#and then sent that to collections and they hounded me for years until eventually that just....stopped? which is cool

[weaseltotheface]

ugh i have to start paying my student loans again in September

[avengershumanresources]

blood 8 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 7 - part 9

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

WARNING: Attempted sexual assault/violence

8 - a secret

The news swept over the castle like a wave at high tide.

Prince Loki and Prince Thor were leading a brigade of men toward the castle, and the rumor was that the princes were furious with Obadiah. 

“I did say trust me, didn’t I?” Stephen joked while the two of you watched the men cross the threshold into the castle grounds, both princes sitting majestically upon their steads, leading their entourage inside. 

“They’re going to get themselves killed,” you murmured.

“Obadiah wouldn’t be so forward in front of the public,” Stephen reasoned, eyeing the Asgardian guardsmen as they continued their march inside. “They look like they’re ready for a war now. He’s be stupid to start anything with the men they’ve brought.”

He wasn’t wrong. The men looked as angry as their leaders were rumored to be. Their armor shimmered against the bright summer sunlight, and their weapons didn’t look like they were in town for a diplomatic mission. 

If you hadn’t known any better, you would have guessed they had plans to overthrow the castle themselves.

“He is on our side, right?” you asked again, nervous at the confident way the brothers surveyed their troops below. 

“Yes,” Stephen assured you with a confident nod of his head. “They both wish to see Peter safely on the throne.”

“I hope I don’t actually have to marry him,” you blurted out, catching Loki’s eye and offering a small wave in his direction. He bowed his head and rounded his horse into the castle behind the last of his infantry.

“Oh no?” Stephen teased, pinching your arm with a chuckle. “Did Brock win you over with his boyish charm?” 

“Gods you’re unbearable sometimes,” you shoved his arm and started back for the castle. “Let’s get ready. I have a feeling court is going to take a while.”

(—)

“Announcing, Prince Loki of Asgard,” Sam bowed and stepped aside while the dark haired prince sauntered forward, ignoring the wave of whispers and dirty looks that were sent his way by the court. 

You were seated a few levels down from your uncle with Peter and Pepper. Morgan was with her nursemaid, and the rest of the court stood on the ground, watching the scene unfold with great interest. 

“You have a lot of nerve showing up,” Obadiah opened, glaring down at him. Brock was at his side, arms crossed while he glowered down. 

“You have nerve with your slander, your majesty,” he snapped back. “Defaming your closest allies for what, this traitor?” 

“I remind you, you’re standing in my keep,” Obadiah snarled back and Loki laughed. 

“My brother and my men are already within your walls, with reinforcements waiting at the border,” he countered sharply. “I dare you to make a move against me. Even with your hound at your side, you would be making a very powerful enemy.”

Obadiah exchanged an uneasy look with Brock before clearing his throat. 

“Why are you here?” 

“You’ve stolen my bride,” Loki stated simply, eyeing drifting in your direction. You kept your expression neutral, despite your heartbeat kicking against your chest. “I’ve come to collect my due and close what relations Asgard has with you. Unless you have something to offer to appease my father’s understandable frustrations.”

The murmurs started up with that. 

Peter even leaned over and whispered in your ear. 

“He didn’t mention that,” he said, frowning, his fingers curling nervously against his armrest. You reached over and touched the top of his hand, focusing on calming your younger brother.��

“You know how he is,” you reminded him softly, willing calm toward him. After a moment, you saw his body relax. “He’s negotiating. You know our uncle won’t listen otherwise.”

Peter gave a curt nod, returning his focus to the scene before you, and listening intently to the exchange. 

Amora, for her part, had been ignoring the whole ordeal until you tried calming Peter. When you pulled your hand away, you instantly felt her eyes bore into you from across the room, where she and Stephen stood away from the crowds. 

“I was under the impression there was no claim to the princess,” Brock cut in, glaring now at Obadiah. The tension between the three men was palpable, even in the massive throne room. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, there wasn’t,” Obadiah hissed, waving away the other king and returning his attention to Loki. 

“I beg to differ,” Loki reached in his robes and pulled out a rolled document. The entire room was on edge as he passed it to Sam and the knight handed it off to the king.  

Obadiah took his time in unfurling it. He skimmed it over, expression reddening, with Brock reading over his shoulder. 

“Forgery!” he cried, throwing the document aside. Loki snapped his fingers and the paper materialized back into his hands. 

“This was written three days after the princess’ brith, pledging her to me when we came of age,” he explained coolly, mostly to the crowd. Ladies and lords gasped at the revelation, eyes darting between the royals at the scandal.

“Why weren’t you married sooner?” Obadiah demanded, ignoring the cutting scowls from Brock. “She’s had her blood for years now. The contract is no longer binding.”

“We were to be married after the king returned from battle,” Loki lied easily. “But the princess was distraught and asked that it be postponed. I, ever the gentleman, respected these wishes until such time there was stability in the kingdom. I never imagined such a betrayal by an allied nation would have occurred in such a short time.”

Eyes shot to you while the kings continued their interrogation over who would eventually take your hand. 

You kept your eyes down, only looking up to Pepper when she lightly touched your hand with a loving smile. 

“The princess mentioned none of this,” Obadiah howled, and when attention was diverted back to you, Loki jumped in and saved you from embarrassment. 

“Of course she didn’t,” he stated, tone as calm and cool as it’d been when he entered the room. “Look at you, she’d lost her father and potential betrothed in one sweep. She was probably terrified to go against you. It’s why I’m here, to defend her honor, take her as my bride, and return to Asgard.”

“I won’t allow it,” Brock voiced, stepping down from Obadiah’s side and moving to the ground near Loki where he continued his case. “The princess has agreed to marry me.”

“Under context of further terror, I’m sure,” Loki supplied sharply. “Your men slaughtered her father, leaving nothing behind. What other option did she have but to agree?”

“Do not play this court for fools,” Brock hissed. “We all know it was Asgard who planned the attack and framed my kingdom. The trading negotiations were never enough.”

“Is that so?” Loki asked, expression darkening. “I was under the impression that the trade routes benefited this kingdom handsomely. Is it not convenient that I’ve been given permission from my father to end our agreement if I see it necessary?”

The room began to panic at this. A few of the lords even voiced their protest at the concept, and seeing that he was losing the crowd, Obadiah bellowed out.

“Enough!” his voice rattled against the glass in the windows and echoed through the chamber until everyone fell silent. “I will convene with my council until the matter is resolved. Loki, you and your men will be our honored guests until this… confusion is settled.”

“I accept your invitation,” Loki smiled snidely at Brock with a grand bow. “My men will settle in the land surrounding the castle for the time being, and appreciate your generosity during this… difficult time.”

Court was dismissed, but ladies and lords lingered, watching the royal family and the kings as they turned the public spectacle into a more private conversation. 

“Princess?” Amora questioned, appearing at your elbow just as you stood from your chair. “May I have a word with you?”

Eyes wide, you tried to seek out Stephen, but he was nowhere to be seen, likely caught up in the crowd answering questions and speculations from the lords and ladies. 

“The princess and I were about to enjoy a walk through the gardens,” Pepper looped her arms through yours, throwing on another smile. “You’re welcome to join us. I will try not to be a bother.”

Amora’s gaze flickered over the queen, her plastered on smile faltering slightly at the offer. 

“I’d be honored, you majesty,” she finally stated, letting Pepper lead the way to the gardens with a pair of guards behind. 

“It’s a beautiful day, don’t you agree, Amora?” Pepper started the conversation, forcing Amora to keep in step with you and the queen. “I planted some roses last year that have finally come to bloom. Do you like roses, Amora?” 

“I do,” the sorceress answered tersely before turning to you, eyes glowing an ominous green. “Princess, what do you make of what just occurred? Is it true you were frightened from telling the truth of this prior betrothal?” 

“My late husband always intended for the princess to marry Loki,” Pepper answered before you could even open your mouth. “It was hardly a secret. You should have seen the two at balls when they were children. It was so endearing.”

“Then do you protest the marriage of the princes to my king, your grace?” Amora tried and Pepper stopped, pulling her arm free of yours and giving the sorceress a once over. 

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, witch, but I suggest you stop,” she practically growled at the blonde. “My daughter will not marry your king, and your schemes will be stopped before the moon is full.”

Amora’s eyes snapped back to normal, her pupils flaring at the overt threat. 

“How can you be so confident?” she countered, voice full of venom. “You would do well to stay quiet and pretty on the side. You’re no longer queen, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“My son will sit upon the throne in three months time,” Pepper reminded her. “And if there is any obstruction to that, those who stand in the way of the Stark family will burn. Darling, what are the family words?”

You startled at the shift toward you.

“We shall overcome and conquer,” you recited quickly before Pepper returned a razor sharp smile toward the sorceress.

“I think your king might need you,” Pepper added, waving away the blonde and turning toward her roses without so much as a second glance. “Gods know we don’t.”

You’d never heard such open hostility from your step-mother. The woman had always had a calm reserve about her that you’d respected during times of crisis. She’d been the voice of reason when you’d seen your father fretting over alliances or military tactics.

Amora hesitated a moment, looking from Pepper to you, before letting out a resigned sigh and leaving the two of you to the flowers. 

“Is she gone?” Pepper asked, tinkering with a rose that was struggling to bloom. 

You waited until Amora had returned to the castle interior before confirming she was out of sight. 

All at once, Pepper enveloped you into her arms and sighed, squeezing you against her chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the top of your hairline. She pulled away after a moment, her hands still lingering on your shoulders while she tried to read your expression. “This is never what we had planned for you.”

The honesty in her tone broke your heart. How many times had she and your father discussed your future? Your prospects?

“We can only do our best,” you murmured. “Who could have predicted the turn this would have taken?”

“If you had to choose, who would make you happy?” Pepper asked seriously and you considered her words carefully.

“Of the two?”

Pepper’s expression lifted at the question, a knowing smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“I see,” she hummed in thought. “That damned idiot never came forward.”

Feeling your face warm at that, you sighed with a defeated laugh. 

“He probably thought there was more time,” you reached for one of the nearby roses and gave it a sniff.

Pepper paused, and when you looked to see why she hadn’t spoken, her expression had fallen, eyes lost a million miles away.

“I think we all did,” she finally whispered, blinking back the pooling water in her eyes. “I do believe you could be happy with Loki.”

You made a noise- not quite of agreement, but not of total disgust. 

“He might even allow you certain… liberties,” she offered lightly. “For his mischief, he is a good man at heart.”

Pulling away from the flower, you finally met her eyes directly, knowing that you would have to face this eventually.

“He’s doing this for our family,” you whispered, keeping your gestures calm and neutral under the eye of the guards. You plucked one of the roses free and move to attach it to the collar of her dress. “He means to stop the alliance Brock and Obadiah are planning, to keep Peter on the throne.”

Pepper’s expression hardened at the information. You could tell she was forming connections as you fidgeting with the button holes and slide the rose into place. 

“You keep secrets well, dove,” she reached for the flower affectionately before leaning and kissing your cheek. “Peter… not so much. Have you gone to the kitchens recently? I hear you might have a reunion with a little thief from yesterday.”

She pulled away and started back toward the castle, one of the guards following behind her, the other remaining to watch you. You realized that it was Steve, his expression guilty when you approached.

“Were you listening?” you challenged and he sighed.

“Only a little,” he confessed. “For your safety.”

“A conversation between mother and daughter?” you smirked and he rolled his eyes. 

“You should go to the kitchens,” he offered in place of an explanation. “Or rather, shall we?” 

(—)

“Are you ready for what you must do?” Wanda asked, lifting the glass vial Stephen had sealed and set out on his desk. 

The observatory was unnaturally quiet. The fireplaces extinguished, the books all stacked away or moved to his family home in the countryside. Aside from him and Wanda, there was no life in the room, all traces of your late nights together, books read, or spells learned had been erased.

It was almost time. 

“What choice do I have now?” he asked, plucking the vial from her hand and giving it a shake. “Loki can buy us some time, but until the family is secure we cannot make a move.”

“The princess is headed to the kitchens,” Wanda stated, pausing while her eyes glowed red. “Brock is unhappy with todays events and is looking for her.”

Stephen clenched the vial in his palm. He didn’t want to exploit your emotions, but you wouldn’t be able to hide from Amora forever. The queen had done a marvelous job of keeping her away, but she, along with every other magic user in the room, had felt the seidr you’d unwittingly passed to Peter.

“I need to be with the king,” Wanda suddenly stated, eyes wide. “The future is moving toward us faster than expected, Stephen.”

She disappeared in a cloud of red smoke, leaving him to his empty, broken room. 

Would the two of you get a chance to steal away in its comfort again? 

Would you even forgive him for lying and hiding the truth from you?

Opening his hand and rolling the vial around his palm, he sighed. Wanda was right. Things were going to move quickly and all at once after the first weight dropped. 

(—)

Natalia hadn’t expected you to be glaring at her from across the kitchen.

So when you dragged her to the hallway, demanding an explanation, she was at a loss for words. At least, until she saw Steve’s smirk from the corner of the space. 

Oh.

It was nearing time.

“Stephen wanted me to be closer to keep an eye on things,” she lied. It wasn’t a complete lie. She was close and Stephen had agreed with the plan (the plan set in place by your father, but you weren’t to be made aware of that just yet) and she was keeping an eye on the quiet rebellion stirring under Peter’s leadership.

All the paths were beginning to converge, whispers turning to quiet battle cries as the castle readied itself for battle. 

And you were none the wiser. 

It was too risky otherwise. Amora was focusing in on your seidr and any lapse would pull the magic user’s attention. If you even thought about rebellion and war, the sorceress would be tipped off and Brock or Obadiah would make a move to counter it. 

“Why wouldn’t he have told me?” you demanded, arms crossed. Steve continued to look amused in the background. Natalia would have to knock him straight one of these days…

“Safety,” she merely replied, shrugging.

A call came from the kitchens and she used it as an excuse to exit, but you followed behind stubbornly. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” you asked, pestering her while she scooped up a basket of bread for the Asgardian troops outside.

“Princess, please, you’re in the way,”  Nat shoved past you, earning a small gasp from one of the kitchenmaids at the casual way she addressed the princess. Pulling you aside, she lowered her voice. “You’re going to expose me. Just trust what is happening is for your own good.”

She stalked off, fuming at the way Steve continued to smirk to himself, knowing full well he was the one who brought her down there. 

Not that he was entirely to blame, it was part of the plan, just a little earlier than anticipated. It meant that Natalia had to work fast and get a message to Loki and Thor’s camp before nightfall.

“Is this funny?” you asked Steve dryly, motioning toward the stairs back to the main living quarters with a defeated sigh.

“Not at all, your highness,” he answered cheekily. 

(—)

No one was willing to answer your questions. OR rather, no one was around to answer your questions. 

The observatory was locked- meaning Stephen was off the grounds. Wanda wasn’t around, Peter was avoiding you after the ordeal in the throne room, and even Wong was no where to be found. 

“Maybe you should retire to some light reading before dinner?” Steve suggested after having followed you across the greater length of the castle. 

“You’re hiding something too and I’m not thrilled about it,” you snapped, turning on him. “Why is Nat in the kitchens? Is James in the stables?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s in the armory,” Steve answered, deadpan, watching your expression until he finally let out another laugh. “Princess, I promise you, there is no grand conspiracy against you. Master Strange is just ensuring extra layers of protection are in place for you.”

“For what? My wedding?” you asked bitterly. “I thought that’s what Loki was for.”

“These are dangerous times, my grace,” he replied. “One can never be too sure of who to trust. I caught a Baron at the border not three days ago negotiating with one of Brock’s men for privileged information.”

“Who?” you asked, a little curious as to who would be so bold.

“Zemo,” he said the name sourly. “He was apparently promised more land and favor in Brock’s kingdom for supplying vulnerable points of entry to the castle.”

“Oh,” you paused, considering the passages you’d ventured through with Natalia and Stephen over the years. 

As if reading your mind, Steve spoke up. 

“They’re secured,” he murmured, before nudging your shoulder at an approaching figure.

“Princess,” King Brock greeted with fake enthusiasm. He reached for your hand and gave the knuckles a light graze of his lips. “Would you like to take a small walk around the castle with me?”

“The princess was about to start her afternoon studies,” Steve informed him briskly. 

Brock sized him over, just then realizing he was even there. 

“The princess can spare some time for her betrothed,” he stated firmly, looking down at you, hand still clutched around yours. “Isn’t that right?” 

“Let Stephen know I’ll be with him shortly,” you urged, hoping Steve would do well to get the sorcerer or someone who was capable of intervening. 

He nodded briskly, excusing himself and hurrying down the hall with your message. 

“Quite the ordeal today,” Brock commented, guiding you toward the private quarters. “Tell me, do you wish to marry that brute? I can’t imagine with your delicate heart that wedding the monster who killed your father would be acceptable.”

You swallowed, pulling your hand free and pretending to fix a button on your sleeve to occupy yourself. 

“I serve at the pleasure of my king,” you answered neutrally. “What agreement he makes is outside of my control.”

Brock stopped, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t trust me?” he asked sharply. “Or like me for that matter?”

You froze like a deer at the hunt. 

You didn’t trust him, and you were far from liking him. You knew in your heart he was the one who’d killed your father, who’d betrayed him and brought your home into chaos with a mad king on the throne. 

“I don’t know what you mean, my liege,” you lied, continuing down the hall and pretending to admire a tapestry you’d seen a thousand times before. 

“Don’t play coy,” he catch your arm and spun you to face him directly. “It wasn’t me, you know. It was the Asgardians. They wish to frame my men for their misdeeds.”

You ripped your arm away, glaring up at him.

“Hundreds of our men saw you on the horse, leading the charge,” you snapped, forgetting exactly who you were speaking so freely with in the heat of the moment. “The Asgardians weren’t even positioned for that area. How could they have assembled so quickly and nearly destroyed our army for effectively?”

Brock gaped at you in surprise, not expecting such a curt and honest response from you. The surprise quickly shifted to fury and he grabbed the top of your arm, pulling you toward a nearby room and shoving you inside. 

The room must have belonged to him or Amora. It was a standard living arrangement with an armoire and a four post bed, but no personal touches that suggested it was permanent situation. 

“Who do you think you are?” he snarled, shoving you against a wall. “You’re lucky anyone is giving you a second thought, don’t think because that bastard prince has shown up that you aren’t anything but something for my seed to fill.” 

He was in your face, hissing his words as he continued to push you back against the wall. 

“Get away from me,” you threw an elbow, catching him in the jaw, but that served only to fuel his anger. He caught you by the wrist, twisting your arm behind your back and pinning you face first onto the cold stone. 

You could hear him fumbling with his belts, his breath hot against your neck while you tried to snuggle yourself free. Each movement made him twist even tighter on your hand, sending a shock of pain up the arm. 

“Has your wizard fucked you already?” he snarled, pressing his hard member against the back of your skirts. “I bet you’re just a little whore for him, aren’t you?”

You squirming became more desperate. His hands caught your waist, his knee edging up the skirts. 

“Too bad you’re mine,” he growled, pulling at the strings of your corset and trying to shuffle it down your waist. “I’ll have him hanged and let you watch his pathetic body sway in the courtyard while I fill you with my heirs, you pathetic whimpering fool.”

He’d nearly succeeded in pinning you in place when you remembered the dagger hidden at the front of your dress. Using your free hand, you slipped it free and rolled against his grasp, swinging the sharp object toward him.

It caught his face and he reeled back, yelling in pain, blood dripping from his cheek. 

“You bitch!” he swung, catching your face and sending you stumbling back toward the bed. He moved toward you, blood spilling over your dresses while he reached down and gripped your neck, hiking the skirts up while he ripped his pants down. 

You tried to scream, to throw fists, but no matter how you fought, he was overpowering you. 

You closed your eyes, willing it all to be over, to have someone hear the chaos, but no one came. You couldn’t let this happen. Every inch of skin repelled at his touch, your entire soul repulsed by his very existence, you willed everything inside of you to get him as far away from you as possible. 

Your world was going dark when you held up a weak hand to try and shove him off of you one last time while he positioned himself over you. 

The was a yelp of surprise and a crash. The constriction on your throat loosen and no longer was he ripping at your skirts. 

Opening your eyes, you saw Brock hunched over on the other side of the room, a fresh wound bleeding from the back of his head, the stone wall behind him cracked slightly. 

You looked to your outstretched hand, a faint glow of violet was fading and you slowly sat up to take in the situation. 

Did you just kill him?

“Princess?” a voice was calling from the hall, a short rap of knuckles on the door before it opened, revealing Loki.

“Close the door,” you urged sharply, your voice broken from the damage Brock had done to your throat. Loki obliged, taking in the scene with wide eyes. He was at your side in an instant, touching your cheek where you were certain a bruise was forming around your eye.

“What happened?” his tone had dropped dangerously, and from the look on his face, you were certain he already knew the answer.

“Did I kill him?” you asked, eyes falling behind your friend to the slumped over king on the ground. “He’s bleeding…”

“I hope so,” he hissed, standing and moving to the king. He checked his pulse and sighed. “Alive.”

“What are we going to do?” you asked, panic now forming in your chest. This was very very bad. If Obadiah found you… or him… or he told someone about…. 

“Let me handle it,” he murmured, returning to your side. “Hold still.”

His hands were cool while he traced around the tender spot on your face. As he moved his fingers, they glowed a beautiful emerald color and the pain began to recede.

“Look at me,” he ordered gently, lifting your chin to examine his handiwork. “Lovely as ever, princess.”

Dumbfounded, you touched the bruise and found no pain or swollen skin. 

“I couldn’t control it,” you whispered, looking down at your hand when you dropped it into your lap. “Stephen said it would be best not to completely seal it. That it might serve as protection but…”

Loki chuckled at your hesitation.

“I’ll take care of him,” he promised firmly. “He won’t remember a thing. You’re fortunate that Stephen and Amora are examining the barriers around the castle. She would have sensed your seidr immediately.”

“Won’t she know you tampered with him?”

“She’s good, but I’m better,” he winked and helped you to your feet. “Are you injured anywhere else?” 

There was a pause while you realized precisely what he meant. 

“No, he didn’t- he wasn’t able to-,” you stammered out, cheating aching at the fresh memory. Loki pulled you to his chest, wrapping his arms over your shoulders protectively. You hadn’t realized you’d been trembling until he had steadied you.

“You should retire for the evening,” he suggested. “I’ll have someone bring up your dinner.”

“What about-?” you looked to Brock, still unconscious on the ground. 

“I told you, I will take care of it,” he reminded you with a playful smirk. “Here.”

A shimmer of green overtook you and you looked down at your formally ripped and tattered dress. It’d been replaced with a fresh dress in Loki’s colors of emerald and gold.

“You’re hilarious,” you joked, smoothing out the silks and bending over to recollect your dagger and sheath. 

“You have to admit, you do you look good in my colors,” he teased.

“I prefer my own,” you countered, the dress shifting to the crimsons of house Stark. “Or maybe the blues of Kamar-Taj.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re just cruel,” he sighed, leaving the dress in red. “Lock your doors. Only answer for those you trust. I’ll inform Stephen what has happened as soon as I’m done.”

He guided you toward the door, a hand on your back. 

“Are you sure?” you asked a final time and he just smiled, letting you back into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

“Trust me,” he supplied before the door latched shut. 

A lot of people were saying that to you recently. 

On the other side of the door, Loki looked at the king and scoffed.

“Pathetic.” 

Snapping his fingers, he left the man exactly how he was, materializing outside of Prince Peter’s quarters.

“Your highness!” he knocked frantically on the door. When Peter peered out, Loki rushed in, rapidly explaining what had happened between the princess and the king.  

Peter went into a frenzy, while Loki stood to the side, watching the young man announce it was time to make their move against Obadiah. 

The younger prince was absolutely right, in more ways than he realized.

(--)

9 - a king’s arrival 

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[magicalsalamander]

Show Me Your Teeth

Pairing: BTS Jimin  ⇆ Reader

Genre: Rottweiler Hybrid | FBI | Fluff | Angst | Eventual Smut |

Summary: Hybrids were common amongst civilians, but monsters lurked, created by the government. H.O.U.N.D, pronounced hound, is Hybrid Operation in United Negotiation of Defense, an allegiance of hybrids and federal officers. They were weapons breed for tactic and war. Special agent Y/L/N came back marked a failure after your secret last mission. Politics involved, you were to be assigned a Hound officer. What happens when the monster, Cerberus, gets assigned to you?    

Word: 11.6K

Rating: Mature; Explicit themes, mentions of guns, PTSD episode, possessive behavior, gunshot wounds, cruel behavior, torture, abuse, bullying, crude and discriminatory language. If I’ve missed any tags let me know.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’ve been working on this for a few weeks and I hope you enjoy it. Originally a oneshot, now a twoshot. Lightly edited, please be kind.  

| Masterlist | Final

Lowering your hand from your brow you waited until you were signaled to ease. The hardened expression of the Director followed from the crumpled document on his desk to you, he gestured silently for you to sit. Carefully maneuvering your left arm as you sat down in one of the leather seats in front of his oversized desk. The mahogany desk was in a state of semi-cluttered, several stacks of papers yet the items closets to you were impeccable. His gold plaque with his name proudly written was polished as it gleamed.

Politics, the size was compensating for something.

The dark pigment under his baggy eyes shadowed deeper as his neutral expression wavered as he held your gaze. You were glad he couldn't hear your heartbeat, but it was near deafening in your ears. He folded his hands on top of his desk, cinching the shoulders of his black suit that was normally starched beyond movement. The amount of medals on the left breast had him wiggling his left arm in adjustment until he settled. The sheer amount of medals he's collected since his service to his time as the Director of the FBI was quite obnoxious.

You sat perched near the edge of your seat, you already had an idea of what was going to happen. As soon as you got off the plane you were escorted to headquarters, duffle bag still packed. In the steady voice, "Agent Y/L/N reporting back from Victiz. Sir, you requested my audience?"

He reached into his desk, medals clanking, and pulled out a thick manilla folder at least a hundred pages thick. Papers slid out of it as he let gravity take over and slammed it onto his desk. You didn't dare break eye contact with him focusing on the tip of his bulbous nose. The silence was eerie as he flipped it open, he pulled out a thick packet and placed it facing you. Quickly glancing down you read the title then back up, it was your report you had submitted.

"Y/L/N in your recent mission to Victiz, we've," clearing his throat, "come to realize that you require assistance."

Domestics was your playing field, but upon special request, you answered the call to duty, even if it lied overseas. You'd always say yes to the Director—at least, you used to. Loyalty ran deep in your veins as it was empathy, and pretense to serve him. Without him you wouldn't be here today, but…three months, three months had your eyes wavering in darkness.

You took in a deep breath; one you've been holding in for the last three months. You sharply gritted your teeth before you calmed yourself on the discrete exhale. You knew why he had called you and it wasn't because of your "lack of ability". It was his lack of ability to save his ass. Three months, you spent three months amongst a revolution to come home and be told you required assistance. You swallowed your pride in front of your commander. "Sir, I had no choice."

He arched a brow, "No choice?" He tilted his head in condescendence, "There is no excuse for weakness or mistakes Agent Y/L/N. Our country depends on you. I depend on you. We can't afford that type of mistake again—the world may be splitting because you couldn't prevent it. Do you understand Agent?"

Correction, his mistake. This was all diversion from the real problem. You became a special agent going through hell, fighting and outcompeting the rest to prove you were worthy. Seeing the other agents assigned a Hound used to put a smirk on your face. The Director even smirking alongside you as he praised you. With the vendetta you worked hard for five years to get where you are now, to earn his praise, assigned top-secret missions by the Director, without the help of a hound. You raised from the soil, trudged through the mud to stand where you are now—on your own.

Quickly your loyalty was turning to sludge and embolic. You fought to keep yourself empathetic and loyal. He was like a father after all to you. The eyes that once looked at you with pride and adoration turned to hate and bitterness.

You gritted your teeth, "Yes, Sir."

Adjusting himself to sit upright by smoothing out the lapels of his coat, "Every elite agent has a H.O.U.N.D and you are the last without one. The government specially created and trained these…monsters, so things like that won't happen. They never miss a target."

You were aware of them; you had seen agents with their own as the government began initiating the integration two years ago. H.O.U.N.D, pronounced hound, was Hybrid Operation in United Negotiation of Defense. A specialized unit of canine hybrids that were bred for war, ruthless in the way they fought like their animal counterpart. Although they were human in resemblance except for the dog tail and ears. You didn't know much about them besides the occasion you saw other agents with their officer in passing. However, you heard tales of limbs being snapped by jaws, their extended fangs, and their bloodthirst. Rumor or not, you wouldn't question their ability—they are hell hounds as they were breed for.

"Agent, you were shot and held captive." He chuckled but it held no humor, it was condescending. "It was supposed to be easy for you, yet here you are injured. I never thought you'd disappoint me so greatly Y/L/N."

You bit the inside of your cheek taming your tongue behind your teeth. Your mind flashes back to three months ago when you sat down in the same office in the dead of night. There was a state of emergency in Victiz, the country was in an uproar over the tyranny as the public demanded a democracy. Your countries ambassador in Victiz was kidnapped by an extremist guerilla group trying to reestablish tyranny. The Victiz government did not want to be involved in the recovery of your representative.

The Director was right, it was supposed to be a simple rescue. You've run through drills of disarming and recovery a million times.

It was supposed to be.

Sneaking in through a slip in the wall you stuck to the wall as you navigated the warehouse. You hid behind crates as you glanced around the corner. The target was sitting alone in a foldable chair. A single overhead light that illuminated the isles intervalley shadowed his silhouette as he was hunched forward. Assessing your position you quietly loaded your hand with a knife. The sound of footsteps filled your ears. The world paused as you listened in catching a glance around, still in the shadows. Emerging from the shadows the footsteps took on a presence of a tall silhouette to a masked male figure.

You watched as the man raised a gun and pointed it directly at the target. "It'll all be over soon." He flicked his index over the pull trigger.

Switching your blade for your gun you stood up and sidestepped out. Pointing your gun at the captor, "Freeze!"

The man cocked a thick brow then pointed the gun at you. "Oh, we have visitors?"

The man chuckled, nudging the barrel against the ambassador's shoulder. "Your people here to rescue you. Looks like they just sent one, you must not be as important as you say you are."

The ambassador stood up from his chair and your heart skipped a beat as he stood up with a smirk and tucked his hands in his pockets. The pit of your stomach fell and rose to your throat with revolting ad nauseam. Your skin rolled in waves of goosebumps. Immediately you began calculating things in your mind as the man with the gun took a step forward towards you the ambassador stopped him with a raised hand. The ambassador took the gun from the man and pointed it directly at you. "The war begins tonight. Long live the tyrant."

He punctuated each last word, then he pulled the trigger.

Blinking away the memory, you looked up to your commander. "Director, I don—."

He cut you off with a hand held in the air. "Agent, I understand, but we are implementing the change whether you like it or not. You're getting a hound. He will be directly working alongside you and you are to take responsibility for him."

You tried once again, "Director—."

"A hybrid life is disposable but yours isn't Agent."

Fumes tickled in your stomach, yet, you sat with your tongue still; venomous words sitting at the tip of it for him. You—you still were loyal. You knew he was being harsh because of how all this had made him look. How this blunder in the ambassador's double nature had made him look incompetent, the FBI incompetent—and it rested all on your shoulders. Over the pain, blacking out for the most of it, you remember mostly darkness, the itchy blindfold, yet the patriotism you held tightly behind your clenched teeth stayed there.

You were loyal and always will be.

By implementing a hound, it would boost the false security that the forces were incomparable and fearful as whispered about in foreign lands. It was all politics. You were the punching bag while he shined with the glory of strengthening the nation in a time where the rest of the world is grasping for glory. He was making sure agents are strong and safe. In the shadow of glory, you were powerless and under his command to obey.

A soldier's duty to obey.

You were loyal and always would be.

He fished through the folder as he spoke, his voice taking on a harsh tone. "If you had one it wouldn't have happened Agent. I really trusted and believed in you, but I now know your skills. Certainly, it will never compare to a hound's. Don't ever forget you are representing me when you're out on the field." He snorted smugly under his breath, "Maybe you need a whole team of hounds."

You felt his words cutting deep, the bullet shards in your arm somehow burying deeper. His words hurt. This is where you open your mouth. "Director, I do not need a hound. I'm capable of handling myself."

He cleared his throat and sighed, "I'm not changing my mind Y/L/N."

Flipping through the folder again and pulled out a paper putting it over your report. Standing up from his desk he straightened out his jacket and rounded his desk. Glancing down at the application form a picture in the left corner showcases a picture of a man—no, a hybrid, a hound. The hybrid's face was handsome at first glance, but you didn't get to look more than that.

"This is H.O.U.N.D Officer Park, rottweiler, and top of his class. A real monster with a count. Got the impact of a truck when he strikes, and a good shot with a 364 score. The H.O.U.N.D has never seen anything like him. A true beast of a machine."

You read off the same stats that the general was giving to you. His list of awards and achievements trailed off to the second page you didn't bother to turn to. He was good, no he was great, but still…you didn't want the hound.

The Director cleared his throat and in a booming voice, "Officer Park, enter."

You heard the doorknob clink as it twists and heavily boots thumped rhythmically on the wooden floor. You twist around in your seat and came to face the rottweiler. His tall, lean figure filled out his pressed clothes. His white shirt was taunt as it alluded to the idea of the refined muscles underneath; silver tags hung from his neck and clanked softly as he marched until he paused a few feet from you. His black cargo pants that were tight around his thighs were tucked neatly into his polished, black combat boots that gleamed as he snapped his heels together to stand at attention as he saluted.

You finally took in his face, his features were handsome, silky dark hair carefully parted and pushed back, and full lips. Black, floppy ears equally as polished blended in with his dark hair. All hounds you had met so far had a more rugged appearance, scared and tattered from the action, yet he had none. You don't know why but that unsettled you. When your gaze finally reached his eyes you found the familiar rugged tension as they were boring forward and technical in tension. His gaze peeled from the Director's to yours as he finally lowered his salute.

The General stepped forth patting him on the shoulder, "Y/L/N I want to introduce you to Officer Park. He's under your care now."

You meet his eyes, the dark brown orbs, carefully analyze you as you are sure you portray the same tone. You held his eyes as you stood up, and soon it was clear he towered over you. You felt the need to state your presence. You took his extended hand and the callouses and thick fingers nearly engulfed your hand.

"Do you have your belongings Officer Park?"

He pulled his hand back and folded them behind his back lacing with his other, "Yes, Sir."

The Director turned to you and smiled, "Goodbye, Agent Y/L/N."

Your mouth was left clenched as you politely gestured and began walking out of the door assuming he would follow you. You heard the heavy boots trail after you as the door shut behind him.

This…this wasn't how you expected things to go.

Pushing open the front door with a bit of a huff, stepping inside you flicked on the light switch. When the Director said he would be under your care you didn't think literally. You thought he'd be at his barracks and he would just be present during work hours. You had realized quickly that he was meant literally under your care, under your household, you were in charge…of his care. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him walking tight-lipped from the driveway with his duffle bag. He walked as if he was marching, legs stiff and hair barely bouncing. His gaze was the most daunting, sharp and cold. Shaking the thought you shifted topics mentally. You couldn't be afraid of him. He was your hound. You'd have to go back tomorrow probably to collect the rest of his stuff.

You hooked your keys on the key rack. Stepping inside holding the door open for him you hurriedly defend your home. "I haven't been home in a few months, so I'm sorry for the dust and the mess."

He nodded in a curt motion. You toed off your shoes and placed them on their rack. He stood politely not too far from you awaiting direction. You weren't sure how this was going to work. You had a guest room, but it was mostly unused office space. With the door closed, it was quiet, you could only hear your awkward breathing. The tension in the atmosphere was heavy as you didn't know really what to do next. You rounded him nearly flattening yourself against the wall avoiding touching him as he nearly took up the whole entryway. "Uhm, will you…will you give me a minute? Just make yourself at home." You sped off before you had a chance to see his reaction.

Quickly you dropped your stuff off in your room and stood there for a moment. Your bed was made just like you left it, your robe was still draped over the bench at the end of your bed. Everything was as it seemed, but it didn't feel—nothing felt normal. You rubbed over your left arm and the soreness responded. Yes, this was real. You…you had a hound. Retreating you crossed the hall to the guest bedroom. You flicked on the lights and the room was nearly bare, furnished from your college budget. There was a full bed only a plain white sheet over it to protect the mattress. The end table, desk, and dresser were all covered in a fine layer of dust. The walls were bare, but the rest of your house was similar. Ever since you've moved in you've spent more time at headquarters or on missions. This was more of a hotel than a home.

You pulled the sheet off and speed across the hall and tossed it in the washing machine, then you dug into the cupboard. Do you even have any other sheets that are full size? Your bed is a king. Maybe you should just use the sheet you put in the wash. No, what if he wanted to rest? Finding another white sheet, you hopped to pull it off the top of the stack. You hissed as you reached up straining your injury as it burned to remind you of its existence.

A hand was placed gently on your back preventing you from tipping backward. Gasping under your breath you turned your head as he reached for the sheet you were attempting to grab. He was nearly pressed up against you, but the notion dissolved before you had time to register it happened. He held it out to you as you thanked him. Quietly he followed you to the room. Again you unfolded it but haphazardly flapped it about as your arm throbbed. Cautiously and silently he took it from you seeing you struggle again. He began making the bed.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you could handle it. You really could. You nodded rubbing your hand over your forearm. It felt odd. All of this was so sudden. Heading back to the cupboard you were able to pull the extra comforter out. It was a fluffy, white down nearly engulfing you as it was meant for your bed. You went into your room and took a pillow off your bed. You stood at the door as he tucked in the last corner of the bed and he stood at attention heels pressed. You carefully set the pillow and comforter on top of the bed and began unfolding it. Easily he helped as he finished the last few tugs.

You stood there staring at the down, as he awaited you. You were used to being in charge, you fell into the role of leadership easily, but this, this was a different kind of responsibility. Something caught your eye for a split second, you were sure you caught his tail wagging behind him before it stilled just as fast. "There is a bathroom right next door for you to use. The kitchen is free for you to use and eat anything you like."

He nodded.

It was an odd pause as you waited for him to fill the silence, say something, but he was a statue.

Pursing your lips you spoke, "Officer Park, I don't know the first thing about hybrids or hounds. If you're uncomfortable here, we can always get you your place, eventually, I'm sure you will want to anyways. For the time being, let's," you held your hand out to him, "get along."

His expression tightened if possible. He looked from your hand to your face and stepped forward taking your outstretched hand in a curt shake. You pulled the hand clutching it and nodded, "That's settled then." Slowly you began backing out. "I'll let you get settled in. Good night."

He nodded standing there still as you backed out and went into your room. Closing the door behind you you slumped against your door.

How did you end up here?

You rotated your shoulder dispelling the tension from sleeping. As you rounded the corner into your living room you paused in your steps as you made eye contact with Park. Yes. It took you a moment to remember. You were in charge of another being. He was sitting on the couch fully dressed, as he was wearing the same clothing he was yesterday. Your mind was still awakening from the haze of sleep. Didn't he bring a duffle bag with him? How long had he been awake? You squinted at the clock on the wall as it read out 7:30 am. You were still in your sweats and long sleeve pajamas. You felt underdressed in your own home. Slightly nodding towards him as a form of greeting he returned the gesture stiffly. You moved to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge and it was stark clean. It was as if you had just purchased it. You searched the cupboards and it was the same, except for a single random can of beans.

You came back out and stood at the entrance of the kitchen. "Officer Park."

He stood up hearing his name and hovered by the edge of the couch.

"I don't have any food here. I'm going to call for delivery," you paused suddenly remembering, "later, we can pick up the rest of your things from the barracks while we are out."

"I have everything I own with me, Miss."

Hearing his voice was jarring as the only time you remember hearing it was yesterday when you first met. His voice was softer and melodic in comparison to his exterior. For a rottweiler, his ears were more Doberman like as they were perked. Belatedly you then realize they were docked, probably for safety purposes.

Everything? You refrained shifting your expression, the last thing he needed was pity. You carefully prodded. "Park, is that your only change of clothes?"

He nodded confidently. "Yes, Miss."

His only pair of clothing? You anticipated that he'd have more at least a personal blanket, a trinket, something. The Director's words echoed in your ear from last night. "Hybrid's lives are disposable, yours isn't."

Anger fills you as you process it all. You'd expect the government to treat them well, yet they treated them like they were--disposable. Rubbing your left arm, you paused soaking in your thoughts at the small realization. If he only had one pair of clothes, exactly how was he living before?

He sensed your unease. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. Did his lack of items upset you? He didn't know how he could correct his error.

Licking your lips, you moved forward to head back down towards the hallway. "Let me get dressed I'll be right back."

He nodded and stood there with the same blank expression. Seeing the lack of response, you smartened up and turned on the T.V and handed him the remote. "Watch something while I'm gone, I shouldn't be too long. Food will be here soon."

He analyzed the control as if it was something alien. You slipped behind the wall over the hallway. Making a motion you pointed behind you, "I'll be back."

He stared up from his standing position, his knee jerked until he straightened it to place. "Yes, Miss."

------

You spent longer in the shower than you had anticipated. The warmth of the water was soothing, and you felt the painful kinks leave you. Before you got in the shower you called the café and placed an order. After your shower, you dressed for the day. The doorbell rang as you were toweling off your hair. You grabbed your wallet and headed towards the door. As you rounded towards the door, Park was crouching and hoovering by the front door. Before you could move further Park growled viciously, and it sent a chill down your spine. "Miss, stay back! Intruder."

You quirked a brow before you understood what was going on. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath before you smothered it. "Park, step down."

He tensed, hesitant on obeying your command. You repeated yourself, but it was followed by a breathy chuckle. He couldn't understand why you laughed; this was serious. An unfamiliar person was on the other side of the door! He had to protect!

You pushed past his blockade, but he was hot on your trail, body tense and ready the second something goes wrong. You opened the door a scrawny teen held a large plastic bag. His voice cracked as he held out the receipt, "Whoa, dude, ugh—de-delivery for Y/n."

You smiled ignoring his other commentary. "That's me." You gave him the money and a tip as you exchanged the bag from the kid. You waved ensuring he got back to his car safely as the teen practically ran back to his car. Shrugging you turning around in to get a face full of a hardened chest that was flexing as he heaved with each rumble. Your eyes widened as you jumped back nearly tripping. His fangs were out and you realized they started high up in his gums. His ears were perked forward and eyes were darkened as he looked feral. You finally realized why the teen's hand was trembling, the stuttering, and practically running back to his car. His being sent another chill down your spine when he looked down at you, but you gulped it back. You couldn't be afraid of your officer.

Putting on a smile you reassured him, "It's okay, it's just the delivery guy."

As you closed the door his neck was nearly stretched, veins protruding in his neck as he watched the beat-up Honda Civic drive off before you shut the door.

He encroached the door and stared out the small window. Yes, just moments ago you were spooked, but then it hit you. He was kind of silly, he was acting like a real guard dog. Especially when his shoulders slightly jumped as you could tell he was building up a bark that left in quiet huffs. You couldn't help biting your lip to suppress the laugh again. For someone who looked like a mafia boss, he was being fussy about a delivery boy. You did a double-take as you realized there was a small nub that was slightly wagging within his pants. He had a tail? You tilted your head watching it wag before you realized you were staring at his butt. Which was plump, but that wasn't the point! How could you stare! You quickly looked away and began your trek to the living room.

Cooling down the flush that had begun to creep up your neck, you called him, "Park, he's gone, it's okay." You crouched down as you set the bag of food on the coffee table. Fishing out the trays you went into the kitchen to grab some drinks. Looking over your shoulder Park still stood frozen in the entryway halfway between leaning to you and glancing out the window. This time you couldn't contain your laughter, yup, he was kind of silly. "Come on, eat."

His brows raised at the tinkling sound of your laugh. His ears twitched at the soft sound, it almost quelled him completely as the sound danced around in his chest. He…liked that sound. However, he wasn't one to forget his role. Glancing back at the door once, he carefully walked over to you robotically. Standing there you pointed to the couch, "Sit." As soon as the words left your mouth you realized that sounded like a command for an actual dog you changed your wording. "Please take a seat. I don't know what you like, so I just got you the same thing that I get. It's good I promise." It struck you, you spun in your spot, "Do you have any food allergies?"

His eyes were wide as saucers, "No, Miss."

Sighing in relief you handed him a tray that he took graciously with two hands. "Bon appetit."

You sat comfortably on the floor and opened your tray revealing the savory breakfast bagel sandwich. This was one of the first things you had wanted ever since you came back. Bringing it to your mouth you were in heaven as you took the first bite, savoring all the breakfast essentials.

Park was staring at you the whole time, watching the way you casually ate.

You turned to him and realized he still hadn't opened his food. Your smile fell, "What's wrong, is it not what you like?"

His ears perked up, eyes wide as he shook his head, "No, It's alright, Miss." He slid down onto the floor next to you. You watched as he finally popped open as you took a bite of your sandwich. The tip of his pink tongue peeked out as he picked up the sandwich. He looked at you, then he took a small bite before he paused as if he was paralyzed. The flavors danced on his tongue and it was near euphoria. He had never tasted something so flavorful and delicious. The only thing he had ever been fed back in the labs was supplemental meals in pellets or slop that was just an off shade of brown.

You watched his expression carefully, afraid he would hate it, but who could hate breakfast sandwiches? Suddenly his eyes gleamed as the edges creased in an eye smile. He ravenously began devouring the sandwich in large bites noisily. His hands were empty within seconds except for crumbs as he sucked on his thumbs getting all the savory oil. His tail was wagging fast as his pants made soft rustling sounds. You couldn't help it, a giggle spilled as you watched his reaction. A hot blush covered his cheeks as he stared at you with a finger in his mouth. The sound again that was like a call to something internal within him beckoned him to look at you. That sound…he couldn't understand why you were laughing. Nothing funny had happened.

He looked gentile for the first time since his arrival as his eyes sparkled wide. You wondered how he could do that go from looking so terrifying to so gentle you couldn't believe he'd hurt a fly.

You had the great idea of getting extra; you took the empty tray and replaced it with the empty tray. He shook his head trying to place it back, "No, I'm fine Miss."

You placed it back in his lap, "Please, I got more than enough. Eat."

You turned back to your meal and the TV finally paying attention to what was on. He looked back and forth between you and the tray, squirming in his seat. He wanted to eat, but it was too much. His stomach believed otherwise, but he would be fine if he ignored it like he usually did. It was more than he's ever been offered. Were you testing him? Yet, you weren't turning around. Your body language wasn't tense. Carefully he popped the tray open, he gazed at you, waiting for a reaction, but you kept chewing. He picked up the sandwich and began eating, a little faster than necessary in case you changed your mind at any point. He'd deal with the consequences later. Eating so fast he began choking as he swallowed nearly the whole sandwich down.

Rapidly you poured him a glass of water and handed him the glass, "Here drink this!"

He took it and drank the whole glass, sighing in relief as he cleared his throat. When he finally was all right he couldn't look you in the eye, embarrassed with himself. He waited for his punishment, tensing his body for the hit.

You smiled, realizing his tray was empty again. You looked at the tray and realized he was clenching his fist until they were turning white. A sadness overcame you that had him whining as he scented the shift in you. You reached into the bag and pulled out yet another sandwich. You gently replaced the empty one with another, his fist still tight. Softly you assured him, "You don't have to eat so fast; no one is going to steal your food. I won't ever keep food from you."

Although it felt odd to say it, you wanted to assure him. You wanted him to be comfortable. This was going to be your life from now on. Park was going to always be a part of your life whether you liked it or not. He was your hound.

He was your hound.

On a sigh, you spoke words you never thought you'd be saying. "This is your home too." You brushed your still slightly wet hair from your face when he remained stoic, face recessing back into a neutral blank.

As you rustled your hair your sweet scent filled the air. He realized how sweet it was as you rustled back as it filtered the air erasing the small sadness that was there before. It was intoxicating as he waited for it to be ruined by a foul scent that usually accompanied lying. Yet, it stayed sweet, it had been since he had met you.

You licked your lips and nodded assuming that was the end of the conversation. If there was one thing you learned through your training as an agent is patience. He'd speak when he'd want to. You knew space and you'd want the same. Just as this has been a lot for you, you can only imagine how stressful this must have been for him. Maybe you needed the silence to answer more than you could want words from him.

He stared at the cardboard top of the tray. He rubbed his thumbs over the paper feeling the small ridges. This was real. He blinked as he couldn't place the feeling. He had never felt something like this before. It made him squint his eyes, it bothered him he couldn't understand the feeling.

"Okay, Miss."

You were surprised at the sound of his voice that came almost too quiet. You offered him a smile to let him know you heard him. He stared at you with eyes that were swirling with emotions as his ears swiveled slightly. Clearing your throat, there was a lot you had to learn. Oddly, you settled into a comfortable relaxation. You forgot about your arm. You forgot about why Park was being sprung into your life. The failure, the politics, it all.

A halo of light glows around you as he found himself staring at you. He reached up and rubbed over his chest, that odd feeling had been swirling around for a while now. It was probably the need to protect you. Protect…his…home now. This…was…his—his thoughts were cut off by the sound of your laughter again as you laughed at something on T.V. He followed your line of sight and to your face as your face scrunched up as you lingered in whatever was funny.

He clutched the tray in his hands. Yes, that must be what he's feeling. It must be that. He will protect you.

You somehow fell asleep somewhere between the episodes of some sitcom you didn't know the name of played. You woke up on the couch and Park was still sitting on the floor watching whatever was on TV. Lightly blushing, he must've placed you on the couch. Not dwelling on that fact, you wiped the sleep out of your eye as you looked at the clock and it was just a bit past noon.

You sat up straight and Park turned around to look at you hearing the rustling.

You joked, "Hello." He nodded his head.

"Sorry for falling asleep." He shook his head to disagree.

The coffee table had been cleaned. You thanked him for it and his tail wagged again before he tempered it. Getting up and stretching you winced and hissed when you realize you had been sleeping on your left arm.

He stood up immediately, "Miss are you okay?"

You waved it off, "I must've slept funny, that's all." Rotating your arm, you released the tension in your shoulder, but it was sore still as you lowered it.

He didn't believe you. He noticed you were awkward with your left arm as you always were caressing and cradling it. Before he could comment you moved past him. You sighed internally realizing that you needed to head to the store for groceries. You couldn't keep ordering take out. In the kitchen, you dug in your junk drawer and got out a notebook and began writing a list. Knocking the pen against your chin you tried to think of anything you're missing after jotting down the basics. You went back to the living room, sitting down on the floor again and letting the notepad rest on the coffee table. "Park, what do you need at the store?"

He shook his head.

You quirked a brow, "Please, tell me what you need. I want you to be comfortable."

He hung his head low, in a whisper you barely caught onto, "There's hybrid soap that's unscented. That's it."

You raised a brow, "That's it?"

He nodded.

"Okay." You ripped the page out and stuffed the list into your purse. Slipping on your shoes, "I'll be right back. I'll just be a bit."

He stood up immediately alarmed. "I will go with you. I need to stay with you."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms across your chest, "It's just shopping. I can handle myself." He was poking at a sore spot. You could handle yourself. You can handle yourself. He stood chest puffed in full seriousness. The same assurance he had before with the delivery boy returned.

"I'm okay on my own."

"I will go."

Realizing you were arguing with the wall you swallowed your pride. This. This was something you were going to have to learn to deal with. You were going to learn how to be a "team" and work with another. Chanting to yourself, you reminded yourself this was a learning process. "Fine, come on."

Quickly he slipped his boots on and you unhooked your keys and closed the door behind him.

Putting the car into park it struck you. The whole car ride he had been quiet, the soft hum of music playing from the radio had filled the silence. Before getting out of the car you turned to him, "Hey, are you okay going around shopping?"

He turned to you, "Yes, Miss."

You cringed internally at the formality he had been calling you Miss this whole time. But you respected it, it would probably feel more awkward using first names.

It felt stupid but you felt the need to remind him, "Please don't growl at anyone, unless they're a real threat okay?" You wanted to let him know, "If it ever is too much, let me know. We can leave at any point."

He nodded, lips slightly pouting, and you both got out of the car.

Stepping into the store you carefully side-eyed Park and his eyes were telling a different story as he was searching nearly everyone for threat. You decided to let him do whatever made him comfortable, even if it was glaring at everyone. You pulled out a shopping cart and picked up everything off your list including some things that weren't. More things weren't on your list than were, but who were you to deny your love for the good stuff. You watched Park if he took an interest in anything, but he was natural and bleak about it all.

You stopped in the hybrid section. Scattered through the store there had been a few, but truly you noticed other hybrids with their owners in this section. There were all types of rabbits, feline or canine hybrids. Before yesterday you never really noticed them, it all was normalcy, now with Park, you felt more aware. When you passed them with Park you noticed them freeze and divert their eyes from him. The rabbit hybrid nearly tugged its owner out of the aisle. You felt bad for them, but you both had the right to be there just as much as everyone else. Some other canines dared to stare at him before they were yanked away. Okay, maybe Park wasn't the one you should be worried about. He hovered over you, shoulders back and chest puffed. You called to Park, distracting him momentarily from staring down others. "Choose whatever you need."

The selection was near bare, except for the essentials. He glanced back frequently as he selected his soap. You watched other owners with heir hybrids, they were selecting more than just bar soap. When he came back with a bar that was in a basic box you smiled at him, wanting to be sure to always encourage this behavior of making his own choice. "Are you sure?" He nodded and he immediately reverted to his guard stance. You asked him to place it in the cart and then you walked over to where the other hybrids and their owners just were and began picking the scarcest products off the shelf. It must mean they're good and popular.

"Miss?"

"Yes?" You placed a bottle down as the side was dented and picked up one in better condition.

He looked between you and the products. "What are you doing, Miss?"

You glanced at him, "Do you like," you popped open the lid of the shampoo refreshed by the clean scent, "this one?"

He took it from you and placed it back on the shelf. "I'm fine."

You picked up the shampoo back and placed it in the cart and carried on. He sighed and followed along as you kept picking up things like a brush, fur shine conditioner, vitamin tablets, a loofah, and a toothbrush. He had remained quiet the whole time and as rounded the corner there was a very small selection of basic clothing. You recalled back to his confession earlier and the idea saddens you at your ignorance. It struck you that last night he must've slept in the same clothes he was in now. You held up sweats and a shirt up to him he stiffened as your hands were nearly touching him. You hummed when you were content with the sizing before you picked up more and placed them in the cart. Pointing to underwear and socks, "You can pick those yourself." He fidgeted on the spot as if he was glued. You decided to pinch a little, "Or do you want me to pick them?" He unglued himself from his spot and he tossed in a package of each reluctantly. You smiled at him at your small victory. This would have to do, for now, you'd order things online later.

He still stood protectively over you, but at some point, you had ignored the feeling of his hovering. You could feel how uncomfortable he was. Your hand itched to reach out and settle him, but you weren't sure how comfortable he would be with that either.

"You can have things to Park." You turned to him, with a softness that had him relaxing, "I'm happy to get it for you. I want to do this for you."

His tail wagged as you began carting away.

Opening up your mailbox you pulled out the mail then shoved open the door with bags and mail in your hand. Waddling to the kitchen with the bags you set them down as Park came just behind you with his arms full of the remaining bags. The top of his head barely peeking above the bags. Your eyes widened as you helped him place the rest of the bags down. You could handle heavyweight, but you didn't want to accelerate joint pain and destroy the recovery you've made so far. He seemed completely unaffected though.

He stood patiently again as you turned to him, realizing he was awaiting a command. You cleared your throat as you grabbed bags. You found the bags holding his products. You handed them off to him. He hesitated as he nearly set the bags down, "Let me help. Tell me what to do."

You waved him away, "It's alright, I got it. Why don't you take a shower? I'm sure you feel gross after a long day. Do you need help figuring that out?"

Again, he found himself conflicted. He couldn't sense the duplicity in your tone. He waited for you to yell at him. Waited for you to shout commands, punish him for being useless, something, yet you stood up and stared at him with eyes that nearly smiled on their own. He was stunned at the way you looked at him. Gently you picked up his bags and handed it to him, "You can put your stuff away and the clothing you got on now put them in the wash. You remember from yesterday right? You can pick out just an outfit then the rest can go in the wash."

You shooed him off when he stood there dumbfounded. Taking your statement as final he picked up his bags and disappeared around the corner.

You sighed a bit in relief, an ache left in its wake. You hadn't realized how tense you were all day. Taking care of someone else was exhausting. The way he was looking at you was confusing. It was like he was expecting something, but you weren't sure what. Instead of dwelling on the what-ifs, you sorted all the groceries. It was odd seeing your home full of food. You never had this much food before. You always made instant food when it was just yourself. You folded all the plastic bags into one and placed them in a bin by the front door. Coming back you glanced around the kitchen, then picked up the mail.

You shifted through it as the majority of it was junk mail with a few exceptions of bills. Stuffing it into the wall rack for your mail you were cautious to separate the bills from junk.

Your phone begins vibrating in your pocket. You read the caller ID, 000, and your face hardened. You answered and a distorted voice spoke, "Report tomorrow at 0700 for a new assignment." There was a click and the call was over. Sighing heavily you tossed your phone on the counter uncaring if it cracked the screen. You leaned on the counter, elbowed supporting your head as you run your fingers through your hair. You clutched your head, breathing through your nose.

He came out of the corner, his hair slightly dripping wet as he toweled off his ears. His face scrunched up in disgust, it smelled sour. It was from you, clutching the towel he rounded the corner as you were standing back up. Your face was slightly flushed, and your eyes held this look of exhaustion. The smile had disappeared from you. He dropped his towel as he marched over to you, "Miss, is everything alright? Did I do something wrong? I knew I should've helped you. I'm—."

Your eyes widen in surprise as he nearly rushed you. Realizing your position you laughed it off, and quiet his resolve, although your voice isn't as strong as you wish it could've been. "No, I'm fine, It's fine." He didn't believe you as he carefully looked over your face.

You realized his hair was dripping. You picked up the towel from the floor and tiptoed slightly as you rustled the towel over his hair. "Don't walk around with wet hair, it's cold out. You can't be catching a cold." You were careful of his ears.

He froze on the spot.

When you pulled away, your smile had returned. He was staring directly at you, nearly inches apart, eyes wide. Your heart skipped a beat. You took in his jawline, tawny skin that was slowly turning rosy and his pupils dilating. Realizing your position and what you had done you dropping the towel and it draped over him like a ghost. He whined as you laughed going towards the fridge. You try to cover your embarrassment by acting normal, "Dry your hair with the dryer next time." You opened up the fridge, "Let's eat."

One ear popping out he pulled the towel back he stepped forward, "Let me help Miss." His cheeks were rosy, and you sure yours was too.

Surrendering to his eagerness your cave, "Okay."

Surprisingly Park was a great cook. You gave him simple instructions to cut vegetables and they were sliced and diced neatly. You thanked him as you slid them off into the pan. The house filled with the smell of stir fry and just in time the rice cooker jingled as you turned off the burner.

"Can you get some plates, please? It's in the left cabinet."

He nodded and set two plates beside you. With your good hand, you scooped food onto the plates. When they were filled, he took them to the table without propagation. You fished inside the fridge for some cold water and the drawers for utensils and brought that to the table with you.

Looking at the table with steaming plates Jimin stood by the table waiting for you. You set the water down and utensils and sat down. Your eyes glowed as you stared at the food. You picked up your fork and began poking at your food and shoved it in your mouth. You're a few bites in before you realized he was sitting across the table food untouched. He picked up his fork and began eating after you had taken your first bites.

You wanted to know more, you wanted to understand why. The report the Director gave was bare-bones, but you could inquire enough. You had been on a mission before countless times, analyzed war criminals, and more, but this felt out of reach. If you were going to keep Park then you wanted to know more. There was no better way of getting information than just asking. You swallowed your food then asked, "Park, may I ask you something?"

His body tensed slightly as he swallowed and answered formally, "Yes, Miss."

While shopping today you did your shallow research as you watched those with hybrids of their own. All hybrids had something around their necks, collars, like chokers around their neck. You casually inquired, "Do hybrids wear…collars?"

"It's a sign of identification and ownership."

You quirked your brow, "Do you have one."

He pulled out from his shirt dog tags on a silver ball chain. You nodded at it and kept poking at your food. The biggest question sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't ask it. Instead, you choose to look him over. "Do you like your new clothes? Do they fit right?"

He nodded rapidly, "Yes, Miss."

They looked comfortable as they fit him a bit oversized, but it would give him wiggle room.

He finished his meal and stood from the table taking it to the sink. You followed shortly after with your dish. He fidgeted on the spot before he thanked you for the meal. Shutting off the water and drying your hands on the towel rack you leaned against the counter.

"Park."

He paused and robotically turned and stood at attention at the entrance of the kitchen. You looked down then back up at him, "New assignment—for us, meeting tomorrow at headquarters. Be up early."

His posture stiffens. As his hands began clutching at his sweatpants. He nodded then rounded about the corner slipping into his room.

You flicked off the kitchen light as you signed, why did that feel so heavy? You massaged your arm as you walked to your room. That night you laid in bed doing a bit of research on hybrid things. You browsed for a few hours shopping for things that others recommended. You bought clothes varying from dark in color to light unsure of where his palate was. You guess the size going for the larger size for safety and it possibly shrinking in the dryer. You'd rather him be comfortable than enclosed in his clothes. Checking out you bought a list full of things, but you don't spend your paycheck on yourself, so you placed it in your cart without a second thought. He deserved it.

You shut your laptop and thought about the hound sleeping in the next room over. Was he sleeping alright? You heavily sigh allowing your body to sink into your bed. You were going to have a long day tomorrow and you needed your sleep. Closing your eyes you had a million thoughts going, but the main one was of the hound in the room over.

You just had to hold out for tomorrow.

"Your next mission agent is to be the personal guard the governor on his trip to the capitol from the airport. He will be arriving from the capital after receiving an acknowledgment from the president and we expect a lot of eyes to be on him."

Your blood boiled internally. This was a job meant for a mid-rank agent, not you. Yet, you tried to sound eager, "Yes, Sir."

He smiled, it felt so greasy. "Your mission starts in three months upon his arrival."

"Understood, Sir."

He looked towards Jimin who stood at the edge of the room at attention. The Director smiled, "Park, is Y/l/n treating you well?"

"I'm content Sir."

The Director looked at you, "I knew this was a great idea. You are much better off with him."

He stood up and you followed along clenching your jaw. "Thank you, Sir."

As you were walking away. "Agent Y/L/N."

You turned on your heel completely facing him. "No more mistakes."

Your face was hard set, yet pleasant enough. Park noticed your fist clenching as you crossed them behind your back.

"Understood Sir."

Park followed along silently. He could smell the change in your scent—it was ruining the sweetness. You stood in front of the elevators and pressed the down button. Park waited behind you, standing tall. He had no idea why you were uncomfortable. He found the Director behavior odd. What had he meant by making a mistake?

When the elevator opened you stepped in and immediately into the floor panel you punched in the code 45730 harder than necessary. For a second the elevator stalled, then it began dropping down. The elevator went beyond the parking garage basement as it continued to drop. Jimin's eyes watched, internally reading himself for anything.

Without saying anything you stepped out of the elevator he followed you to an internal door. You scanned your ID before you stamped your finger to go inside. Jimin scanned his dog tags and was allowed inside behind you.

As the door whorled open with an electrical buzzer sounding off, a sudden bang introduced you both to the gym. Flashes of light caught his attention as he looked into glass rooms. The rooms each were unique and technical as digital screens were projected in the air with stats while within the room holographic simulations of hostile scenarios played as agents trained. You kept marching like you were running to a fire. He only caught glimpses of the intense training going on, monitoring their movements in those split seconds. The arena opened up and agents were firing off in succession as they shot down the range. Seeing rows of stations, he realized you had brought him to a gun range.

You rotated your left shoulder. You stepped up to a station and placed your hand on top of the glass desk. The monitor glowed blue as a digital screen popped up. "Put your hand on the glass Park." He followed along, and the desk expanded into a dual station. His information appeared on the screen alongside yours. Selection of weapons appeared next, "Pick what you want to use."

He went through and selected a handgun like yourself. The proper wear appeared on the right wall of the station. The guns were simultaneously present from the walls.

After having the debriefing, you found yourself feeling wound up. You wanted to prove yourself again, prove you were good enough. The drudging task he gave you, protecting the newly elected governor, was for the rookies. Grabbing it you inspected it thoroughly. You shook out your left hand. The guns weren't typical, although they recoil, sound and weighed as much as a real one, they weren't.

You didn't meet eyes with Park as you spoke, "I'm sure you've done this before."

He had. Too many times to count. He had spent a lot of time in ranges, less modern than this. He remembers when he was a young pup and he stood at the other end of the rage facing the abysmal barrel. Officers commanded the older hounds with real guns. It was a miss and survive. A test for all.

He was brought to the present when the holographic screen began changing as infographics and widgets displayed difficulty levels, strategy, and intensity. Selecting a random high-performance program you reached over and pressed the approval for his side of the dual station to fully expand to accommodate you both. His eyes followed the station walls as they moved and widened a few feet. Your eye twitched as you brought your arms up finger away from the trigger as you tightened your hips.

"Ready yourself, Park."

Selecting random the widget flipped through until it stopped on the hostage situation. A short debriefing appeared on the screen, entailing the scenario. Your shoulders tightened, a thing you learned to never due, and the motion caused you to wince as you felt the muscle tug around your injury. You were fine. You were fine.

Situation: A bank robbery and the civilians inside and employees are being held, hostage. Save the hostages.

As soon as the countdown began on the screen from three, two, one, the bank doors opened, and fake comrades joined you both as you enter. Five criminals circulate the main lobby as they surround hostages piled in the middle. The simulation was interactive, and it expected you to act accordingly. Slipping into your roll you commanded, "Drop the weapons and get down!"

Park held his position as his gun was raised defensively mirroring your stance.

The criminals laughed simulated jargon of them arguing and they refused to place down their weapons. You repeated your commands and they still refused. You scanned the room again, analyzing the exits, windows, and corners, there weren't many options, but the desk offered refuge. Counting the seven hostages surrounded by the five criminals, the odds of getting the robbers away were slim. But the margin of possibility was where you thrived.

"Park, on my mark."

Just like you had predicted the robber facing you reacted hotly by grabbing a hostage and holding a gun to their temple. "I'll do it! I'll do it!"

You continued, "Release the hostage, no one has to get hurt. Put down your weapons!" You slightly nodded but Park had caught it as the mark.

The robber's hand trembled with anger before he threw the hostage and began unleashed rounds at you. Screams and sounds of chaos erupted. The other criminals began targeting the other commanders. Your eyes worked a million miles an hour as you dodged bullets moving forward behind the wall. Park was opposite of you, finding a shield in the opposing wall.

When the sound of gunshots paused you took the chance and shot at the criminals.

"Park, right!"

He let a few rounds out, both successful as they land their targets. The hostages scream and run towards you but disappeared as they simulate running past you.

A robber appeared next to you as you fired at their extremities. Death is never the goal, inebriation is. Assassination isn't a solution. The bank begins shifting into the warehouse as you panted, breathing faster and faster. Seeing the lone chair and a man with a gun pointed at you took form. A slow smirk built on their face as their finger shifted to be over the trigger and they pulled. You had been so lost in thought you forget what was going on. Suddenly you were pushed back as he stood in front of you. His side of the screen flashed red. He had been shot, kill shot to the chest

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped. "PARK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, "Protecting you."

You gazed at him, shock filtered, again those words ring clear in your ears: hounds are disposable. Bile built in your throat. If this was real, he would've been dead. You failed Park. You…failed, again.

Panic filled your heart creeping like an icy cold grip and your hand began to tremble. Your face was stone cold, but inside a storm was brewing.

Boisterous laughter filtered through and broke you from your beginning hysteria. They snorted at the end of their sinister laughter, bringing their hand up to cover their mouth. You pulled your trembling hand behind you as you turned and Jimin looked over your shoulder.

Eyeing you up and down and then Park a snarky smirk plastered on her lips as they stride closer to you both. "Ah, Y/L/N, you finally got one." Her eyes stared at Park for a moment longer than necessary. Subtly you shifted yourself in front of him. "I see the Director finally recognized that you weren't perfect." Her lips pulled higher. Agent Smith had been in the federation longer than you have. Her father was from the same fraternity as the Deputy Director. She let everyone know proudly where she came from and how she knew people in high places. Instantly you were rivals after she opened her mouth. However, during training, she was one of your main motives for climbing the ladder. You were better than some rich girl with connections. Proudly you climbed to your position on your own, no family, no friends, just you.

It's always been that way anyway.

Finding yourself on steady grounds, pushing nausea aside, you smirked back sweetly. Setting your gun down, "I'm glad your back safe Smith. Your last mission was watching that rich girl from Montenegro, right? How was it playing a shopping assistant?"

Her smirk didn't deter. "Assistant? Please. At least I didn't fail. Daddy told me all about how the Director said you were a failure. You couldn't handle a simple rescue mission. Makes me concerned for the rest of us."

She cut deep and quick. Park next to you listened to it all, quickly glancing at you. He hadn't heard of this. He wasn't told why he was now your hound. He could feel you change though. It was unsettling him.

Quick on your feet, "The only concern you should have is if Daddy is going to buy you another spot on a mission. How much did your Daddy pay for your last mission?" It was petty. This was petty, out of character. Today wasn't your day.

Her face blistered with anger. "You bitch! I wish they left you in Victiz to die in that cell."

Park growled, a rolling growl. Her eyes widened in surprise like yours. Park's eyes were jet black, he appeared like a feral beast encroaching over you with his presence. His fangs were exposed as his lips pulled back. He made no motion forward, but Smith knew if she moved offensively, he would act. Realizing she was out of her reach, Smith flinched as she corrected herself rolling her eyes pretending it didn't bother her. You hadn't realized her hound was behind her. Stomping away she picked a station leaving you standing there with Park.

You hadn't realized her hound had been with her as he stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Cerberus." The name came shakily out of the hound, their doe eyes staring, body frozen. "Yo-you're alive." The word came out as a whisper. The hound didn't get say more as Smith snapped calling the hounds attention. Without another word, the hound booked it, tail between his legs.

Park watched the hound with careful eyes. Your mind was elsewhere, desperately swallowing anger. You turned back to the monitor as it blared out "Mission Failed." You were too embarrassed to look at him. You were ashamed of yourself. You had never acted that way. You never let her get under your skin. The last comment stung like a slap across your face. Who was this person you've become? You shut it down quickly, setting all things back appropriately.

"We're leaving." You commanded stiffly.

He watched you for a few moments as you held your left arm as you walked away. Setting his gear down he began after you.

The house was dark, yet you didn't bother flicking on the lights as you took off your shoes in the entryway. The quiet ride home had let your though mull over. You were so disappointed with yourself. Words from the director, Smith, you could handle hers, but…Park, when he took the bullet for you—it was all too much. You were fatigued, your arm was ebbing in pain. "I'm going to sleep." Without further explanation, you rounded the corner and went into your room.

He stood there in the entryway, the darkness feeling suffocating as you walked away. He couldn't understand why you were so upset. He couldn't understand why you screamed at him when he took the bullet for you. Why was that woman yelling at you, he couldn't control it when she said you should die in that cell. He was going to protect you. You would never die as long as he was around. Where did he go wrong? If his ears could flatten, they would. If his tail could hide between his legs, it would be. He messed up, again.

He found his feet moving before he was aware of it. He wanted to reach out. His feet were moving fast until he felt a surging pain followed by a crunch on the hardwood floor. Retracting back he realized it was your ID. Picking it up he stared at it, the person in the ID looked so cold, so frigid, similar to how you looked now. It made his insides itch uncomfortably, it felt wrong. That you felt wrong.

Clutching it in his fist he walked through the darkness, eyes adjusted for it, and he stood in front of your door. He could hear your soft breathes, but your heart was beating fast. The tainted scent that was normally sweet was nearly rolling from under your door like smoke. He clutched your ID in his hand tight enough that the edge of the plastic badge dug into his skin.

Soft knocks rapped at your door. It took you a moment before you answered. Park was standing at the door staring at you directly. It felt like time had slowed before his fist unclenched and he held out your ID. You took it from him staring down at it. All your energy had been sapped from you and in barely a whisper, "Thank you."

His tongue poked through his thick lips as he opened his mouth but he clamped it shut quickly. He began turning on his heel heading back to his room.

"Park." Guilt ate at you.

He paused and turned robotically.

Clenching your ID. "I don't want you to ever take a bullet for me." His eyebrows perked. "You are not disposable, especially not because of me." You knew he had heard everything Smith had said. "I'm sorry you're in this mess. I'm sorry you're tied to me. Again, let me know if you want to leave, I'd understand."

You closed the door unaware of the sullen look on his face. The mask breaking for a crescent fallen expression. He moved at the speed of light catching the door before you closed it. The fire in his eyes raged like rumbling lava. He pulled it open fully as you stood there shocked. His posture was strong as the muscles bulged from underneath his shirt.

"Do you want me to leave?" Your mouth fell agape, caught off guard. Vulnerability bled through his words, yet it still sounded scripted, like a duty. But a part of you wanted to believe it wasn't just his duty. It was too quiet and panic began to fill Park's chest replacing the itch. "Please, don't make me leave. Please…I don't want to –I'm going to protect you until the end I promise, please, don't make me leave."

Your heart broke as you fought back tears. The harshness of his words hit you, especially as he punctuated the last three words. Although you had only been with him shortly, you didn't hate him. You had forgotten, selfishly belatedly realized how your behavior had a profound effect on him.

"Stay." You cleared your throat and spoke clearly, "You can stay."

It was silent between you both. He was trembling. His hands felt itchy again, that odd feeling he had of wanting to reach out instead he reverted to comfort. He resumed attention stance, "Yes, Miss."

"Y/n. Call me y/n. Don't call me Miss anymore."

His pupils dilated hearing your name for the first time. He had never called anyone by their first name before. He felt almost like he was committing treason, but he tested it anyway. "Y/n."

You smiled and nodded. That smile, that smile was now making his stomach itch again.

He fidgeted in his place, muttering, "Jimin…my name is Jimin."

The man, who often looked like he could crush iron with his fist, and gaze destroy a city with a blink, he looked like a puppy in front of you. You smiled. Without even realizing what you were doing you reached up and ruffled his hair.

His eyes were so wide. You pulled your hand back and retreated with a blush on your face after you realized what you had done. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own. Quickly you sputtered out, "Sorry. Good night Jimin."

He wished you hadn't stopped. His tail was wagging a million miles per hour.

"Good night Y/n."

| Masterlist | Final

Copyright 2020 © by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved. 

[strigwrites]

Conviction

(Art source)

The whipping winds raced across the battered snowscape, all hounds of winter searching out the smallest crooks and crevices and promptly muffling the jagged mouths with a spray of white powder. The highlands hadn’t known warmth in half a decade, but its stalwart denizens remained unfazed, found ways to move with the breakneck turn of climate. A throng of wooly folk gathered close around a sputtering fire and thawed their ice-caked gloves until they could be summarily peeled from hands beaten ruddy even well-hidden in shearling. A clever hand exchanged a flask around, red cheeks peeking up from cloak wraps and tipping back to warm their insides on hooch brewed strong enough to resist freezing on all but the most blisteringly cold nights.

“Thought we’d never get back when the clouds started rolling up...but I have to admit, fellas, death weren’t lookin’ so bad when I knew I had seven hells to warm up in on the other side!”

Laughter pierced the suppressive cloak of an impending blizzard from where they nestled at the foot of a steep and rocky valley, hardened people who eased the frigid wastes with laughter and back-slapping that nearly sent the smallest of the throng sprawling face-first onto the ground. They stomped their boots and whistled at the weather, cleared space to start a fire, and in no time at all turned an inhospitable pile of stone into a passable place to wait for the worst of it to blow over.

“I tell you, Ragnheidur is out there yet, and I intend to claim her head to match the tail mounted on my cabin wall!”

“For the sake of the newcomer, why don’t you tell him how many times you’ve changed that story since I heard you tell it first, what, ten? Fifteen years ago?”

“Everyone knows the tail you’ve got mounted belongs to some lesser lizard, old man!”

The resident storyteller waves them all off with a sweep of his hand and focuses every ounce of aged charisma toward the most fresh-faced of the grizzled lot, daring the younger man to look away from his intense, over-earnest expression. “Don’t listen to these sour pricks, son, they just don’t know what to make of old men who ain’t yet hung up their big ambitions. This lot thinks that when they get to be my age, they’ll be content to fade away in some rocking chair until Death comes to collect. A load of shite, you hear me? That big bitch has a target painted on her ugly head and I’m keen on collecting.” He punctuated his proclamation with a spirited thump of his padded chest, eliciting a round of guffaws from his audience.

“You don’t have to comfort him, Pietor. He’s quite clearly lost his marbles half an age ago and anything left froze out here! Don’t let him drag you under with him.”

The young man now identified as Pietor offered a gamely smile, visibly more reserved than his raucous comrades, but before he could get a word in edgewise, the storyteller heaved a great arm about his shoulders and dragged him to his side. “They’ve been trying to paint me as a mad old fool, but you take a look around you, boy,” and the young man did indeed do that, “And you tell me if you think anyone who comes to the godsdamned Convictory hasn’t had their gourd knocked around a few times before!”

The camp erupted in spirited shouting that never quite ceased even as the last tender flames of daylight receded swiftly into a deep and brumal night with precious little in-between. Their clever hideaway was spared the worst of the drifting snow, but even the heartiest of them eventually retreated one by one into their respective tents when the booze could no longer prop them up against the climate and settled down for the evening, leaving only Pietor perched next to the fire as the first watchman of the night.

An iron ring haloed his boyish face, the kind that looks half his true age at all times even from a mile away, and he was not inclined to correct anyone on the matter. His notice turned upward, well past the broken teeth of stony peaks to where the stars winked blithely as tempestuous clouds began to break apart and yield to clear, crisp winter skies. The tilt of his chin revealed a stretch of tender neck to the brisk breeze, but for the moment he seemed perfectly content to be wrapped in the veil of night under foreign skies, a stranger until before long, he would not be.

May my bolts be as gifts to these wicked hearts.

When his eyes slid shut, was it home he was dreaming of? Not simply a place of residence or an origin point, but of another life and another him all together. In the margins of this newer, humbler existence, he could still feel the haunt of who he’d been reminding him that there was a time when he’d been ferocious, a panther who could still smell the blood of a fresh kill from inside his concrete cage. The phantom of old claws extended and retracted.

Sever the spirit that pilots his innocent flesh and deliver it unto our Lady of Fury, and may her righteous fire cleanse it whole.

A low chunk was lost to the dying gasps of the passing storm. He couldn’t have been surprised.

--

“W-whoa—hey...Hey! Wake up! Wake up!”

“What the hell’s the matter, Haften?”

“Something’s not—This isn’t right! This isn’t right, something’s happened to Pietor...”

“What? Godsdamnit, where are my...”

“Pietor? Shit.”

“Hang on, dammit, I’m coming...”

“Oh, hell. The boy’s dead.”

Fine snow dotted the young man’s eyelashes, an empty gaze now permanently fixed skyward. One hand had fallen limp at his throat, where the wooden shaft of a crossbow bolt thrusted proudly outward from its lethal mark. All eyes shot to the canyon walls, but the clarity now granted by fairer skies gave no indication of threat in their midst. Baffled hunters rummaged through pockets and travel packs, but whoever Pietor had been before joining a band that never asked too much, clearly that man did not want to be found. Not a letter or a token of sentiment to give answers to such a swift and absolute act.

By morning, a solemn line trudged slowly away from camp and its new, lone occupant, barely a wink of sleep between them.

“You think he might have been an Imperial or summat?”

“If he was, then he’ll be some beast’s meal and then some beast’s shite soon enough.”

“Never liked him much anyway.”

[bogariel-frogariel]

The Bad Kids Visit Middle Earth Part 2

Part 2 of my fics. You can find it on ao3 as well, just look it up.

Aragorn tensed as Legolas' head spun around. The elf's heightened senses ensured that he was almost always the first of the Fellowship to become aware of anyone approaching.

 "Legolas! What do you sense?" he asked.

 Legolas frowned. "The trees are too thick to see them properly. But they do not look or sound like orcs, and the trees are telling me that they do not bring harm."

 "How many?"

 "Five… no six. I think it is the party that Mithrandir told us about."

 Aragorn nodded, and then looked around at the party. The hobbits had not noticed their exchange, but both Boromir and Gimli's hands had drifted to their weapons, though Gimli was scowling thunderously at them as they spoke in elvish.

 Gandalf was sitting on a moss covered rock, leaning back against a tree trunk as he smoked his pipe grumpily. The wizard had been even more grumpy than usual in the last day but Aragorn did not have time to be watching over him. Honestly, he should have been just about the only member of the Fellowship that Aragorn didn't have to worry about.

 Everyone else was so young.

 He knew, in standard human years, he was not much older than Boromir, possibly younger, but he still had the vaster experience between the two of them. He had seen much more battle than the son of the Steward probably ever would, and he knew he must accommodate Boromir's complicated feelings towards himself, for they were more than justified.

 Gimli was the other of a similar age to him if dwarvish years were translated into human ones. At just over a decade shy of one hundred and fifty years old, Gimli was in his prime. However, he had also spent much of his life protected within Erebor, ever since the dwarves returned there nearly eighty years ago. And, of course, Aragorn would need to manage the animosity that he held towards other species, particularly elves, an attitude of suspiciousness that had been deeply ingrained in him since birth. Only the hobbits seemed to get exemption from his prickly moods.

 Speaking of the hobbits, they were who Aragorn was most worried about. Though halflings lived almost as short a lives as Men, their youths stretched long, with almost half their lives taken up by youthful inexperience. It came from living in such a sheltered and peaceful place as the Shire, an environment that had done nothing to prepare any of them for the horrors to come.

 And then there was Aragorn's dearest friend, Legolas. He perhaps had closer friends in his foster brothers at Imladris, but Legolas was one of the few beings that Aragorn could trust completely. Every time they met, it was as if they had never left each other, and he truly enjoyed the other's company. However, if Aragorn and Gimli were of an age approaching thirty when their respective species were compared to Men, then Legolas was barely over nineteen. The elf was centuries old, having reached his physical maturity at the same rate as humans, and his majority within elven society at the end of his first one hundred years of life, but he was still some three centuries under a thousand years old, and he knew that all elves were not truly viewed as adults until they had seen their first millennia.

 It took much time for elves to overcome their inexperience within the world, their slowed ageing also slowing the latter of their youth years, so from the age of seventeen to one thousand, they would largely remain unchanged, and then mature slightly more rapidly for another hundred years before they remained in the unearthly beauty of their immortality for the rest of their unending lives.

 It had been one of the reasons that Aragorn had ultimately decided to branch out from his elven family; he knew they would be unable to truly treat him as an adult until he had gone off on his own and collected some experience outside their watchful gazes. He did not blame them for their stifling protectiveness, it was in their nature.

 So, in a way, despite physically being the second oldest in the Fellowship, he was also the youngest. Not that his foolish friend would ever let anyone other than Mithrandir and Aragorn ever discover that.

 At least, they would be getting help now.

 Mithrandir had explained to them that the gods themselves had sent them a gift, reached out and borrowed warriors from another world to aid them in their quest.

 He had warned them of what to expect: that the gods had been unable to send anyone of too significant a power, lest the secrecy of their quest be jeopardised, which was why the newcomers would be unable to physically interact with the ring, or any other weapon of Sauron other than his minions. (That, at least, was a positive in Aragorn's eyes, for he would not have to worry about them falling prey to the Ring's power.)

 They had one directive only: to help them defeat Sauron's forces within Middle Earth, and then they would be returning to their own home.

 Eventually, the group emerged from the tree line, and Aragorn couldn't stop the slight frown that pulled at his lips.

 Mithrandir had told them that they were from another realm, one beyond the reaches of even the gods, and that in their realm, different races lived together freely as there were no inherently evil races. He had warned them that three of their new companions would be of races that they would find rather distressing, but that they weren't like the orcs and goblins that the Fellowship knew of. They were… good somehow.

 Only the Fellowship and those who could practice magic would see their true forms, to all others the goblin would look like a hobbit, the half-orc (the thought of one of those made Aragorn shudder) would appear as an exceptionally tall human, and the… devil would look like a normal elf. Not that Aragorn had any idea what a devil was, but Mithrandir had seemed far too annoyed to bare trivial questions that would interrupt the rather clipped warnings he was giving them about their new allies.

 However, Mithrandir had been right, the goblin and half-orc (which he immediately knew were the shortest and tallest of the group respectively, the colour of their skin and unique body shapes) looked nothing like any orc or goblin that Aragorn had seen. There was a complete lack of the cloying darkness that seemed to surround them. Aragorn could not sense the energy as well as elves, but after so many years surrounded by elven magic, and the residual power in his blood gave him some ability to feel them. And none of the people in front of him were setting off any of his senses.

 So, Aragorn smiled and stepped forward.

 "Greetings, friends," he said, with as much warmth and confidence as he could muster.

 The blond elven girl and the girl that would have also appeared elven if it weren't for her light pink skin and the black horns protruding from her hair (Aragorn the slightly shorter girl must have been the… devil that Mithrandir spoke of) stepped forward.

 "Hello," the elf replied with a smile.

 "We’re happy to join you on your quest," the devil said, grinning openly.

 "We are grateful to have you," Aragorn returned, dipping his head respectfully. "I am Aragorn…"

 He went on to introduce the rest of the Fellowship, each of them giving a small gesture to call attention to themselves as Aragorn said their names.

 "… and the… esteemed wizard to my right is mostly commonly known as Gandalf the Grey," Aragorn finished.

 "Well met," the elven girl said before also giving a more formal greeting in elvish.

 "I'm Adaine Abernant," she introduced.

 "And I'm Fig Faeth," the devil chimed in.

 The dark skinned boy nodded as he introduced himself. "My name is Fabian Seacaster."

 The goblin also nodded. "I'm Riz Gukgak."

 The tall one gave an awkward wave. "Uhh… Gorgug Thisltespring."

 Finally, the human girl lifted one of the hands off her huge staff that was curled at the top and gave a more confident wave. "My name is Kristen Applebees."

 Aragorn was about to ask more questions about their skills but Legolas suddenly shifted behind him and when Aragorn looked at him, he had his bow in hand.

 "There is something very large approaching," he explained, reaching back to grab an arrow.

 Master Seacaster clapped his hands together. "Ahh, that is just my animal companion… the Hangman."

 "Please don't shoot him," Miss Faeth requested. "He won't hurt anyone here."

 "Well, unless they attack Fabian," Miss Applebees said only to be elbowed in the leg by Master Gukgak.

 "He won't hurt anyone unless Fabian orders him to," Adaine assured them. "And Fabian won't order them to hurt anyone. Right Fabian?"

 Master Seacaster, who was looking off into the forest, in the same direction that Legolas was glaring in, shook himself and glanced back at the female elf.

 "What?" he asked, blinking. "Oh yes. Of course, I won't ask him to attack anyone here. He's only roaming around the forest to scout for danger."

 Before anyone could say anything else, a black mass burst from the tree line, zipping straight to Master Seacaster's side and coming to an abrupt stop.

 Now that it was no longer a blur of movement, Aragorn could see that the figure was a great, hulking hound, as big as any warg that Aragorn had ever encountered. The hound as leaning up against Master Seacaster, its tail wagging as the boy patted it's head.

 "Yes, hello, Hangman," the boy said, grinning more brightly than he had been previously. "What did you find?"

 The new group nodded along at the hound's huff, as if they could understand it.

 "Well," Miss Applebees said. "That's good news. There's nothing in the forest that's going to try and kill us."

 "What would you like to do?" Adaine asked. "We have been instructed to follow your directives whenever possible."

 Aragorn contemplated this for a few moments before he answered, "We're less than three hours from the forest borders and then we'll be on open plains until we hit the next ridge of mountains. We will walk for an hour before we make camp again. Tomorrow will be a long day."

 From tomorrow, there would be no more hiding in forests along the mountains, they would need to find rock formations to camp under. Soon they would need to choose what path we would take.

 Everyone acknowledged Aragorn with a nod.

 "We can help you make you break camp, if you would like?" Adaine asked.

 Aragorn shook his head. "We should be ready to travel in five minutes. Take the time to rest."

 Miss Faeth smiled at him. "Thank you! Adaine made us get up really early."

 Adaine glared at her. "You agreed to get up at that time. It's not my fault it was my job to get you all up."

 Miss Faeth rolled her eyes and all of the newcomers drifted towards each other, forming a circle around the Hound as they quietly talked amongst each other. When Aragorn glanced at them half way though his sweep of the camp to make sure they didn't leave anything behind, he saw various bits of food in all their hands.

 The newcomers easily dispersed themselves as the party walked. As usual, Legolas scouted far ahead in front of them for their next campsite, though Master Gukgak walked off to the side of them, almost disappearing into the trees. Master Damian and the Hangman flanked the hobbits, who walked at the centre of their party and Master Thistlespring and Miss Faeth reinforced the rear, where Boromir and Gimli were walking, whilst Adaine and Miss Applebees walked along only a few metres behind Aragorn and Mithrandir, murmuring quietly between each other.

 True to form, after an hour, Legolas returned to them, informing them of a suitable clearing not far off, with a few birds in his hands that they could cook up for dinner.

 Sam perked up at the sight, bustling forward and taking it from the elf with a hesitant 'thank you' before he started preparing them and Miss Applebees wandered off with him whilst Master Thistlespring and Master Seacaster went into the forest with Bormoir and Merry and Pippin to start collecting firewood.

 As usual, everyone else went about their own business, setting out their bed rolls and tending to their personal gear as they whiled away the hour or so until dinner would be ready. Aragorn asked Legolas to stand watch, for he knew that the elf preferred that activity, as he was uncomfortable speaking with large groups of unknown people.

 The young elf would need to learn to become friendly with the group, but Aragorn didn't want to push his friend. Hopefully, with another elf here, everyone would open up. The Hangman paced a circle around the camp, apparently joining the elf in his watch.

 Adaine walked over to Aragorn just as he was trying to decide what job to assign himself.

 "How would you like to assign overnight watches?" she asked.

 "Am I correct in assuming that you only need half as much rest as the others in this group?" Aragorn questioned and the elleth nodded.

 "You are. I was thinking that Legolas and I could take alternating shifts each night, with someone else also up to cover blind spots," she suggested. "If that is what you want to, of course."

 Aragorn smiled and nodded. "That sounds reasonable. And good for the whole company. It should ensure that everyone gets as much rest as possible. We usually don't have the hobbits stand watch, as they are all rather young and they need to conserve their strength. Besides, none of them have seen proper combat before, and would not know what to look for whilst on watch."

 Adaine frowned at that but did not argue. Instead, she was distracted by Miss Applebees coming up to her and grabbing her arm.

 "We need you down by the fire, Adaine," she said. "Sam's wants a few ingredients for the soup he's making us. And I want to braid your hair before it gets too dark. We probably won't have time tomorrow and it might get in the way on open plains."

 Aragorn's eyes widened at that statement. For elves, hair braiding required an incredible amount of trust. It was not a duty given out lightly. Aragorn himself, had only ever been given the privilege a few times, and that was with elves that he had spent his whole life with. However, Adaine just smiled, nodding goodbye to Aragorn and allowing herself to be led over to a rock that had been dragged over to a fire that was already blazing healthily.

 As he watched the human started braiding a complicated design into the elf's hair, as the blonde pulled items out of a pouch at her waste, producing potatoes and herbs seemingly from mid-air, much to the delight of Samwise.

 Aragorn couldn't help but marvel at the scene.

 These new folk were strange indeed. However, they had a strong bond of trust that would not be broken easily, and they would truly help the Fellowship in their endeavours.

[xiaosdinonuggies]

Continuation from the story I started earlier. You can find it here if you wanna give it a read ^^ I do appreciate feedback.                                            »»——⍟——««

It wasn’t until the next day that the exhausted hero woke up from the strain caused by the night before. She didn’t remember even going home, just remembered a loud scream before forgetting everything afterwards. Whatever had happened, she didn’t trust the so-called ‘ally of the heroes’, Iris. Looking around the room, she saw the begging eyes of a basset hound staring at her. It brought an instant smile to her face. 

“Awww, Burrito. You’re cute.” She patted the dog for a moment before getting out of bed. 

Once she slipped the fuzzy bunny slippers onto her feet, she realized that her costume was taken off and hanging up on the closet--fully washed and ironed. Two moments later, and older woman leaning on a cane hobbled into the bedroom.  “Ms. West, you really should be careful when you jump through the windows. Someone could have seen you come crashing into the house, or heard you with all that noise you caused. Are you trying to hide your identity from criminals?”  She tapped her cane against the woman’s arm with a frown. “You’re twenty-seven and have been doing this since you were a teenager. I’d expect you to know this by now.”  “Sorry Nana.” In no way was this doting woman related to the young hero, but the two shared such a loving friendship that she couldn’t call the elderly woman anything different.  She ended up leaving without saying anything else, just leaving a plate of pancakes on the desk before dipping from the room. Sighing, the hero went over towards the plate and plucked a few pancakes off the top before sitting down and opening her laptop. Someone had to have recorded last nights chase,  the city was way too nosy to not have take a video of at least something. 

Deciding to start with the common social media platforms, she opened up Twitter first and scrolled through it. When that struck out, Instagram, Facebook, and even YouTube were searched through. She found nothing, to her surprise. Checking the clock, it was well after 3 p.m. She’d been sitting there for almost four hours and came up with absolutely nothing. 

Rubbing her eyes as she groaned, the thought of the dark web came to mind. Well....It wasn’t entirely a bad idea if the threat of being chased by Iris still lingered in the air. Besides, finding out who had shown up before she passed out was important. Maybe not just to figure out who needed thanking, but also because they might be in whatever trouble that was meant for her. 

Still not wanting the dark web to be on her conscience, she tried seeing if perhaps a few others in the hero community could help her out. After all, most of the heroes with actual paying jobs had cameras all around the city. If she could get her hands on it...perhaps she’d know what happened last night. Sliding her phone from her pocket, she dialed the first number that popped up. It was only labeled with a leaf, nothing more. If anyone had gotten a hold of her phone, she didn’t want anyone getting much more than numbers. “What West? Everyone knows I’m on vacation in Paris. Its 2 in the morning, make it quick before I send a pipe bomb to your house.” The girl on the end of the line had definitely just been woken up and wasn’t too happy about it.  “Sorry, sorry. I was wondering if you had any cameras set up near the dark side?” The dark side was usually what they referred to the rougher side of the city, rather than calling it something worse.  “You couldn’t have called my brother--or either one of my sisters? Never mind...I do but you’re going to need the login for it. I’ll just text it to you. Goodnight and good luck with whatever you’re doing.” The line dropped right after that. 

Just as promised, the login and link to the cameras was sent to her phone. While there was the feeling of guilt for waking the resting vigilante during her one month of rest, this was urgent. Besides, she was convinced the other girl’s older brother had some sort of weird condition that caused him to disrespect most the people he came in contact with. Weird. 

The cameras were definitely more useful than the internet had been. The exact moment had been fully recorded from the time the canister dropped to when she was having trouble breathing. “Dear god, I look like I’m having heart burn or something. That’s attractive.” She stopped providing commentary for herself when a blur moved across the screen. After nearly choking on her own saliva, she replayed the whole thing just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

She threw her hands in the air. “That’s it. My career is over.” 

The very petty-thief she’d been trying to catch since she was nineteen had taken a high-voltage hit to the back for her right after kicking her through the portal to send her home. That explained why she woke up in her bedroom instead of behind a dumpster. But why save her? 

Throwing herself into full work mode, she politely asked Nana to make a large pot of hot tea since she’d be sitting there a while. As she started digging into any little thing she could find on Iris, the older woman sat behind her and offered advice every once in a while. The sun had set by the time she had actually collected enough that was considered useful. 

It seemed that the government-sponsored company wasn't as heroic as the people they claimed to work with. Several personal blogs, including those of a small-time reporter, had gone into detail about community heroes going missing after talking with Iris. All of them had been approached in the same way she had, Iris claiming they mistook the hero for a villain or criminal and apologizing for it. However, there were never any sightings of the heroes in question once they’d been reportedly released. 

Putting her cup of tea down, a frown worked its way onto her face. If heroes had been going missing, she couldn’t imagine what had been happening to them. Whatever Iris was doing must have been behind the larger heroes' backs, and probably wasn't anything legal if it was being covered up so well. Depending on what was actually going on in their facilities, they were likely treating their villains worse than their potentially kidnapped heroes.  “ You don’t find any of this offensive?” Nana spoke up, raising an eyebrow from her own tea.  “What do you mean?”  “They went after you. That means they think you’re a nobody!” 

------

Two hours had gone by and there was an open suitcase on her bed. Her costume was shoved inside it, along with anything else she could possibly fit. When she leaned over to zip it, a Scottish Fold hopped onto the pillows that had been forcefully pushed into the overflowing suitcases. This led to more stuff being somehow fit inside the case, mostly cat products. 

“I mean if this goes sour, at least I have you and Burrito. You wanna go break a villain out of jail Simon?” The cat meowed back at her in response. “This is why I’m single. I talk to cats.” 

Bringing the suitcase to a rather broken-down looking car, she said her goodbyes to the elderly woman before putting the two animals in the car and driving off. She’d reached out to another friend, getting a location of the Iris-owned facility in the city. It was near the emptier section where the rich bought huge properties for the sole purpose of not having to look at their neighbors. She supposed that would have been a perfect spot for them to set up, somewhere no one would notice anything sketchy going on. 

It was well into the late hours of the night, maybe early morning when she pulled into the parking lot of a Dollar General with the lights off. It was about a half-mile away from the actual facility, but she didn’t want anyone seeing her car so close by and piecing things together. The cat was on her shoulder as she pulled a backpack from the trunk of the car and slung it over the opposite shoulder. Thus began the twenty minute walk towards the facility, and the poor performance of her attempting to climb someone’s storage warehouse. 

Once she had gotten up there, she looked over the facility and started taking photos for later. It was only when she noticed a lone female agent standing off to the side while talking annoyingly loud on the phone. A grin twitched at the corners of the hero’s mouth.  “You’ll do Karen, you’ll do.” Sliding the backpack onto the roof, she unzipped it and pulled out a brown wig similar to the Karen’s hair. 

After fixing the wig to her head, she made quick work of knocking the woman unconscious and stealing her uniform, leaving a thin dark-colored blanket just to keep her body hidden. Thankfully this woman had a pretty plain face and always wore sunglasses, so it wasn't entirely hard to pull something like this off. After stealing the woman's ID badge and putting Simon in her bag, the nervous twenty-seven-year-old made her way to the front doors. 

Nobody questioned her when she walked back inside, lifting her phone to her ear as if she were still talking on it. A few people rolled their eyes, as if this were a regular thing. ‘It kind of makes me wonder how hard it actually is to get in here.’

Trying to be subtle while searching for something had no clue as the whereabouts to was incredibly difficult. She kept stumbling over the high heels, laughing and just blaming it on that ‘darn gravitational pull’. Eventually she tripped into another hallway. It was long, and only had one door at the very end. Deciding this had to be it, she picked herself up and made her way down the hall as quietly as possible. The door was made of steal and had tempered bulletproof glass in the corner. Even with the high heels, she was still too short to reach it. 

Leaning on the door in an attempt to hear through it, she got nothing. Deciding to test her luck, she pushed on the door handle. Surprisingly, it opened. There was only one person in the room, so she shut the door and locked it. Hanging upside down in chains was the person she’d been trying to stop for years. She stared into his green eyes, only finding them full of fear. It was such a change from arrogant and mischievous that it shocked her to her core.  

“I told you, I don't know anything. I don’t know who they are!” He started thrashing around to the point where she just pulled the wig and glasses off. There was a purple-colored domino mask replacing her usual one but it still looked enough like her normal costume to be recognizable. A net was covering her natural hair for the moment, so she wasn't too worried.  “Sucky name?” He looked at her with confusion in his eyes. “You really shouldn’t be here. You need to go. They’re trying to find you.”  “Yeah, I’ve got that. But I didn’t come all the way out here just to leave you behind. Also stop calling me that, my name is Origami.” She went over to the chains and started working at the lock while the cat climbed from her purse and went over to the barred window.  “Exactly. Sucky name. I’ll stop calling you that when you stop calling me Cottontail.” Without warning, the chains unraveled and he tumbled to the floor head-first. “You did that on purpose.” 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Grinning, she pulled the chains to the side and let them pile in the corner. 

There was a clanging noise as the window and bars hit the floor. It made the villain jump a bit but Origami just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Simon do you really have to be that loud?” “Wait, you have a magical cat? All these years and you’ve never once brought your cat, who can apparently cut through metal rods, to any of our fights.” He stared at her, but she just shrugged and pointed to the open window. “Didn’t see the need to bother him for a skinny crook like you. Now climb out that window before I punt your fuzzy butt out of it for you. I don’t have all night.” He snorted a bitterly but obeyed, starting to climb out the window. “Funny. I don’t recall you ever having caught me.” 

Once he had gotten out, she dropped next to him with the cat in her arms. “What’s next, hero?”  He was referring to the large group that currently had their guns pointed at the both of them. With a bit of hesitation, she pulled three of the folded wolves and blew onto them. They grew and sprang to life, the six foot creations immediately taking action and beginning to make quick work of them. Almost instantly her chest tightened and her breathing became labored. It wasn't anything she couldn’t handle for the moment, though. Grabbing his hand, she pulled another paper creation out of her bag. Though, this time it was a butterfly. When it grew, it was only about four feet. Even still, it was enough to carry them off into the coming sunrise. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “An Egg-cellent Disaster” (Rated PG13)

Sebastian suffers a bout of PTSD when Isabelle invites Kurt and their family to an upscale egg hunt. (3308 words)

Notes: This isn't a re-write, but I wrote one similar for K*laine.

Part 38 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“Ugh. Can you get PTSD from an Easter egg hunt? I’m asking for a friend,” Sebastian says, glancing over his shoulder as he leads his husband, his son, and his son’s service dog towards the swankiest gathering of New York’s elite that he’s seen in a long time. This isn’t normally how they spend Easter, and if it were up to him, they would have done what they always do – color eggs and hide them around their house, bake Kurt’s mom’s special braided Easter bread, sit on the sofa and watch their little boy eat too many jelly beans until he vibrates into another dimension. They’d run him around the yard until he passed out from exhaustion, then lock themselves in their bedroom and have some adult fun with the ears and tail of an old bunny costume Kurt’s parents sent them one year. But ever since Kurt got his promotion at Vogue, they’ve been attending more events like this over the holidays – outlandish affairs that required them to dress in more-expensive-than-usual attire and rub elbows with the upper crust.

It’s how Sebastian spent a good portion of his own childhood, so it should be old hat to him by now. But the older he gets, the more he values his quiet life. And things like this, which Kurt handles with the grace and energy of a professional socialite, have begun to wear on him.

He can’t blame Kurt for this one. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t even know egg hunts of this caliber existed.

It was his boss Isabelle’s idea.

Sebastian loves Isabelle. Kurt owes her a ton for giving him his big break right after he graduated high school, when he’d moved to New York with no other plan than to survive, which means Sebastian owes her, too.

After this, though, Sebastian might consider declaring them even.

“Having flashbacks?” Kurt teases, taking his hand as they pick their way through the grass over to a roped off area. From what he can see, it’s roughly about the size of two football fields end to end, which Kurt finds astounding since half of the children here look barely old enough to walk yet.

How are they going to cover the length of one football field, not to mention two? They’ll be huddled in one corner, whining over a dozen plastic eggs, leaving an entire section of grass completely unexplored.

“You can say that,” Sebastian says, stopping when Thomas chooses a spot and plops down in the grass. “My parents took me and my brother to one of these stupid hunts every single year. You’d think it would be fun. I mean, it was at the country club, there were other kids, eventual chocolate. But it was never fun.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t just getting together with our friends and looking for eggs. It was a competition. Our parents were pitting their kids against each other to see whose family was better. But by the end, the other kids didn’t matter. For my parents, it became me against my brother.” Sebastian stops the story there, stops short of telling Kurt exactly how far his parents’ disappointment in him went. He’ll tell Kurt one of these days. But now is not the time. Not in front of Thomas. “It was kind of traumatizing.”

Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Oh, Sebastian. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have found a way to bow out.”

“Because you always get so excited when Isabelle invites you to these things. I didn’t want you to miss it. It’s important to you.”

“Yeah, but you’re more important. One of the most important.”

“You can make it up to me later,” Sebastian suggests, leaning in close so Thomas won’t hear. “You know … nakedly?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but he didn’t expect anything less. “Look, Isabelle hasn’t seen us yet. Maybe we can …”

“Kurt! Sebastian! Oh, thank goodness you could make it! I was scared you’d get caught in the holiday traffic!”

Kurt sighs. He had always referred to Isabelle as his ‘fairy godmother’ in part because of the dreams she’d been able to help him realize, but also because of her impeccable timing.

It was close to occult.

Kurt mouths sorry to his husband for getting his hopes up while his boss is too far away to notice.

“Isabelle! We wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Kurt feels his husband grimace as he greets his boss with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “We actually came up yesterday and rented a room not too far from here to make sure we’d get here on time.”

“Fabulous!” she says, kissing Kurt and then moving on to Sebastian. “Make sure you send me the bill!”

“You know I will.” Kurt watches Isabelle move on to Thomas and Hepburn. Thomas may not like being kissed, but he loves Isabelle as much as his parents do, so he sits still and lets her fuss over him, coo about how cute and grown up he looks, so much like his fathers in his smart grey slacks and navy blue button down. “So, what are the rules here?” Kurt asks, searching the grounds for a sign, a poster, a handout, something. “Is there a time limit? Are the kids separated by athletic ability? Or age?”

Kurt isn’t a huge fan of things like Easter egg hunts or baby races. He doesn’t have the patience to handle large congregations of kids and parents. Being a member of the PTA at his son’s school is the farthest he’ll stretch. And even though he wanted to come today, he was hoping to constrict their revelry to family members only, so if they can find their own section of the park to conduct their Easter biz without having to socialize, even with the elite, that would suit him fine.

“You’re making this too complicated!” Isabelle laughs under the assumption that Kurt is joking. “It’s just an Easter egg hunt, Kurt!”

“We usually confine our egg hunting to our house, maybe the front porch,” Sebastian says.

“Yeah. Besides, tromping through the grass in search of hard boiled eggs isn’t the way my father and I spent Easter.”

“How did you spend Easter?” Isabelle asks, realizing that after knowing Kurt for over a decade, she has no clue.

“The way many a well-rounded, musical theater inclined child did. I watched Brigadoon on AMC.”

Sebastian side-eyes his husband with a scowl that makes Isabelle snicker. “How in the hell did you and I ever get together?”

“You decided to stop being a royal idiot about pretty much everything in your life and do something smart for once.”

Isabelle guffaws so loudly at that, Hepburn’s ears prick up.

“Wow …” Sebastian says, mouth agape. “I … don’t know how to respond to that.”

“A simple you’re absolutely right, love of my life, I will never doubt your incredible wisdom in all things again will suffice.”

“Not the direction I was going to go, but okay. As long as it gets me some ass after this is over with.”

Kurt elbows his husband.

Isabelle snorts. “Come on, guys! Let’s enjoy ourselves! It’s a beautiful day! The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and I think the Easter bunny just arrived!”

“The Easter bunny!?” Thomas pipes up from his seat in the grass. “Where?”

Sebastian, Kurt, and Thomas take a gander at the festivities around them heralding the soon-to-be start of the egg hunt. Indeed, the Easter bunny had arrived. But this was not your average, human-sized, department store cottontail dressed in a pastel vest and straw top hat, carrying a basket of colorful, candy-filled plastic eggs. This Easter bunny is easily seven feet tall, dressed in what could only be described as a vintage suit of aubergine brocade with matching purple top hat; a tall, white plume tucked inside the olive green hat band; a gold monocle over his left eye; carrying a hand-carved mahogany walking stick in one hand, and a Moses basket in the other, filled to bursting with eggs, jelly beans, foil-wrapped chocolates, and trinkets and tidbits that catch the light and twinkle like gemstones. He’s surrounded by an entourage of handlers, each wearing an outfit to complement the bunny’s own and carrying baskets of the same treats to hand out to the kids. The bunny and his team walk the perimeter of the field, and a parade forms behind him – adorable little boys and girls bedecked in their Sunday best, dresses and suits that Kurt saw advertised in Vogue for close to four figures. But some of them are dressed in honest to God athletic wear.

Those boys and girls look downright intimidating.

“I don’t know.” Kurt eyes five children dressed in matching track suits and running shoes. “Some of the people here look awfully competitive.”

“That’s an understatement,” Sebastian adds. Back in his day, the kids and parents were competitive as fuck. But this – this is on a whole other level.

“Of course they are! The prizes here are outstanding! Last year, they hid a $10,000 Tiffany engagement ring in one of the eggs!”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up so far, they disappear somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline. “Really?”

“Sounds about right,” Sebastian mutters, shivering with the memory of having his hand stepped on by no less than three pairs of dress shoes in an effort to reach a particularly difficult to get at egg. All the kids knew that the farther the lie, the better the prize. That was something the organizers of the egg hunt used to sing as they released the children, like hounds, to sniff out the treats.

He suddenly feels queasy, stomach acids sloshing left to right as he shoves that little ditty aside. But even with it pushed out of the way, he can’t help feeling sick.

Why were they there again?

“They go all out - luxury vacations, spa packages, theater tickets … but don’t worry,” Isabelle says when she notices how pale Sebastian has become. “The emphasis here is on fun.”

“Do they know that?” Kurt asks, motioning with his chin towards a nearby family dressed entirely in Under Armour from The Rock’s latest collection – mother, father, and their five-year-old daughter staring down Thomas like a lion stares down an easy meal.

Under Armour – proud sponsor of Easter and good-natured family fun, Kurt thinks spitefully. He wonders if Isabelle has the same thought as she quickly pulls out her iPhone and starts snapping some pics.

Their attentions are directed upward by the sound of a helicopter arriving, circling the area above their heads.

“Okay, why is that here?” Kurt asks. It’d be easy to assume it’s paparazzi, but there isn’t supposed to be any here. That’s part of the appeal. There are guards posted everywhere to ensure the privacy of the families participating. But they can’t be everywhere at once. It’s possible one or two might get through.

“It’s here to drop more eggs from above! Those are the ones people really go for. Some of them are made out of solid gold!” Isabelle explains, nearly drooling after the words solid gold.

“What the---? That’s insane! Even my parents’ country club never went that far!” Sebastian envisions something the size of a chicken egg made of gold plummeting from the sky and smacking him on the head. That would definitely leave a dent in his skull, at the very least.

Could he survive that impact?

“Ouch!” Kurt kneels beside his son and covers his head protectively while keeping an eye on the sky. “Isn’t this a little excessive? I mean, we have the money to go to whatever spa we want. That’s one of the perks of being rich.”

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen!” Sebastian says, pointing towards the sky. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember signing a waiver!” He joins his husband, son, and Hepburn, hovering over them in an effort to protect them all when he swears he hears the copter swoop down. “What kid needs a Tiffany engagement ring anyway? This sounds like it’s going to turn into a blood bath!” He meets Kurt’s gaze, his husband’s eyes wide, unsure what to do about this, about this mess he’s gotten them into. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“No!” Isabelle pleads. “Just … give it a few minutes! Please? An hour at the most? I promise we’ll have fun! I’ve been looking forward to getting you out here for this Easter egg hunt ever since I found out you’d adopted Thomas!”

Kurt shakes his head slowly. He is here for work, but that shouldn’t include putting his life, and the lives of his family, in danger! Isabelle is his friend. She won’t make him stay if they’re uncomfortable, especially considering Thomas’s history of anxiety. But there’s a look in her eyes he hasn’t seen before. Not crazy, per se, but slightly unhinged? But not in a bad way? “I don’t know …”

“We’re at a big, private park. There’s a playground and a lake not too far from here. If you don’t like the Easter egg hunt, we can go over there and Thomas can play. But can we give this a try first? Please?”

Kurt looks from a worried Sebastian, awkwardly shielding their heads, to Hepburn, instinctively on alert, back to Isabelle, and sighs. Isabelle means well. She’s from a wealthy family in Columbus, so she probably went to egg hunts like this one, same as Sebastian. Perhaps her experiences were better. With no kids of her own, she probably tries to strong arm all the employees with kids to come to this thing so she can relive her childhood.

Looking at the expression on her face, she seems nothing if not sincere.

In the end, for Kurt, it’s all about Thomas. And his son - playing in the grass, singing a song about the Easter bunny that he learned in school, without a care in the world - seems to be enjoying himself so far.

They’re already here. They drove for hours to get here. And it is a stunning location. They can stick it out for a while, collect a few eggs, dodge the helicopter, grab some punch and cookies over at the refreshment table, and then retire to the playground. They brought Hepburn’s toys with them. They can tire Thomas and his dog out in one fell swoop. It’ll be fine. It might even be fun.

If anything, the pictures will be precious.

“Alright,” Kurt says, feeling the weight of his husband deflating a bit in defeat. He knows that Sebastian was hoping this was their out, and on any given day, falling solid gold projectiles would be. But Kurt is in the unfortunate position of having to juggle the feelings of multiple people that he loves. “We’ll give it an hour.”

“Yay!” Isabelle says. “That’s all I ask.”

“But after that …”

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Lads and lasses! Step right up to the starting line! The 53rd Annual Hampton Bay Easter Egg Hunt is about to begin!”

“Starting line?” Sebastian repeats, looking left and right. “What starting line?”

Kurt looks around, too, in confusion. Starting line? He doesn’t remember seeing anything marked starting line. There was only the rope boundary and …

Uh oh …

While they’d been discussing staying or going, they hadn’t noticed that the parade of kids and parents following the Easter bunny had circled round and stopped about a hundred feet away … right where the rope Kurt, Sebastian, Thomas, and Hepburn passed to get in had been set up. There they stood – a mob of adults and children lined up in starting positions, brows furrowed in deep concentration, ready to charge, like a re-enactment of The Hunger Games if the eccentrically dressed inhabitants of the Capitol City were the ones on the attack.

Sebastian, Kurt, Thomas, and Isabelle didn’t know.

Nobody told them.

Nobody warned them.

Nobody seemed to care that they were sitting in the grass, dead center, in the way.

“On your marks …”

“Daddy …” Thomas grabs his father’s hand in both of his and squeezes tight.

“… get set …”

“No, no, no, no …” Sebastian springs to his feet, gearing up to drag the lot of them off the field before the announcer can get to Go!

But he never does.

And not because he’s waiting for them to vacate the field. (Who knows if the man even sees them?) But because the start of the hunt is proclaimed by a gun shot.

The sharp pop hits the air.

After that, the roar of hundreds of feet hitting the ground, along with the frantic screaming of children, is deafening. At the same time, the helicopter above releases its bounty. Plastic eggs rain down around them, exploding on contact, spreading chocolate shrapnel within a foot of where they land. One hits Sebastian on the top of his head.

“Ow! God!” he wails, rubbing an already forming bump with his fingers. He doesn’t know what the heck was inside that thing, but his head begins to throb.

No way is he going to stay there if something made of solid gold is headed his way.

“Run!” Sebastian says, pulling his husband to his feet and getting pelted by another plastic egg in the process. He sees this one where it lands, spraying jelly beans left and right, and he starts laughing.

“Sebastian!” Kurt cries. Hepburn barks once in warning and yanks Thomas the shortest distance across the field. Kurt covers the boy’s head with his jacket and bolts, leaving Sebastian behind in a mad dash for their car. “Sebastian! For God’s sake! Hurry up!”

Sebastian runs to catch up, but three steps in, a featureless gold blur hits the ground hard, and his foot gets caught in the hole it makes. He falls to his knees, laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all. Spoiled little rich kid with daddy issues. That’s what Kurt had called him once back in high school – back when they hated one another. Little did Kurt know how close to the mark that comment hit, or how deeply the already scarred over wounds went. But the reason Kurt didn’t know, not for a long time, is because Sebastian had worked so hard to hide them, run away from them. He was going to grow up better than his upbringing. He was going to become a successful person, a successful parent, whether his own parents were proud of him or not. But all the things they did to break him down - Sebastian didn’t find a way to get rid of them. He simply carried them with him. And here he was – a husband and a father, scared of an Easter egg hunt! Granted, he was in very real danger of ending up with a concussion, but fuck the rest!

Isabelle was right! It’s a beautiful day! And regardless of the greedy horde about to trample him into the dirt, he was going to have the best day ever because he’s surrounded by people he loves!

People who will mourn him when he’s gone.

“Raise our son well, Kurt!” he chokes out over the howl of the raging onslaught. “And remember, I always loved you! Well, ninety-three percent of the time!”

Kurt turns to see his husband, red-faced with laughter, swallowed by the crowd, and despite being concerned for his safety, he can’t help laughing, too. He knows that in a few minutes the crowd will pass, and Sebastian will emerge the way he always does – cocky as hell, obnoxiously triumphant, and probably with a dozen of those golden eggs Isabelle was fiending over. “You’re a good man, Sebastian Smythe! You shall be missed!”

[lykegenia]

The Things We Hide Ch. 6

he Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 Masterpost here

Words: 2001 Pairing: Zuko x Katara Chapter Summary: Tensions mount in the city as Katara and Zuko plan their next move.

Read it on AO3

Katara,

Forget Otter-Penguin Guy, you’re the crazy one. Of course I’m worried about you, but WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? I know you can hold your drink, but really, taking on that much Fire Nation rice wine would have killed most people. You must have woken up with the worst hangover, and serve you right.

Try to remember that you’re representing all of us. It’s all fun and games when you’re in that fancy house they’ve given you, but the Fire Nation will find any excuse to call us savages, and if they catch you letting loose, then we’ll all be hooked fish. Just be careful alright? Don’t make me come over there. You know how grouchy fishermen get when their catch gets interrupted, and I’m going to tell them it’s your fault.

Stay safe

Mimi

Katara looked up from the hastily scribbled letter and sighed. She reclined under the shade of the lantern tree by the pond, the writing table next to her laden with writs on Fire Nation folk stories and literature about the Spirit World. Hearing of her interest in the subject, the Fire Lady had sent many of the scrolls from her own personal collection, though few of them contained the subject she was really interested in. The Blue Spirit proved as elusive on paper as in the streets of the Caldera.

The letter from Mimi had arrived in the message satchel of a snow raven, which now sat in the upper branches of the lantern tree preening its pale feathers. She had torn into it immediately. Despite the chastising tone, the concern that shone through the messy characters tugged at the deep well of homesickness that had become a constant companion in the past few days. Grief for the lost members of her family piled on memories of her home, her mind flashing between the brilliance of the citadel in her childhood and the burnt out shell to which the Fire Lord had reduced it. Most of all, however, she ached for the feeling of water at her fingertips, sometimes so much it woke her clammy in the middle of the night, choked by her inability to feel the presence of her element. The only water in the Fire Nation pooled deep beneath the earth or had to be wrung from the air one droplet at a time.

Realising the cause of her distress, one of the friendlier guards had assured her that the increasing humidity over the past week was a sure sign the rains were due.

“And to be invited to the Fire Lord’s garden party, what an honour!” he had added. “There’ll be music, and a play, and all sorts of treats set out for you to eat. Not to mention any number of young noblemen who would love to get the chance to know you better. My Chiziro thinks highly of a certain Ruon-Jian, if I recall correctly.”

Katara smiled as she remembered the older man’s rambling. Though she knew the troop of Fire Nation guards had been placed around her residence in an attempt to keep her locked away, it became harder every day to remember they were the enemy, and not just men with stories and baby portraits and curious party tricks who were only doing their jobs.

The sooner their charade could end, the happier she would be.

In the ornate settings of the Fire Palace’s royal wing, Zuko was feeling similar trepidation, though not for the same reasons. He had received a summons.

Surreptitiously trying to adjust his collar and avoid tripping over his own feet, he followed his father’s secretary through the maze of bright, airy corridors that were the private domain of the Fire Lord. When not holding court or training with firebending instructors in the gymnasium, Ozai preferred to sit and contemplate the view of the ocean from his private terrace. From here, he could imagine the lands on foreign shores falling under Fire Nation conquest and the wealth his soldiers would bring on their return, and he could pretend his rule as boundless and bountiful as the azure waters.

“His Majesty’s mood is calm today, Prince Zuko,” the herald stated as they approached the last partition. “Try not to ruin it.”

Zuko nodded his thanks as the herald scurried away, squaring his shoulders as he faced up to the door, determined not to be lulled into a false sense of security. The Fire Lord being ‘calm’ never meant much. The man took delight in being unpredictable, the better to keep his ministers on their toes and in fear of him, and it had taken Zuko a long time to realise just how calculated his father’s outbursts were.

“I am told that the harbour master is already organising a workforce to reopen the port,” Ozai barked, before Zuko could even open his mouth to offer a greeting. “How soon do you estimate the wreckage will be moved?”

At least the discussion of official reports could be considered neutral ground. Zuko crossed the room to where his father knelt by the bonsai, pruning shears in hand, taking as much time as he dared to perform the proper obeisance. He let his eyes linger on the thin, shadowed line that cut across Ozai’s left cheek, a scar received during the Southern conquest. Some might have considered it a battle trophy, others an attractive addition to an otherwise flawless face, but Zuko knew the Fire Lord himself detested it as a sign of weakness, a reminder that even at the height of his powers with Sozin’s Comet fuelling his fire, he was still a creature of flesh and blood, capable of bleeding. It was a shame the waterbender who had struck the blow had lost their life for the honour.

“The two fetched up on the walls can be salvaged within a week, though the damage to the port wall will make this more difficult,” Zuko said, lifting his head from his koutou. “There is still some confusion about how to reach the Yakaze.”

The Fire Lord’s mouth twitched. “There are ships waiting to be resupplied.”

“The labour crews are working as fast as they can, and I have redirected the most urgent cases to other ports. Aside from the loss of the troop ships themselves, our plans for the Earth Kingdom have not been affected.”

His fingers curled as he waited for his father’s response, intimidated by the silence despite his attempts to remain calm. Details from reports flashed through his mind as he tried to anticipate what information he would need to counter whatever was said next, determined not to make a fool of himself as he so often seemed to do.

Of course, that attitude failed to take into account Ozai’s desire to make his son feel foolish.

“How was this act of sabotage permitted to happen?” the Fire Lord asked eventually, his gaze idly fixed on the bonsai in front of him. He found a leaf out of place and snipped it off with his scissors. “It was clearly the work of some barbarian malcontent, and if the culprit is not found, others will become bolder. Decisive action must be taken. An example must be made, Zuko, and quickly.”

Enough decisive actions had been announced in the war room for Zuko to understand the Fire Lord’s meaning. A nation that kept control of its citizens through fear could not afford the visage of absolute power to slip even for a second, and if it took a less than honest application of the law to reaffirm that power, then it must be done for the greater good of all. Anarchy led to riots in the streets. Anarchy had killed General Iroh.

“I understand, Father,” Zuko said, touching his head back to the floor, his face carefully blank.

Ozai clipped another stray leaf from his bonsai. “What precautions are being taken?”

The Crown Prince straightened. In this, at least, he could impress. “An embargo has been placed on all foreign ships at anchor in the capital,” he stated. “In addition, until further notice the city guard is checking everyone entering and leaving the city.”

“Perhaps you are not completely useless, then,” came the offhand reply. “I will be watching your progress closely, Zuko.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Azula believes you are not equal to this responsibility, but I have vouched for you. For your own sake, I hope you find the motivation to prove your sister wrong.”

Zuko swallowed. “Yes, Father.”

“You are dismissed.”

Back in his room, Zuko allowed himself to breathe. In some ways, it was worse when the Fire Lord was calm – anger he knew how to deal with, it was straightforward and could be deflected with submission and flattery, but soft words were intended to trip, and Zuko had always been poor at recognising when he was falling into a trap. He always worried that his activities as the Blue Spirit had been found out, and someone was only waiting for an accidental confession to clap him in irons and haul him out for public execution.

He turned his gaze to the antique liangdao hanging above his bed. It wasn’t the set he took out with him – they were far too brittle – but they were strong enough to hone his resolve whenever he faltered. One of the blades had obtained a scratch from some long forgotten war, and every time it caught the light it reminded him of the glare of the man who had spurred him to take up the mask in the first place. He could still recall the moment Jeong Jeong had appeared before Ozai, his back straight as he stood condemned to death. The Fire Lord had been sharp as lightning, but it was nothing against the disdain curling the old general’s lip.

What would he think now, if he could see what the Crown Prince had become? When he had broken into the prison to help Jeong Jeong’s escape, prickled into action by guilt and a perverse desire to make his father look the fool, he had expected gratitude. Instead, when the self-professed traitor had caught sight of Zuko’s face, what he received was censure.

“All this effort on one man, and what do you do for your people?” he had demanded. “What does it feel like to sit in summer gardens and eat chilled fruits while you sacrifice legions of loyal soldiers for a few small gains? I am not the one who needs your help – the ones whom you betrayed are out there, dying in your war and your factories, begging on your streets.”

The words had struck Zuko like nothing else. Before, he had kept his head down, avoiding his father’s ire like any other of his subjects, glad when his gaze fell on someone less fortunate. Kept from the ordinary citizens, he had also been kept from seeing the cracks in a system that used people like tools and then abandoned them when they wore down, or so he had told himself.

And then, under the thrill of the mask, he had seen the true suffering of the people, realised he had seen it all along and done nothing because it was easier, because, trapped under Ozai’s thumb, he was powerless to create change. Jeong Jeong had dared him to do better, so at night he became the Blue Spirit, a demon of chaos straight out of his bedtime stories, a creature of shadows who even in a few short months had become a symbol of hope and an object of fear.

Zuko ran a finger down the flat of the blade on his wall. Since the attack, the stakes of his game had risen impossibly high; the Fire Lord was out for a scapegoat, and the Blue Spirit was a nuisance – one who just happened to have been seen at the scene of the crime by an entire platoon of witnesses.

He would have to find the real saboteur before the city guard found him.

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[invisibletoallbutfaeries]

Catching the Stag

Family Focus: The O'Malley’s

Word Count: 4,335

Page count: 13 Pages

Brief: Branwen has seen a vision of a great silver stag, but she may have misinterpreted her vision. Consequences lead her and her little brother into a dangerous situation.

    Branwen walked along the inner edge of the forest with her little brother and their dog. They were within the first line of trees, far enough inside the forest that they could only see trees on either side, but close enough to the edge that they could hear the bubbling and rushing of the river that lay just beyond it, dividing this section of the forest from the village. Bran kept his hand on the back of their dog, Prayer’s, neck, the golden hound looking about and on high alert to protect her young wards. Branwen didn’t pay too much attention to the two as she was looking from side to side, both in search of something and lost in her own thoughts.

The Fae had been bugging their farm again. Her father had said he’d gone outside this morning to find pixies attempting to milk the yale, but since they were the size of a thimble all they’d managed to do was hang on and roughly pull on the udders, causing all the does to freak out, some almost kicking each other and some almost spearing each other with their twisting antlers. They’d needed to re-fortify the farmstead again, leaving a bucket of milk from the previous day out for the pixies to occupy themselves with while their mother made an iron fence and their father worked to calm the yale and spread a thick line of salt around the area to keep the Fae out and dissuaded from attacking their animals again. Due to the fragile peace between the village and the Fae they didn’t want to risk harming any past the protection of an iron fence. To harm a pixie could potentially lead to a more powerful Fae getting angry, something they didn’t want to try. The two who dealt with the more powerful Fae had tried to explain their hierarchy and rules to everyone before, but no one could really wrap their head around it. All they knew was that they didn’t want to threaten them with anything besides stationary protection. Iron at least hurt Fae if they got too close, as they Fae were more magic than anything and iron absorbed magic.

Their parents had sent Bran and Branwen out of the farmstead for the day. With how riled up the Yale were their father didn’t want them to risk getting hurt by trying to do their normal chores. He had a way of calming the Yale, a talent neither child shared, and it would be more detrimental to both the herd and his children if they were to get too close to the pens. Their mother wanted to finish her fence forging early, so she’d sent the children out with Prayer.

They had decided to walk in the forest. Or more so, Branwen decided to walk the forest's edge. Technically they weren’t allowed in the forest, too many horrible events had happened there less than a year ago. Now that they knew the Fae existed due to those events, their parents had decided that they didn’t want to test fate and banned their children from ever entering the forest. It was the Fae’s domain.

Branwen had had a vision as they left the farm though. She hadn’t seen much, but she had made out trees and what looked like a glowing silver Yale stag. From the brightness she guessed it must be important, and perhaps an answer to their Faerie problems. There was a weary feeling surrounding the vision as well, and she decided that it must mean that intruders and fae would be weary of the silver yale. Maybe it had more magic, could do more than just swivel it's antlers around like the others, and could protect the herd. She wanted to find it and find out, she’d prove herself a grand adult if she did. Bran was nervous being even this far into the forest, keeping very close to Prayer. Enough so that both dog and boy had trouble not tripping over each other.

    Branwen had been told to keep an eye on Bran, hence why she brought him with her on her stag hunt, but Prayer was required to come with them as well. In the end Branwen wasn’t the only one watching her little brother. Which meant that Prayer was the actual protection for them both, despite their parents thinking they were just playing in town. Prayer had been trained for both hunting and guarding in the four months they’d had her, and Branwen didn’t need to guess which mode she’d been instructed to be in with the children. It may come in handy with hunting the silver stag though, especially since Branwen had no experience or training herself in that area. She hoped she could just point and yell and Prayer would do the majority of the work for her.

It made her frustrated. Chronologically she should be 28 by now, but during their last trip back to Earth her pediatrician had stated she was physically 13 at the most. A pediatrician! Her mother hadn’t even bothered getting her a regular doctor in the first place! For some reason Gaia slowed down her aging, and while it could be nice when she eventually turned 100 and was still young looking, she didn’t like the fact that people currently looked at her like she was a child.

Even if she was physically 13 though, that still meant she was practically an adult and could handle a mundane task like making sure her brother didn’t get carted off by pixies! She might not have had her period yet, but her mother said it would come eventually, and it didn’t matter. She was still an adult and felt slighted that their parents had sent their dog to keep an eye on them both. She didn’t need Prayer to help her babysit, or to babysit her. It's not like the older teenage girls had to deal with this, they were even allowed to live by themselves sometimes.

    “Whinny.” Bran tugged at the sleeve of her jacket. Branwen didn’t pay attention, barely hearing her little brother.

    Why couldn’t her parents just trust her? She could handle bigger chores or things more important than just watching Bran. She was a Seer, maybe if she learned how to control her power better she could make a little business? She usually saw horrific things to come, but she could try nicer fortune tellings instead, see if she could steer her sight that direction.

    “Hey, Whinny.” Another tug at her sleeve and once again she ignored it.

    Bran rarely listened to her, it was so annoying watching her little brother. She’d only managed to convince Bran to enter the forest anyway on the basis of collecting autumn leaves. Branwen didn’t want to get caught doing such a kiddie task like babysitting. If she really could find this stag, maybe it would impress her parents enough to start treating her more like an adult. They’d owe her, she’d have done something big and important and would get the recognition she deserved. Maybe they’d even trust her with more important tasks than babysitting.

    “Whinny!”

    “What?” she snapped, upset he was dragging her away from her thoughts. At least, until she walked into a tree. The shock of it caused her to stumble backwards, a hand flying to her forehead as she landed on her bum. She’d walked smack dab into a very low but thick branch and she was sure her head might have a mark now as red as her hair. Her brother just laughed, arms going to his stomach as his own copper hair fell in his face.

    “I tried to warn you! You gotta learn to think and walk Whinny,” he laughed as he held his stomach and tried to remain standing.

Prayer walked up, poking at Branwen’s head with her long snout and licking it to make sure she was ok. The teenager just grumbled under her breath.

    “Bran-”

    “Don’t do that!” He suddenly wasn’t laughing and was looking at her terrified, eyes darting back and forth after a bit like he expected something to pop out. “No real names in the forest! Or the Faeries will try to steal our souls!”

    Branwen sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping dramatically before she rolled her head to give an incredulous look to her brother. She raised a hand to pet Prayer’s head, the dog now trying to make sure her human’s neck was ok from the dramatic action. “They just order you around and can bypass free will for a bit, they don’t steal your souls.”

    “It might as well be the same thing!”

    “It is not,” she scoffed. “Branny boy.”

He scowled at her, hating being called that and how no one started calling him “Brain” like he’d originally wanted for his nickname. “By the way, don’t call me Whinny,” she added as she stood up. She didn’t use the tree as support though, the dryads gave her the creeps.

    “Why not? It makes sense.”

    “It makes it sound like my name is Winifred or something, and that name is so old.” She scowled again as they resumed their walk, brushing off the seat of her shorts and her knees. “I’m a young adult, not an old lady.”

    “You’re a kid, and what are you talking about?” Branwen glared at him, both daring him to explain himself and warning him to tread carefully with whatever anger her long freckled face and brown eyes could master. “We’re both named from the same old story right?”

She nodded.

“That’s a super old one. The name Winifred didn’t even exist. You have an old dinosaur granny name.” And there he went. A short growl erupted from the elder as the younger realized what he said and started laughing. Bran continued taunting his sister by calling her “Whinny, Whinny, the old Dino Bitty!”

Branwen almost jumped on him to make him stop until she heard a loud snort behind her. Turning around she spotted a beautiful giant silver stag, almost sparkling more than it glowed. Her vision was real, the stag existed. Now she just need to catch it. As Bran ran to grab her arm she pointed at the stag and yelled, “Prayer, so get it!”

Bran grabbed her arm, yelling at her not to trust what she saw. “I’ve never seen a silver stag, we should just leave! It’s too pretty to be real!”

Prayer simply sniffed the air before sneezing and shaking her head. The dog looked up at Branwen with big brown eyes, seemingly confused by her orders.

“It is real, it’s right in front of us!” Branwen argued before she shook Bran off of her arm. “Prayer, go get it, herd the stag back home!” Wasn’t that how hunting went? Either kill or herd? She was pretty sure it was the right order. Prayer did not seem to agree as she only walked as far as to stand between the children and the stag, facing the animal but with her ears fixed on her humans.

Branwen scoffed, apparently no one was listening to her today. She ran up to the stag instead, deciding she would capture it herself and prove her brother wrong when she brought it home.  Said stag simply snorted and pawed the ground before turning and galloping away.

“Wait!” Branwen called after it, trying to run faster to catch up. The stag seemed to stop every so often, looking back at her until she almost caught up and then running away again. She didn’t notice that it was leading her deeper into the forest, or how Prayer and Bran were running to keep up with her, the ladder yelling at her to stop and go back to the tree line. She didn’t notice anything beginning to join her pursuit in the next tree line either.

    After a while of running Branwen wondered if the stag was messing with her. When she saw it standing still, no longer watching her and looking at something else in the forest, her hopes of catching it rose.

“Caught you!” she cheered as closed in on it, at least until something jumped out of the bushes at to attack the stag. The silver Yale stag suddenly disappeared in a cloud of glitter and smoke, a small silver pixie darting out of it and hanging back only a few seconds, looking between the cloud and Branwen, before flying off. Branwen was breathing heavily and worked on catching her breath before she registered that something was wrong. Bran caught up to her but was suddenly standing too still, a hand clasping her sleeve much too tightly. Prayer got in front of the two of them, her shoulders dropping as she began snarling.

As the smoke cleared it revealed what had attacked the pixie-yale. It looked like a tiny, shriveled old man in rags and with very long ears. Its eyes were a deep yellow color, and the rag wrapping its spotted head looked like it was crusting with something red, some of it dripping. The drips coming from the rag didn’t fully look like a liquid and were a disturbing shade of dark, brownish red. The creature noticed them, moving a shriveled little hand with long, sharp, claw-like nails to grip a tree as a wide grin spread across half its face. The grin was full of sharp, yellow, rotting teeth and seemed to bring out more of the yellow in its eyes. It was a redcap, a dark Faerie. One that tortured or killed its victims and survived off of keeping them around as blood banks to dip its hat into. She’d heard of them, but she’d never seen one before.

Branwen flung an arm out in front of Bran, pushing him behind her protectively even as she felt her knees shake, her head swim, and a lump lodge in her throat in place of a scream. As the redcap took a step closer, a familiar and unwelcome feeling overtook Branwen.

She felt her body go weightless and her vision blur with streaks of white and black criss crossing into it. Soon it felt like someone smacked her in the back of the head with a shovel before her vision became completely black. Before she could scream “NO!” a vision had overtaken her.

Her vision swam in black until she felt herself seem to shrink, her vision slowly coming back and widening almost like she was inside of a fish bowl. Before her the village was burning. People were running, screaming, monsters she’d never seen before were banging on doors, ripping people from their homes, and slaughtering people and Fae alike. Some used their long fingernails, some shorter nails that they dug into their victims, and others even their teeth. The creatures even varied, some looking beautiful but with bat like wings, others gruesome with big eyes and long, blade-like fingers, and some more animal than human. There was a scream louder than the others, though it sounded far off and echoed in her ears. As she looked up she heard a voice that wasn’t her own snicker, louder than both the echoing scream and the screams of the villagers. Her visions usually made her witness the future through the eyes of the subject, apparently this one was through the eyes of the redcap. It felt far off, maybe a year or so.

Next to her/the redcap was one of the bladed beings, with a long narrow face, large eyes, sharp fangs, and a demeanor that appeared as if a rail was rammed down it's back with how straight it stood. The being looked down at the snickering redcap with red rimmed, black eyes. Its small, fang filled mouth was grimacing. It lifted a scrawny, vein filled hand and before the redcap could protest in shock, one of it's long nails sliced through the its head. The vision was thrown into a field of red as a splitting headache began from the side of Branwen’s head, slicing through her as the nail sliced through the redcap’s skull. The vision began to change again though as she felt a burning sensation form in her leg. A new vision, one that felt as if it were pulling her back in time.

Everything began to swirl into black and red and she felt like a song being rewound from the end to the beginning before she felt a pressure on her shoulder and stomach, faint pressure on her face, and the echoing scream became louder. As if it were right next to her rather than far away. She was seeing the present suddenly, but was still in the redcap’s perspective as it looked down to see an iron screw in its leg. It looked back up and snarled as a shadowy black figure ran up to it, strange figures floating around them and what looked like black snakes coming from its head. Barks sounded from the side and it turned to see two hounds. One was golden and one as dark as shadows, but both were growling and snapping at it. The shadow lunged and grabbed her-the redcap’s arm, ripping it from the socket as the redcap screamed, only for the golden one to lunge and clamp its jaws around the malevolent Faerie’s throat. Both hounds were growling in anger the whole time.

As the creature died Branwen felt herself suddenly pulled out of it and into herself, trying to keep her balance as she almost felt her consciousness collide with her body. When she regained control of her senses, she found that she was the source of the scream, her throat burning and her ears ringing. As she feebly cut her scream off, she looked down to find her brother huddled against her belly as she sat on her knees, Bran hugging her for protection. The pressure on her shoulder was coming from someone else holding her. Looking up she found the village herbalist holding both her and her brother, a stern look on her face. Through Kyra’s dark red and brown hair she suddenly looked much harder and her face had more sharpness to it than Branwen had ever seen before in the clumsy herbalist. Her eyes seemed almost sharper as well, despite the steel grey they usually were being replaced by green. An eerie green: the color of moss and vines that reclaim old ruins and forests. Above them was a shield of roots and tree branches, Branwen realizing Kyra must have used her own powers to create it. Behind them were dryads with their branch like arms outstretched. Branwen still felt uncomfortable being in close proximity to the too-thin, androgynous beings. Especially with their large, hollow eyes, despite those eyes being fixed on Kyra and looking to the herbalist for instruction.

The pressure on her face was Branwen’s own hands, probably a fear reaction. She’d done that when she’d seen people’s deaths before. Outside of the root protection she heard a sickening gurgling sound, the sound of the redcap dying with its throat ripped out.

“It’s done,” she heard a familiar voice call out from the outside, which triggered Kyra to let go of the children and stand. She looked up and in an oddly sharp voice demanded “Move out of the way.” There was the sound of shuffling feet and canine paws prancing about, some crunching of autumn leaves. Kyra’s hand shot up, the roots following suit, and when she brought it down the roots came down as well. Hard. The tree roots slammed down back into the ground, Branwen barely glancing a foot and a small wrinkled hand that once belonged to the redcap poking out before being dragged down into the earth by the roots. Once all was settled, it was quiet. For a moment.

Prayer was running up to her owners soon enough, some blood still on her muzzle, but the majority had been licked off by the black hound with the others. Prayer began to sniff, poke, and lick at her owners to comfort them, Bran soon moving from clinging to his older sister to hugging his dogs neck. Prayer began to lift her paw up and down against his back.

Branwen realized the black dog must be Kyra’s hound, recognizing him soon enough as it began to rub its muzzle to clean itself and its face became more stoic rather than the growling and teeth baring from earlier. Her eyes shot to the other figure, only to find the town innkeeper Christo. He was wearing black and muted colors, hence why he must have looked like a shadow in the vision, and the snakes were just the long intricate braids in his hair. The floating objects looked like machine parts, which -as things calmed- began to move around, putting themselves together and sometimes taking some parts out. They looked to be missing something, It must have been the screw that flew into the redcap’s leg in her vision.  

“Are you guys ok?” Christo broke the silence as he approached the children, his thick cajun accent making his words difficult for the frazzled Branwen to process immediately. Kyra patted them both on the head and offered a reassuring smile before she began to walk around the tiny clearing, maybe making sure there weren’t any other Fae about. As she checked her head flew from one side to the other rapidly in quick glances in each direction, the dryads going back into their respective trees whenever Kyra neared them.

Tears welled up in Branwen’s eyes as everything began to settle and crash into her at once. She’d been complaining about not being treated like an adult, about how boring it was to watch Bran, yet her powers as a seer made her useless to protect her baby brother when it was needed. She hadn’t even realized the yale in her vision and the yale in real life were both Faeries, not real yale. It was a warning rather than a way to prove herself.  If they didn’t have help-

She didn’t want to think about what would have happened. Now her brother was scared, something she’d told herself over a year ago she’d avoid happening again. Her throat was raw and hurting from her screams, and she felt like a small child in a world of danger. Before she could stop it the flood gates began to open. Her nose was runny and her shoulders shaking as she covered her face in her hands and cried in fright. She felt an arm wrap around her and heard soft shushing noises. Soon enough she felt her brother leaning against her as Christo hugged the both of them to help calm them down.

“I shoulda done something,” she heard Bran whisper. “I shoulda protected Whinny,” he sniffed, burrowing himself into both Christo and Branwen’s shoulders.

“I’m the oldest though,” Branwen choked out, apparently not quite ready to speak yet.

Christo shooshed them again, rubbing their backs. “You two froze, it's understandable. Calm down chers, come on now, it's all alright now, shhhh.” After a while of this a hand softly placed itself on Branwen’s back. She looked up to see Kyra sitting there, her eyes having turned back to grey, and a soft look on her face.

“Hey, we’re clear now, but we should get back. Do you wanna stop at Christo’s inn and drink some tea before going home?” Branwen weakly nodded. She didn’t want her parents to know what had happened yet. She felt too guilty for convincing Bran to go to the forest and then letting themselves get so far into the forest. For not protecting her brother. “Ok, and we’ll see if the cat’ll comfort you too, he can be pretty nice.”

Branwen couldn’t help but scoff, thinking of Christo’s very grumpy faced cat trying to be sweet and comforting. With a pat on the children’s backs everyone stood, Prayer walking up to them and the black hound going back to his owner. Branwen caught Kyra picking up a basket filled with odd flowers, herbs, and fruits from around the area out of the corner of her eye, realizing she and Christo may have been out getting these when they stumbled upon her and Bran. They were lucky. While she could concede that she was not an adult yet, she was glad that some adults were nearby enough to help. She herself would need to learn to control her powers to best become an adult, and to not take watching her brother as lightly as she had been.

As she followed the adults, she began to go into a sulk as she realized her own powerlessness. She didn’t notice Christo looking at her and trying to crane his neck to see her face. “Hey, you know that people buddy up here cause we all freeze, right?”

Branwen’s head jerked up, both confused and upset he’d mentioned their freezing again. Christo chuckled. “That’s why I was here anyway, Kyra used to be super weak on Earth, so I got used to watching out for her when we were kids. Don’t see why I should stop now that there’s a bunch of odd monsters in this forest, what if she freezes? What if she forgot the dog?” Branwen thought about this for a moment, looking around until she saw said herbalist stopping briefly to accept a flower from a dryad at the edge of the forest and then hurrying by, chiding another dryad that tried to grab at her about how she didn’t have time to play. She seemed very trusting of the beings, maybe too much so. Maybe Christo had a point. Even adults might need other adults to keep them safe, like he said Kyra needed him. Or maybe Branwen was just biased. Or maybe Kyra just knew how to tell if a dryad or Fae meant her harm or not. Branwen wasn’t totally sure.

[naruto-oc-critiques]

Haruka Inuzuka

This character is a more reworked version of an older character I made a long time ago, so I don’t quite have all the history worked out yet. But I’d love a review and some suggestions for what I have so far. 

Name: Haruka (Meaning clear weather combined with fragrance) Inuzuka

Gender: Female

Age: 12

Time set in: Pre Shippuden

Birthplace: Konohagakure

Lives in: Konoha

Appearance: Haruka is around 5 feet and 2 inches tall, and 125 lbs. Her hair is a light brown color and reaches down to a little past her shoulders, with some loose bangs hanging over her forehead. She ties it back with a simple hairband, making a small, messy ponytail. Her eyes are dark brown, though this isn’t easy to see with her slit pupils, her skin is tanned, and her canine teeth are sharper than average. Like the rest of her clan, she has red fang tattoos on her cheeks.

C: 125 lbs is actually rather heavy for her height and age, with this BMI calculator suggesting that she is overweight by 2 centiles (childrens BMI is calculated differently to adults, with anything over the 91st percentile suggesting they are overweight). Obviously BMI isn’t foolproof, but if you bring her weight down to 120lbs she would be a ‘healthy weight’ for her height and age.

Her uniform consists of dark blue three-quarter long pants, with an equipment pouch attached to the back and a holster tied to her right leg. Her shoes are standard dark blue sandals/boots, and she wears a lighter blue open cloth vest that leaves her arms bare. Underneath is wooden chest armor and a simple mesh shirt beneath that. She wears a set of open fingered gloves, with built in blades that extend like claws. Haruka’s headband is tied loosely around her neck.

C: This is okay, though I wonder whether built in blades on gloves would be practical or too bulky. I’m also curious about the choice of wooden chest armour.

Family: (sentence or two for each immediate family member. No need to go into detail on extended family unless relevant)

Morina (ninja hound)- A light brown dog with pointed ears and a curled tail, based off the Akita breed. She’s small at the moment, but has much growing potential.

C: I like the choice of a Japanese breed. I’m curious as to how big she is at the moment, and how big she’ll be when she’s fully grown.

Gaku Inuzuka (Father)- A jounin who’s been in the field since at least the Third Ninja War, and fought directly against Kumo under Minato Namikaze’s command. He’s skilled and confident, but likes to take a slower, more careful approach to problems and is rather strict.

C: What dog(s) does he have?

Kaori Inuzuka (Mother)- A clanless chunin kunoichi that married into the Inuzuka. She works in the medical and science division, and is ocassionaly sent out on missions to gather data and samples when not researching.

C: It’s lovely to see someone working in this field. What does her research focus on?

Kiba Inuzuka (clan relative)

Tsume Inuzuka (clan relative)

Hana Inuzuka (clan relative)

C: I assume that they’re not closely related then.

Occupation: Ninja

Rank: Genin

Team: Kotetsu Hageta (OC clan), Yoshiro Hyuga, and their sensei Kenzou “The Tiger” Byakko

Friends: (still working on this area beyond her two team members)

C: No worries.

Personality: Haruka is a stickler to the rules, and does her best to treat all of her percieved elders and superiors with respect, politeness, and loyalty. In a way, this makes her idealistic, as she believes the best of people in those positions until she is proven wrong. She was raised to value teamwork, and even though she is a bit prideful and standoffish at times, she readily acknowledges that she’s stronger when she’s not alone. Leaving someone behind is a very last resort to her, and she’s more likely to fight to the end than retreat unless told to do so, as long as she feels like it’s still possible to win. She’s more analytical than hotheaded, though when her ego is bruised or she’s worried about something, she may snap at people and have to apologize later.

Haruka puts on a rougher persona around her equals to try and fit her clan’s reputation better, but she’s insecure about her own talent compared to her father’s. Also going against her image is her desire for neatness and order. Possibly because of having a scientist for a parent, she had an unusual amount of knowledge on medical subjects growing up, and despises messes, germs, and dirt in general. She sometimes chastizes people for unhealthy habits, and even washes her dog more often than usual to make sure she’s clean as well. When in battle, this uneasiness is pushed back by adrenaline, though she may complain about the blood and dirt and mess afterwards. She hates loud noises, insects, and chocolate too, though more out of preference than disgust and paranoia.

Haruka enjoys music to the point of using it as a calming tool, though she can’t play an instrument, and she likes trees and woods despite the less than ideal conditions of the outdoors. Her goal is to find her own path to strength and become as respected as her father, no matter how far up the ranks she has to go.

C: I like her personality, though the first paragraph gives me an ‘older than 12′ kind of vibe. I really like her goal too.

History: Haruka was born to Gaku and Kaori Inuzuka, a few months before the Nine-tailed Fox attacked. Both of her parents survived, but many ninja, some Inuzuka among them, died trying to push it back. Gaku became overprotective and stricter as a result, though he always seemed that way to Haruka growing up, and she didn’t push his boundaries much. Instead, she had a huge amount of respect for his past achievements, and wanted to be just like him for a long while. Her mother wasn’t nearly as hovering, but she let her read science textbooks that laid around the house, but she didn’t understand much of it beyond basics, and eventually decided it wasn’t the path for her once her “neatfreak” tendencies set in.

C: Gaku’s reaction is completely understandable here. I’m curious as to how much Haruka was actually able to understand of these science textbooks though. Most of the textbooks I have at home probably wouldn’t be accessible to anyone below 16 years old. It would be more believable if they bought her some age appropriate science books.

She went to Academy around the age of 6, and Gaku was supportive despite his worries over the village’s future peace. She picked up on the studied subjects quickly, and was consistently near the top of her class when it came to tests and sparring, though she wasn’t great with genjutsu or chakra control, relying on her family’s techniques heavily. She had a small collection of friends, mostly because she didn’t look easy to approach. She recieved Morina, who she calls Mori for short, as her ninja hound a year before her graduation, the same year as Naruto’s class but in a different room.

C: I checked with other mods, but we weren’t sure if the rookie 9 were the only ones to graduate from the academy when they did, or there could be another class to graduate from. Some more details about her academy friends would be nice, and maybe a little information on her contact with them after she graduated, though I know you haven’t really finished this part of her yet.

She was assigned her teammates, a quiet, but skilled clan boy named Kotetsu Hageta, and Yoshiro Hyuga, a cheerful member of the branch family who wasn’t very talented in the Gentle Fist arts. Under the leadership of the jounin Kenzou Byakko, a famous trap specialist and battle commander, they grew closer together and improve their skills. She does eventually befriend Anko Mitarashi and, impressed by her drive to grow stronger and diffentiate herself from her teammates, gives Haruka side lessons in poison usage as an unofficial student.

C: Does the team have any speciality?

 Abilities:

Ninjustu- 1

Taijutsu- 2.5

Genjutsu- .5

Int- 2

Strength- 2

Speed- 4

Stamina- 1.5

Handseals- 1.5

Total- 15

C: These are reasonable stats for a genin.

Haruka fights like an Inuzuka, with sharp senses, quick reflexes, and hit and run tactics. She doesn’t have as much brute strength, but her speed is even greater to balance this out, and she uses quick accelerations to increase the power behind her blows. She also has a pair of metal claw weapons she extends to increase her reach and bolster her jutsu effectiveness. She’s great at tracking and flanking opponents, but suffers in prolonged direct combat and is best with backup. Her chakra natures are Fire and Wind. Haruka is also a rookie poison user.

C: Does she mix poison with her clan techniques?

Jutsu/Techniques list-

Man Beast Clone

All Fours Jutsu

Tunneling Fang

Fang Over Fang (Iron Fang Over Fang with her weapons drawn)

Fang Rotating Fang (Iron Fang Rotating Fang with her weapons drawn)

Wind Style: Tornado Fangs- Original technique that requires spinning upright and moving along the ground like a pair of tornadoes, slashing opponents apart with an added wind element. It can draw enemies into it at high speeds.

C: Adding in wind style would make it a high level jutsu and be quite hard to create (see Naruto adding wind nature to rasengan), so I feel this is probably something she wouldn’t be able to come up with as a genin and is best left until chuunin or later.

Tainted Claws- A technique that cuts the enemy with her poison tipped weapons, eventually causing their muscles to go numb and make them slower. This is more of a setup for more powerful attacks, as it makes the opponent an easier target.

C: Why did she chose that particular poison? A fast acting and fatal poison would seem a more sensible choice.

Overall, I like Haruka. As you haven’t finished working on her yet, there are bits of information missing, and I’ve tried to point out each time I had questions about her. Even if you don’t write out an answer to each of them, it would probably be beneficial to think about the questions to help develop her. I’d also like to know about any goals that she might have, and more on what made her choose to be a ninja, though it’s okay if she doesn’t really have long term goals considering her age. This is definitely a good start and I wish you the best of luck with fleshing Haruka out. If you have any questions please feel free to message us.

[whatstheproblembaby]

Fic: What You Need

Skank!Kurt/pocket!Blaine, inspired by this picture. ~1670 words, PG-13, fluff.

“Oh, goddammit,” Kurt said, staring down at the narrow yet surprisingly deep crack in the pavement below the bleachers. He had fumbled his lighter while pulling it out of his pants and dropped it, and from the looks of it, that lighter was going to be gone forever. “Great. Amazing. Just what I needed.”

He took a seat on the low concrete divider that helped support the metal seats, wondering what would be the fastest way to get his cigarette lit. Most of the Skanks were off in Columbus for what they were calling “Senior Ditch Day,” like they needed an excuse to ditch class, while the few that hadn’t gone were nowhere in sight. Kurt was mentally debating whether he should go buy a new lighter from the closest 7/11 or try to hunt down Quinn when a bright flash and a loud crack startled him from his thoughts.

“What the-”

“You need help?” A warm voice asked. Kurt whipped his head around trying to determine where it was coming from. “Down here!”

Kurt nearly fell off the wall and cracked his head open.

“I’m hallucinating,” he whispered, staring transfixed at the five-inch tall man standing between his feet. “I’m going into nicotine withdrawal and I’m hallucinating.”

“I assure you, I’m real,” the man said. “Hang on, I can prove it.”

“Ow!”

“See?” the man said, a smirk appearing on his face. “You definitely felt that pinch.”

“Okay, so you’re not a hallucination,” Kurt said, pulling his leg up so he could rub at the sore spot on his calf. “Do you have a name or something?”

“I’m Blaine! And you must be Kurt.”

“I’m really gonna need you to explain-”

“You’re the one who called me here. Of course I know your name!” Blaine said matter-of-factly.

Kurt just stared at him incredulously.

“You don’t - right, I forgot that people don’t really know about us anymore. I’m a brownie! We help people with whatever they need.” Blaine paused, thinking. “Well, I do - some of my brethren are a little more mischievous.”

“Wait, you showed up out of nowhere just because I dropped my lighter?” Kurt asked. “That seems excessive.”

“If it’s meaningful to you, then it’s enough to bring me here,” Blaine said. “Where’d you drop it?”

“That crack behind you,” Kurt said, gesturing to the dirty pavement. Blaine started to run over as he continued, “But really, it’s just a standard Bic lighter. I can go get another-”

“Is it important to you?” Blaine interrupted, stopping to level Kurt with a serious look.

“Well...yes,” Kurt admitted. “My friend Quinn gave it to me the day I joined the Skanks. Said I deserved a present after all the shit I’d been through recently, even if it was just a cheap purple plastic lighter. I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Blaine said, voice strong and certain. “And I can get it back for you, if you don’t mind lending a hand.”

“What do you need?”

“If you lower me in by the legs, I can grab onto your lighter,” Blaine said, leaning over the crack. “Then all you have to do is hoist me back out.”

“I shouldn’t be able to fuck that up too badly,” Kurt said, walking over to Blaine and kneeling down beside him. “Ready when you are.”

“Let’s do this!” Blaine said, smiling so bright that Kurt just had to grin in return.

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s legs as gently as he could, seizing each of his ankles between his thumb and forefinger before lifting him up and helping him flip over and into the crack. He tried to keep an eye on Blaine as he descended, but the crack was a little too narrow for him to have a good view. A few seconds after lowering Blaine down, though, he heard a muffled cry of “Okay! Pull me back!” and did as he was told.

“One lighter, as promised,” Blaine said once he was out and right-side up. “Though I have to say - and I’m sorry, this is a little rude - it would be better for you in the long run to just stop smoking.”

“I know, I know, I plan to someday,” Kurt said, pocketing his lighter carefully before plopping down on his butt. “But how I can be a real teenage rebel if I don’t even smoke?”

“Your aesthetic would lose a little of its authenticity if you stopped, I admit,” Blaine said, looking Kurt up and down.

“Once I don’t need this aesthetic to get by, the cigarettes are going to go,” Kurt said. “Even if I have to chew Nicorette for the rest of my life.”

“What do you mean, ‘need this aesthetic’?” Blaine asked.

Kurt’s heart squeezed for a moment - Blaine looked so concerned for him, yet he didn’t feel pitied or condescended to like he did when so many other people asked why he became a Skank.

“Life is hard when you’re gay in small town Ohio,” Kurt said, trying to stay succinct. “But it gets easier if you make the bullies scared of you.”

“I see,” Blaine said, and Kurt believed that he really did.

“Do you - are you just going to disappear now that you’ve helped me, or do you have time to grab a coffee? Do brownies like coffee?” Kurt asked, feeling a little foolish.

“I haven’t had coffee in decades,” Blaine said, an excited smile on his face. “And I should check back in with my people eventually, but I think I can swing a coffee break.”

“Great,” Kurt said, smiling back. “Then, uh - hop in? If you’d like?”

Kurt stretched out the breast pocket of his henley with a shrug.

“I’d love to,” Blaine said. He let Kurt lift him into his pocket, where he huddled down. “I’ll keep my head down while we’re in public, unless it’s normal for people to have magical creatures in their pockets now?”

“Uh, no, not quite,” Kurt said. “But I’ll find us somewhere private to eat once we’ve ordered.”

“Wonderful,” Blaine said as Kurt stood and started walking.

Kurt couldn’t help but agree.

_____________________

They soon developed a pattern. Kurt would drop his lighter or a piercing or get ash on his clothes, and then Blaine would appear with that now-standard flash of light and help Kurt out of his predicament. They would then go for coffee or soft pretzels, or once, memorably, a children’s movie about fairies that made Blaine laugh hysterically from start to finish.

“I should be mad that they didn’t even include any boy fairies, but honestly, that movie was so funny that I can’t even get upset. They trailed glitter everywhere they went, Kurt!” Blaine had said afterwards, wiping tears from his eyes.

Kurt snickered at the memory, still amused by it weeks later. Blaine looked up from where he was scouring Kurt’s carpet for an earring back, curious.

“Just thinking about that movie we saw,” Kurt explained.

Blaine snorted. “Oh my God, it was terrible!”

“I heard they’re making a sequel. I’ll have to drop my lighter again when it comes out so we can see it.”

“I really wish you’d stop smoking, Kurt,” Blaine said, looking pointedly at the cigarette Kurt was smoking out his window so it wouldn’t make his room smelly. “I know it helps with your look, but I just - I don’t like it.”

“How am I supposed to keep seeing you if I don’t smoke, Blaine?” Kurt said rapidly. When he took time to process what he’d just said, he clapped a hand over his mouth.

“What?”

“You only appeared because I dropped my lighter,” Kurt said, knowing there was no deflecting Blaine when he was on a mission - if he was willing to go through every single button in Kurt’s collection to find a match for his shirt repair, he’d hound Kurt about this topic until he spilled. “If I don’t need a lighter anymore, you’ll have fewer reasons to come back. I don’t actually have a deep emotional connection to most of my earrings, Blaine.”

“You think I don’t know that? Kurt, I’ve been grasping for reasons to see you ever since I got back that first day. My people are getting sick of me taking whatever excuse I can to help you out,” Blaine said. He straightened up and clambered up Kurt’s desk chair, where he jumped to the windowsill next to Kurt. “But I won’t have any excuses to come back if you’re dead from lung cancer! We could have years together, Kurt, but if you keep smoking, you lower our chances.”

Kurt stubbed his cigarette out on his nearby ashtray before flinging the whole thing in the trash. “I’ll go get the patch. Immediately. You can come with me and watch me put it on, if you want. I just thought I needed to have reasons to keep you around-”

“You are the reason I’m around,” Blaine said. He tugged at Kurt’s jacket, gesturing for Kurt to lift him up closer to his face. When Kurt did, Blaine leaned in and kissed him sweetly, just barely able to center both of his lips on Kurt’s upper.

Kurt kissed back as best he could, not wanting to smother Blaine. He was distracted by the blinding flash and sudden weight against his chest that sent him toppling to the floor, though.

“What the-”

“Holy crap,” Blaine said, now straddling Kurt.

“Blaine, you’re - you’re-”

“Human-sized!” Blaine finished, extending one of his arms and looking at it in awe.

Kurt pushed himself up to sit against his bed, wrapping an arm around Blaine’s waist when he tried to move away. “How did this happen?!” he asked.

“It’s like I told you when we met - I help with whatever you need,” Blaine said. “Right now, what you needed - what we both needed - was each other.”

“So you’ll stay this way?”

“As long as you need me to.”

“You know that’ll be forever, right?”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

Kurt just grinned and pulled Blaine in for another kiss.

[artificialqueens]

Catwoman (Pearlet) - Ashley

AN: Pearl believes in fate. And fate brought her to Violet, a femme fatale cat burglar. And they just so happened to fall in love. Sorry if this is bad, I kinda Charles Dickens-ed the ending to make it not miserable and I probably should have kept it how it was originally but oh well. This is based off an old Katy Perry song that came on shuffle today. Please give me some feedback. Love Ashley xoxo

It was a dull time in Pearl’s life when she first saw Violet. Fired from her painting job, her parents hounding her to marry the next socialite, she felt dull. However, it didn’t take long for this to change. There she was sat in a bar on a date (set up by her parents of course), bored to tears over conversations about golf matches and coming out parties – when she saw her. Her body was an hourglass that never ran out. She was tall and slender, her eyes were fierce, a glossy cavern filled with secrets and mysteries. Her hair was purple, the colour of power, mixing the calmness of a blue and the fire of a red. She was a viola in a field of daisies. Nodding and responding with casual “mhmms” all night, Pearl was entranced by the girl, she didn’t take her eyes off her – she too was on a boring date.

About an hour after she entered, the girl spilled her drink of her dates lap, Pearl watched as she apologised profusely then dabbed at his shirt. Waiting until the man excused himself to the bathroom, the purpled haired girl swiftly grabbed his coat, delving a hand into each pocket and pulling out a set of car keys. After doing so the girl stood up causally and looked around the room. Her dark eyes locked contact with Pearl but she simply winked at her, before sashaying out of the bar altogether.

“Sorry, I need to go,” Pearl blurted to her date, standing up and leaving the bar before he could even respond. She found the purple haired girl in the parking lot, unlocking a red Mercedes.

“You stole that man’s car!” Pearl yelled over to her.

“Not yet,” she turned around and giggled.

Pearl stood shell-shocked as the girl jumped in the car and sped away, she was gone in a flash.

Normally Pearl would have reported something like this, called the police, but she didn’t.

***

2 years later Pearl was at a gallery opening with Logan, her fiancé. Logan was narcissistic and a cheater but they were not getting married for love, Pearl barely knew the meaning of the word so instead she continued to see him, going to and from events like the one she was currently at, fake smiling and complimenting outfits – knowing her parents would be proud of their socialite daughter who would eventually bare cute blonde children that would be given huge trust funds. Pearl was pretending to admire some piece of bullshit seen as “abstract” when a different piece of art entered her eyeline. She was walking elegantly, her long dark hair swaying behind her. Her cheekbones popped out and her lips were stained red. At first Pearl, didn’t recognize her, but then she noticed her eyes. Her dark, sultry eyes. Pearl didn’t believed in coincidences, she belived in fate. Pearl had often dreamt about her, the femme fatale who was addicted to a life of material. Ravishing jewels covering her naked body. The subject of many of Pearl’s fantasies. Yet here she stood, only meters away from her, in reality. She had spent many nights craving feminine passion, craving a slender body on top of her own rather than a bulky mans. Here was the image in her dreams and this time she would not let her slip away.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” Pearl smiled to the girl.

“Thank you,” the girl turned and looked at Pearl, a slight look of recognition plaguing her face. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Pearl raised an eyebrow and placed her hand on the girls back, moving it further down as she spoke, “but you should get to know me.”

“I see a ring on your finger,” the girl stated.

“I see a lot of rings on yours, what difference does it make?” Pearl asked cryptically, trying her hardest to be the sultry character she’d seen in her expectations. “He’ll be drinking with his friends after this. You could always get to know me then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the girl grinned, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “I’m Violet by the way.”

“Pearl.”

***

A few hours later Violet looked down at Pearl. She was sat awkwardly on the end of Violet’ bed, admiring her room.

“I like to collect things. I’m sort of opposed to the typical, I need extravagance” Violet explained, looking down at the girl he’d only known for a matter of hours.

“Collect?” Pearl raised an eyebrow.

“Busted,” Violet laughed. “But we aren’t here to talk about my sticky fingers, are we?”

“No,” Pearl gazed up at Violet, who went across the room and lit a few candles, before joining Pearl on the bed. Dominance seeping from her skin, Violet pinned Pearl down, ripping her clothes off like they were hazardous. She sent a trail of strong, toxic kisses from Pearl’s neck to her stomach, sending tidal waves down her body. A moan of pleasure slipped from Pearl’s mouth as the other girl made her way back up to her breasts, tugging on her rigid nipples. Pearl was startled when the other girl stopped and sat up, she had never felt passion like this and her blood was boiling, her body on edge, she did not want Violet to stop.

“Close your eyes,” Violet whispered and Pearl did. She would do anything Violet told her to. She was completely and utterly under her spell. Her back arched as she felt the hot wax drip on her breasts. “Fuck,” she cried as Violet poured it down her body, stopping at her waist, leaving Pearl on the edge of a cliff, bullets rattling through her body at a rate of knots.

“Please,” she pleaded but Violet just pressed a finger to Pearl lips.

“Tell me how much you want it,” Violet whispered, right in Pearl’s ear.

“I need you Violet,” Pearl whimpered, never feeling so inferior before.

“You need me to do what?” Violet teased, her hand teasing its way around Pearls thighs.

“I need you to fuck me,” she cried.

Violet didn’t need telling twice.

***

“Can I come over tonight, Logan’s away” Pearl asked Violet on the phone, desperate for what she knew she couldn’t get at home.

“No, I have a job.” Violet replied.

They had been seeing each other for a few months and although Pearl’s goal was to feel passion and excitement and an orgasm. She’d found much more than that. She’d found love. She loved the girl with the dark eyes and the skinny waste with a taste for champagne and endless fortune. She loved the cat-burglar with the devious smile. She was inexplicably in love with Violet.

“Please let me come with you,” Pearl asked, longing for adrenaline.

“No. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Violet said sternly.

“Nothing ever happens to you!” Pearl exclaimed.

“Yes, because I’ve done this for years and even if it does, it wouldn’t matter, I don’t have anyone who would care, you have a fiancé, a family.”

“You have me,” Pearl replied. “I want to help you.”

“No.”

But if there was one thing Pearl was bad at, it was hearing this word. So she waited outside of Violet’s apartment and followed her, noticing how the vulnerability she displayed when they were alone was now gone. She followed Violet all the way to a large stately home, kind of like her own. Before typing a code into the gate, Violet peered around her, noticing a figure in the darkness across the road.

“It’s me,” Pearl cried before Violet could flee.

“What the fuck!” Violet said to her, “You scared me so much. What are you doing here?”

“I’m helping you, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine,” Violet muttered, knowing that there was no talking Pearl out of it at this point, “follow me and for the love of god please shut up.”

Pearl figured that Violet had scoped out the property before, as she knew exactly how to make her way across the grounds, eventually leading her to a window left slightly ajar on the second story at the west side of the house.

“I’ll climb up first, you follow,” Violet whispered to Pearl, pointing at a drainpipe next to the window. Violet was graceful and elegant as she climbed, like Catwoman she pushed open the window and vaulted herself into the house. Pearl managed to follow her up but she struggled, having to let Violet pull her up to the top. Violet flickered on her torch and crept silently down the hallway, Pearl quick in tow. The walls were lonely and bare, the complete opposite to the ones at Violet’s apartment. Suddenly Violet stopped at one of the doors, before opening it and walking in. Once Pearl had shut the door, Violet turned the light on. The room was a teenager’s graveyard. Books sat on shelves never touched, a fancy bed was in the corner, unslept in.

“What do you want from here?” Pearl questioned Violet, pressing her hand on her lovers back.

“Shh,” Violet glared back at her, counting the floorboards below them like a maniac. Finally, she knelt next to one and whipped a crowbar out from her belt, prying the floorboard away. Underneath was a wooden box, covered in dust. Violet grinned as she saw the box, grabbing it quickly and passing it to Pearl.

“Don’t open it,” she said, her dominance reappearing. Pearl couldn’t help but find her endearing. She leant over to Violet and kissed her. At first Violet went to pull away but soon she was kissing Pearl back, unable to resist the sweet all-American wife who had stormed into her life. The past few months with Pearl had been the best ones she’d ever had. She’d been with countless men and women, yet none of them knew her, none of them really understood her the way Pearl did.

That’s when they heard heavy footsteps come towards the door.

“Shit,” Violet’s face paled. She stood up quickly, and tried to pry open the window. It was locked. She looked over to Pearl who was breathing heavily, a single tear shot down her cheek.

“Come out here! I have a gun” a stern voice called out from the corridor.

Suddenly Violet grabbed a chair from the desk and threw it against the large glass window, shards flying as the chair hit the bushes below.

“Pearl, jump now, there’s a garage roof below here. I’ll be after you in a second just go. Go and run as fast as you can.” Violet pushed her towards the window.

“I love you.” Pearl cried before jumping out onto the garage roof and then the ground below it, pain shot up her legs but she carried on because Violet had told her to. “Run,” she’d said, so that’s what Pearl did. She ran and ran and ran, even when she heard the bangs of the gun. Bang, once. Bang, twice. Bang, a third time. Even then she kept on running. She saw the Violet she’d first met in bar, mysterious and impulsive. The Violet she was reunited with at the gallery, seductive and sultry. The Violet who sat on the sofa watching TV, who threw her head back when she laughed and batted her eyelids at Pearl when she didn’t want her to leave. She saw Violet pleading her to run, so Pearl ran and ran and kept on running.

She ran away from her life and away from the town, away from the whole state, away from her family, away from Logan and away from Violet. She never payed attention to the news, because she didn’t want to have to listen to the stories about the dead cat-burglar, a villain, because that wasn’t who she knew, she knew so much more. She felt the hurt and the pain, the longing to know what really happened to Violet that night yet she never looked into it she just continued to run – her nightmares were scorned with the three gunshots, her head played out different scenarios of what Violet endured. But in Pearl’s mind, if she didn’t know what had happened to Violet, then nothing bad really did happen. She wrote letters to her lover, keeping them in the wooden box under her bed. They begged for her forgiveness. Pearl was sorry she left Violet that night. She was sorry she didn’t stick around and defend her honor. She was sorry for being a coward. She was sorry for letting their love die. On one hand she did everything to forget Violet, yet on the other she did everything to keep her memory alive – constantly wearing the amethyst necklace that they’d stole that night, the night her flower was plucked away from her. From that night on, Pearl’s rainbow was always missing its final colour, never complete.

Through the years, Pearl lived in solitude, no TV or phones to keep her happy. She had lovers but none of them stuck, they tried to fix her but she was forever broken. You could glue the mirror back together but the reflection would always be cracked. But this did not go on forever, because although Pearl didn’t believe in coincidences, she did believe in fate, and this was not the end of her love story.

***

Violet spent 10 years in prison. After being shot in the leg three times. Her stepfather had called the police and told them about an intruder in his home. She only prayed that Pearl had managed to keep it, the necklace that was her mothers. When Violet’s mother died, it was the only thing she’d left her. And Violet was stuck with a new family who hated her, who wanted the house but not the daughter to go with it. Before she’d ran away from them, she left the necklace behind, vowing only to retrieve it once she found someone who deserved it came along. The second she arrived at the station, they pinned her down for hundreds of jobs she’d done – the untraceable was finally caught. Perl never visited or wrote, but Violet did not hate her for it. Although sometimes she wished she did, when she pictured Pearl’s face, she could only picture love. Once she was released, all she wanted to do was go back to Pearl, because Pearl was her home, she knew it. And she searched nearly all the art galleries in all the world until she found her home.

***

At age 35, Pearl had found a way to relieve some of her pain. Through art. Not the bullshit she used to see in the gallery she met Violet at. Real art. Eventually she started her own gallery, an ode to the girl who she owed eternal apologies to. She was on almost every wall, her eyes watching as people entered and left.

“Who’s the muse?” People would ask. “Who’s the girl with the waist?”

But Pearl never answered their questions. She felt a tap on her shoulder one day, expecting another customer she turned around. But she was mistaken. She was speechless.

Violet began to cry as she looked at Pearl. The years that had passed had only made her more beautiful, defining her face more, giving her a leaner, priceless body. Years of withheld emotions came out all at once as she grabbed her former lover and held her tight.

“This isn’t real.” Pearl croaked, her voice was the same, “You’re dead.”

“I’m not, you idiot,” Violet laughed. She was now laughing and crying at the same time. So was Pearl.

“All these years. You we’re dead. I ran.” Pearl rambled.

“Take a walk with me, I can explain?” Violet asked.

Pearl didn’t have to be asked twice.

[blacklister214]

New Lines Chapter (Some Day): Kaymond Fanfiction

A new chapter from my Kaymond fanfic. Keep an eye out for a few familiar Blacklist characters, we will be seeing more of them in the future! Enjoy!

The motel was a considerable step down from the Leningradskaya Hotel Raymond had left three months prior. The walls of the room were bare, save one mirror over the lone dresser. The television set that came with the room had all of three channels and looked like it had been purchased in the 1970s. Still, he was reasonably confident the sheets he now sat upon were clean. It was far from the worse place he'd ever waited for an asset.

Raymond had received word a few days ago that Katarina was heading stateside. Per their S.O.P., he'd placed an ad in the New York Times arranging a time and place for their meeting. The agents in Russia had sent him Katarina's dead dropped notes on her mission parameters. She was heading to Norfolk, Virginia to take over the management of an mercenary spy ring that had lost its original handler.

Raymond had gathered from Katarina's information that the group was falling apart. The original member, John Anthony Walker, a Naval officer, had walked into a Soviet Embassy in the late 1960s, selling a classified document and had been collecting a paycheck from the Reds ever since. He'd recruited his older brother Arthur and his son Michael to his cause. He'd also tried to involve his daughter Laura, who'd been in the Army, but she'd refused to participate, and quit the military to become a full-time mother.

The official counter-mission he'd planned was to gather evidence on the group, then leak it to a third party law enforcement organization to make the arrest. The idea was to plug the leak in such a way that it couldn't be traced back to Katarina.

Raymond heard the lock turn and stood, his heart beating slightly faster than it had been the moment before. The door swung open and suddenly she was there, the woman he'd been dreaming of nearly every night since he'd left her in Russia. Her hair had changed, gone from blonde to auburn. It suited her ivory skin, and her eyes, that could seem green or blue depending on the light.

"Were you able to get Katya and her family out?" Raymond shook himself. He needed to focus.

"Yes." When Raymond had managed to track down Katarina, he hadn't gone to his superiors at the Office of Naval Intelligence. They had made it very clear they had no confidence in him after what had transpired. Instead he'd hounded the Central Intelligence Agency until he'd eventually gotten a meeting with one of the their supervisors, a serious and shrewd man named Alan Fitch. Fitch had pushed Raymond's proposal up through the ranks, and gotten it approved. When Raymond returned from Russia, he'd gone to Fitch again for help and once again the man had come through. Raymond only hoped he could pay the company man back one day.

"I'm glad you were able to help them. Katya deserves better than to spend her life hiding."

Raymond raised an eyebrow. "Technically speaking that's exactly what she's come to the United States to do." Katarina shot him a look that plainly said he knew that wasn't what she meant.

"Changing your name doesn't change who you are. I know that better than anyone. At least here she can love who she loves without fear. Everyone should have right." Raymond cocked his head slightly to the side, somewhat surprised to hear Katarina speak of the US favorably in comparison with Russia.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be sympathetic." She once again fixed him with a hard look.

"The Soviet Union is my country. The doesn't mean I agree with everything they do. I'm sure you could say the same of the United States." Raymond broke Katarina's gaze. She did have a point.

"Fair enough. Did you meet with Walker?" Katarina nodded, distaste twisting her featured.

"Yes. He's concerned about his ex-wife Barbara. He claims she's a security risk we might want to 'take care off'. Please tell my counter-mission is to nail this bastard to the wall." Yet again Katarina had caught him Raymond off guard. He wouldn't have predicted the Russian agent would be eager to expose her comrades in the cause.

"Why the sudden enthusiasm for punishing Soviet spies? Seems a little strange, given your own professed allegiance." Would Raymond ever fully understand this woman?

Katarina's eyes flashed in anger. "I chose to serve Russia because of my mother and because I believed in their core ideology of equality. I betrayed my country, because I was trying to protect my family. John Walker sold out his country FOR MONEY. He involved two other members of his family in his treason FOR MONEY. He is asking me to kill his ex-wife, the mother of his children, FOR MONEY. John Walker is NOTHING like me."

She was magnificent. Strong. Passionate. He'd caught glimpses of her before, as ballet teacher Sara Dawson, as KGB Agent Rostova, as Masha's mother, but now he saw her fully. Katarina was all of them and none of them. She loved her family and her country. She believed motives mattered as much as actions. She was willing to die for what she thought was right.

"No. You're right. He's not." Katarina's seemed taken aback by his retreat. After a moment she dug into her pocket and removed a small recording device. She passed it to Raymond.

"Here's a copy of the conversation. If you play it for Barbara Walker, I think she'll cooperate, point the finger at John." Raymond turned the device over his hands.

"What about her son?" Katarina grimaced.

"She doesn't know Michael's involved." So they'd be tricking an unwitting mother into sending her child to jail. Raymond could tell from Katarina's expression that sit any better with her than it did with him. Still, they didn't have much of a choice.

"I'll go to Boston, get her cooperation, and talk to the local FBI. We can backdate the interview so it will appear this was set in motion while you were still in Russia. The feds can kick the report to the Norfolk office and they'll take care of the rest." Raymond knew he should be happier about this. It was a huge win victory, shutting down a spy ring that'd been operational for over a decade. That wasn't what was on his mind however. Instead all he could think about was the small piece of paper in his pocket and how he desperately didn't want to remove it.

Katarina stood, staring at him, waiting for him to say something indicating that their meeting had in fact ended. He sighed and instead fished the small white square from his coat. "One last thing. I need you to memorize this."

Katarina took the paper, scanned it for all of ten seconds, then handed it back to him. "Who is Sam Milhoan?"

Raymond dropped the paper into the ashtray on the room's nightstand."He's a smuggler. He does a lot of business providing goods for the Soviet black market." He used one of the motel's matches to set the note on fire.

"Why are you giving me his number?" Raymond reluctantly turned back to Katarina.

"If you ever find yourself in a situation like the one we faced in Moscow, call him. He'll help you." Raymond had meet Sam only a few years back, while Raymond was still in the Academy. He'd been fond of sneaking off campus when he couldn't to sleep, and heading down the ports.

One night he'd seen a man being jumped by three other men and he'd rushed in to help. The next day he'd been called in front of the superintendent to explain his mysteriously acquired bruises. They hadn't been able to prove what he'd been up to, so he'd merely been "fried", rather than expelled. Despite the rigid punishments that had followed, it had all been worth it. Not only had Raymond gained a true friend, but he'd also unwittingly acquired his first CI.

"You trust him?" Despite his vocation, Sam Milhoan was one of the most loyal and honorable men Raymond had ever known. When Raymond had been under review last year, more than a few of his fellow ensigns had mysterious evaporated from his life, not wishing to be tainted by association. Sam on the other hand had stuck by him, offering his assistance. It had been through one of Sam's contacts he'd been able to trace Katherine Richards to Katarina Rostova.

"Yes. He's a good man." Raymond took a deep breath in, painfully aware of the ramifications of his next words, "There's something else you should know. I lied to you." Katarina blinked at him.

"About what?" This was it, the moment he'd been dreading for the past few months.

"The United States government doesn't know as much about you as I've lead you to believe. They know about Sara Duncan and about Katarina Rostova. They don't know about Katherine Richards. They don't know about your father." He'd released the chains that had tied Katarina to him, to their agreement. He had deliberately betrayed his country.

"Why are you telling me this?" Because he loved her. Because he wanted her to live. Because he didn't want his daughter to grow-up without a mother.

"You could take Masha and run." He would never see them again. He'd never hold Katarina in his arms. He'd never watch her take her first steps. Still, they'd be free. He could make that trade. He was strong enough for that.

"No, I can't do that." Now it was Raymond's turn to blink. What did she mean, 'no'?

"If you stay you'll die, or end up in jail."

"If I run they would never stop hunting me. Besides I can't just leave...everything behind." Konstantin. Of course, that was what this was about. She didn't want to leave her husband.

"Konstantin loves you. He'd come with you, if you asked him." Saying the words felt like choking up vomit, but he managed. If the Russian businessman was what Katarina needed to make the choice that would save her life than so be it.

"Ask him to give up him to give up his whole life? Everything he's worked for? No. I couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair to him." Fair? What was she talking about? Konstantin would have her and Masha. What man could ask for more than that?

"Why not?" Katarina's looked at him incredulously, as though he were missing something obvious.

"You know why not." Raymond was immediately transported to the hotel room where Katarina had given birth. She gotten angry at him for refusing to leave her and he'd asked why she'd cared. She'd told him that he'd known. The piece of his heart that had been dead since the moment he'd realised she was a KGB plant had suddenly pulsed back to life. Did she...love him? It seemed impossible, a foolish hope, and yet...

"No, I don't. Tell me." Katarina's eyes were filled with painful regret.

"Please don't make this harder than it already is." She turned to leave, but in two short steps Raymond caught her arm and turned her towards him.

"Say it, out loud. Say it." They were inches apart. He could smell the lavender scent of her hair. Every nerve ending in his body was alive, waiting for her to say something, to do something. Finally Katarina looked up at him.

"I love Konstantin...but not the way I love you." The words were barely out of her mouth before he claimed it for a kiss that was immediately and hungrily returned. The past year vanished like a bad dream and suddenly he was back in her arms where he belonged.

Raymond picked Katarina up and carried her to the bed, not caring about what had come before, or what would come after. They were here, now, together. Nothing mattered but that.

Hours later Raymond was laying in bed, shameless staring at a sleeping Katarina, feeling a genuine contentment he hadn't known in twelve months. The small, modest motel room had miraculously become his personal heaven and he never wanted to leave it. Hell, he never even wanted to leave the bed. On an impulse he leaned over and kissed Katarina's forehead. Her eyes slowly opened and she greeted him with a sleepy smile.

"I missed you." Katarina's smile broadened at his confession and she ran her hand lightly across his chest.

"I missed you too." Raymond was deeply tempted to let her fingers continue their travels, but there were things on his mind that seemed too pressing to put off.

"I'm sorry." Katarina, eyebrows puckered together, as though she couldn't imagine what he could be referring to.

"For what?"

"For hunting you down. For making you a double agent. For putting you in more danger." If something happened to her because of what he'd done...

Katarina gently stroked his cheek. "In your place I would done the same thing. Besides if you hadn't found me, I would never have seen you again." Raymond took her hand and kissed her palm in gratitude for the absolution she so freely granted him.

"How's Masha?" Katarina smiled warmly at his inquiry.

"Wonderful. Although I've never been more grateful for my sleep deprivation training." Raymond found himself laughing softly at her joke. The casual reference to the KGB no longer stung the way it once would have.

"I remember that from when Jennifer was a newborn. One night I was so tired I accidentally filled the baby bottle with hot coffee." Carla had walked in in time to stop him, fortunately. The thought of his wife sent a sudden, unwelcome surge of guilt through him. He'd been unfaithful. Disloyal. Things he swore he'd never be.

"I wasn't going to go through with the pregnancy." Katarina's rushed words brought Raymond out of his dark thoughts.

"What?"

"I only kept the baby for Konstantin, because he wanted a family so badly. I thought of her as a curse. Now I look at her and I am overwhelmed by what a miracle she is. I can't imagine my life without her." Raymond thought back to the small, sweet face with large blue eyes and his heart began to ache. When Rostov had burst into the hotel and asked Raymond to relinquish the baby it had taken every ounce of self-control to comply. Masha was his daughter. She belonged with him.

"We could go. The three of us. You, me, and Masha. We could disappear." Between the two them, they could get the money and papers. They could do this, together. Start over, leave it all behind them. No more handlers, no more spying, no more secrets, just them.

Raymond watched as Katarina mulled his proposal over in her mind. The fact that it wasn't an immediate rejection was comforting. She did want this. She did want him. Still something was obviously troubling her.

"What about Jennifer? I know you Raymond. You'd never forgive yourself for abandoning her. What about Masha? What kind of a life would that be for her, growing up on the run?" Raymond's heart sunk. She wasn't wrong. He loved Jennifer. He'd promised her that he'd be there for her. To disappear forever and never see her again was unthinkable. And Masha deserved a stable home, Katarina was right about that as well. He was trapped. They both were.

"I don't want lose you. Either of you." Katarina leaned over, tears in her eyes and kissed him.

"You won't. This war won't last forever. Some day things will be different." It was a desperate hope, but it was all they had to hold onto. Raymond nodded, resigned.

"Some day." He pulled Katarina to him, newly determined to make the most of the precious time they had. A conviction filled him, stronger than any he'd ever felt, that he would not rest unless the Soviet Union fell and the KGB was no more. On that day, they would all be free.

[anavoliselenu]

Stepping stone chapter 11

I was amazed at how fast my workdays were going at Turning Stone. Thursday went by like a blur, despite the fact that I had put in a twelve-hour day. Now here I was on Friday morning, already having almost a week under my belt. My days were jam packed, but I loved every minute of it.

 “Regina,” I called out to my secretary, having barely gotten used to the idea that I even had a secretary.

 “Yes, ma’am,” she said, peeking her head into my office. It was strange to be called ma’am, especially considering the fact that she was easily twenty years my senior.

 “I have an appointment with Walter Roberts this morning to go over the advertising strategy for Wally’s. It’s tough for him to get out of the store, so I’m going to meet him at his office. I should be back no later than two o’clock. Please forward any calls to my cell.”

 “Will do. Anything else?”

 “Actually, yes. Did you get a chance to read the email that I sent you about Sheppard’s Cuisine?”

 “I did, and I was already working on it.”

 “Great. Any luck finding info on their competitors markets?”

 “Oh, a ton! I already sent a lot of information over to Clive,” she told me, referring to Turning Stone’s lead marketing coordinator. “I’ll tell you, I remember a day when that task would have taken days worth of legwork. I might be showing my age when I say this, but thank heavens for the invention of the Internet. It made the research a breeze.”

 I laughed and was about to thank her, but stopped short as her words reminded me of all the trouble I was having with my attempt to research the murder of Justin’s father online.

 That’s it! The Internet is my problem!

 The Internet was barely in existence twenty-five years ago, so there wouldn’t be any information available for me to find. I thought about the time that I had wasted last night trying to find information. Justin wanted me to spend the night at his place, but I had made the excuse of being too tired from a long day.

 I’m so stupid…I can’t believe that I didn’t think about that!

 I would need to go to the library and look at newspaper archives.

 “Uh, thanks, Regina. One more thing,” I said absently. “I may not be back as soon as I expected. I just thought of another stop that I have to make.”

 “Take your time. We’ll hold up the fort,” she joked before returning to her office.

 I grabbed my purse and made my way towards the elevator. I was looking forward to seeing and working with Mr. Roberts, but I hoped that he wasn’t feeling particularly chatty this afternoon. I suddenly had a more pressing matter to attend to. If I balanced my time with him efficiently, I just might be able to squeeze in an hour at the library before having to get ready for the charity gala.

 The elevator doors opened and, in my mad rush to leave, I smacked right into Hale.

 “Oh! Hale,” I said, feeling embarrassed for not paying attention. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 “It’s okay, Miss. I was actually just on my way to see you. Mr. Stone requested that I give these to you.”

 He held out a set of keys.

 “What are these for?” I asked in confusion as I took the keys from him.

 “There is a car in the parking garage for you. It’s located in spot D36. Since I’m not always available for you, Mr. Stone prefers that you utilize this going forward. He is concerned about your safety on the subway or in a taxi.”

 “That sounds like something he would say,” I said with a frown. Something wasn’t sitting right with me. “Hale, is this just on loan until I can get my car fixed?”

 “I can’t say for sure, Miss. We didn’t discuss it. I was only told to retrieve the Porsche Boxster from his storage facility and bring the keys to you.”

 A Porsche. That sneaky bastard.

 Most likely, the car was not a loaner, but a gift. Justin knew about the secret love affair that I had for the German car manufacturer. I recalled how he had once told me that collecting cars was a hobby of his. I was curious about the extent of this collection, as well as whether or not the Porsche was a part of it. However, no matter how much I was tempted, a car was one gift that I simply could not accept.

 “Hale, please tell Mr. Stone that I said thank you for the offer, but I prefer the cab. Besides, it’s easier than trying to find a parking spot.”

 “Miss Cole –.”

 “Hale,” I said and reached for his hand. I placed the keys back into his palm. “I’m taking a taxi.”

 “He will not be very pleased about this.”

 “Oh, I’m sure that he’ll be furious. But I can handle it,” I added with a wink and pressed the button to call up the elevator once again. The corners of Hale’s mouth turned up in the subtlest way. It wasn’t quite a smile, but there was a hint of humor in his eyes that gave him away.

 “Have a good day, Miss.”

 “Thanks. You too,” I said as I stepped into the elevator.

 Before the elevator even reached the ground floor, my cell pinged with a text notification. As I walked through the lobby, I pulled my cell from my purse. Not surprisingly, the text was from Justin.

   9:51 AM, Justin: Must you always be so difficult?

   I smiled to myself. Rather than have a battle of wills, I responded with only a kissy-face emoticon and tossed the phone back in to my purse. He could either laugh at what I sent, or get mad. Either way, I had a busy day lined up and fighting over a car was not on my agenda.

 I walked out the main doors and was happy to see that there was already a cab parked at the curb. I quickly climbed in.

 “Wally’s on 57th please,” I told the driver.

 I sat back in my seat and thought about Walter Roberts. I hadn’t seen my old boss in weeks. I was looking forward to working with him again, even if the context was different than before.

 My cell phone began to ring. I groaned to myself, thinking that it was Justin calling me about the Porsche. However, when I looked at the screen, I saw that it was my mother calling. A part of me wished that it were Justin, as that conversation would have been easier. I hadn’t spoken with my mother since she left after her last visit, and things were strained to say the least.

 “Hi, mom,” I greeted tentatively.

 “Hello, love. How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

 “Sorry, things have been a little hectic. I started a new job,” I told her, hoping that she’d be happy to hear the news. “The pay is really good. You can tell Frank that I’ll take care of my rent from now on.”

 “Good for you. I’ll let him know. Anything else new and exciting?”

 That’s it?

 She had been hounding me about a job for months. I was shocked that she wasn’t pressing me for details. The cab driver took a sharp right, forcing me hard against the passenger door.

 Maybe Justin is right to have concern over my safety in a cab.

 “Um…not really. Same old,” I told her.

 I wasn’t sure what else to say. My mother usually talked my ear off, and I could rarely ever get a word in edgewise.

 “Are you still seeing Justin?”

 Ah…now we might be getting somewhere.

 “Actually, I am. Why do you ask?” I said, feeling somewhat guarded.

 “Well, I was thinking about Thanksgiving. You usually come home for the holiday. I thought that you could invite him to join us.”

 What is this?

 It was like she was encouraging me to have a relationship. She was always so full of doom and gloom whenever the opposite sex came up, and I wondered what brought on this one-eighty.

 “I could ask him. I’m not sure if he has plans or not,” I said somewhat distractedly as I looked at the road ahead. I gripped the door handle for dear life as the cab came to a sudden stop.

 “Excellent. Let me know when you find out. Now, I know how busy you are so I won’t keep you.”

 Okay, now this is just beyond the point of bizarre.

 I found it hard to believe that I was speaking to Elizabeth Long, the bitter woman who all but claimed that all men were evil and that I should steer clear of the lot of them. I pulled the phone away from my ear just to make sure that it was her name on the display.

 “Mom, is everything okay?” I asked her before she could hang up.

 “Yes, love. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “I don’t know. You’re just acting kind of weird,” I said, feeling totally bewildered. The line went quiet. “Mom, are you still there?”

 I heard her sigh.

 “I’m here. I’m sorry if you think that I’m acting strange. Maybe I am, but it’s only because I’m trying to just let you be. I was left with a lot to think about after my last visit.”

 “Mom –.”

 “Just hear me out for a minute. I was really upset and had a long talk with Frank on the drive home from the city. And then, over the course of the past few weeks, he eventually made me see things a bit differently. I didn’t realize how hard I was being on you. You know that I love you, right?”

 “Of course I do, mom. I love you too.”

 “I really only want what’s best for you, but I know that I need to take a step back. You’re an adult and I can’t keep telling you what to do. It’s well past time that I let you decide what is best for you.”

 “Uh, thanks I guess,” I said with a small laugh, lacking any other thing to say. This was so out of character for her, and I wasn’t sure what to think.

 “You’ll call me when you have an answer about Thanksgiving?”

 “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

 “Alright, love. Then I’ll talk to you soon. Bye now.”

 “Bye, mom.”

 I hit the end button on my cell and just sat there staring at the screen. Traffic passed by and horns blared, but I was seeing and hearing none of it. I was happy that my mother was finally loosening the reins a bit. After all, I stopped being a child long ago. But even so, it may have been the weirdest conversation that I ever had with her.

     ****

     It was nearing three o’clock and I was finishing up my weekly recap with Laura in order to set up priorities for the following week.

 “Were you able to get a crew for The Lucy?”

 “I did find one, sir,” Laura told me. “The company comes with good references and are fully insured. They suggested that you dock her in the Florida Keys rather than the Caribbean because of crime concerns. If you’d like to discuss it in more detail, I have already scheduled a meeting for you with them next week on Tuesday.”

 “Good. Where do we stand on the building permits?” I asked, moving on to the next order of business. “I need to know who’s palm I have to grease to get things moving along.”

 She flipped tabs in the binder that she held in her lap and ran a finger down a page.

 “All of the permits for the old Rushmore building have come through from the city ordinance, Mr. Stone. I’m just waiting on your go ahead to give the contractors clearance to begin work,” Laura told me.

 “It’s about damn time, too,” I bit out in annoyance. “I bought that building nearly two years ago.”

 She sighed.

 “I understand your frustrations, but there was no way that you could have known about the structural concerns of the building, sir,” she tried to assure. “It wasn’t disclosed and it was missed by the inspectors.”

 “Either way, the hold up is irritating, not to mention extremely costly. Where is Stephen on the legal end of that?”

 “I only know that he’s been hitting wall after wall with trying to get compensation from Rushmore Industries. Their bankruptcy is putting a monkey wrench in anything Stephen tries to present to the judge.”

 “Alright. I’ll get with him on that later. What else do you have for me?”

 “The roof construction permits for Wally’s Grocery have been applied for, and I do not expect any hold up there. The Mayor’s interest in that deal has really helped to move things along.”

 “Good. I’ll take that one step further. Call his office and try to set up a lunch meeting for us next week. I want to ensure that his interest remains steadfast.”

 “Will do, sir. Anything else?”

 “Yes. I emailed you a list of properties in lower Manhattan. I’ll need all the background information pertaining to them. Scratch anything that will be a headache and then send me an updated list of what looks promising. I’ll do site visits with Hale next week.”

 “I’ll have the information by Monday morn –.”

 A knock on my office door interrupted her.

 “Come in,” I barked, annoyed by the interruption. Selena was due to arrive here soon and I wanted to finish business for the week. I was going on a seven-day stretch and was looking forward to taking a day or two off. The image of Selena bound and naked had been like a carrot dangling in front of my face all day.

 “Mr. Stone,” said Hale as he stepped into the office.

 “Oh, Hale. Good. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to speak with you before tonight. Laura,” I said, turning back to my assistant. “Unless there is anything more pressing that you can think of, I think we can wrap things up.”

 “No, sir. I’m set,” she affirmed.

 After Laura left, I motioned for Hale to have a seat across from me.

 “Are we all set for tonight?” I asked him.

 “Yes, sir. Justine would like you to be dropped off at the main doors. I didn’t give her an affirmative answer to that. I thought that it was safe to assume that you would want to survey the press presence first. There is a back door if needed.”

 “Good call on that. Selena has reservations about the media. An alternate entrance just may be needed,” I contemplated. “What about the Bugatti?”

 “I’ve already been to the storage garage and have had the car prepared as you requested.”

 I laughed.

 “You’ve had a busy day over at the garage site, haven’t you?”

 “Just a bit,” Hale said and afforded me a rare smile.

 “Tell me about your conversation with Selena earlier. Was she mad about the Porsche?”

 “She didn’t seem upset, but she was hard to read. We didn’t talk for that long,” he admitted and furrowed his brow. I sat back in my chair and listened while Hale gave a brief recap about Selena’s refusal to take the Porsche.

 “I figured she would be resistant, but I thought she’d be more apt to take it from you over me. I’ll handle it from here,” I told him. “How are we on security for later?”

 “Security is in place. I spoke to Justine and she shared a few additional concerns that I’ve made accommodations for. I’ll be there to keep an eye on things all night. If Charlie makes an appearance, we’ll be all over it.”

 “I don’t think he’ll come around,” I dismissed.

 “Well, if he does, we’ll be ready to toss him back out to the street,” Hale assured. “Did you get my email on Trevor Hamilton?”

 “I did, but I haven’t had the chance to look it over yet. Did you find anything on him?”

 “Quite a bit, sir. In fact, it’s quite disturbing. That’s why I asked if you received it. I have a hard time picturing someone like Miss Cole being with a man like him.”

 I pressed my lips together and frowned. No matter what Hale found in Hamilton’s background, I didn’t like picturing her with any man other than myself.

 My phone buzzed and I glanced down at the screen. It was from Selena and instantly my mood lightened.

   3:07 PM, Selena: Mr. Roberts kept me longer than I planned. On my way up now.

   Hamilton could take a flying leap. She was mine now.

   3:08 PM, Me: See you in a few.

   On impulse, I added the same kissy-faced emoticon that she sent to me earlier. I smiled, thinking about how she had the ability to bring out an uncharacteristically playful side in me.

 I looked back to Hale. He wore a peculiar expression on his face and I quickly wiped the soppy grin off my face.

 “That was Selena,” I told him seriously. “She’s on her way up. We plan to get ready for the gala at the penthouse. You can pick us up there at six o’clock.”

 “Yes, sir,” he replied, but he was eyeing me with a knowing look.

 “What?”

 “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”

 I narrowed my gaze, fully aware of what he was thinking.

 Yes, Hale. I’m completely smitten by an angel.

 I honestly didn’t care what he thought. In fact, I didn’t really care what anyone thought. I was in love with a woman, even if she didn’t know it yet. If people wanted to judge me for that, so be it.

As we neared the hotel that would be hosting the charity gala, I was already feeling like a princess. It was hard to believe that I was arriving in a 1931 Bugatti. Between that and our vintage attire, I would bet that even members of the British Royal Family would experience a twinge of envy. I was starting to learn very quickly that Justin never did anything small.

 When we pulled up, I glanced out the window. A sea of news reporters were there at the ready. All of my excitement instantly vanished.

 “Justin,” I said warily as I took in the crowd that lined a Hollywood style red carpet. “Are those all reporters?”

 “Most likely. There was a lot of hype surrounding this event,” he said with a frown. “But I will admit, I didn’t expect to see so many.”

 “Shall I pull around back, Mr. Stone?” Hale asked from the front seat.

 “The publicity will be good. I shouldn’t avoid them,” Justin mused before turning to me. “Selena, I’ll need their coverage to capture the interest of future donors if tonight’s silent auction doesn’t pull in as much as we hope it will.”

 “It’s okay. I understand. I can handle it.”

 I hope.

 “Hale, we’ll just get out here.”

 “Yes, sir,” Hale replied.

 Hale got out of the car and walked around to open the door for us. Justin climbed out first then turned around to take my hand. The minute I stepped out of the vehicle, the press pounced.

 “Mr. Stone, can you comment on Stone Arena?”

 “What are your community outreach plans for the women’s shelter?”

 “Mr. Stone, when are you going to begin work on the Rushmore building?”

 Question after question was fired at him, but he didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he just smiled as we walked up the red carpet hand in hand. Hale trailed very closely behind, keeping a watchful eye on the scene.

 Holy crap. This is absolutely nuts!

 Cameras flashed. The entire thing felt surreal. I literally felt like a celebrity.

 “Mr. Stone, some have been calling you a venture capitalist,” a reporter called out. “What’s your position on that?”

 Justin paused at the question and turned to face the reporter. He was a tall and thin man, looking to be in his mid-forties. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he held out a microphone in anticipation of what Justin might say.

 “My business has always been real estate. It always will be.” More questions came flying, and Justin held up his hand to silence them. “I cannot discuss the details about Stone Arena at this time. But rest assured. As soon as I can, a press conference will be scheduled.”

 “Mr. Stone, can you tell us the name of your date for this evening?” said a woman from behind the man with the glasses. Justin paused and seemed to be contemplating his words before he spoke.

 “This is Selena Cole. My girlfriend,” he added.

 I almost started choking as the press buzzed to life once more.

 “Who designed her dress?” shouted someone from the crowd.

 “Her dress was purchased at 25th Street Vintage, from a lovely woman named Dejah. Now, if you’ll excuse us. Stone’s Hope Gala awaits us,” he said before turning back to me and lowering his voice so that only I could hear. “Let’s go, angel.”

 “I thought you said that boyfriend and girlfriend sounded childish,” I whispered once we were out of earshot from the press.

 “I did.”

 “What made you change your mind?”

 “I don’t know to be honest. Would you have preferred something different?”

 I smiled to myself.

 Not at all.

 “Oh, I could get used to it I suppose,” I said nonchalantly.

 “Maybe I should have stuck with arm candy,” he mused. However, he couldn’t keep the smile from showing through in his voice. I looked up at him as we walked through the entry doors that Hale held open for us. Justin’s eyes twinkled bright with amusement.

 “The day you refer to me as your arm candy is the day I start calling you cupcake,” I joked.

 He laughed, the sound echoing through the lobby of the hotel.

 “You really are something, Miss Cole. It’s occurred to me that I might actually enjoy myself tonight.” He stopped walking as we came upon a set of great double doors. He bent at the waist and made an exaggerated swooping motion with his arm. “My lady, I am honored to have you here as my date.”

 Looping his arm in mine, we walked through the doors of the ballroom. When we entered, I was completely awestruck.

 “Oh, wow!”

 Deep red and black satin swooped down from the ceiling, with an ornate crystal chandelier as the centerpiece. The same deep red covered the tables, accented with black and white dinnerware. Roses set in gemstone colored vases adorned each table.

 Framed replicas of Toulouse-Lautrec posters covered the walls, adding to the authenticity of the setting. There was a massive stage at the far end of the room, with a backdrop of red velvet curtains lined with gold sequins. A band of musicians wearing top hats and three-piece suits with striped vests was already playing. Their lead singer was a woman decked out in swanky black dress and long strands of pearls. They swayed around her neck as she sang a cover of “Alone” by Patricia Kaas.

 “It looks like my sister has out done herself,” Justin commented.

 “You can say that again! This place looks amazing! Actually, glamorous would be a better word for it. I feel like I’ve just walked into a turn of the century movie.”

 People mingled about wearing elaborate attire. The women wore everything from the sleek and sexy dresses of a courtesan, to the more revealing burlesque fashions of the time. The men were in costume as well, their style similar to Justin’s striped tuxedo and top hat. Any reservations that I may have had about my costume vanished. I was dressed perfectly for the occasion.

 “Justin!” called a female voice. I turned and saw Justine coming towards us. She looked striking in a long gown of deep purple, the coloring complimenting her jet-black hair that was twisted into a stylish knot with pin curls on top of her head.

 “Justine, you look lovely,” Justin complimented and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You remember Selena, right?”

 “Yes, of course,” she said and turned to me. “I just love your dress! How was Dejah? She didn’t talk your ear off, did she?”

 “She was fine,” I said and laughed. “Justin was sure to keep her in line.”

 “I bet he did!”

 “Alright, alright. No tag teaming allowed tonight,” Justin joked. “Selena, let’s head over to our table and leave Justine to do whatever it is she needs to do.”

 “Actually, I need you to come with me,” Justine interjected. She made a quick glance over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Mrs. Van Rensselaer is already here. I could use your help with persuading her to open her checkbook. You know how she is. I need you to work your magic on her.”

 Justin looked to me.

 “It’s okay,” I assured him. “Go on ahead. I can find our table without you.”

 “Are you sure?” He looked doubtful, ignoring Justine as she tugged on his arm.

 “I’ll be fine, Justin. Go work your magic on Mrs. Van Rensselaer,” I teased with a wink.

 “I won’t be long.”

 After Justin and Justine walked away, I headed over to the table that held our seating place cards. I located our table assignment easily enough, as we were seated at the head table near the stage. When I sat down, I fought the urge to kick off my shoes. They had been on my feet for barely an hour, but I was already feeling the pinch in my toes. I was regretting my choice to give in to Dejah’s insistence over the Edwardian era shoe.

 “Justine said that you didn’t look his type,” said a female voice from behind me.

 I turned to see who was speaking. A slender red headed woman in a royal blue dress leaned against the table behind me. She was drinking from a champagne flute. I recognized her immediately as the woman that Justine was with at The Mandarin Day Spa. She was also the woman whose face appeared in news articles, photographed next to Justin, on numerous occasions.

 Suzanne Jacobs.

 Since we had never been formally introduced, I played the innocent card.

 “Hello. I’m Selena Cole,” I said and stood to offer my hand to her.

 She glanced down at my hand, but didn’t accept the handshake. Instead, she polished off what little amount was left in her champagne glass and signaled a waiter for another.

 “You’re a little young for Justin,” she drawled. She peered at me through glassy eyes. It was then that I realized that she was well on her way to being drunk.

 Already? The night has barely gotten started.

 “I’m sure that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told her.

 The situation had disaster written all over it. I turned my back to her and reclaimed my seat. I was not about to have a confrontation with a drunken woman that I had never met before. But, much to my dismay, she pulled out the chair next to me.

 “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Suzanne. Suzanne Jacobs.”

 I know that already, you nitwit.

 I smiled sweetly at her.

 “It’s nice to meet you,” I stated, trying to be polite as possible.

 “Look at you, sitting there all sweet and innocent,” she said. Her voice dripped with contempt. “Have you ever been to an event like this?”

 “Um, no. I haven’t.”

 “Honey, you have no idea what you’re in for. Trust me. I know. In fact, I know a lot of things about these sorts of affairs. Just like I know a lot about Justin,” she snorted in the most unbecoming way. “And I know that he will break your pretty little heart.”

 She leaned forward and poked me relatively hard in the chest. I sat back, startled by this woman’s aggressive behavior. It was not the time, nor the place. I looked around for Justin and spotted him on the other side of the room engaged in conversation with someone.

 I tried to remember the names of the people that were assigned to sit at the same table as Justin and me. Justine had a place card, as well as Justin’s accountant and lawyer, Bryan and Stephen. There were also other names that I did not recognize, but I would have remembered reading the name Suzanne Jacobs. She was definitely in the wrong place.

 “You might want to go find out what table you were assigned to. I don’t recall seeing your name listed for this one,” I told her, hoping that she would take the hint.

 “Trying to get rid of me already? Oh, no honey. I’m just getting warmed up.”

 “No you’re not. This conversation is over,” I told her and stood up. If she wasn’t going to leave the table, then I would.

 She grabbed hold of my wrist, her grip remarkably strong considering how boney and frail her hand looked.

 “Don’t be fooled by him,” she warned me. I ripped my hand out of her grasp.

 “It’s you who are the fool,” I said, careful to keep my voice quiet and even. The last thing that Justin needed was a scene on such an important night. “Don’t pretend to think you know everything about him. I know him. Justin Stone is a good man.”

 “Stone? You really are naïve,” she laughed loudly at some private joke. “You obviously don’t know as much as you think.”

 I looked up when I saw someone approaching out of the corner of my eye. Justine was making a beeline towards us.

 Oh, thank god.

 “Suzy!” she hissed. “What are you doing?”

 “Oh, relax!” Suzanne waved off.

 Justine looked more closely at her friend.

 “Shit. You’re drunk,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you! You, of all people, know how much work that I put into tonight. I told you that Justin was bringing someone and you promised that you wouldn’t do anything stupid! And here I was worried about Charlie ruining everything!”

 Who is Charlie?

 I looked back and forth between the two women, not sure what to make of the situation, when Justin came strolling up.

 “Suzanne,” he said with a nod. His greeting was pleasant enough, but I knew otherwise from the strained tick in his jaw. It was his telltale sign that he was angry.

 “Justin, call Hale immediately,” Justine ordered. “Suzanne needs to be taken home. Now.”

 Justin looked over to the left. I followed his gaze and saw Hale standing against a wall nearby. The two men nodded to one another, before Hale came over to the table.

 Hale didn’t say a word, but simply took Suzanne by the arm and steered her towards the main doors. She, of course, did not want to go willingly and protested the entire way. A few guests glanced in their direction, but for the most part, their exit was made quickly and quietly.

 “I’m very sorry about that, Selena,” Justine apologized. “Suzanne is…bitter. Let’s just say there’s something to be said about a scorned woman.”

 “Don’t make excuses for her, Justine,” Justin quipped. “She’s a grown woman. She should know how to behave.”

 “Justin, I tried to warn –.”

 The loud static from a microphone being adjusted interrupted whatever it was Justine was going to say. The female lead singer from the band had left the stage and was now behind the podium. In all the commotion with Suzanne, I hadn’t even realized that the music stopped.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” she announced. “Dinner will be served momentarily. In the meantime, I’d like to welcome up to the stage the man who has made all of this possible. He is the Chief Executive Officer of Stone Enterprise and the founder of The Stoneworks Foundation. Without him, none of us would be here tonight. So, without further ado, please put your hands together for Mr. Justin Stone.”

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