and when the rest of the slithers burrow, she takes off back to the glassblowing shop.

I'm just realizing that if Keyleth comes to the moon with an army of Ashari, she can use animal shapes and transform all of them into slithers to burrow down into the moon.

They start talking to Zesh about the glass they make into weapons and where it comes from. There are mines for the glass, and glass that comes from deeper down can have magical properties -- the one they demonstrate appears to glow in the presence of Ruidus-born or psychic people. She also agrees to craft a new glass sawblade for FCG!

Most of Ruidus is a bartering society; they don't have currencies, really, and they mostly trade in crafting materials, services, and other such things. Gold and platinum are occasionally useful as a crafting material, and is very rare here. The only renewable resource they have is bone, and they take that from both hunts and their fallen.

Orym buys a shortsword that glows in the presence of Ruidusborn in exchange for some druidcrafted strawberries.

I'm still fascinated by how the day/night cycle works on Ruidus. Like, it makes sense that it would be the same as Exandria's now, because it's tidally locked and directly tethered to the Tishtan site, but what about before?

Fearne uses dispel magic on the silver box they stole from the caravan. Inside, there's something wrapped in black velvet: a beautifully simple hexagonal device with runes and grooves carved into it. It's similar to the things that were making the dispel waves at the Tishtan site, but refined -- arcana and art brought together, something almost wholly alien. It's not perfect, and there are some blemishes on it, like it's old or weathered; it's an incredibly strong piece of abjuration magic, one part of a larger array designed not to protect but to disrupt. It's also very old, and the only other place they've seen runes like this is inside of FCG -- this is a piece of Aeorian technology.

So wait-- the ones at the Tishtan site were unrefined, shoddily constructed, which would suggest that Ludnius was developing them and got better over time. But if these ones are Aeorian technology, then that means that Ludinus created those reconstructions to use at the Tishtan site because he needed the actual ones on Ruidus, so there's a limited supply of them and he can't just make more. Unless that caravan was headed to the bloody bridge from Kreveris, in which case there must be a piece of Aeor on the moon somewhere where these things are coming from. Regardless, it's most definitely tied back to Aeor's factorum malleus, which implies that the dispelling waves at the malleus key weren't just for defensive purposes, they actually had something to do with the construction and function of the key itself.

Ruidian-glass weapons gain a bonus if they're within a certain distance of a psychically-enabled or Ruidusborn creature. They also crit on a roll of 18, 19, or 20, but when you crit you roll 1d6 and on a 6, the blade shatters.

With an arcana check, FCG learns some things about the Aeorian abjuration thingy: it's intended to scramble and disrupt other types of magic, as with dispel magic or counterspell.

The Bells Hells, walking with confidence as Vanguard members, start heading toward the Volition safehouse. As they travel, they see families stargazing, looking up at Exandria.

As they approach the watch tower where they'll try to spot the safehouse, Imogen pretends to be Liliana to get past the guards, and it actually works very well. From there, Laudna spots a little purple flag on a house close to a newly-excavated patch of earth.

There's also a sense that there's a mythos that has been woven amongst the general populace about Liliana. They are almost reverent of Imogen, crowding around to get a look like she's some kind of celebrity.

They reach what looks like the dumping point for an excavated tunnel, with massive piles of earth and rock everywhere and only a handful of buildings with lazy smoke trails. They appear to be digging a new mine of some sort.

They meet Zesh's contact, but they immediately think that Imogen is Liliana and completely shut down in abject fear -- but Imogen convinces them that she isn't her mother, and they are allowed inside to have a conversation.

They are pointed to Rashina of the Golden Hammer and Gaztomo, the current leaders of the Volition. The guardian of the safehouse opens a secret passage for them, and they remove their Vanguard garments before entering.

Upon presenting the head of a reiloran juggernaut, they are allowed passage farther in. They come to a central door -- "well. Either you're telling the truth, or you die tonight. Good luck."

In this central chamber, they are surrounded by more than 30 figures that step out of the darkness. Some look humanoid, some are tall and lanky, some have Reiloran crests or juggernaut physicality or shrike chains, some are dreamers or bormodos -- at least one is a dragonborn. They part, and approaching them is a powerful, stoic reiloran, gaunt but serious, wearing a metal breastplate and burgundy cloak, with a gold-colored hammer on her belt. Her head-crest, tattooed, splits into 3 flower petal-like designs with cold iron chains that hang over her face. As she steps forward, they can feel the reverence that the chamber has for Rashina of the Golden Hammer.

She speaks aloud: "Who among you would you consider to be your leader? Who speaks for you?" (Orym pushes Imogen forward.) "You. You're of her lineage, are you not? You're a Timult?" As soon as Imogen says yes, weapons are drawn, and shimmers of glowing green glass shine from the corners of the chamber. "Tell me what it is you intend before we strike you down and leave you in ashes." Imogen responds: "We want to destroy Ludinus, Otohan Thull, my mother, and everyone who would seek to control the people of Ruidus."

After some further questioning and a persuasion check, Rashina accepts them, allows them to ask questions of the Volition. They follow her through the crowd, and she leads them into a massive chamber: an expanse of open space that is filled with hundreds, more, of bridges, structures, and archways. Carved stone that bind together like a hive, a network of caverns that bleed into a massive, heart-like cityscape. Thousands, tens of thousands, more, people live here -- thousands of little sparkling blue lights like fireflies, lanterns. Structures that spread forever into the dark. This is the heart of Kreveris, this is the city -- there is moving energy, liveliness, like a blood-stream of people and the vibrancy of an entire society. The architecture is similar to Exandria, but changed, a facsimile, remade to fit the materials of Ruidus. Like bits of the history of the world, long-gone into day, put together and made new, made unique. And in the center of it all, there is a singular spire of faintly-glowing Ruidian glass that rises from floor to ceiling like a tree trunk.

Oh I am loving the imagery here -- the idea that Kreveris isn't just a capital city, it's the literal heart of Predathos.

Rashina speaks up. "What we want is inside there -- the five minds who have enslaved us for hundreds of years. That glowing heart of the city: we aim to bring it down."

[gracemarkss]

finished s4 in my txf rewatch so i'm here's my top 10 so far. these are vaguely in order.

10. oubliette (s3ep08). this episode gives us soooo much big brother mulder. his gentle insistence that lucy, despite everything she's been through, is strong and capable and has value - that she can save this girl (and he's right). when scully calls him out on his overidentifying with lucy and he insists not everything he does or feels goes back to samantha...but when lucy dies, you know he's losing sam all over again. he can't save them all, he can't even save most of them, but by god does he try.

9. memento mori (s4ep14). cliche as hell but the fact that it opens with scully's sensual voice over reading her romantic diary entries which are addressed to mulder...insane. both of them facing a terrible reality, deep seated fears - losing her and abandoning him (is dying a betrayal?) the fact that he's ready to make a deal with the devil. the fact that skinner DOES. death vs love, fight!!!!!

8. beyond the sea (s1ep13). gillian is insaaaaane in the episode like how could anyone involved in this show not think she was capable of anything and everything? scully is such a great character in part because of the constant tension that exists between expectation and desire. the things she should want, the things she wants to want, the things she actually wants. she craves her father's approval while chafing against the weight of his expectation. the "i love this job" "you love your father" exchange goes craaaaaazy. and that's not even getting into the role reversal!!!!

7. pusher (s3ep17). another cliche but god does this episode go hard. another spectacular look into mulder's psyche and another situation that highlights the depth of their connection. when he kneels down in front of her and hands her his gun...i wonder how many times mulder walks into a situation and thinks that maybe he'll die. that maybe he wouldn't mind. i wonder how much scully knows that (her fear here makes me think she knows, and it terrifies her.) but all's well that ends well i guess (them holding hands).

6. end game (s2ep17). i just love that the narrative forces mulder to choose between samantha and scully and he tries to rig the game to save both. from "nothing else matters to me" to if anything happens to scully i'll kill everyone in this room and then myself. there's obviously a lot more going on here and i love all of it but that's my main takeaway. oh also dd rules in this ep. his regression back into a lost little boy saying "i'm sorry, dad," bill mulder you are bones.

5. wetwired (s3ep23). another classic "what are you afraid of" episode and this time the answer is "the prophet you are following turns out to be false." trust is their most valuable and sacred currency. the potential loss of that is truly devastating. let's not even get into the fact that mulder thinks scully's gone missing (again) and it's his fault (again) and he has to break this to her mother (again) and let's not talk about the fact that maggie defends mulder to scully and trusts him with her daughter's life despite everything. and let's definitely not ever mention the scene where he goes to id the body.

4. paper hearts (s4ep10). yet another cliche but there's a reason these episodes are well loved and considered among the best. "it's somebody though" just sums up everything you need to know about mulder. he is so deeply hurt and so good despite it all. he really is the best boy. another ep dd is superb in.

3. demons (s4ep23). part of the reason i love this episode is just because i think the premise of mulder drilling a hole in his head and injecting ketamine in it is hilarious. but also profoundly sad. can you tell i have a thing for mulder angst yet? and episodes that highlight how deep and loving his and scully's relationship is, however you interpret it? she's the first one he thinks of to call when he wakes up in a bad situation. she drops everything to be there for him. she won't stop him, she'll just take the keys and drive. what can i carry for you. what can i do. i will not let you go alone. another great example of dd's ability to play mulder at his smallest - when he tells his mother he needs to speak with her with his head down and his voice pitched just a bit higher...i'll jump.

2. ice (s1ep08). truly what needs to be said. i know this is a ripoff of the thing but i've never seen the thing so this is better probably. stuck in a small space, paranoia at the top of the world...also the guy who plays the landlord in new girl is here and i love that. both dd and ga are also both crazy hot in the ep. i think it just rules even as a standalone and is a great way to introduce someone to the series. just fun and sexy and tense.

3 (s2ep07). HE'S WEARING HER NECKLACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

honorable mentions: lazarus (s1ep15); darkness falls (s1ep20); little green men (s2ep01); the field where i died (s4ep05); grotesque (s3ep14); terma (s4ep9).

[theyareweird]

Nurturing Beastman – Chapter 7

Feral

“The market. Every tribe has one. I’m sure we’ll find it if we explore the area.” Nayuki said apathetically. He then removed his clothes and handed Kianna his fur toga. Turning into his animal form, Nayuki expanded his body to allow Onica and Kianna to ride on him. He managed to safely jump the two out of the tree while on his back.

Once they were all out, Onica and Kianna walked around with Nayuki. Lots of people were out, but the Nurturers were too far in between. Onica and Kianna felt as though they stuck out like sore thumbs being some of the few individuals without animal characteristics. There were lots of nature beastman around in their human forms, but some were in their beast forms. Onica instinctively shrinked into Kianna’s side, not wanting to get too close to the animal beastman. If Onica was nervous or scared to be around these tigers, she didn’t show it. However, she stayed close to Nayuki’s side.

Despite their anxiousness, Onica couldn’t help but be curious as to their surroundings. They kept stopping to stare at the environment or to see what people were doing. Because of this, they soon lost Kianna and Nayuki. Without a familiar face around, Onica’s heart sped up in a panic. Their pale blue eyes darted all over the place as their head snapped in all directions to see where their companions went. To Onica’s dismay, Kianna and Nayuki were nowhere in sight. Deeply inhaling, they tried to remain calm.

Onica’s shoulders were tense as they walked around to locate their friend. At some point, they looked down to discover something black and shiny on the ground. It looked like fabric of some kind. Out of curiosity, Onica bent over and picked up the material to inspect it. The cloth felt soft and smooth in their hands. There seemed to be a fish scale pattern across it which shimmered with a subtle rainbow holographic shine. It was beautiful and there was quite a bit laying under the tree.

Since trading is the currency in this world, it meant their wallets and American money was useless. With nothing to exchange, Onica thought they could trade the iridescent fabric for a few things at the market. Thus, they folded the fabric and gathered it into their arms.

Continuing on, they worried, finding themself more lost with every step. At this point, Onica decided to push through their socially awkward demeanor to ask for help. Luckily, a tall woman with long black hair stood not too far from them.

“Uh, hey, excuse me!” Onica called. “Could you please help me?”

Hearing their cry, the unknown woman turned around. Her shiny hair fell to her tailbone, concealing her bare chest. Unfortunately, the mysterious woman’s body was completely exposed from the waist down. Onica’s breath hitched in their throat the second they accidentally glanced at her two vaginas. They didn’t want this to be a time where they acknowledged a woman’s naked state, but it was a subconscious action on their part. Quickly averting their eyes, Onica tried to focus on their goal of finding Kianna.

At first, the woman stared in silence. Her expression seemed hard as stone. Then, she approached Onica and allowed her dark purple eyes to glance down at what the tiny person was holding in their bone-thin arms. The closer the mysterious woman came, the more the little human could see their height difference. Onica was four feet and eleven inches tall. The pale white young woman had an entire foot and an inch over them.

“What’s your name?” The dark-haired woman asked. Her voice was masculine and a little deep, but smooth as she spoke.

“Oh, uh, Onica.” They awkwardly replied. Their big eyes never left the woman’s beautiful face. “What’s yours?” Onica nervously grinned.

“Veronica.” The dark-haired woman replied. A faint smile tugged at her lips. She was happy, though Onica couldn’t understand why.

“Onica, there you are!” Kianna suddenly blurted.

Spinning around, Onica beammed to see their friend again with Nayuki. The two were several feet away from where the little person stood with Veronica. Nayuki walked beside Kianna and said “Why did you run–!” The Bengal Cat then cut himself off with a low growl in his throat. His mahogany ears fell back and he stepped forward in front of Kianna to protect her. “A feral!” Nayuki hissed.

Veronica then pushed Onica behind her, hissing at Nayuki’s words. “What are you doing?!” Onica huffed in annoyance.

“Go back to wherever you came from.” Nayuki demanded. “You’re not welcome here.” He bluntly said.

In the split second, Veronica scooped Onica up into her strong arms. Onica gasped in response and began thrashing their legs. “Put me down!” They demanded.

Veronica ignored Onica as she threateningly glared at Nayuki across from her. The look in her eyes told Kianna this woman is deadly and it shot fear through her chest. Kianna’s poker-face remained, but the intimidating figure caused her breath to hitch in her throat.

“You can’t have this one.” Veronica hissed.

“I don’t want Onica.” Nayuki coldly replied. “You know you’re not allowed to be this close to civilization.”

“Then, I’ll leave.” Veronica said, turning her bare back to Nayuki and Kianna.

Onica’s eyes widened at the swift action. Realizing Veronica was taking them with her, they began to panic. “Great, now put me down!” Onica exclaimed.

Veronica glanced down at the worried Onica in her muscular biceps. “I’m taking you with me.” She stated.

“No, you can’t have them. They’re my friend!” Kianna exclaimed. She then turned to Nayuki and said “Please, don’t let her take Onica!” The brunette haired girl frowned at him with worry in her amber eyes. Kianna was concerned about losing her only friend. She had no idea why this nature beastman was trying to abduct Onica, but they weren’t going to let it happen.

Anger brewed inside Nayuki. He hated seeing Kianna upset. To appease his mate, Nayuki shifted into his brown Bengal Cat form and lunged at Veronica. His body expanded into its large size in mid-air. The second Nayuki’s physical appearance was complete, the lower half of Veronica’s body had also changed. From the waist down, she now possessed the black body of a snake. Nayuki then landed onto Veronica and dug his claws into her flesh, but she didn’t flinch. Shocked, the Bengal Cat desperately began biting her. However, although she was bleeding, Veronica’s scales were too thick to penetrate easily. With a murderous glint in her dark purple eyes, the snake flicked Nayuki off of her like a bug. The cat went flying and rolled onto the ground.

“Are you alright?!” Kianna gasped.

Nayuki was touched to hear the concern in his mate’s voice for him, but he was fine. He then let out a loud screech to alert nearby villagers of the intruder. Nayuki knew Nature Beastman would rush to the scene and help. He may be a newcomer, but tribespeople were protective of their communities.

“I’ll kill you if you try to take them away from me again.” Veronica coldly hissed.

Ignoring Veronica’s warning, Nayuki jumped towards her again. He was determined to make Kianna happy. In that moment, the snake whipped her tail forward and wrapped it around Nayuki. She then began squeezing his bones and muscles, causing the cat to cry out in pain.

Soon, several male and female-looking Nature Beastman rushed to the fight. “A feral is attempting to steal a Nurturer from our tribe!” A tiger tribesman cried. They all stood in a fighting stance, ready to attack until a woman pointed out the pair of black stripes on both of Veronica’s shoulders. “She has four marks! The feral is too powerful to fight without casualties!” At that moment, everyone froze in fear and dared not approach the snake woman.

Watching with wide eyes, Onica realized this woman doesn’t take death threats lightly. They then turned their attention onto Veronica and desperately clung their free hand onto her neck. “Wait, stop! Please, don’t kill him! I’ll go with you, just let him live!” Onica begged. They couldn’t bear the idea of watching another living being die knowing they could have done something. Tears began forming at the corners of Onica’s eyes. The thought of someone being killed because of them was causing water to swell up in their eyes over the guilt.

“Fine, I’ll let him go.” Veronica said, releasing Nayuki from her iron grip and dropping unconscious body to the ground.

Kianna immediately rushed to the brown Bengal Cat’s side and began calling his name, but no response came. Tears were flowing from her eyes as she started attempting to shake him awake.

Suddenly, Veronica touched Onica’s forehead to hers. “Don’t cry.” She softly cooed.

For some reason, hearing such soothing words caused a tear to fall from Onica’s welled up eyes. Tears weren’t streaming down their face like Kianna, but still. “Okay.” Onica sniffled.

With that, Veronica slithered off with Onica in her arms. After Kianna watched as Onica was taken away deep into the jungle, the villagers carried a naked Nayuki to the tribe’s doctor. There, the doctor cleaned the cat’s scrapes on his feet and the scratches on his hands.

“Based on the bruising around his torso, he broke two ribs.” The tiger doctor explained.

Kianna’s heart ached. If she had known Nayuki was going to be this horribly hurt, she would have thought of another way to save Onica. “Is he… going to die?” Kianna hesitantly spoke out.

The doctor looked at Kianna with sympathetic eyes as she held Nayuki’s fur toga. “He will be fine. Nature Beastman have accelerated healing. Your mate’s hands and feet are already healing.” She reassured her. “As for the rest of him, I’ll wrap his torso in gauze to keep his ribs in place. But he must rest for two days until his body heals.” The tiger doctor instructed. After some time, she had bandaged up Nayuki’s thin body.

Eventually, Nayuki groaned on the cot he laid in with a fur blanket covering his lower half. His green eyes then fluttered open. “Kianna…” Nayuki called in a groggy voice.

Kianna frowned down at the cat and placed her hand on top of his. The doctor was right, Nayuki’s hands were already forming scabs across his palms. His hands would likely be all healed in five minutes as if he was never injured. “I’m here.” Kianna replied. "I’m sorry.” She softly breathed out.

Nayuki’s eyes softened. “Why are you sorry?” He asked.

“Are you serious?” Kianna blinked in disbelief. “You broke your ribs because I told you to rescue Onica.”

At first, Nayuki gawked in response. Then, his expression relaxed and his green cat eyes sparkled. “You’re so kind, Kianna.” Nayuki blushed. “I’m grateful to have someone like you feel sadness in your heart for me.” He said, clasping both hands around Kianna’s hand as he spoke. Nayuki closed his eyes. “But I don’t deserve it… Your friend is gone because I wasn’t strong enough to protect Onica from that feral beast.”

“That’s not your fault!” Kianna snapped. Nayuki frowned in response. The pale girl then sighed and said “Besides, we can still go out and find Onica, right?”

Nayuki nodded. “I was a hunter in the cat tribe we came from. I’m certain I can help you track the feral who took Onica.”

Kianna Komori OC by: @nunezs-stuff

[ghostgirlgeist]

closed starter: @xndxd

location: outside scoop a doop

as per usual, phyllis was lingering outside the ice cream parlor... wide and desperate eyes longing to just have a taste of the simplest, most bare bones treat from inside the shop. this had become almost a routine; looming outside of places she couldn't even dream of entertaining. her hands were folded in front of her, eyes peering nosily through the shop window as paying customers exchanged currency for a delight she'd never savor. the ghoul sighed, sinking deeper into the bench she had anchored herself to. she was zeroed in for what felt like an eternity before she heard the bell of the shop's door chime. turning her head, the ghoul saw a familiar figure, feeling the moisture in here throat vanish upon recognizing them.... andy. poor andy... blinking quickly, phyllis wished she could have vanished from view but it was too late; their gazes had locked, and her heart was thudding, uncertainty plaguing the conduits of her veins. ❛ hi andy, ❜ she greeted as chipper as she could, still a bit timid, opting to tear her gaze from his and, instead, hyper-focus on the cracks in the sidewalk.

❛ —sorry, i didn't mean to stare. ❜

[jeffdwoodward]

Carrying the Songs

for Tríona and Maighréad Ní Dhomhnaill

Those in power write the history, those who suffer write the songs Frank Harte

It was always those with little else to carry who carried the songs to Babylon, to the Mississippi — some of these last possessed less than nothing did not own their own bodies yet, three centuries later, deep rhythms from Africa, stowed in their hearts, their bones, carry the world’s songs.

For those who left my county, girls from Downings and the Rosses who followed herring boats north to Shetland gutting the sea’s silver as they went or boys from Ranafast and Horn Head who took the Derry boat, who slept over a rope in a bothy, songs were their souls’ currency, the pure metal of their hearts,

to be exchanged for other gold, other songs which rang out true and bright when flung down upon the deal boards of their days.

-Moya Cannon

[ohayopoko]

Eren w IslandBaddie!S/o (SFW)

Note: I’m working on a ChubbyBlackFem island baddie fic and these are just a few of the headcanons that have been tickling my brain so here we go 😁

-Teach him how to cuss in Patois, baby boy will love you forever

-His favorite cuss words are “skunt”, “pussyclaat”, “raashole,” and Eren’s triple combo is ✨“bumbo-pussy-raasclaat,”✨

-No, he’s never heard anybody use it before🤣 Eren literally sits and smashes all the words he’s heard S/o use until he gets a combination he likes

-s/o thinks his mouth is wickeda than hers and she’ll die on that hill 😭

-Don’t start showing Eren waistline cause then he’s gonna wanna fuck

-It’s the worst when s/o just wants to have fun and enjoy herself so she gives him a sweet, small, teeny, eensy bitsy whine and Eren’s all over her, dick print pressing on her ass

-The amount of quickies they’ve had in public is embarrassing 🙄

-He’s never had fruit from the tropicals before, so imagine Erens fascination with mangoes🤤

-Peels it with his teeth like a real yaardie and S/o knows he’ll eat like 5 mangos in a sitting so she buys them in bulk

-Eren eats his mangos like he eats his pussy, I’m talking sucking all the meat clean off the bone, bitchhh😫💕

-Eren’s mango seeds are chalk white and bald headed, that’s how much he really likes mangoes

-S/o wants a baecation and It’s Eren’s idea to go to S/o’s home country for a week

-Immediately regrets it cause the mosquitoes are eating his ass up and Eren hogs the bug repellent the entire trip but S/o doesn’t mind it cause she’s used to mosquitoes

-Eren wants to see all the beaches and historical sights and even though s/o grew up there she’s eager to explore with him cause it was never something she could of did as a child

-They collect shells and rocks from the beaches and it’s childish but they build a sandcastle together too

-Eren gets frustrated when the little windows he’s making with his fingers don’t look right

-It’s mostly Eren building the sandcastle and S/o supplies the water and the sand but it’s fun to watch Eren be so determined

-Of course Eren’s posting his sandcastle on insta, snap, Tiktok- everyone’s gonna see and acknowledge his hard work 👏🏻today👏🏻

-y’all already know Eren had to hit his baby girl with the pro camera when she wanted those beach pics and he understands the assignment 👏🏾✍🏻📝

-Hypes his baby girl up, tells her to keep posing and doesn’t show her any pictures until their done and s/o feels so pretty and she’s wearing a smile in each picture

-The night scene is just as exhilarating as all of the festivals and Eren wants to go every single night and they surf all the clubs in the area, popping in and out of parties with their bottles and flags

-Eren never knew he liked steel pan music until he’s heard it and it makes him feel oddly happy and S/o’s more than happy to dance with him

-It’s not passionate dancing, just laughing, giggling, moving with each other, vibing each other and being stuck in the moment and it’s a memory Eren and S/o will remember forever- even if they breakup

-Eren’s tan, but he gets even more tan with all the sunlight and S/o teases him about it but she low key likes it cause the golden brown tint to his skin definitely made fat ma purr

-There’s this coconut stand at the market that Eren’s obsessed with cause they cut the coconut up in front of you with a cutlass and S/o has to shush him when he starts asking if he can hold the big knife 😒

-Eren doesn’t use a straw when he drinks the coconut water, like he just drives the boat

-Doesn’t eat the coconut jelly, hates it for some reason and S/o finishes his coconuts for him

-It’s so easy to get weed in the Caribbean and Eren abuses the low currency exchange the entire time 🤣🤙🏻

-He’s smacked the entire trip, eating mangoes to amplify his high and S/o never refuses the blunt when he passes it so it’s just ✨vibes✨ the whole time

[cathrrrine]

The Other Romanoff

Y/N Romanoff finds herself in a strange predicament when she lands in a universe drastically different to her own. The Avengers are basically non-existent in the present day, Yelena is nowhere to be found, her sister is dead and...all traces of her existence is gone.

Can she survive in a world where her identity means nothing? Or will she fade away before she even has a chance to find out how to solve it?

0 - TIME GOES BY

———

You stared at the headstone below you, touching the cold, chiseled stone with the tip of my fingers with great caution. Your eyes had scanned the name engraved on it thousands of times already at this point, but your brain hadn't quite caught up yet.

Natasha Romanoff. Daughter. Sister. Avenger.

Even though it was literally set in stone, you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. You had just talked to her on the phone three days ago, or at least that was the case in your world. This world was different. It wasn't the one you hated and loved at the same time, it was a whole other universe entirely.

You woke up 24 hours ago with an incredible ache in your bones and a migraine that felt like a grenade went off in your head. When you opened your eyes, you were in a different room—although, room wasn't exactly the word to define it. It was a warehouse, with high ceilings and mysteriously stained walls. It took half an hour for you to figure out how to exit the building, especially in the lack of light, and when you finally made it outside, you were greeted by a vast parking lot with no signs of civilisation whatsoever.

It took another five hours of walking to the nearest occupied building, a gas station that you nearly mistook for an abandoned lot. You borrowed the man behind the counter's phone in exchange for five dollars—all the cash you had in my pocket, thankfully American currency stayed the same—and dialled every single number you knew by heart. Natasha, Yelena, Tony, hell, even Clint.

Unsurprisingly, not one of them were in service. So, you went out from behind and hot-wired one of the two trucks parked there, the phone you 'borrowed' still in your pocket.

Now here you were, somewhere in Ohio, after googling for what seemed like forever in search of your sister after finding nothing you knew worked. The first search result that came up was Ohio, next to the words 'the late Natasha Romanoff'. You felt like your heart had been ripped out of my chest by the Hulk. Nothing could have prepared you for that moment, not even one of Natasha's elaborate schemings and notes. At first, you thought you were being tricked, and then you thought you had accidentally swallowed an edible before going to sleep and was under some drug-induced trance. But it felt too real for it to be fake. Nothing in your head would've been able to come up with all this on it's own, even if it was one of your greatest nightmare.

You didn't even bother googling anyone else, too shocked to think of anything else. You just hit the gas and drove all the way to the location where she was supposedly buried and found her headstone just...standing there, upright. Your body went through a series of shocks just trying to get to it up close. You were expecting for her to be there maybe, laughing with Yelena, Tony and everyone else who played a part in this stupid prank. But there was nothing but the drumming of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

No one in their right mind would play this kind of trick on you.

You had been driving all night and had only arrived by daytime, around 7 in the morning by the looks of it. The sun felt warm against your skin, a steep contrast in comparison to the cold, dead feeling you had in your chest. You were so confused. You couldn't even begin to comprehend what was happening to you. It was like a Supernatural episode playing right before your eyes, but without the characters and the humour. Just you and your anxiety.

You knelt down so your head was somewhat level to the headstone. Your hand grazed over the familiar symbol engraved in the middle of the stone, just below her name. It was the Black Widow symbol, an emblem you had worn almost all your lives.

Ohio. It was somehow appropriate that she'd be buried here. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as a memory from your childhood resurfaced.

"Friend of hers?"

You jumped, jumped at the sudden sound of somebody's voice. Somehow, with all the noise in your head, this somebody managed to sneak behind you successfully without my knowing. You put your hands on your knees and lifted yourself up, turning around to face the stranger.

Who turned out to not be a stranger after all.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him. It's been such a long time since you've seen him in person that it almost felt surreal...but then again, what about all this didn't?

It was a relief to see a familiar face in a strange world. You took in his brown eyes and lopsided smile, unable to hold in a reciprocal reaction. "Sam!"

Your excitement got the better of you that you had forgotten the situation you were in. His reaction immediately changed, like you flipped a switch by yelling out his name so casually. Then the smile returned, "Sorry. I forget myself sometimes. Yes, I'm Sam, nice to meet you. What's your name?"

He held out a hand for you to shake. This time it was your turn to falter. Having one of your best friends whom you've known for half of your life ask you that question felt like taking a baseball bat to the stomach.

Sam seemed to notice the shift in your demeanour, especially since his hand had been hanging in mid-air for half a second too long.

"Are you alright?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed. He placed his hand back to his side.

You had no one else to turn to in this strange world. You wondered for a split second if you should figure it all out on your own and maybe wait and see if this was all a dream. But then if this was indeed a dream, what would the harm be in telling him, right?

As Nat would usually say in any type of situation–Fuck it.

"No, Sam. I'm most definitely not okay." You breathed out. "I'm Y/N Romanoff, and I think I might be in some deep shit."

[littlemisspascal]

Ezra’s Journal Entries #4-6

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,133

Summary:  I don’t deserve you, little love of mine. Not one damn piece of you.

Warnings: angsty fluff, night terrors, PTSD, Ezra dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, overuse of space metaphors, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: As always, thank you readers for your support! All the love to each one of you! Hope you like these new segments 💖

Entries #1-3 #7-9

Cross-posted on AO3

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

I feel a little less torn after speaking with Cee, hearing her voice crackling across the radio regale me with details of her current studies at Cero Tol, the latest novel she’s devouring, the daytrip she made to Lao to collect shells for an art project—it reminds me there was a sliver of profound goodness to come out of my otherwise disastrous journey to the Green. She rambles and babbles and laughs at her tongue’s inability to keep up with all she has to share. Her soul has found exactly what it has always yearned for: a life of her own making.

For all that she lost on the Green, she has adapted to her new path and overcome every obstacle with the same bullheaded determination a helianthus possesses. Never losing sight of her goals just as the flower never loses sight of the sun. 

I must admit I’d been reluctant to split ways with her after our perilous escape from the Green—after all, nothing bonds people together faster than the collaboration of slicing off an arm and creaming the gaping wound shut, then immediately engaging in a bloody conflict with heavily armed mercs—but she deserved better than to live a floater’s life tainted by a lack of morals and the uncertainty of not knowing if she would survive from one sunrise to the next.

She deserved to live a life amongst her own peers. To rouse that spark of creativity her father tried to extinguish. To turn gold in all the ways I cannot. 

Sending her to school was worth every point and credit we managed to scrape together. Still, I remember how bittersweet it felt watching that little bird, ever so fearless in the face of sudden change, march right up the ramp of the freighter at the Pug, determined to make me and you proud by excelling at the academy. Standing amongst the sea of parents waving goodbye to their children, I wrapped my arm around your waist, rested my head atop yours, and forced myself to swallow a harsh pill of truth.

With or without me in her life, Cee is going to be just fine.

I remember how you swung our linked hands as we walked back to our ship, your sweet voice a soothing balm easing the ache of my melancholic heart. Ezra, she’s fierce and bold and strong. That little golden child is going to have her name written in the stars one day.

Kevva do I hope I live to see your vision come true.

First thing I remember noticing about you was your eyes. Remember how I caught you staring at me from across the bar? You looked at me like I was your North Star pointing you home, like I was something shiny and special. You scared the fuck out of me. It’s the worst thing I ever thought, but it’s true. I would have fled the scene if your gaze hadn’t anchored my soul. 

You introduced yourself, and I knew goodbye would never be a word exchanged between us. No, we became a pair of binary stars, constantly orbiting each other round and round, hello again and see you soon. Falling in love with you was inevitable. The Currents designed you perfect for me. Designed you with meteorite in your bones and sunlight on your lips and all the constellations sparkling in your eyes. There is no grander form of paradise than to feel you beneath my hand. There is no comparison. No second place contender. Just you, your tender heart, and the galaxies you contain. 

Sometimes, late at night when you’re asleep and my thoughts are too loud for my head, I stare at the ceiling and speculate about alternate verses. Verses starring another me and another you crisscrossing each other’s paths as we’re pulled across the galaxy by our heartstrings. Somewhere, there is another me who never escapes the ruthlessness of the Green and breathes my last with Inumon’s knife in my lungs. Another me who will never know the emotional and physical anguish that accompanies the loss of a limb. Another me who pulls the thrower’s trigger without hesitation, firing a shot between the wide eyes of an innocent girl. Another me who ignores the temptation of harvesting aurelac in hopes of making a reputable name for myself. 

Somewhere, there is another me who ran away from another you.

And it pains me to wonder if perhaps you’re happier never knowing me.

I speculate about those two most of all.

I woke up to screaming. My mind was a tangled mess, caught between the thin barriers separating reality from dreamscape, and I was truly convinced my head would explode from the noise. Inumon wouldn’t stop screaming no matter how hard I squeezed my fingers, no matter how much of my bulk I pressed down upon her. It’s me! She wailed like an animal in a trap, sensing impending doom but unable to flee from it. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me! Please, Ezra!

A thought crossed my mind, as sudden and blinding as a shooting star streaking through the midnight sky, and I found myself incapable of ignoring it. How does she know my name? I had cloaked my identity using a dead man’s name. It wasn’t feasible for her to know the truth or for the sound of my name coming out of her mouth to set my skin aflame. 

There aren’t words to describe the horror which consumed me when I looked down upon your tear-stained face. 

My mama once told me everybody’s a sinner. We have wickedness embedded in our cells from womb to tomb. It buries its roots deep, resistant to our attempts to rid ourselves of its corruption, and waits for the precise moment to inflict pain upon those we love most. Those who choose to love us despite the warning signs.

In the aftermath, when my fucking fingerprints were smudged across your throat blue and purple, you held me like I was a human and not a monster or a vexation or a broken thing to toss aside. I couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop my mind from conjuring a torturous loop of what ifs. 

What if I hadn’t stopped myself? What if you hadn’t broken the nightmare’s spell? What if your last word had been my name? 

Hush, you whispered. My tremors worsened upon hearing the raspy quality of your voice and you pressed your lips to my forehead. An undeserved benediction. I’m here. You haven’t lost me. 

I don’t deserve you, little love of mine. Not one damn piece of you. If I could I’d give you the whole galaxy, but I only have one hand and it terrifies me to risk letting you go. Forgive me, please, for asking you to stay with me.

Forgive me for how much I dearly love you.

Notes:

Cero Tol is a made up academy based on Cerro Tololo Inter-American Observatory located in Chile. 

Lao is an island planet(?) mentioned in Prospect. Damon tells Cee she was born there.

Helianthus is the genus for sunflowers. I liked the fanciness of it 🙂

Points were referenced in Prospect as a type of currency. Credits are a Star Wars form of currency that I thought would also be fitting to use.

Binary Stars =  a system of two stars in which one star revolves around the other or both revolve around a common center.

I like to think there are alternate realities or a multiverse. It’s fun to imagine all the different possibilities another me is experiencing. 

I don’t think I’ll ever understand why guns in Prospect are called throwers, but that’s what the creators decided so that’s the terminology I’ll use too.

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[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Poison: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

"What is food to one is to others bitter poison." - Lucretius

Cases involving children are never your strong suit. The last one with Billie Copeland was just so hard, you’re not sure if you can be involved in another one--that is until you learned what this case is really all about. Yes, there is a child involved, but the bigger picture has a much larger scale than children.

You have to remind yourself that you need to focus on the case and not on Spencer. It shouldn’t even be a hard thing to do, but something happened between you two when you took him to the bookstore right next to your apartment. After checking out a couple of books, and after Spencer had read virtually all of them, you decided it was kind of late and that you needed to get home. The store was closing very soon anyway, so Spencer opted to walk you home.

When you got to your door, he decided to give you a kiss on your cheek, but you moved your head at the last minute. He accidentally got the corner of your mouth, and that messed up his whole thing. Based on his reaction to your mouths almost touching, you know he can’t be that interested in you. If he were, then he would have just kissed you right there and then. Instead, he stuttered a goodbye and left.

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Does he like you? If so, then why won’t he just kiss you? If he doesn’t, then why does he agree to go on these dates with you. Whenever you two go out, you clearly state that this is a date, and he doesn’t say anything that dismisses that idea. Sometimes, you just wish you knew what was going on inside that big brain of his so you can dejumble it and tell him what the fuck is going on. You’d do it now, but you have a case that needs your full attention.

Apparently, a man and his son were driving down the road one night when the father pulled to the side of the road and got out. He walked into the woods, the son followed after him, and the father beat him almost to death. The son is in the hospital undergoing critical care while the father is in the psych ward. You’re not sure how it happened or why, but you know that it did. Hotch and Gideon got hold of the interrogation video sent over by the New Jersey Police Department.

Detective Hanover is the person who is going to be in charge and is also the person who you will be working with the entire time you’re in Jersey.

“State trooper took this before the paramedics showed up,” the detective says and shows Jack Fisher, the father of Eric Fisher, a picture of his unconscious body. “He's unconscious and has four broken bones. He's gonna be in the hospital for a month.”

“I didn't hurt my son,” Jack sighs.

“Do you remember removing the tire iron from the trunk?”

What, he used a tire iron? You gasp softly and put your hand to your mouth as you continue to watch.

“No! No!”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

“I picked Eric up from school on Friday, for the weekend. Who would do this?” he cries softly.

Hotch ends the video there and addresses the entire briefing room.

“This happened two days ago in Beechwood, New Jersey. Mr. Fisher had ingested LSD one afternoon and didn't come down until eighteen hours later.”

“The hospital reported six other patients who ingested LSD in the last twenty-four hours. The hospital called the CDC, then the CDC called us,” JJ finishes.

“So, a bunch of people got spiked. What makes it a BAU case?” Derek wonders.

“They each received ten to twenty times the normal dose.”

“That’s enough to kill a small child,” Spencer informs.

“Or cause a grown man to try and kill him with a tire iron apparently,” you sigh.

“Of the seven victims, there was one death and one coma. This is from the hospital's security footage the same night Fisher lost it,” JJ explains and uses the remote to put a different video on the screen.

It’s of the hospital that is in complete chaos. People are shouting, pushing, yelling, and apparently, having seizures. One man is on a stretcher, and he’s clearly on something. The doctors around him try to push past the madness of people to get him to a room while the nurses have their hands full of scared and angry patients. This wasn’t a spike or an overdose…

“These people didn’t get spiked. They were poisoned,” you reveal.

“Of the seven victims, Gail Norman was the only death. She was seventy-eight. She ran out into the middle of the road, and she was hit by a car. She was DOA,” JJ reveals on the plane ride over to New Jersey.

You’re sitting next to Spencer in one of the seats that are super cramped so that they can fit four of them in on either side of a small table. You’re sitting by the window, so essentially, Spencer is blocking you in. He’s not a big person, but because you have romantic feelings for him, it feels like a fucking trap.

“The other potentially fatal case is nine-year-old Brittany Canon. She fell out of a treehouse and fractured her skull. She's in a coma, but the doctors don't know if she's going to come out of it,” Hotch says.

“How do you wanna handle the press?” Gideon asks the liaison.

“We still don't know how these people even got dosed. I think it would be irresponsible to issue a warning without specifics. It'll just cause panic. I did notify the local PD, though, to be discreet.”

“How is it possible that none of these people knew how they got poisoned?” Derek wonders.

“None of them remembers anything about the day it happened,” you say and gesture, but your hand brushes up against Spencer’s leg.

You blush and mutter an apology, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He looks at you and blushes as well, but he is better at hiding it than you are.

“These people were so messed up; it's made it difficult for local PD to retrace the victim's steps.”

“So, we need to go on precedent. We know there are four types of poisoners who target multiple victims,” Gideon starts.

“There's the true believer--the political terrorist/religious cult. There's the extortionist--the product tamperer that holds the business hostage in exchange for money. The prankster--it’s usually a younger offender who doesn't mean any harm, and it's basically just a big practical joke to them. Then we have the avenger--someone with a personal vendetta who chooses poison as their weapon,” you explain the different types of offenders.

“We need to find out as quickly as possible which type he is. Because with the exception of the prankster, all these types commonly test their poison on a small scale before appearing at a larger attack.”

“Then, let's hope this one was just a prank,” Derek scoffs.

"I suggest we split up the victims and see if there's a pattern to the victimology,” Gideon suggests.

“Most of them are still in the hospital. I'll call local PD to meet us there,” Hotch confirms.

“I'll check the lab reports. Maybe there's a clue to the unsub's motive in the specific nature of the poison he used,” Spencer calls dibs.

“I can't imagine anybody could want this to happen.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll head to the hospital with you. The kid may not be able to tell the doctor anything, but I certainly can. I’ll be able to see what really happened if his mother allows it.”

“Good,” Gideon nods once. “We need all the answers we can get.”

The hospital is buzzing with panic, fear, sadness, and grief. Many people are dying in this hospital, and to someone like you, you’re not sure you can be here for much longer. Hotch, Gideon, and the rest of the team don’t really understand how this all affects you. Normal people like the ones on your team see this hospital for what it is. They see people grieving and people crying, but they allow themselves to be separated from their emotions. They can walk into a loud crowd and tune out all the conversations and emotions without even thinking about it.

Not you. You’re completely different.

You walk into a crowd, and you’re overwhelmed by not only the physical sensation of people all around you, but your mind is also crowded. Your mind goes into overdrive as it inspects each person to make sure they are not a threat. To make sure that they are who they say they are. A normal person can see a kid walking down the street and not know they are kidnapped while you are able to determine that.

You walk into this hospital, and every single emotion of every single nurse, doctor, patient, and family member immediately go to your shoulders. Someone can be dying on the very top floor, and you’d feel how sad their family members are as they watch their beloved ones slip away. There could be someone in the next room receiving bad news, and it’ll be like you’re receiving the same news. It’s not fun living with your abilities, and you’ve caught yourself wishing it would all just end. However, you think about everyone you’ve saved, and it somehow all makes it okay.

“Detective Hanover, Beechwood PD,” the detective that was on the surveillance tape introduces himself to you, Gideon, and Hotch.

“Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Gideon and Agent Y/L/N.”

“Thanks for coming down on such short notice. The doctor said he may have permanent brain damage. I've never seen anything like this,” he sighs and looks at Eric, the little boy who was beaten by his own father.

“Well, let's hope we can help him.”

“Have you had a chance to review the victim's files?”

“We're especially interested in talking to the boy's father,” Gideon says.

“We'd like to get a sense of why he turned violent while the lab analyzes the specific nature of the LSD he was dosed with. we'd like to get our own sense: was it the drug itself or was there something else going on? Hopefully, that can give us a little bit of a window into the motive of the offender,” Hotch explains.

“He's in the psych ward.”

“Well, we'll keep it short,” Gideon replies.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll meet up with you two. I’m going to talk to the mother,” you offer, and Hotch just nods.

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[bat-losers-inc]

Song of Cassandra: Chapter 2

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

                            _____________________________________

Half a year later saw them performing a feat of brotherly bonding he’d never imagined possible: robbing Penguin together.

They’d left the Tricorner district behind in a streak of burnt rubber and a barrage of gunfire and ditched the getaway van in Chinatown at the first available 24-hour parking facility on the other side of the bridge. It was slower going on foot, but Chinatown’s busy night scene, combined with the heavy triad presence in this district, would make Penguin’s men hesitate before going in guns blazing. That was all the time they needed to slip away unseen.

Now, as they emerged from the darkness of the parking deck, Dick yanked the balaclava off his head. He grunted something unintelligible as he shouldered his way through the cluster of pedestrians that crowded the sidewalk.

“What?” asked Jason, pulling his own half-mask down from around his neck and jogging to catch up.

“I said, you’re a real bastard. You promised me this was would be easy!”

Jason glanced at him. He wanted to be sympathetic but he just couldn’t when Dick was glaring at him with that staticky mop of hair. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he replied, “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t leave a paper trail! This is about as easy as stealing from Penguin’s bagman gets.”

In truth, he thought they were complaining just for the sake of complaining. After six months they both knew that pulling off this heist was less a matter of choice and more a matter of necessity. Failure meant returning to the storage locker Dick had procured outside of Port Adams and staring down their measly little bat-trust-fund: six safehouses, fifteen rolls of Kevlar fabric, a small arsenal, twenty-seven contacts typed into a Word document, and $5,025 split five ways. But what use would kevlar suits be if their siblings couldn’t afford to keep a roof over their heads? No, without the cash it was worth fuck-all.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue the point further but at that moment a convoy of police vehicles shot past them, sirens wailing and horns blaring loud enough to deafen a person. No doubt by now Penguin’s men had informed their boss about the botched exchange and pinned the blame on their nearest rivals, the Ghost Dragons. If that was the case, then Chinatown was a powder keg ready to explode into a minor gang war at any moment.

A flash of light reflected off the windows of a nearby apartment building. Jason stepped in between two parked cars to get a better look and found himself staring up at the cloud-heavy night sky illuminated in the glow of the bat signal.

He gripped the heavy duffel bag full of stolen cash closer to his chest like he expected Gotham’s dark knight to swoop down at any moment and tear it from his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dick tugged at his arm. “time to go.”

Batman was on the way and like the best of Gotham’s criminals, Jason and Dick made themselves scarce.

It took nearly forty minutes and three subway lines to make their way back to the self-storage facility. By then a pale glow had crept up from the horizon and spread across the water. Around them, the street lights began to shut off one after another. In the distance, Jason could just make out a tugboat as it pushed a barge out towards the open ocean.

By the time Dick pulled the storage locker door down behind them, they were tired-eyed and footsore.

Jason threw the duffel bag onto a table and propped himself against it as he fished one-handed under his t-shirt to undo the straps of his protective vest. He sighed in relief as the weight lifted off his shoulders. “How the hell did you stand wearing these things when you were on the force? Even with the undershirt, the chaffing is god-awful.”

“You get used to it,” Dick replied, making quick work of removing his own gear.

Jason doubted it but he was too tired to argue his point further. Instead, he found the six-pack that he’d stashed under the table earlier that day and snapped off a can.

“Heads up,” he called, as he pitched a can underhand to Dick who caught it against his chest.

Dick held it up for inspection. “Warm beer. What I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh shut up and celebrate with me, you asshole.”

He extended his arm across the table. Dick knocked beer cans with him and completely failed at hiding the shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though god bless him he tried. “Cheers.”

Jason watched him crack open the top and chuckled as he hurriedly slurped at the foam that erupted over the rim. He knew that this morally gray lifestyle didn’t come easy to Dick but he couldn’t deny that he was happy he had stuck around with him for this long. He didn’t dare to say it out loud, but they actually made good partners.

He took a long drink from his own beer can before putting it aside. “Ok, come on. The faster we count this cash the sooner we can go to bed.”

Jason upturned the duffel bags, sending stacks of cash sliding out onto the metal tabletop while Dick pulled the banknote counter from the corner and lugged the machine up next to the pile. Together they started slipping the currency bands loose and feeding the stacks of cash into the machine, watching eagerly as the sum continued to tick upwards.

“Soo…” Jason drummed his thumbs on the table as the numbers continued to flash on the small screen, “How are things going with you and Babs?”

“What?” Dick’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a little curious about what she thinks you do when you’re out late all the time… also, I’m bored.”

“You’re weird, is what you are.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We’ve only spent the past six months together moonlighting as vigilante survivalists and I can’t ask one time how your love life is going.”

“No, no. Sorry, you’re right.” Dick held up a hand. “I told her I’ve been helping you out with an undercover case for a couple of months now. Said I owed you a favor.”

Jason grinned at him. “Well, that’s not a lie. Quite a few actually, but who’s counting.”

Dick punched him in the shoulder. “Actually, I should call her. Reassure her you didn’t get me killed before she calls in a search party.”

Jason chuckled and went back to the task of feeding bills into the machine as Dick rummaged through the backpack and fished out his phone.

“Hey, uhh...”

Jason glanced up and took in Dick’s furrowed expression as he stared down at his phone. He put down the stack of cash he was holding. “What’s the matter?”

“Something happened while we were out. I — shit I don’t know how to explain it but I’ve got like 15 missed messages from Barbara and Alfred. Did you bring your phone with you?”

Jason grabbed his backpack where his own phone was stashed and opened it to find a similar mass of missed calls and incoherently excited messages cluttering the screen. Some of the numbers he recognized, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred were all saved in his phone, but a few were from unknown senders. If he had to venture some guesses he’d say Cass, Duke… maybe Harper? Fuck, he never realized this many bat brats had his number. “I don’t get it… something about Tim? What about hell?”

“I’m calling Babs.”

Jason was aware of how uncomfortably loud their breathing sounded in the small storage locker as they stood around the table waiting for Dick’s call to connect.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice asked loudly through the speaker. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“Sorry, undercover mission, remember? What’s the big emergency? I didn’t get anything from Bruce.”

“You need to get back to the manor. Bruce found Tim!”

That didn’t make any sense. “What? You mean Bruce found Tim’s remains?”

Jason smacked his arm. “His remains? Are you fucking serious? What remains could Bruce possibly find after a death like that?”

“I don’t know, bone fragments—”

Dick’s argument sounded flimsy the moment it left his mouth and they both knew it. Jason just really hated to be the one who had to say it.

“If the heat from that explosion didn’t finish him off entirely then the pounding impact of like a hundred thousand missiles definitely did in whatever remains might have been left.”

“Guys—” called Babs.

“Oh, so you’re a forensic scientist now? You don’t know that—“

“Yes, I do!” He slammed a hand down on the table, his anger flaring. He really couldn’t do this backslide back into denial with Dick again. “There’s a reason we buried an empty box. Tim is literally dust in the wind.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barbara’s voice erupted loudly through the speakerphone. “Kill it with the broody back and forth already and actually listen to me, would you? I’m not talking about bone fragments or anything like that. I’m saying Bruce found Tim. Tim! He’s alive.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes over the phone, confusion written as starkly across Dick’s face as it must have been on his own. “What? I— What?”

“I really don’t understand it all myself. But Tim said he’s been held captive by Mr. Oz in another dimension for this whole time. Can you believe it? All this time we thought he was dead and...”

Jason didn’t catch that last bit. He was too busy bent over the table as all the blood rushed to his head.

He was gonna hurl. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

They’d all given up on the hope of Tim miraculously surviving a long time ago and this sudden news felt like he was experiencing emotional whiplash. This had to be some kind of sick joke or a trick... a doppelganger sent by the newest enemy on the rise against Batman.

Dick’s thoughts were apparently spiraling in the same direction as his own for he ran a hand roughly across his mouth and asked, “You saw him yourself? You’re sure it’s him, our Tim?”

But it wasn’t a big cosmic joke. As much as Jason couldn’t believe it, it wasn’t and that was made clear with every new piece of information Babs gave them.

“Yes, he was standing right in front of me only an hour ago — crying and hugging everyone.”

Dick turned to look at Jason, but he was already rounding the table and yanking Dick into a bruising hug.

“He’s alive,” Dick cried into the shoulder of his t-shirt. His voice overflowed with the most contagiously hysterical mixture of joy. Jason laughed through his own tears. “You bet your ass he is!”

He couldn’t explain what had come over him. He and Dick had never really been close — and they definitely weren’t huggers — but the last few months had been so full of this gnawing air of anxiety — their family continuing to fracture, the resources running dry — that the full realization was starting to hit them that this plan might have been formed too late to do any real good. They could feel the clock running out and they were both expecting the other shoe to drop any day now but then out of the blue… this.

Dick pushed away from him suddenly and wiped at his eyes.

“Uh…” he tried to clear his throat. “We, uh, we should get back to the cave and go see him for ourselves. Babs, he still there, right?”

“Yeah, Bruce is debriefing him.”

And just like that, Jason’s joy seized painfully in his chest. It hurt the way a seatbelt does in a car crash, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing you up short. He watched Dick rush around him, grabbing up his belongings in a disorganized fashion.

“Dick, I can’t come with you.”

“What?” Dick asked, breathless. He turned back from the door. “Yes, you can. C’mon, get your stuff, the money can wait till tomorrow.”

Jason shook his head. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to explain this to him without looking like the one asshole member of this family who didn’t want to visit his little brother recently brought back from the dead.

Dick paused, his hand dropping from the door handle. “What? Because of what happened between you and Bruce?”

I was a fool for ever believing in you. Even now Bruce’s words lingered at the back of his head. An invisible brand that still held its heat.

“Jason, I know what went down between you and Bruce was… heavy, to say the least, but you’re still family. You do know that, right? You’re still my family and if you want to see Tim, Bruce can do fuck-all to stop it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason could only huff a sad laugh at that because God did he want to believe that too, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tim would always be his family, but Bruce… he’d crossed a point of no return with Bruce on the night that the fortress was destroyed. The violence of his assault had done more than break a few bones— it had finally shattered that last shred of trust he’d stupidly harbored in him that when push came to shove Bruce would value the son over the soldier. I broke his rules for the last time and now he sees me as nothing more than an unredeemable criminal that escaped Batman’s justice. One of his little soldiers gone AWOL.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I can’t face him yet— I—” he trailed off. He’d been laying low since his return to Gotham, but even still Jason thought the only reason he’d survived this long was because Bruce was too consumed with Tim’s death to spend a spare thought on him. He wasn’t ready to walk into that cave tonight and find out what would happen now that Tim was back in the picture and Bruce’s anger focused back on him.

It felt like a horrible selfish thing to think about saving his own skin when his little brother had come back from the dead, but as his eyes lingered at the collection of items piled around the storage locker he was reminded that no one was going to do it for him. After all, that was how this plan had all started right? Someone had to be the one to craft the safety net for the next Robin to fall of Batman’s mighty pedestal.

“You should go. Tell Tim I’m glad he inherited my cockroach-like ability to not stay dead.”

“Jason…” Dick twisted the jacket he held in his hands.

“Go.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, despite his best efforts to push his emotions down. He was quick to try to smooth it over with a tight smile that he knew fooled neither of them. “I’ll stop by his apartment tomorrow once all the hype has died down. Besides, someone needs to finish up here.”

He nodded at the banknote counter.

The one thing he’d always valued about Dick, more than his caring nature, was that he knew when to stop pushing an issue.

“Alright,” Dick shifted his grip on his jacket again. His phone was chiming once more in the back pocket of his jeans. No doubt another family member asking where he was. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

“Sure.”

After the door to the storage locker fell shut, Jason let his gaze travel around the room again. So Tim was back, alive and well as far as any of them were concerned. A nagging part of Jason’s mind wondered worriedly if gaining him back would slowly undo all the plans they had made together. Would Dick continue to worry about the next crisis to befall their little family or would Tim’s return renew his neverending faith in the impossible until he eventually forgot what it was that drove him to his breaking point?

Jason picked up another stack of banknotes and slid it into the machine. As the numbers continued to rise once more he did his best to prepare himself for the idea that he would be alone in this mission once more. Another bitter pill to swallow but he couldn’t do it. It lodged itself raw and unpleasant at the back of his throat.

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings: Angst, violence, SMUT/ threesome mmf/ fingering/ oral (m/f, f/f), assault, PTSD, Very Dark Thoughts

      * Summary: Negotiation, implementation, consternation, consequences

      * Word Count: ~2500k

PART FOURTEEN

    You tread your new dynamic with care and consideration. Ezra asked you, again and again, if you were sure. He knew people got jealous, no matter how open they may seem to experimentation at the outset. Ezra has been around, of that he’s made no qualms of reminding you. He’d seen arrangements blown up in both the heat of passion and in the dry planning stages. He professed to you in a million different ways that he would sooner lose a limb than jeopardize your partnership.

    “If this is to have even a whisper of eventual occurrence, Dovie, the channels of communication must remain patent and our exchanges honest. There must be not one shred of doubt and uncertainty. I have seen the strongest of unions crumble to dust through the mismanaged impropriety of baser desires.”

    His eyes were warm, yet somber. The uptick at the corner of his mouth belied the serious set of his features. You knew he had concerns. His hands grasped yours, your knees canted toward one another as you sat on your couch.

    You trusted him implicitly. You had never been in a situation such as the hypothetical you were now navigating. Your past dalliances had not lacked variety, however they had not been frequent. Indeed, before Ezra you had been without physical intimacy for well over two years. 

    From the beginning, you had discussed ground rules. Ezra relayed and reinforced to you, during each careful conversation, that you must be in agreement with one another for every step of this new equation. 

    “I will ask you ad nauseum for your explicit consent in all doings, Dove,” his hand caught your wrist and stroked a broad thumb over your pulse point. “We must ask the same of whomever we entwine ourselves with. It truly is the crux of all pleasure, of the give and take of Eros. To know that what all parties deign to both imbibe and impart is agreed upon and accepted.”

    “I understand, Ez.”

    Perhaps at least as important as the concept of consent to Ezra was the unity with which you were to approach any and all potential arrangements. 

    “There must be no part of this endeavor in which we are not together,” his voice was calm and even, filled with soft affection as he rubbed your fingers between his palms. His eyes enveloped you, drawing your own gaze into deep and hypnotic pools. “I will do nothing, my gaze will not linger on another without you beside me. I will ask the same of you. Nothing is to transpire without each of our individual presences within one another’s orbit.”

    You both further discussed your terms over the course of the next several days. Ezra wanted your absolute certainty; the faintest doubt in your mind must be immediately and honestly expressed the moment it arose. You discussed your limits, safe words. Your frank conversation often left you both inflamed, tearing at clothing and gasping into each other’s hungry mouths as he impaled you on his cock, whispering a continuance of your plans that left you groaning and grunting like a desperate animal against any surface he’d seen fit to take you against. 

    You had initially brought up the idea of another couple; Ezra had immediately vetoed. He explained that the dynamics would be too touchy, perhaps volatile. Involving another couple may lend complications to what could be construed as an already precarious adventure. 

    “Not for the first time, Dove. Men in love, even in lust often house a primal directive to possess and claim. I will not place you or any other in such a position, at least for our first time.”

    It did not matter to Ezra whether your first partner was male, female or elsewhere on the gender continuum; he relayed he’d had pleasurable encounters with all persuasions. He left it up to you.

    After some careful consideration you’d settled on engaging with a female for your first time. You loved Ezra more than the moon and stars, but there was something about the curves and soft, pillowy flesh of a willing and open woman that brought heat to your chest and caused a buzzing in your brain that left your blood rushing in your ears and your mouth dry.

    He’d flashed his Cheshire smile at your declaration and enveloped you in a crushing embrace, whispering devotionals against the crook of your neck.

 ******

     The girl you’d found was tall, nearly Ezra’s height. She wore a sequined dress that glittered like a garnet against the light of the soft Edison bulbs on your end tables. Her laugh was musical, it reminded you of wind chimes made of hollow bone. She laughed often; this was what had drawn you to her.

    She’d been leaning back on the bar of the club you’d spent weeks visiting. It was a small, intimate location festooned with antique rococo furniture draped in tapestries of purple and scarlet. You’d taken your time, easing into the sophisticated atmosphere, acquainting yourselves with staff and regular patrons. The rhythm of the location was languid, sensuous. You could almost picture nude, rubenesque concubines reclining against the velvet couches while old-world Jazz plucked tinkling notes in the incensed air. It was perfect, and the intimate setting was ripe for measuring the potential of the various patrons who walked through its doors.

    So, it was the joyous, full-bodied laughter that had drawn you to her. Ezra let you take the lead, staying back to watch you. You ingratiated yourself to her easily, offering her a drink that she gladly accepted. As you both made your way to the ornate couch upon which Ezra perched, you noted him watching intently, lids hooded, finger idly stroking the lip of the glass in his hand. His eyes were tide pools, drawing you to him, hypnotizing.

    Predatory.

    And so the girl, named Andra, sat betwixt you as you began your dance. You flirted shamelessly, throwing your head back, leaning forward to give her a glimpse of what was underneath. You noticed her gaze linger there, and felt your adrenaline spike. You took a chance and brushed the knuckles of one hand against the side of her knee as you reached for your drink. The knee moved to press against yours.

    Ezra was much quieter than usual, allowing you to steer the conversation. He’d chime in occasionally, but for the most part his gaze lingered on your animated face. His eyes smoldered, his arm extended down the length of the back of the couch.

    At one point you stood, excusing yourself to the restroom. Andra excused herself as well. You entered the unisex fresher and before you had time to react Andra had you pressed against a stall door, her hands in your hair, her tongue curling into your startled gasp. You froze only momentarily before returning her kiss, framing her own soft face with your hands.

    Your lips tangled for endless moments before you came back to yourself, forcing a break as you reluctantly pulled away. You both panted in silence, chests rising and falling in rapid succession, before Andra spoke.

    “I like you.” her smile was small, shy. The brazenness had melted away with interruption of affection.

    You huffed out a laugh.

    “I like you too,” you paused, considering. “Do you like him as well?”

    Her soft chuckle was an echo of yours.

    “He’s very handsome.”

    “I agree.” You grasped her hand in yours, meeting her gaze. Your eyes became serious, your words measured like sordid currency.

    “Would you like to come home with us, Andra?”

    She would be delighted to, she replied. She really never did things like this, she said. She kept mostly to herself, but she had just received word that she had been approved for a loan to open a private art gallery. She felt like celebrating.

    “She feels like celebrating, Ezra,” you quipped when you returned. He immediately stood, nodded once, paid the tab. He pulled you aside briefly before you left to walk home.

    “Sweet girl, I cannot help but notice your lips are swollen, almost as if from some form of vigorous contact…” he whispered, his expression unreadable.

    You shrugged. “She kissed me in the bathroom. It took me by surprise.”

    His gaze darkened, lips set in a grim line. Your heart jumped into your throat.

    “Always together, remember? Rule one.”

    You found it difficult to meet his eyes when they burned into you like hot ash.

    “I’m...sorry, Ezra. It won’t happen again. I lost myself.”

    “It’s okay to lose yourself, Dovie, just don’t jeopardize the trust we’ve agreed upon so ardently.” his hand grasped your chin, tilting your face to his as his lips ghosted over yours.

    “I love you so fucking much.”

 ******

     “Look what you’re doing to our lovely conquest, Dove,” Ezra cooed, his chest slicked with sweat, one hand slowly pumping up and down his engorged cock. He knelt behind you, fingers in your quivering cunt as you lapped at Andra spread out and eager while your mouth worked her. You flattened your tongue and alternated long, slow licks with wrapping your lips around her hard little bud. Andra was keening, sobbing, canting her hips up toward you as you desperately worked to take in the flood of slick that poured out of her.

    You thrust your hips back forcefully as you came up for air. Your mouth and chin was drenched in her come, it was intoxicating and made you feel feral. You were working toward your third orgasm of the night, having already come twice just from the friction of your grinding clit on the surface of the blanket beneath you. Ezra leaned forward to capture your mouth, moaning at the taste of your eager lover.

    “See how she falls apart so easily for you, legs quivering uncontrollably? She’s soaking the sheets beneath her. She cannot begin to keep those gorgeous noises from spilling, much like the slick from her twitching hole..”

    You cried out, lost in the feeling of being tugged so deliciously both forward and backward between warring sensations. 

    You felt the blunt head of Ezra’s cock at your trembling entrance, and you pushed back one again, desperate for him to fill you as the head of his cock nudged against your clit, then notched at your tight, soaked entrance.

    You groaned loudly into the weeping slit before you as he sheathed himself inside of you and when his hips finally made contact with the backs of your legs, you bucked against him.

    “Fuck, Ezra,” you sobbed. “So fucking good oh my fucking gods….”

    He remained still as you fucked yourself back onto his turgid length once, twice, three times and then the wire pulled tight within you was snapped again, your arms trembling violently before you collapsed forward, gasping and screaming into the soaked blankets beneath you. Andra scrambled up the mattress and shuffled back to where you were connected. You felt her hands on your hitching ass as you spasmed uncontrollably around Ezra’s hard, slick cock.

    Ezra was moaning as he went deeper, grinding his hips up and down against your spasming cunt as your come flooded out around where he speared into you.

    “Ooooooooh yes, oh yes beautiful girl, let it out for me, soak this fucking cock, you feel so fucking good, you get so fucking tight when you come on my dick like this..”

    As you came down from your high, your hips dropped and you lay almost motionless except for the aftershocks that coursed through you.

    You heard Ezra moan again and turned with dazed interest to glance over your shoulder, where you observed Andra taking Ezra’s cock down her throat. She bobbed on it, taking down an impressive amount of his length as her hand massaged his balls. 

    Ezra’s expression was one of concentration, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open as he gasped as he was drawn, again and again, into her mouth.

    You watched the scene in front of you, and it occurred to you that there was a complete stranger giving Ezra pleasure, that it was someone other than you. You felt confused. Why did it feel like this so suddenly, when only moments before you’d enthusiastically had your entire mouth on her clit, your tongue inside of her?

    It didn’t bother you then, so why now?

    The longer you lay there, the more discomfort you felt. You didn’t like it. Wordlessly, you extricated yourself from the bed and silently donned your silk robe. You stood at the foot of the bed and observed what was happening before you, your skin growing tighter and tighter the longer you stared.

    What is wrong with me? This is okay, it was what you’d agreed upon.

    The longer you tried to deny it, the stronger the waves of deep, red tumult built and crashed around your foggy mind.

    “....Dove?” a hesitant question, unsure. Ezra had stilled, almost frozen on the bed. His eyes were dilated, blown black, but there was a very specific brand of concern etching his features. Andra watched you warily, as if suddenly aware that she’d waded into some unspoken, uncertain territory. You watched her begin to back off the bed slowly, as if distancing herself from an apex predator.

    You felt storms building; you struggled to steady your breath, chest heaving. You felt control slip from your tenuous grasp.

    You felt rage.

    Ezra had talked about the dark force of possession, of needing to own and claim among men in such arrangements as this.

    You realized this applied to women just as well.

    Ezra was yours, this woman had him in her mouth, your cock was inside of her, this strange woman you’d just met who dared to give him pleasure while you were RIGHT. THERE.

    Your mind was blank, your perception of movement coming to you like frames in an old slide projector.

    Click.

    You stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and expression blank.

    Click.

    You vaguely saw Ezra move from the bed and grab his pants. He was confused, eerily silent.

    Click.

    You had just a moment to process the sudden look of shock and panic that crossed Andra’s face as your hands wrapped around her neck.

    There was shouting, Andra’s face was red, turning purple, her hands scrabbling desperately to break the vice-like grip of your fingers pressing into her throat, her eyes bulging. Her heartbeat was a fluttering bird beneath you, a pitiful animal caught in a snare.

    Larger hands were grabbing at you, the shouting continued. You could not make out the words, so hypnotized were you by the sight of panicked, waning consciousness before you.

    You were flung backward, your hands pried roughly off of yielding flesh, your grip faltering.

    Your back hit the wall. Ezra was staring at you with wide eyes. He looked terrified.

    Andra was just to the left of numb terror, gasping and sobbing the breath back into her burning lungs.

    You looked down at your hands, clenched and shaking. Your whole body shaking.

    You were a monster.

    You turned, stumbling desperately through the doorway and into the hall.

    You pulled the robe tight around you and rushed out, out of everything, attempting to leave yourself behind.

    Running.

Tags:     @ifimayhaveaword, @rzrcrst, @absurdthirst, @cinewhore, @hopelikethesun, @yespolkadotkitty, @sin-djarin, @lackofhonor, @din-damn-djarin, @mrpascals, @theocatkov, @thefineandnobleartofavoidance, @hellojustheretolookatmeemees, @cyaredindjarin, @im-like-reallythirsty, @mstgsmy, @goldafterglow, @givemethatgold, @shaqbutt, @sirianisrock, @artemiseamoon, @thatreclusewriter, @scribbledghost, @f0rever15elf, @opheliaelysia, @qveenbvtch, @hdlynn, @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa, @spacegayofficial, @ezraslittlebirdie, @ezrasarm, @ezraslittleblondestreak, @tintinwrites, @kindablackenedsuperhero, @darthadeline, @alexisinorbit, @knittingqueen13, @lueurnotes, @xakilicious, @keeper0fthestars, @huliabitch, @di-kut, @zombieaurora, @corrupt-fvcker, @cryptkeepersoul, @teaofpeach, @thestreamergirl, @frannyzooey, @mndalorians, @sistasarah-sallysaidso, @autumnleaves1991-blog, @heatherbel, @the-feckless-wonder, @millllenniawrites, @revolution-starter, @melon-eyes, @kiwi-the-first

[incorrectsdkquotes]

AU--CEO AU

(Warning--Long Post!)

The ever-present CEO AU. In this one, each of the different groups (Four Emperors, Mibu Clan [Five Stars/Four Elders, etc.], Twelve Gods, Sanada Clan, Tokugawas, etc.) are all different businesses/corporations/what-have-yous.

Kyo is obviously CEO of the Four Emperors group; he didn’t even initially really want to be CEO, but the prospect of taking over other companies/etc. was too much fun to pass up--even more, he’s somehow really, really good at it, too. He has an on-going personal/hostile rivalry with the Mibu, who keep trying to do their own hostile takeover of his company/etc. Legally, there are claims that he took some of their intellectual property when he left, which is why he’s been so successful; unofficially, the CEO of the Mibu, the Crimson King, just wants Kyo to return to the Mibu as the heir. Kyo’s not about that life, though, and would rather do things his way instead of having everything handed to him on a silver platter.

Akira is his right hand man, the VP, the one who makes sure that everything in the company is running smoothly. He was recruited at a young age when he managed to impress Kyo by attempting to hack into his servers back when Kyo was still in the start-up phase of his career. Instead of backing down, even when it looked like he would go to jail, Akira merely told him that he should get better servers. Kyo agreed, hired him on the spot, and Akira has been fiercely loyal ever since. His job may technically be VP, but his roots go back to the IT dept. God help you if you’re anyone but Kyo and need tech support--he’ll maybe help you if he feels like it, but you know he’ll condescend to you the entire time. The only ones (other than Kyo) that he has trouble saying ‘no’ to are the other three members of the Upper Echelon, the Inner Circle, the Four Emperors--Bontenmaru, Akari, and Hotaru.

Bontenmaru is the company’s head of the HR department. He’s the guy you go to if you’re having personal issues and need to talk to someone about them. Depending on the seriousness of the issue, he’ll either tell you to stop acting like a baby (but with more...colorful words) or he’ll be your shoulder to cry on, the one who will fight tooth and nail for you. Admittedly, most of the complaints he gets are about the other Four Emperors, so he’s usually telling the other employees a mix of ‘suck it up’/’yeah, okay, I’ll handle it’ while yelling at his co-workers. If he happens to get into some kind of physical fight with his co-workers...well, what are they going to do? Complain to HR about him? A good guy, he’s the emotional rock holding the whole company together. He’s also the only one brave enought to talk back to Kyo and get away with it, being his oldest (in more ways than one) friend.

Akari is the CFO, or Chief Financial Officer. If you want to spend even a single unit of currency belonging to the company, you’ll first have to prepare one of the many forms explaining exactly why you want to spend Kyo’s hard earned money. She’ll most likely agree if it’s a good enough reason, but you’ll absolutely have to do a ‘favor’ for her in exchange. These ‘favors’ are nothing unsavory--Bon-chan won’t hesitate to actually do his job if they were--but usually involve telling her some new piece of office gossip. Sometimes it’s personal secrets, sometimes it’s getting her a drink from the vending machine, sometimes it’s using your personal connections to get her and Kyo a table at one of the hottest new restaurants in town. She’s also unofficially the office’s go-to nurse; because of her ‘former life’ in the medical field, she has a fully stocked first aid kit in her office, and is willing to help you with anything from a paper cut to setting a broken bone--just be prepared to ‘pay’ her extra for the service. Her favorite people to tease and extract ‘favors’ from are her fellow Four Emperors. Kyo is, of course, an exception and is always welcome in her office for anything.

Hotaru is the company enigma/cryptid/urban legend. He appears in the office frequently, though he’s just as likely to get lost either on the way to the office or even inside the office. No one’s quite sure what his official title is, if he even has one, but according to company records he’s the head of Public Relations. Originally, he was sent by the Mibu to infiltrate as a corporate spy, something he was okay with being...up until he met Kyo and the others and decided that working for them would be more fun. He doesn’t spill many Mibu secrets, largely because he never really cared for them in the first place and hardly remembers any of them, though every now and then when the topic comes up he’ll remember something and say it, usually out of context, giving the company a leg up on the Mibu. His usual ‘expeditions’, as they’ve come to be known around the office, while lost has let him meet with other people and businesses. These connections have allowed him to explain Kyo’s Business (as he calls it), bringing in more business, money, and even more connections. His ‘expeditions’ have come to be considered a business write-off, something Akari grudging allows partially because it helps Kyo and brings in money, and partly because it’s hilarious.

Benitora is one of the newest hires at the company. He’s actually the son and heir to the Tokugawa Conglomerate, something everyone but the company lawyer knows, but is allowed to stay partly because he’s a pretty fun guy and partly because he clearly wants to be here rather than working for his father. There’s the implicit understanding that he will probably have to go back to the Tokugawas eventually, but in the meantime he’s more than happy to be the office gopher (specifically Kyo’s, though he’ll help out anyone else if they ask, especially the pretty lawyer). The only one he’s not on the greatest terms with is Akira, who keeps needling him whenever Tora has frequent computer issues. Tora gives as good as he gets, leading to an...odd friendship, not that either party will admit that they’re friends. If Hotaru gets involved, the three are just as likely to accidentally (somehow) take over another, smaller company for Kyo (again) or go on a weekend bender that ends with them having to call the company lawyer to bail them out--usually by entering Akari’s debt for the bail to be paid.

Yuya is the newest hire at the company. She’s the company lawyer and the one who is constantly exasperated and pulling her hair out because of the others’ antics. Despite her complaining, she’s the best lawyer the company has ever had and has successfully managed to win several key cases against the Mibu. Her only complaint is that the CEO, Kyo, is a jackass who frequently makes passes at her. He hasn’t quite crossed the line of sexual harrassment (unlike canon), but she has frequently complained to Bontenmaru about him. Despite how crass he can seem, there’s a caring side that he seems to only show her, something that keeps her at the company instead of just leaving. She has many friends (and admirers) at the company, though no one is quite brave enough to really try anything with her considering her relationship with the CEO and his Inner Circle. She’ll frequently volunteer her work pro-bono on the weekends for causes she supports and the underprivileged--in exchange, she double bills the company for her time, something Akari allows partly because they’re good friends and partly because Yuya’s complaints to her during their talks are a gold-mine of office gossip.

[stonebreakerseries]

Character Introduction Series

PART 1: DELVER (2638 words)

A piece taking place six years pre-Stonebreaker, when Delver is twenty-five and finally traveling beyond the Allied Kingdoms.

“Very well, then. That will be one drem for the parchment, two crests for the ink.”

“Oh, is that all? Are you sure you don’t want to make it two and three?” Fingers fishing through his leather pouch, Delver tried to ignore the way the coins more slid past each other than collided, so empty were his coffers. “Most people are a little more ambitious when they rob me blind.”

The clerk's pale gaze, sequestered behind a pair of thick eyeglasses, expressed no amusement at the comment. “Supplies are set at a standard rate for scribes and notaries within Illazio. In eastern currency, it is one iron drem for parchment, two silver crests for city ink.” After a slight pause the clerk, clearly determining that he was in conversation with a simpleton, raised three slender fingers. “Three coins, total.“

That little bastard.

Delver made a point of aggressively clicking the coins onto the stone counter one. by. one. The clerk, ever-helpful, lowered a finger each time.

The smell of road dust and horse-shit arrived like a slap as Delver shouldered his way out of the scrivery, the roll of paper already half-way into his pack as he navigated the narrow stairs to the street. Hands occupied, he held the dark, slender ink vial gingerly between his teeth, silently praying that he was not overtaken by a sudden compulsion to bite down. He’d heard enough horror-stories about Illazio ink to know that if he so much as spilled a drop on his skin, his children’s children would be born with the stain. Yes, he recalled a particular scribe in Milenus whose pet cat---

A sharp whistle snapped Delver’s attention upwards. He grunted, skittering back, narrowly avoiding a passing wagon as it juddered drunkenly down the street. Grumbling, he moved a little further aside, extracted the vial from his lips and wrapping it in what was left of his spare shirt. Well, technically the shirt he was wearing was his spare shirt. Divider, he needed an alarming amount of supplies. With exchange rates being what they were, it was going to be a miserable few days.

Tucking the swaddled vial into the center of the pack, cushioned from any potential knocks and blows, Delver eventually nodded, swung it onto his back, and straightened with a soft groan. As the denizens of the street bustled to and fro, he pulled in a deep breath, held it, and let it out.

Then, he grinned.

Illazio ink.

Just getting his hands on it made the trip so far north worth it. Sure, it had added a good two-turns to his planned course, but what was twenty days when you practically lived your life on the road? Besides, it’s not like he had anything better to do. Or anywhere to be. Or anyone waiting for him.

Slowly, his smile wavered. As if to mask its demise, Delver ran a hand down his face, his rough beard scraping against the underside of this glove. He could use a drink. A proper shave, too. Divider, when was the last time he paid someone to take a razor to his face? Probably not since setting foot in the Empire. You could never be too careful, these days. Sure, some folks would say a barber’s a barber no matter where you went, but in Delver’s mind, it was still best to avoid paying strangers from opposing lands to hold a blade to your throat. Shit, Delver had friends who would refuse on the grounds of it being just a little too tempting.

At the thought of such friends, Delver sighed and squinted at the sky. A deep pool of indigo was beginning to edge across from the west, pushing the dusty day out towards the desert. It was probably time to go. He should hurry. That damn woman hated drinking alone.

Stepping into the crowd, Delver let himself to be swept up by the current flowing deeper into the heart of the city.

“You spent how much on ink!?”

Grinning, Delver raised his hands in mock surrender. “Come on, Cresha! Don’t be mad. How was I meant to come to Illazio and not buy it? In my field, that’s practically a crime.”

“You know what else is a crime? Me murdering you.” Like lightning, her hand snapped out, swatting his shoulder. “Fucking seriously--- ink, Delver? What about a new shirt, huh? Or some boots without holes in them?”

Rubbing his arm defensively, Delver fixed his companion with an exasperated look. “First of all, let’s stop pretending this is just any ink. It’s Illazio ink.” He was quicker this time, ducking out of range. “Second of all - ouch! Haven’t we talked enough about the hitting? I’m not some shit-bag mercenary you can throw punches at whenever you like.”

“Then stop deserving it.” Groaning, Cresha slumped, her hand curling around her mug of ale. Slowly, she drew it towards her chest, the heavy wood grating a low staccato over the chipped surface of the table. If misery had a sound, Delver figured that would be it.

“You bring out the worst in me,” she muttered after a moment, gaze lost in her mug. “You really do.”

“... Was that to me or the drink?”

“Fuck off.” Cresha slouched across, skimming the foam off her ale in a long, beleaguered slurp. “I hope you starve to death.”

Delver laughed softly, resting an elbow on the back of his chair. “Divider knows I like to push my luck in that regard.” He sniffed the air, twisting to look about the crowded room. “Speaking of, did you order supper while you were waiting?”

Cresha’s eyes were hard as stone as they leered over the rim of her mug. “Sure did. You’re looking at it.”

Just like that, she had walked right into his trap. “Really? An ale, Cresha? What about soup? Or a pair of roasted---FUCK!”

This time, she got him under the table.

“Ale does me just fine,” she said with a shrug as Delver hissed and cradled his shin. “You’re the one that’s skin and bones around here, not me.” Taking a long gulp for emphasis, she gasped contently, setting it down with a hearty thump. “When was the last time you ate a proper meal, anyway?”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No, I’m your physick, smart-ass. Stop giving me lip for doing my job.” She regarded him for a moment, before puffing a dark curl from her face. “Or did you drag me all the way to the Khathi Empire so I could watch you die somewhere scenic?”

Turning, she waved theatrically towards the window, where the outskirts of the Redesan desert loomed far in the distance. Delver rolled his eyes, shifting to prop his head sullenly on his palm. He no longer cared about the stickiness of the table or his throbbing leg. Mainly because she had a point, and he’d rather skin his own tongue than admit it. “I thought healers were meant to be compassionate,” he muttered. “Soft-spoken. Kind.”

Cresha quirked a thin brow. “Then I think you need to decide what it is you actually want. Besides, you knew what you were signing up for. I’m pretty upfront.”

She had him there.

Eventually, after some time spent digging through his near-empty purse, Delver managed to stir enough pity in Cresha’s iron heart to earn him a bowl of stew and a heel of stale bread - the bread’s staleness being a stipulation on her part. A confused wench left and soon returned with a bowl smelling vaguely like meat and potato and some kind of grain. Boot-leather taste and consistency aside, Delver soon found himself shoveling the steaming liquid down his throat with predatory efficiency, barely pausing for breath yet alone polite conversation. Then, he discovered if he soaked the rock-hard bread long enough, it became halfway edible. That revelation alone was like dawn over the northern wastes; a bright and blissful triumph in a cold, dark place.

By the time he finally surfaced for air, most of the bowl was picked fastidiously clean, and Cresha was watching him with an expression caught somewhere between fascination and horror. “Divider’s Own...” she breathed, before a sudden laugh bubbled out of her, taking them both by surprise. “Fuck me, it’s like watching a street dog go at a steak.”

“It was good stew,” Delver lied, using a piece of leftover bread to polish the already shining bowl. He actually wasn’t sure when he last had a hot meal. It was mostly dried rations, out on the road. Cooking only worked if you could hunt. Cresha rarely had the patience, and unless a rabbit hopped into his lap and died, Delver was pretty much out of luck. Sure, he’d boiled a mushroom or a root vegetable here and there, but that came with its own risks in foreign places. Or rewards, depending on the side-effects.

Frankly, his ongoing survival was something of a miracle.

“Found a job for you, by the way.”

Delver glanced up, jaw working hard on the piece of bread. “Hmumpf?”

Thankfully, they had learned over the past year to translate each other’s groans and grunts. “Yeah. Rich lady this time. Wants you to take a look at some family heirloom.” Cresha shrugged, hefting her ale. She seemed poised to drink until a new thought beat her to it. “Told her you weren’t an evaluator, but she said something about a section in a strange language. Figured that was more your thing, so I said you’d take it.”

Giving up, Delver swallowed with a grimace, the bread scraping all the way down to his stomach. With a watery-eyed cough, he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Great. Sounds good.” He cleared his throat. “Good price?”

“Apparently the Illazi cipher quoted six crests.” When Delver wrinkled his nose, Cresha’s lips curled into a cat-like grin. “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. So I talked her up to a sicet. You’re welcome.” Delver’s brows shot straight upwards and Cresha raised her mug in mock salute. “Not bad, huh? But I reckon you could swing a bit more if you clean yourself up tonight. She seemed the lonely sort, if you take my meaning.”

His surprise quickly devolved into a exasperated groan. “I think I whore myself out enough as it is, thank-you-very-much. Besides, I'd rather not set that precedent. You’ve met some of my clients.”

Cresha gave a theatrical shudder and took another swig of ale, as though the image had a sour taste that she could wash away. “S’pose I shouldn’t be condoning that shit. Makes my life a whole lot harder if you go and pick something up.”

“Can we not talk about this?”

“The lotions for that sort of thing smell terrible.”

“I just finished eating.”

“And the blisters? They’ll soak right thorough your smallclothes. Ain’t a weaver alive who could get those stains out.”

“If I pay one of the wenches, do you think she’ll come over and kill me?”

“And there you go again, wasting coin! Just talk with one for five minutes. She’d probably do it for free.” Smirking, Cresha finally chose mercy, draining the rest of her ale and letting the topic die. “Anyway,” she continued as she slid the empty mug to the table’s edge, “told the good Lady Balsari you’d be over by noon tomorrow. Should give you enough time to scrape off a few layers of grime.”

“I’m not that dirty.” Glancing down, Delver plucked gingerly at his shirt, then leaned in to sniff it. He quickly changed the subject. “So, ah, do you think you could get me for a room for tonight? And probably a bath. I’ll pay you ba---”

---“Already done.” At Delver’s shocked stare, Cresha cocked a brow. “What? I knew you were coming into paying work. Unlike some people, I spend coin wisely.”

“Sure,” Delver muttered sullenly. “My coin.”

“Hey, my payment, my coin. Doesn’t matter how broke you are, good help doesn’t come cheap.” Sighing, Cresha leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms to either side. Her leather coat creaked with the movement - he still had no idea how she kept that on without suffering heat-sickness. Maybe it was all the hot-air she expelled while tormenting him. A faint smile quirked up the corner of Delver’s lips as one of the wenches stacked their dishes onto a wooden tray. Sure, Cres was expensive, but she was worth the cost. Especially if she kept getting him jobs.

Maybe only if she kept getting him jobs.

Suddenly, his empty purse felt heavy in an entirely new way. When was her next payment...?

“You done staring, lech?” Cresha demanded suddenly. Her tone was impatient, but there was something amused in the dark glimmer of her eyes.

“That depends. Are you done stretching?” Grinning wickedly, Delver quickly tucked his legs under his chair, barely saving himself from another shin-splintering kick. “Okay, okay - peace! I was just... I was just thinking, that’s all.”

His tone shifted as he spoke, something somber creeping past the mischievous facade. Cresha, never one to let anything slip by without thorough interrogation, regarded him for a moment. When he didn’t immediately elaborate, her face tightened slightly. He knew that look well; she was gathering all the pieces of a scowl, just in case she needed them in a hurry.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. What were you thinking about?”

“I wasn’t trying to...” Sighing, Delver just shook his head. “I was just thinking about how long I can keep this up for. That’s all.”

“This?”

“You know. All of it. The traveling, the here-and-there work, you.” Overcome by a wave of self-consciousness, Delver shrugged awkwardly. He reached up and ran a hand over his mouth, as if to somehow hide behind it. “You’re from here, aren’t you? Bylea, I mean.”

Cresha snorted. “So what if I am? You’re from Calvaron. Doesn’t mean you feel the need to put down roots every time you set foot through the gate.”

Well, there was no arguing that. Just the thought of Calvaron - even Signea as a whole - left a bitter taste in Delver’s mouth. Unlike Cres, he didn’t have anything to wash it away with. “So you aren’t planning to head home for a while?”

“Nah.” She waved a hand, as though to disperse the question in the dusty air. “Never was. When you stop paying, I’ll probably just head east. Do some work in cooler weather for a change. Do you have any idea how fucking hot this coat gets out here?”

A grin slowly spread across Delver’s face, and he laughed, feeling a little lighter somehow. Maybe it was because, at least for a while more, they’d still be heading in the same direction. It was nice, not being alone on the road. Even if he had to pay good coin for the company.

Or maybe it was because her idea of home wasn’t too far from his own. They’d learned a lot about each other, over the past year, but where they were from wasn’t much of a topic for conversation. He had a feeling they both preferred it that way.

“Well...” Groaning, Delver used the table to push himself up, his muscles protesting their burden. It’d take a few days of rest for the road-aches to fully go away. Just in time for him to gather them all back again on the trip to the Crossroads. “Guess I’d better get scrubbing, huh?”

“Mmhm. Guess you’d better.” Smirking, Cresha flagged one of the wenches, ignoring the way Delver rolled his eyes to the ceiling. As he headed towards the stairs, Cresha’s voice drifted after him. “Hey, don’t go passing out in the tub!”

“Oh for fuck’s--- that was one time!”

“One’s enough!”

[maxparkhurst]

Touched By Fate

“Calcination, Dissolution,

Separation, Conjunction,

Fermentation, Distillation,

        And Coagulation.”

The water was frigid.

Max sat stock still as rivulets of water streamed down the sides of her face, the bristle brush still frothed with suds held suspended above the floor. The throng of men roared in laughter as one tossed the bucket aside and leaned in close.

“Next time it’ll be a bucket o’ piss, Parkhurst,” he hissed, his lips curling up in a blackened gummed smile. His breath smelled of decay and fish. “You got that?”

Max kept her gaze focused on the floor and gave a short nod.

The man made a ‘tch’ sound as he touched his tongue to the backs of his teeth. He clapped a hand around her jaw.

“Yes sir, Murphy, sir!” he mocked in a shrill voice, squeezing her jaw so she mouthed the words. The affair caused another uproar of laughter.

Murphy cackled and gave her cheek a demeaning smack. “Say i’.”

A moment passed before Max brought the bristle brush down to the floor, scrubbing it in long strokes. “Yes sir…” she muttered, her voice small and quiet.

“Tha’ a girl,” he chided, rising to his feet.

As Murphy joined his gang of inmates, kicking the bucket on his departure, Max noticed a figure lurking in the background. The woman stood propped against the wall, her arms folded across her chest as her lips contorted in a displeased scowl. Her eyes followed Murphy and his men, narrowing at their laughter. When they rounded the corner, her attention flicked to Max.

Her eyes pinned Max on the spot. They glistened like emeralds in the hall’s dying light, unwavering and refined as they drifted along Max’s form. A sudden wave of embarrassment coated Max’s cheeks in a crimson blush under the woman’s scrutinous stare; she was painfully aware of the wet rags which clung to her skin and smelled of stale, brackish water. Lips pressed tight, she snatched away her gaze and drilled it into the floor. The wooden bucket laid abandoned on its side. Max’s jaw tensed as she turned it upright and dropped the bristled brush inside, her knuckles popping as she released her death grip on it.

“Are you always going to be a victim?”

Max lifted her gaze and jumped back with a start. The woman knelt just a few inches away from her face, full lips puckered in a contemplative pout. Being so close, Max could see her elevated cheek bones and rounded nose. A dangerous, unconventional beauty lurked behind the natural curvature of the woman’s body. Supple muscles coiled under her caramelized skin imprinted with a myriad of ink as she positioned herself on her haunches. There was a succulent quality to the scent which wafted off of the woman. It was surprisingly pleasant- alluring even.

“Do I have a choice?”

All the hurt Max endured the last several months was expelled in an airy laugh as she spoke. She’d only heard stories about the prison; stories of how it stripped people of their humanity. She soon learned no one came out of Tol’dagor a whole person, just a broken individual. The finality of watching the beacon of light which pierced the veil of fog cloaking over the moor disappear behind iron-wrung gates drove the point home. A chill embedded itself in her marrow that day and lingered like a plague. She had to clench her jaw to keep herself from constantly shivering.

The guards were ruthless. Her palms were skinned from where she caught herself when they threw into her cell, and her ribs ached with an undiluted pain inflicted by their boots. She felt it acutely some nights, every breath she drew accompanied by a strike of pain. They were frugal with food and water- if frugal was even the right word. She received her ration once a day. It never felt like enough. She wolfed down her food and drank greedily from the can, only to scold herself for not savoring any of it.

The inmates were a whole other breed of malicious. She felt their predatory stares lurking in the shadows when she passed, sizing her up for the kill.  On more than one occasion she’d been jumped; sometimes for her food rations and other times for pure sport. Bloody knuckles and broken noses were exchanged as currency here, and Max was short of neither. Most times she managed to limp away and lick her wounds, while other times she’d been dragged to her cell by apathetic guards- everytime she felt pathetic.

A fire burned in her chest when she first arrived, her fists ready at moment’s notice, but time wore away at her nerves. The brutality blistered her skin and bruised her bones. Hunger depleted her strength, thirst chapped her lips, and stress thinned her hair. Nights spent alone in her swirling thoughts, though, were the worst. A mind once quick and agile dulled under the numbing wave of melancholy lapping at the surface. She once found solace in the knowledge she’d acquired in her seventeen- no, eighteen - years, but now that well started to dry. She fumbled with words and lost track of her thoughts. Everything up until then started to fade under this looming black tide, swallowing everything in its wake. Memories turned grey. Names turned up blank and for the life of her she couldn’t remember anyone’s face. Not even Augustine’s…

She barely remembered what he sounded like and nearly forgot the feel of his skin. At night she sat with her knees curled to her chest, running her thumb over the pads of fingers as she tried to recollect those final moments together. It only got blurrier and blurrier with every passing day until the finer details of his face were unreadable. She doubted she could pick him out from a crowd of boys if asked...And the thought made her chest ache.

Her mind, her greatest tool and only escape, was starting to fail. The chill which started in her bones spread throughout her body with the stark realization- she no longer had anything. By the end of the fourth month, she’d grown numb. Keeping her head down and eyes averted became a norm as she resided to this fate.

“That is,” the woman began, “Up to you.”

Her voice rolled smooth and rich with a musical lilt. She brushed the tendrils of hair from Max’s cheek. Surprisingly, Max found herself not shying away from the touch. No one besides her brother had gotten so close, and while a small voice urged her back she couldn’t help but be enchanted by this mysterious woman. She leaned into her hand, letting it cradle her cheek.

“I don’t know how…” Max confessed.

The woman’s hand slid up into Max’s hair, fingers curling around the locks and trailing along her scalp. All the tension in Max’s jaw released like a spring as she melted under the woman’s touch. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when she felt the woman’s breath at her ear; it smelled of a peculiarly pleasant blend of tobacco.

“Then I will teach you…” she whispered.

Vallory Malakov was the woman’s name. And she would tear down the foundations of Max’s existence and from the rubble construct a woman truly forged of fire and brimstone.

Previous Chapter: Eclipse

[justfangstvdto]

Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 01 “City Of Devils”

Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 here. For some context, I´d advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.

Chapter warnings: typical vamp behaviour, blood, murder, angst and some very obvious foreshadowing

Word count: 4104

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming.

Open Coffin 2 Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

You were surrounded by pulsating air. Alive and undead hearts sinking to the pace of the drums. There was dooming danger in the air in the packed bar turned nightclub, as hunters moved amongst their prey. It would be only a matter of time before the hunters overpowered them.  

On cue, the lights dimmed to a sombre shade of red and the hunters ceased their movements. You identified them through the rousing crowd, eyes veined and fangs bared - ready for attack.

Three.

Two.

One.

Midnight. Time to feed.

Your fangs punctured the delicate skin of the neck closest and the addicting crimson blood drained into your mouth. The horrid screams from the human in your grip were drowned out by the sheer pleasure of holding a life in your hands.

The brink was here. Was there hope for your prey yet?

You stepped over it, without blinking, without remorse. One less tortured soul to roam the earth. If you came to think of it, you did them a favor.

With evil on the mind and blood spatters in the air, you retreated the battlefield concealed as a dancefloor. You headed to the bar, unbothered to swipe your bloody mouth. There was no use in pretending anymore, to hide behind a mask. The world had seen what wretched thing you were, and you were unbothered by it. Let them see, let them fear. It kept them away.

Ordering a bourbon with the wave of your hand, you sat down on the remote end, further from the thumping music.

“Rough night?” The bartender tried to joke with you.

“Rough life.” That answer may have been trite, but hell if it wasn't ́t the truth. And you didn't need that dimwit behind the bar to remind you of that. “Just do your job and pour the liquor. I ́m not looking for a shrink.”

He backed off, hands raised in defence. The relief of silence was short-lived though as two loudly talking vampires joined next to you, their mouth tinted from their feast.  

“You heard about what's happening in New Orleans?” One of the vampires said to the other.

This Bar, in the heart of Hell´s Kitchen, was where supernatural gossip lived. Everybody talked and gossiped about friends and enemies alike, but none had anything to say that was of particular interest to you.

You heard about the other side collapsing, the recent change in leadership in New Orleans, even talk of Klaus ́ mystical daughter that died in a war between werewolves and the Mikaelsons. And you heard about Damon ́s death. You had to hear it out of someone else's mouth, instead of Stefan ́s. You were not even invited to his funeral, nobody tried to even contact you. Not once. So much for the unbreakable bond of family everyone kept going on about. All bullshit.

So instead of wallowing in grief, you preoccupied yourself with mercenary-like jobs in exchange for currency, which in your case, was spells and spellbooks to hone your craft. You did not have any other purpose, so you made your own. To harness enough knowledge to never watch someone perish in front of your eye ever again. Or to destroy anyone standing in your path.

“Apparently,” The vampire continued “there's some shit going down. Something about a witch that ́s back from the dead who's jumping into people's bodies. Can you imagine?”

“I ́m not surprised, that place gives me the creeps, man.”

“Yeah, but jumping into someone's body? That´s fucking weird.”

“Sounds like a job for those hunter brothers on tv. They ́d clean that shit up good.”

“Hell yeah, man!”

You had no desire to listen after that, consumed by new opportunity. There was only one witch that could´ve risen from the dead causing that much trouble. Esther. It had to be her.

How was she back? The other side collapsed not 4 months ago and with it every spirit in there. Then, a thought crossed your mind that had you spiralling; If Esther crawled out of hell, could he be back too? Was there a chance he made it out alongside her?

All hope deafened when whispers came from men next to you that were oh so chipper a second ago. The taller one with jet-black hair looked over his shoulder and saw you sitting there and promptly turned his head with fear in his eyes.

You were used to it. People here knew what you were. A new species of hybrid. A freak. They crossed the streets when you came along, children ran away and hid behind their parents. They always feared what they did not know, what they were not able to comprehend.

The hushed whispers continued for another minute before you intervened.

“You got something to say to my face?”

“Nah, nothing.” The shorter ashen blond guy shook his head.

You wanted to leave it at that, to let them go with a warning not to talk in whispered hushes. But something in their dismissal made you angry. So as it was and as it has been for the last 2 years, and unexpected visitor knocked on the door that is your mind. And you welcomed old friend Rage with open arms.

You were not burdened by simple anger anymore. Something changed and transformed anger into rage and loneliness into despair. It was nothing like the usual vampire heightened feelings, it was a thousand times worse. The intensity, the strong, yet sometimes short, but intense feeling of emotions was something else entirely.

When anger would hit you wanted to destroy, cry and scream. You wanted to let out your wickedest thoughts, and you wanted the world to feel your pain.

There was too much energy flowing inside your bones to contain it so you let it out and you did not care who saw you like that.

This was no different.

You chanted into your closed palm and blew it over with a single breath of air. Within an instant, ashen veins burned their skin and invisible hands strangled the air out of their lungs. They tried to scream, tried to beg for their lives, but you let them disintegrate.

Served them right.

The room fell silent, nothing but gasps and retreating footsteps.

“Anyone else?” You addressed the room, but were met with instant silence “Didn't think so.”

You leaned back on the chair, and within another sip of bourbon, a plan of action for dealing with Esther and New Orleans edged itself into your mind. You smiled at the sheer craziness of it all. It was pure suicidal lunacy. It dug up old enemies, made new ones and, upon failure, leave the city in ruins.

Fuck it, you had nothing to lose descending into the crescent.

Next stop; New Orleans.

--------

Neon signs burned in the dawning morning sky, illuminating the streets like a beacon of hope and salvation for the tempted souls wandering in them. The Crescent City was the sort of city where easy living during the day occurred. Tourists wandered the streets, thinking this was where they wanted to get lost in, where they would let themselves go. 

But New Orleans had a darkness that lingered in the shadows. Come nightfall, innocent souls always ended up pulled into the dark abyss by wretched souls that littered the paved streets with their bloodshed.

Unlike their glow, the memories attached to this place that was long forced behind closed doors burned like a forest fire. Unrelenting, yet familiar, like coming home after being away on vacation: Adventures lost, but the familiarity and comfort greater than any hardships that linger.

Almost any at least. 

But his presence lingered around every corner, in every face that passed and in every nook and cranny in this city. It bled his and his family name, even more so since Klaus reclaimed the city's throne. 

You stood where the first stone was placed by the returned King himself decades ago, a fitting starting point you found. From there you descended on your enemies tails. 

“Don't you know that the devil walks among us?”An elderly man, sitting beneath a shadowed street light shouted as you approached from across the street.

“Oh, believe me, I know. I ́ve met him.” You said and dropped a 100 dollar bill in his turned-over hat “ Problem is, there ́s not only one of them. This is New Orleans, we all have horns.” 

You pitied the man, yet you wished you had a belief as strong as his. Something to rage against, to pretend to fight for. Something that burned so deep I inside your soul you had to shout it off of rooftops, smear it down on a piece of paper or whisper into a trusted ear. 

Perhaps you would find it here. New Orleans had tricks up its sleep it left every city in its shadow. And with the current faction war brewing, things were bound to reach a tipping point. 

And no one knew war more than your destination for the night.

The Mikaelson Compound.  

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

Timing had no place in the French Quarter. There was no good time for confrontation, no time for rest and certainly no time to waltz into a stronghold unannounced. 

You were aware of that, painfully so, but when timing had no place then neither had fear. He would smell it out, twist it and spit it back on your face. 

Stepping into the spacious courtyard felt like being dragged between the past and future. It was as if laid with a photograph of what lies before you today with another, shine-through one of the past. If the walls could talk they had tales to tell of manoeuvres schemed,  and allies lost, but most of all, they would have told you to run away and never return. 

But this was another point of your plan and was clear it would be the easiest to execute but hardest to stomach. Convincing the self-proclaimed king to join your side.

You followed the sound of paintbrushes stroking on canvas. Ascending the stairs, your feet remembered to navigate the labyrinth and you quickly found your way to his room. You expected to be greeted with a scowl or even a tinge of surprise, instead, you were met with a paintbrush rushing in your direction. Within a blink of an eye and a flick of your wrist, the paintbrush disintegrated to ash. 

“If your intent was the element of surprise, you lost it.”Klaus said, and you could detect the smile through his voice before you saw it “Y/N. I knew we would meet again.”

“Trust me, I tried to avoid it longer. But I can't exactly say no to a bloodbath and I heard this one is gonna be a big mess, so here I am,” You said spectating the strewn about paintings that leaned against the wall. Most where muted colors, full of sorrow. “Damn these are depressing. And I thought your grey period in the '30s was the worst."

“Have you come with a reason or simply to critique my art?”

“Both I guess.” You shrug your shoulders,  “But, let's cut to the chase. Your mother sent me.” His demeanour changed radically, like a sail changing in an oncoming storm “You´ve met her as that Cassie girl, right?”

“You dare come into my home as one of her disciples?” He sounded appalled, disappointed even. His muscle tensed, ready for attack. 

But you knew him. You knew he'd slice first and ask questions later. 

“If you think about attacking me, don't even try. I just have to rub these two fingers together and you´d be immobilized.” 

"I see you accommodated to your new powers. Outright hypocritical if I might add." 

“Can we just have a civilized conversation, please? ”

He raised his eyebrow “Civilized?You?” 

“Look who´s talking.” 

“Let me guess; Esther sought you out to persuade me to accept her foolish deal? To forsake this vessel and take on a new, human body?.”

"That's the plan. Thing is, I don't really follow orders, especially not from her. That is why I ́m here." 

He took the time to study your features, to find some sort of indication of truth or deception. But you looked at him, unwavering.

“Why would you tell me this? To garner my trust? My appreciation, perhaps?” 

“You trust me as much as I trust you, so no. I want to offer you a deal of my own. I'll tell you what she's up to, and you don't annihilate me for working with her.  As easy as that.”

“You ought to play double agent?” He dismissed as if he thought it impossible “How do I make certain you did not promise her the same in exchange for, well, let me guess, everlasting power? A unicorn perhaps?”

“You don't. Then again, you ́re a man of words and not of deeds yourself. How do I know you won't kill me anyway?”  

“What did she offer you?” He repeated, disregarding your question. 

"Kol back from the dead.”  It was the first time you spoke his name in years and it felt like dragging it through dirt with Klaus in the room. It felt wrong, but you continued nevertheless “Now I know what you ́re thinking. Poor girl can ́t live without her love...how tragically cliché. I can, physically, live without him. I can, but I don't want to. He deserves better” You informed, prepared for the onslaught of judgment 

Klaus remained unconvinced still, you saw it on his face. 

“There is one slight inconvenience.” He said, “My wretched mother could easily manipulate your desire to resurrect my brother and operate against you. ”

“I know how to deal with a wretched parent, trust me.”

Wretched was never a strong enough word to accurately describe your father. Violent when drunk, absent when sober and spirit destroying all around. 

“A drunkard is hardly any comparison to the most powerful and deceitful witch the world has ever known.”

“But the desire to send them screaming back to hell is.”  

That made him finally pause and you could swear a smile twitched across his lips. Good. That meant he was warming up. As much as someone like Klaus could. 

 “Look, if you don't want my help, fine. But you know as much as I do that taking down your enemy from the inside requires someone to be a traitor to the cause. You need me.” 

“Why you? I have an army at my disposal, why would I possibly require your help?” 

“I have nothing left to lose. That makes me the dangerous one, and as you know dangerous wins wars.”

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

Klaus agreed to your deal within your next glass of bourbon at Roussous´s. He stated his concerns in a calm manner, but not without adding life-threatening menaces, disguised in Shakespearean platitudes. Typical Klaus behavior. In a way, you were glad he hadn't changed. It only meant you knew what you were dealing with. 

Esther, on the other hand, was much more unpredictable. When you negotiated your involvement in her operation before involving Klaus, she promised her assistance and the spell to resurrect Kol from the dead. She told you exactly what you wanted to hear, and you could not help but doubt her intentions. But alas, she was the lesser of two evils. 

But at last, one beacon of hope, that had been standing its ground long before Esther crawled out of Hell,  survived the nuisance of time; Roussous

The establishment was in similar condition as it has been since you last saw it. The flooring had the same scratches of battles waged, crumbles in the walls of bodies slammed into and the same stench of old bourbon that soaked to wood to its core.  

There was a booth in the back right in the middle, anchoring both rows on each wall that separated the units. The vantage point from the seats where perfect,  the bar was in sight as well as the exit and the employee side entrance - no matter where you looked, a surprise visit was impossible without being seen. 

It was your and Kol ́s booth back in the day. You declared it so was after Kol invited you dug in there during a sudden rainfall, only days after he invited you to join his families festivities, the night where you chased all the stars in the sky. Before that night, you hid away from prying eyes, mostly Klaus´, to prevent suspicion. 

Klaus had almost caught Kol once as he sneaked out to meet you. Of course, Kol was crafty and had a feeling that his control freak of a brother would follow him eventually. He led him in a different direction when he spotted him and made sure he was truly gone before heading off to find you, here at Roussos.  

You slid into the seat after you had ordered Bourbon at the front and the green leather squeaked with your weight. Once situated, you looked at the wooden pillar behind you, expecting carved initials in them. You and Kol's carved initials. But the dark painted wood did not match. They replaced it.

You brushed your fingers over where your and Kol ́s initials where carved previously, silently chanting a spell you retrieved from a skilled witch in India months ago. You smiled as the initials reappear in the dark wood. Sometimes the past was not meant to be erased, and you were not ready to let them erase him so easily. Not the city folk nor his family, no one. 

Loud buzzing that came from your phone distracted you on your tangent into the past. You looked at the display. Esther. 

“I was just on my way.”  You lied as you picked up her call  “He took the deal just as I thought he would. I fed him some bullshit about taking down the enemy from the inside and he took the bait. “

“Good work. What about the stake?” Esther said. 

She had asked about the white oak on your first meeting and set it as a condition to your mutual agreement. You told her that you had lost the white oak years ago, probably at the hands of Klaus.

“I can ́t exactly snoop around with him there.”

“I want that stake.” She repeated impatiently “No matter what you have to do to get it.”

“You ́ll get it, I promise.” 

“I am not interested in promises, I expect results.” She said and hung up the phone without waiting for an answer. 

“Bitch.”

---------

It was quiet on the other side of the river.  Dangling your feet over the ledge of the tallest building on this side of the river, you tried to remember when you last were surrounded by near quiet Sensory overload around the clock had been your salvation over the last few years, and this silence outright scared you. 

“You're not gonna jump, are you?” A familiar voice cut through the stillness and pulled your knees to your chest to get to your feet. 

“Don't know yet. It's not like it would kill me.”You shrugged.

He moved closer and pulled in for a hug.

“Woah what do you think you're doing?” You held both your hands up and backed away. Marcel saw through your playful rejection immediately and only rolled his eyes “Just because we drank ourselves into oblivion one time doesn't mean I like you. “

“We drank ourselves to oblivion every day for a week straight.” He corrected “I think I deserve a hug. You know, as your friend.”

Marcel stumbled into the bar in New York 2 years ago all teary-eyed and pissed off at the world. And though you did not have the best history, he approached you and poured drink after drink in silence until you were both drunk enough to let the pretences fall. Then you talked. And talked. 

He explained why had escaped New Orleans and sought the comfort of the Big Apple. He was broken-hearted over the loss of Davina, a courageous girl that was like a daughter to him. He swore to protect from a ritual the local witches called the Harvest. She was supposed to be resurrected, but the ritual failed. 

You were both miserable out of different circumstances. But death remained death no matter what kind of love caused such suffering. Talking until the sun came up, sharing the same, overwhelming feelings of grief and the fact you were no strangers to war or the Mikaelsons, lead to you bonding in a way you'd never expect. You would even go as far as to consider Marcel your friend. 

“It's good to see you again.” He said as he let go.

“You too.”  

That was what you liked about Marcel, he was open about what he was feeling in the exact moment. Everyone knew if they were on his good or bad side, he did not leave anyone guessing. It was admirable, if not foolish in a city like New Orleans. 

“What are you doing here? Last time I asked you if you'd ever come back here, you almost burned me alive.”

“Well, things change.” 

“Oh great, I know that look. What are you up to now?”

You stared at the skyline, on the moving water underneath it. You thought about how the ground would shake, how the sky-high buildings would fall to crumbles and how you could level the entire city if you willed it.

“Just the most insane, plan I ́ve ever come up with. I'm playing the entire board. From top to bottom, left to right and it ́ll probably cost me my life. So the usual craziness that is, well, me. No biggie.”

“No biggie if you're dead?” 

“We all die one way or another and technically we´re already did." You paused, bracing yourself to what you had to say next "Besides, it looks like I don't have much time to spare anyway, because-

He saw the near-black blood drop from your nose before you even registered it. He had to take a second look

“Because you're bleeding randomly?”

“Yeah, It's been happening a lot recently. That, and weird bruises that appear as if I ́m in a fight only to heal instantly. Invisible hands that strangle me, memories that are not my own, indescribable rage...the list goes on.”

This drainage of power started two months ago. It came and went in waves as a roll of feverish symptoms and with it came unbearable rage and paranoia. It was severer on a full moon, so it had to be tied to its phases. That much you knew, but that was it.  You consulted grimoire after grimoire and witch after with - no answers. 

“So, I think I'm pretty much doomed already.” You breathed out into the wind “What ́s a little more death gonna do to me?”

“Don't get sentimental on me now. You used to hate me, remember? "

I didn't hate you. Just your boyfriend."  So, that plan of yours. Say the word and I ́ll help you however I can.”

“Remember you said that. You'll wish you hadn't. Let's meet at your place tomorrow. I have to make one more stop on my reunion tour.” 

“You want some company?”

“ I´ll be fine.” If you could not walk alone in New Orleans at night, you might as well have a neon sign around your neck blinking the word soft repeatedly and lie down for a beating. 

"You sure?" He asked again. There was reals concern in his voice now, compared to the level headed and calm manner, it sounded outright strange. 

"This is only the beginning." You said, stepping on the ledge "If I can't handle some espionage, how am I supposed to handle the rest?" With the wind breezing you let yourself fall. 

Marcel smiled and shook his head as the looked over the ledge and saw you speeding away. He knew as much as you did, that descending into the Crescent City, to undermine the war and come out on the other side alive, was near impossible. But he learned that impossible was not in your vocabulary anymore. The War lines have been drawn, and he knows you'd jump between them if you had to. 

Let the games begin..

-------

A/N: And with that, we´re back!!! I hope you liked this first chapter! I wrote most of this back when my fur baby of 13 years passed away, so if it feels detached or anything that might be why. But I thought it would reflect the Sisters situation quite well so I didn´t throw it in the garbage like I wanted to.

Anyway, I would love to hear what you think. Just remember that this is the “housecleaning” chapter. We will find out what the nature of the Readers weird suction of power is, on what side she´s actually on, and what familiar faces will reappear in NOLA. 

All in good time my friends. This is only the beginning...;)

OC Taglist:

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