#beach day is terrifying for the rest of the mercs

[voicedbychrispratt]

scouts legs look like this underneath his stupid sweatpants

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting -- Chapter Six

Been sitting on this lovely commission from @strzygon-x​ of Delphine and Elazar, felt it fit perfectly with the chapter so I just had to share it.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: mentions of blood in this chapter (2 mentions, nothing graphic, just plot points) and some canon typical templar violence towards mages (just fair warning in case the dynamic is uncomfy)

Can also be read on AO3

[Masterlist] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

Chapter Six- Ghost

War room meetings tended to leave Delphine feeling significantly more downtrodden than she was beforehand. There did not seem to be much good news to go around these days. Reports of rifts continued to flow in along with rising tolls between the templars and the apostates in the valley and elsewhere. Elazar had returned from the Hinterlands with the Inquisition’s new horse master but his arrival was overshadowed by the introduction of one Warden Blackwall, who did not come bearing any helpful information. He was just as unaware to the status of the Grey Wardens as the rest of them. It was all rather disconcerting. Del could tell Elazar was struggling to remain optimistic as they departed the chapel. She hoped Varric wasn’t busy tonight, El was in serious need of a strong drink at the bar and some outlandish stories to keep his mind off this newfound responsibility for a bit.

“Excuse me!” The pair stopped rather abruptly, not at all expecting the soldier loitering at the doorway to address them. They both looked to the man, wide eyed. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

Del was surprised one of Leliana’s agents hadn’t spoken with him yet, normally they were on top of situations like these.

El titled his head to the side, taking a rather obvious curiosity in the man, “who are you?”

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra.”

The merc had quiet the name, definitely not Orlesian or Ferelden.

“We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

A mercenary company? Was the Inquisition looking to hire more muscle right now? Del couldn’t remember Cullen expressing a need for more troops in any of the recent meetings. Did the more the merrier apply in situations like these?

El beat Del to all the questions though, “why did your commander send us this information?”

“Iron Bull wants to work for Inquisition. He thinks you’re doing good work.”

That wasn’t exactly the answer the either of them had been expecting. El did look pleased though. Maybe this day wouldn’t be all bad.

“We’ll consider your offer.”

“I appreciate it. We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast and you can see us in action.”

.

As many questions as Delphine had on the situation, she had no real desire to go to the Storm Coast and find the answers. El didn’t give her much of a choice in the matter, informing the advisors of their departure promptly after speaking with Cremisius. She was going to have to find some way to get back at the elf because the whole trip had gone from bad to worse. It was one thing to be soaked to the bone from the constant rain, but now she was coated in Tevinter mercenary blood after their party had joined in with the attack on the Vints. El and Varric looked more than pleased with her displeasure.

“Fuck you.” Del spat at Elazar, “I’m never letting you drag me out to this Maker forsaken place again.”

El laughed at her as the Qunari merc captain approached with Cremisius.

“Krem! How’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead.”

The one-eyed Qunari grins, “that’s what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.” He turns to the pair, taking a quick moment to take in their sopping forms. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

El grinned back at the Qunari, “Iron Bull, I presume.”

“Yeah the horns usually give it away.”

Well, it was a rather apt name, considering.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

The mercenary lieutenant gives them a nod and a short smile in greeting, “good to see you again. Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already?” The Qunari looked out over the beach scattered with bodies with suspicion, “have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem rolls his eyes, much to El’s delight. “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Iron Bull barks out a laugh as Krem returns to directing the other mercenaries. El’s obviously amused at the odd comradery between the two; if he wasn’t sold on the Chargers before Del could assume he was now.

“So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Del quirked an eyebrow at that. They weren’t exactly rolling in it back at Haven.

“How much is this going to cost me exactly?”

Elazar had been slowly coming into his position – what that position was, neither of them exactly knew but- he was more confident of himself, in the war room and in the field, more willing to make decisions. Del was proud, El had always drawn people to him, their friends had looked to him when the rebellion grew, after all. Yet he never assumed he deserved to be the one making decisions. Ever humble in that regard, he argued with Del whenever she dared to say otherwise. Now the reluctance seemed to be slowly slipping away.

“It won’t cost you anything personally; unless you wanna buy drinks later.”

Oh, they definitely didn’t have enough coin for that.

“Your Ambassador- what’s her name- Josephine? We’d go through her and get payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.”

Iron Bull was sure of his company and their prowess.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

Del knew for a fact El had no idea what made a good mercenary company- neither of them did.

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m you’re man. Whatever it is- demons, dragons? The bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Delphine, like most folks in southern Thedas, knew next to nothing about the Qunari. What she did know was, she could safely assume was mostly propaganda and stupidly exaggerated rumors. She’d never heard of any groups within the Qunari, definitely not the Ben-Hassrath. The Qunari, the Qun, that wasn’t something she’d ever discussed with Elazar. It certainly wasn’t a topic that came up in the Circle. The wide-eyed look El gave her led her to believe the Dalish didn’t know much more than the rest of them. “We’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, we’re spies.”

He’s a spy and was just telling them? Why was he working as a mercenary in the south if he’s a spy? Wouldn’t he be more effective elsewhere? Del’s mind was swimming with the implications.

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

That sounded right up Leliana’s alley but was a spy a trustworthy source of information?

Elazar’s wide eyes were telltale enough of his own surprise. “You’re a Qunari spy, and you just… told us?”

Iron Bull shrugs, “whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So, whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

Was he though?

“You still could have hidden what you are.” It wasn’t like they would have known any better. She and Elazar had no idea the Ben-Hassrath even existed before today.

“From something called the Inquisition?” Iron Bull chuckles, “I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

“So…what would you send home in these reports of yours?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

Del wasn’t fond of the idea of any information making it back to the Qunari- especially anything about Elazar. If there was any kernel of truth to what she’d heard about how the Qunari treat their mages, she was terrified to think of what they’d do if they knew more about Elazar’s “condition.” Though if Iron Bull was telling the truth, and this kept an invasion at bay, wasn’t that a risk worth taking?

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?”

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much. But if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“She?”

“I did a little research.”

Del wondered what exactly qualified as a “little” research.

“Plus I’ve always had a weakness for red heads”

Elazar snickered, proving that even when faced with a Qunari spy he still had the humor of a teenage boy. If El was one thing he was at least consistent. A swift elbow to the gut from Del was enough to get the elf back on track.

“You would run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, Cassandra will eat you alive.”

That’s an understatement.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” The grin splitting across his face made Del believe him. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

Krem pouts as the Qunari’s voice cuts across the beach, “what about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Krem threw his arms up, though his frustration was more for show than anything, it seemed.

Elazar was going to be fond of this group for sure.

.

“How’s it going Krem de la crème?”

The merc lieutenant rolled his eyes, not even bothering to turn and greet the Qunari as he approached. “I’m so glad he has more people to hit with that joke now.”

“Are you telling me Tiny can’t come up with new material?” Varric scoffs, “I had higher hopes for him.”

Krem quirked an eyebrow, “Tiny?”

The hulking Qunari warrior was anything but small, seemed a rather backwards nickname.

“He’s already got a nickname?” El sounded rather insulted at the realization.

“Dwarf calling a Qunari tiny, that’s rich.” Iron Bull grumbles, single-eyed glare pointed at Varric.

“Some just come easier, Herald.” The author shrugs at El who is not satisfied with Varric’s obvious dodge.

“Nicknames, is that his thing?”

Del wasn’t sure. Varric was usually out traveling with Elazar so she hadn’t spoken with him nearly as much El. She had noticed the dwarf only referred to Cassandra as Seeker, but she figured it was a way of bothering her, considering Cassandra rolled her eyes nearly every time he did it.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Krem.”

“Oh, has the Herald not shared yours with you yet?” The shit eating grin plastered across Varric’s face leads Del to the conclusion she doesn’t want to know. Whatever names Varric and El were coming up with when she wasn’t around, she didn’t want to know.

“Del works just fine, I’ll stick with that.”

“That’s no fun.” Iron Bull chides, “lay it on us, dwarf.”

“Ghostie.”

“Ghostie?” Varric thought of her as a ghost? Or had she become sickeningly pale again without realizing it?

Iron Bull rubs his chin for a moment, his eye trained on Del. She fights the urge to fidget under his stare. “I see where you’re coming from with that.”

El snickers. Del has to restrain herself from zapping him.

“Right?” Varric puffs his chest out, “all in the details.”

“What details?”

“Well, you’re quiet, avoid attention. You’ve obviously mastered fading into the background, and best of all, I’ve seen you sneak up on and startle not just Seeker but Leliana too.”

“Those were on accident!” Leliana was the last person in Haven she would want to shock on purpose.

“Even better! Naturally as quiet as a ghost.”

This wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

If he’d already come up with one for her, Varric must have decided on Elazar’s by now. “So, what’s El’s then?”

“Apparently I’m not nickname worthy.” El pouts, putting on his best kicked puppy face.

“Oh, that’s borderline manipulative, Herald.” Varric chuckles, not at all fazed by the elf’s big doe eyes. “You just gotta wait for it to develop naturally. Some just take time.”

“No need to look glum, boss,” Iron Bull smacks Elazar in the back, nearly knocking him out of his seat, “embrace the air of mystery!”

Elazar? Mysterious? Delphine had never known Elazar as anything but straightforward, occasionally unwilling to talk about his emotions, yes, but never untruthful or purposefully shady.

Del rolled her eyes as the group descended into bickering. Despite being mercenaries Bull’s Chargers were all easy enough to get along with. Delphine could have never imagined they would be camping out, drinking and laughing with a merc band, yet here they sat, Elazar truly smiling and carrying on with hired blades.

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep worrying over him so much.”

For such a large warrior, Iron Bull managed to move rather quietly, sneaking up at Del’s side at the edge of the group.

“The life we’ve lived up till now made it a strong habit.” That and El’s sometimes flippant attitude towards authority.

“Constantly looking over your shoulder in the Circle.” Delphine hadn’t mentioned it, and El avoided the topic when possible, but Iron Bull had proved to be more than observant in the few days they’d traveled together.

They’d both been looking over their shoulders most of their lives, for varying reasons, and that shapes a child. “For both our sakes.”

Iron Bull nods, “especially for the sake of the rebel.”

There was no way he’s just a spy.

“He’s always had a penchant for trouble.”

“And you’re the one to get him out of it.”

“When I can.” Del could talk their way out of pranks and whatever general ruckus El caused in the Circle. But Del didn’t have any weight to throw around now; she couldn’t just bat her eyelashes and get the night patrol to look the other way now.

“You don’t share his penchant for rebellion, but you’re dedicated and stick around anyways.” It almost sounded like admiration Del heard in his voice. “He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

Although it wasn’t something she would admit out loud, Del was almost proud of the fact she’d kept him out of trouble all these years. Mostly. Nothing she said would have changed Elazar’s mind once he started planning his rebellion. There was no way to talk him out of that trouble with the Knight-Commander.

“How did you know I didn’t rebel with him?” Here she was, living the life of an apostate, same as El. They’d ended up lumped together despite their differing opinions.

Iron Bull chuckles, a gravelly sound deep in his chest that nearly startles Del. “As if the dwarfs nickname wasn’t clue enough? The fact that you’re alive and not dead at the Conclave tells me you weren’t sympathetic to the rebellion.”

Not sympathetic? Del can feel a dark expression slip into place. “Just because I didn’t rebel doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic to their cause. I know where they are coming from, I’ve felt many of the same hurts, I long for change and freedom just as much.”

The Qunari looks surprised at her candid admission and sharp tongue. At least she was able to prove him wrong on one point of his profile.

“So, too prim and proper to join a rebellion?”

Del rolls her eyes, she’d joined the Inquisition, that alone should have proved she was not worried about such things. Or, at least she wasn’t now. “You know that’s not it.”

“Then what motivates you, little lady. Or in this case, doesn’t.”

She almost prefers Ghostie to little lady.

“I have…differing views on violence than the rest of the rebels…”

That lie was so weak it wouldn’t have convinced Cullen. Iron Bull scoffs, “violence against templars, you mean.”

Del gapes at the Qunari- incredibly perceptive for someone with one eye.

“You’re torn- you contradict yourself- makes it obvious enough.”

“I… as much as I hate what was done to us… what we went through… I just don’t have the same hate towards templars that El and the others do, because then I’d have to hate some people very important to me. And I can’t…I just can’t.” Not when Ralf was the one person to always protect her.

He’s solemn for a long moment. Del wonders if he has any sympathy for mages, after all the Circles must be significantly better than whatever the Qunari mages had. Yet, there was Dalish, who despite all her instance on being an archer, was living openly as an apostate within the band and Iron Bull had no apparent issues with it.

“Just because you hate the system doesn’t mean you have to abhor each individual in it… it’s too much work to hate them individually anyways.”

The system. It sounded like Iron Bull spoke from experience.

Elazar wasn’t going to be the only one fond of this group.

.

Upon their return to Haven Delphine decided she much preferred the chill of the mountain air over the bone soaking cold of the Storm Coast- she’d made it abundantly clear that she would not be returning to the region with him again. No matter the business. El had rolled his eyes but agreed anyways, promising to not bring her along should they venture back to the coast. Del thanked the Maker before making a beeline for their shared cabin, all she wanted was a war bath and a warm bed. It was so closed now. She’d leave the war council to El for today.

Instead of finding Del soaking the chill from her bones, Elazar returned to find her curled up next to the hearth of the fireplace poring over a large leather-bound tome, two more study volumes spread across the floor next to her. It reminded him so clearly of the young girl he’d stumbled across in the Circle library all those years ago, stormy green eyes consuming the contents of library as if her life depended on it.

Nabbing a blanket from his cot, El silently settles on the floor next to her, throwing the blanket over their shoulders. He knows once she’s absorbed in her reading, Del will forget or forgo taking care of herself. The blanket breaks her concentration, grinning she leans over, bumping shoulders, and whispering her thanks.

“What’d you find, Del.”

“Someone left these on my bed, nothing but my name on the note. A proper surprise.”

El hadn’t heard excitement like this in her voice in years, it warmed his heart to see the curious spark in her eyes she’d had back from when they were both still apprentices. “They’re all on combat magic, El, spells, theory, practical technique. They’ve got everything!”

He can’t help but grin back, “never thought I’d see the day Delphine Trevelyan gets excited over banned literature.”

“Oh hush, is it really banned when there’s no Circles left to ban it?”

“Sneaking by on a technicality, Del.” He chuckles, “who left them for you?”

She shakes her head, “I told you, total surprise. I have no idea. I didn’t ask anyone for them either.”

Curious, “who knows you’re studying combat magic.”

“Well, I’ve talked about it with Josephine and Vivienne a few times over tea. Cullen and I talked about it when he asked for help training the recruits… maybe his lieutenants, Joshua, once.”

That seemed about right, he knew she’d kept her practice so herself, acted as if she was more confident in her abilities than she was. Del was a decent enough actress to have most folks fooled.

“Josie or Vivienne would have left a note though or given it to me in person, telling me all about where they managed to find it and how rare the print is. They’re not the type for surprises like this.”

“True,” El nods, “Vivienne would probably talk your ear off about it.”

Del rolls her eyes, “probably… but I don’t know why Cullen or Joshua would get them for me. Joshua and I are friendly but not that close.”

“Cullen does seem like the type to be too shy to leave a note with them.”

Her eyes go wide, “you think so? But why would he, off all people, be getting me books on combat magic?”

True, why would a templar willingly supply a mage with books on combat magic? This was giving Del everything the Order had worked to deny her all these years.

“I’m sure Leliana knows, though. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.”

Del smiles, settling in so her head is resting on his shoulder, “thanks, El.”

.

“You’re looking much more comfortable out there.”

Delphine tries to mask the surprise that washed over her with the sudden compliment. Although Cullen always thanked her for her help, comments on her magic were few and far between.

“Well the recruits seem to be catching on quick- makes my job a bit easier.” It was easier to focus on her execution when she knew the recruits were able to as least defend themselves from her standard attacks. She’d also gotten enough “practice” in after the trip to the Storm Coast to begin working on refining her casting, something she was rather proud of.

Cullen nods “it’s reassuring to see the progression.”

He deserved to be proud, Cullen was turning farmers and pilgrims into a formidable military force with very minimal support. Del had overheard Iron Bull dishing out compliments on the former templar to Elazar recently as well, which she was sure were well earned.

“I was wondering if you could spare someone to spar with me a short while. I’ve been reading up on some new techniques I’d like to practice.” She was trying to be nonchalant about it, but it was so difficult once Leliana had confirmed Elazar’s suspicions.

Cullen clears his throat, glancing away from her rather hurriedly. “I believe I can spare Ser Rosche for the time being.”

He calls the soldier over as Del gathers up her staff. She didn’t recognize the man, though she could hardly claim to be familiar with most of Cullen’s troops. Rosche’s face was set with deep lines and a furrowed brow- an expression that rang familiar. His armor confirmed it, despite wearing the trappings of the Inquisition, the man’s chest plate still bore the emblem of the Order. He must have been one of the templars to leave the Order with Cullen after Kirkwall, Del figured.

Rosche nods as Cullen finishes explaining the task, the grim expression never changing. He pointedly looks her up and down as Cullen introduced her.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Cullen shot her a small smile as he returned to his post scrutinizing the recruits as they continued to drill in formation.

The templar before her didn’t utter a word before falling into a defensive stance, his stare directed at the staff clutched in her hands.

Well then, down to business.

Delphine plants herself, reaching into the Veil around them, slowing her breathing as she channels that swirling energy through her staff. Rosche easily blocks the flames she summons- a testament to his training no doubt- before beginning to push forward.

An aggressor. He must prefer the blade to the shield. Del aims low, hoping to slow him momentarily while she casts a simplified chain lighting attach. Nothing strong enough to do any real harm, just a stun spell really. The jolt of electricity does little to slow Rosche’s advance, however. Sword drawn, he lunges, Del sidesteps and counters setting an ice mine between them. That proves enough to get the man to jump back, putting a more comfortable amount of space between them.

Del’s blood roars in her ears. This man was not one to go easy on her. Eyes narrowed; his gaze never leaves her. Del tries to match his stare but she’s well aware she’s less than intimidating.

Slowly, he begins to circle again, Del tries to keep the mine in between, to delay any more lunges but Rosche has already taken the lead in the fight, something Del was hoping to avoid. She needed to learn to take control in fights, to maintain the upper-hand against her opponents.

She tries to regain control but Rosche continues to hold the lead. He blocks everything she throws at him, even a fireball sent hurling at him full strength, all while he steadily inches closer. The air crackles around her as Del focuses a lighting spell on the blade of her staff, swingling wide at the templar. He parries her blade with ease, the spell quickly dissipating.

Del staggers back as she realizes he’s been dispelling her magic; no wonder her fireball didn’t even faze him. A shiver runs down her spine as a grin breaks out across his face, vaguely manic. It takes near all her will to tamp down the panic clutching at her chest.

“Is that the best you can do, little mage?”

Del barely manages to block his blade as he rushes forward, taunting grin still painted across his features. She throws up a barrier in response, giving her enough time and space to throw a few shots towards his head and shoulders. It’s quick enough he has to duck out of the way instead of block and dispel. Her pride is short lived as he regroups and presses up against her barrier.

Rosche’s grin has disappeared, lips set into a snarl as he shoves against the barrier again. Del is thrown back as it snaps, air rushing from her lungs as her back meets hard packed ground. Panic washes over her as the man stalks towards her, sword still held high. She casts on instinct, feeling the fire flow through her like it did when she first came into her magic, throwing as much heat at her attacker as she can. The flames never leave her hands.

Del cries out as an invisible weight forces down against her chest and her magic explodes against her palms. Her magic has never rebounded before- at least not of her own volition.

Desperate she reaches out again, chest heaving, for the Veil only to realize she can’t find it. Its as if the world around her had suddenly gone silent. The constant hum of energy around her gone.

“No-” her voice croaks at the realization the man looming above her now is suppressing her magic, keeping her from defending herself.

“Yes,” he sneers down at her, eyes cold.

Staff. She needs her staff. Her fingers graze of the shaft for a brief moment before its gone. Still struggling to catch her breath, Del watches as Rosche kicks it away.

He’s still looming over her, taunting her, as she struggles. Every time she reaches back out for the Veil he pushes back twice as hard, pushing her further and further from her magic. Del’s head is spinning as she stares up at him, wide eyed. She didn’t know magic suppression could physically hurt.

“Too bad, little mage.”

Del doesn’t remember how to move as he raises his sword to strike.

This wasn’t a sparring match.

“Chargers!”

The world around them springs into action as Iron Bull’s voice cuts through the roaring in Delphine’s ears. Something explodes above her, near Rosche’s shoulder, throwing him back. Bull and Krem rush by in her peripheral, weapons drawn. A crowd of Chargers quickly follows after.

Their elven mage, Dalish, suddenly appears above her, worry etched across her brow. “You alright?” Del can vaguely make out the feeling of Dalish’s fingers ghosting over her, checking for injuries. She can’t even find it in her to nod back until Del finds her breath.

“Hit…hit my head.”

“Aye you did.” Dalish chuckles a bit but the mirth doesn’t reach her eyes, “we saw you go flying.”

Well that explained the pounding.

The elven woman’s hands continue to investigate, poking and prodding across her torso. “Well, doesn’t look like anythin’s broken.”

Del coughs out a sorry excuse for a chuckle in response.

“Oh, that’s going to take more than elfroot.” Dalish hisses, slowly taking Del’s hands in her own.

The burning rushes in all at once, across her palms and fingertips. She must have roasted her own hands when Rosche caused her magic to rebound. Fuck.

“Let’s get you up, yeah?”

With a few curses between the two of them Dalish helps Del to her feet, a hand at her back keeping her steady as the world swayed around her.

A few yards off Iron Bull stood over Rosche, disarmed and face down in the dirt, one of the Qunari mercenary’s boots pressed into the man’s back. Krem and the others stood by, faces dower as Cullen stalked towards them, fuming.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Del groaned as the Commander’s shouting mixed with the pounding against her skull.

“He attacked Delphine, ser.” Krem answered, face stern and hands on his hips.

Del didn’t think Cullen’s scowl could get any deeper but she was quickly proven wrong. “They were sparring!”

“He wasn’t.” Bull’s voice was level as he stared down the blond. “He had her cornered and disarmed but ready to land a deadly blow.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up as he looked her way. She must have looked a mess, covered in dirt and melting snow, hands bloody and burned. Messy strands of hair fell in her face, Del figured her braid must have come undone upon impact. She didn’t care much to check; she was still barely holding herself upright with Dalish’s help.

“He was suppressing her magic, Commander-” Bull continued, voice dark- “she was down.”

Cullen’s expression darkened; his hard gaze pinned on the downed templar. “What is the meaning of this Rosche?”

“What’s all the fuss?” He spat, still struggling against Bull’s boot. “It’s just a mage!”

Delphine’s heart stopped. She wasn’t even a person to this man. He had meant to hurt her this way.

“Just a mage?” Cullen seethed.

Cullen could be riled up from time to time in meetings, he could be stern with the soldiers, and there had been moments when Del could see the anger swirling behind his eyes but he never appeared to act on it. Not as long as she’d known him. He stood, shoulders squared, one hand clenched around the hilt of his sword as if he meant to draw it against the disarmed man. If looks could kill Rosche would be long dead.

“Bull, please escort ser Rosche to the cells. I’ll need to inform the Herald and the others of what has happened.”

“Sounds good, Boss.”

Elazar.

“No!” Del’s knees crumple as she tries to rush forward. Dalish manages to catch her before she falls, hauling her back to her feet.

All eyes turn to Delphine.

“Don’t tell Elazar, Cullen, please.”

If Cullen was the one to deliver the news to Elazar, Del knew he would bite Cullen’s head off. El was still upset with Cullen over his comments about the rebellion and the templars, even after finding out Cullen had been the one to gift her with the books. He was never the kind to hold grudges but this, this was going to piss him off and if Cullen delivered the news, El would be sure to place the blame solely on him.

“The Herald needs to know, Delphine.” Cullen’s voice softened a bit but the deep frown did not seem to be disappearing anytime soon.

Elazar would know. There was no way with how small Haven was Elazar wouldn’t know soon, but none of this would end well if he heard it from Cullen’s mouth.

“Dalish, Stiches, take Delphine to Adan.” Iron Bull cuts in, voice booming over growing crowd. “Krem will go find the Herald, bring him to her. Cullen can inform Red and Josephine of what’s happened.”

Thank the Maker for the eagle eyed Qunari. Even in his short time with the Inquisition he already had a solid handle on the dynamics here.

Dalish wraps an arm around Del’s waist, supporting most of her weight. “Got it, Boss.”

Cullen doesn’t look particularly pleased but agrees with the Qunari.

Rosche groans and curses as Bull pressed down on his back. “I’ll take care of this one.”

Del doesn’t doubt it.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 33

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

It’s six thirty in the morning when he steps out onto the front porch; barefoot and blurry eyed, still clad in just a pair of boxer briefs, cup of coffee in one hand and phone in the other.  After Nik’s call he’d fallen into a restless sleep; dreaming of Dhaka and the night at Gaspar’s house when he’d been given the five million dollar deal. This time he’d made a different decision; willingly giving both Ovi and Esme up in exchange for money and his freedom. Asif had been there, sitting in a darkened corner; watching and listening. A pleased, victorious smile on his lips as his right hand man brought over his two new favourite playthings. They’d been drugged; minds and eyes hazy, their movements sluggish and uncoordinated.  He’d had a change of heart at the last moment; offering his life in exchange for hers. Begging and pleading with Asif to ‘take me instead of the girl’.  Asif had just laughed, then grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look at Tyler. Mocking her, telling her to look at the big, strong man now; crying like a baby and bargaining to save her. How did that make her feel? Knowing he could be so weak? That she was the one capable of making him that way? Is that really what she wanted? Someone so pathetic? Or did she want a real man like him. Then he’d his hand had moved to her throat; fingers digging into the soft flesh with enough power and pressure to steal her breath. And he’d kissed her. Savagely. Brutally.

And she’d kissed him back.

Tyler woke up breathless; near sobbing. Tears spilling down his cheeks,  his heart thundering, and chest aching. Initially panicking at the unfamiliar surroundings and bolting upright, wide -almost terrified- eyes taking in everything around him; the furnishings, the color of the walls, his old friend sleeping soundly across the room, the cattle dog sitting beside the couch, curiously watching him.  And it hadn’t been until he’d glanced out the window and caught sight of the mountain range, tree line, and brush that reality had finally settled in.  He was no longer in Dhaka. Not at Gaspar’s outside the city limits.  It was seven years ago. Not now. He’d turned down the offer and Asif hadn’t been there; he’d never laid a hand on her and he’d never kissed her. None of that had ever happened. Just his mind -broken and in tatters- playing tricks on him. They’d made it out of Bangladesh. She was saife. At home. In bed. THEIR bed.

He’d been tempted to call; just to hear her voice; needing that extra bit of reassurance that everything was fine. SHE was fine. But he knew what the mornings could be like; up before the sunrise with the baby, then tending to Declan and getting breakfast made and three kids up and ready for school. Ovi would be there; promising to keep an eye on things and lending a hand whenever it was needed. Kyle couldn’t be relied on; too busy getting his rocks off with Salena. Or whatever the hell her real name is. And Tyler had briefly wondered if getting into Kyle’s life had been part of whatever the new neighbor was up to; a way of weaseling her way into their lives for some fucked. The uncertainty eats at him; knowing that something isn’t quite right yet not being able to prove it or get the information that he needs. Way too many things pointing towards trouble; the Jeep with the stolen plates and the driver with the earpiece that had been watching him and the kids. Salena getting out of the passenger seat with a stack of folders under her arm and no record of her actually existing. All the ingredients, everything needed, to create a huge goddamn mess.

His head throbs. A mixture of lack of sleep and not eating properly. The cravings are intense. When he’d gone into the kitchen to make himself a coffee, he’d been greeted by all the whisky and scotch bottles that littered the counters and shelves; some empty, others half full, a handful still sealed.  And his hands had been shaking as he’d considered it; one on a glass and the other around a bottle of scotch. His brain exhausted from dealing with the nightmare,   trying to piece together the bullshit with the neighbor, and the call from Nik and the threats she’d made.  A single wouldn’t hurt. That’s what the demon on his shoulder had been telling him. That he could stop at just one and walk away; get enough to satisfy the craving, get the taste of it on his lips and tongue.  And he’d been close. So close. Seconds away from pouring the scotch into a glass.  And then as quick as the desperation and the need had come, it had disappeared. Leaving him feeling  weak and shamed and completely disgusted with himself.

Now he sits on the edge of the porch, feeling ground with his feet pressed against the damp earth. It had rained considerably last night; puddles of mud, lower temperatures, and a fresh and familiar earthy smell in its wake. Sadie hasn’t left his side since he’d arrived yesterday; now pressed tightly to him, chin resting on his thigh as he sips his coffee and checks his text messages and emails. Skipping over the angry rants left by Nik and the irritated ‘clearly out of fucks’- one that Yaz had contributed. Tyler hasn’t heard from him since New Zealand; the one other man taking it as a personal slight that he’d given it all up and walked away without even a glance back.

There’s dozens of emails from the contacts he’d reached out to; mercs wanting to work for him and offering their services, retired guys wanting to get back into the game, people who can supply him with weapons and ammo and every other accessory and piece of technology he can imagine.  Even mail from former clients; guys he’d done jobs for and had been so impressed with his efficient -and successful- work. They’re pleased  that he’s not only   back in action, but that he’s actually still alive. They have resources for him; supplies, money, names and numbers of other high profile people that may need some work done.  And he sees the emails that his wife has returned, smiling as he reads her replies; concise, confident, intelligent. As if she’s never spent a single moment away from the job; smoothly and effortlessly transitioning back into her old life.

It won’t be easy; balancing the job and running a business while trying to keep a marriage afloat and raise five kids. But there’s no doubt in his mind that they can do it. They’re stronger together than they are apart; they always have been. And if they can survive the past seven years -especially his addiction issues and a six month separation that should have broken them-, they can survive anything.

He sends a text message. Telling her how much he loves her. Misses her. How he can’t wait to see her. That he’s proud of her. Not just the way that she’s handling the business side of things, but EVERYTHING.  The way she’s always fought for them. For HIM. How she raises his kids. Pouring his heart out with every letter that appears on the screen. He’d not normally that ‘type’, grand displays of affection and sincere, romantic words not his strong suit.  But the nightmare -especially the way Asif had kissed her and she’d reciprocated- has left him feeling unsettled; needing to get things off his chest. The things he feels but always struggles to say.

She quickly sends a text in response. I LOVE YOU. SO MUCH. WE MISS YOU.  Accompanied by a selfie of herself and Millie lying in the middle of their bed, both with sleepy smiles and messy hair and hands down the two most beautiful girls in the world. And he thinks of what Koen had said; about how lucky he is and that any woman who would stuck his side -through everything- was a woman worth holding onto him. She could have easily left that day on the bridge; he wouldn’t have blamed her if she did. But she’d ignored Nik and stuck around and put her own ass on line in an attempt to save his. And that’s nothing you easily thank someone for.

“You really are out of your damn mind,” Koen grumbles, as he wanders out onto the porch, his own cup of coffee in his hand; hair messy from sleep and eyes stilly glassy from all the booze he’d consumed. “Up at these hours of the morning.”

“This is pretty normal for me. Has been since I got clean.”

“Probably used to getting up with the rugrats,” Koen reasons, and takes a seat beside him. “Everything okay?” he nods down at the phone still clutched in Tyler’s hand. “At home?”

“Yeah. Everything’s good. Just checking in on everyone. Making sure they haven’t driven their mom crazy yet.”

“She must already be crazy. Having that many kids with the likes of you. How the hell she puts up with you is beyond me. I’d only be able to stand looking at that ugly mug for so long.”

“You must not look in the mirror very often.”

Koen smirks. “Smart ass. You always were quick with the shit head comments. Thought maybe all that oxygen you were deprived of might have slowed you down a bit. But here I am, dealing with your crap.”

“Admit it. You missed me.”

“About as much as I miss my two ex wives,” Koen scoffs, and then digs a playful elbow in Tyler’s ribs. “You miss it? Living out here?”

“Not really. I have a better life now. A nice place right on the beach. Tons of property. Perfect for raising kids. Wouldn’t have been able to do that out here. We probably would have tried, bt…” he sips his coffee and shrugs. “...we’re happy where we are.”

“Smartest thing you ever did; coming home. No better place to bring up a handful of kids, if you ask me. It’s weird as hell though,” he chuckles. “You doing the whole daddy thing all over again. Never thought I’d see the day, to be honest.”

“Neither did I,” Tyler admits, and he thinks about the picture he’d received just minutes before. Millie with her messy, unruly hair and those huge blue eyes that crinkle at the edges when she smiles. How’d he cried when she’d been born and a nurse had placed her in his arms; tears of both relief that she’d made it safely and immense gratitude that he’d been given that chance again.

After Austin had passed away and his marriage disintegrated, he’d thought that it was it for him. His life had been a mess...HE’D been a mess...and he couldn’t imagine meeting someone that he’d be able to have that kind of experience with. That he’d trust enough to let his guard down around and that could tolerate him and his bullshit long enough to actually fall in with him. That he’d ever find someone to fall in love WITH.

“She’s going to be a heart breaker that one,” Koen says. “The oldest. Those eyes of hers? All the boys are going to be tripping over themselves to get to her.”

Tyler frowns. “They’re going to have to get through me first.”

“Poor bastards. They’re going to be scared shitless when they walk up the house and you’re the first one out to greet them. I feel for them; trying to date a girl that has you as their father. They’d have no clue that you’re capable of tearing them in half.”

“Anyone touches either of my girls, no one will ever find their bodies. No boyfriends. No dates. No dances. None of that. No one is getting close to them. Ever.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Koen chuckles, and takes a swallow of coffee. And for several minutes they sit in silence;   enjoying the feel of the breeze and the smell of fresh, damp earth.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” his friend says. “With the whole merc business. I thought one brush with death would be enough. Apparently not.”

“Things will be different this time. I won’t have to go out in the field as much. Only if things really go to shit.”

“Don’t they always go to shit?”

“Sometimes. Dhaka was the worst, but it wasn’t the first time things went wrong and it won’t be the last. Hopefully we can avoid that level of shit show. I know what I’m doing. I’m not some rookie going into this blind. It was my life for years.”

“But why do you need it to be your life now? Look what you’ve got going for you. You’ve got a wife and little ones. Stability. Why put all that on the line for who you used to be?”

“You having second thoughts?”

“Nope. I said I’m in, I’m in. I’m just worried about you. I don’t you throwing your life away. I don’t want you losing your kids and that pretty little wife of yours. You got a thing going. A damn good thing. You don’t need to fucking that up.”

“It’s something I need to do,” Tyler says. “I need to get back out there. Get back that piece of who I was. I need to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile with my life.”

Koen frowns. “You don’t think you are? Doing something worthwhile?”

“What am I doing? I don’t have a nine to five job. No skills outside of what I learned in the military and on the job. I pick up odd shit here and there. Nothing steady. I spend more of my time in the gym or out in the water or spending time with my wife.”

“And you’re complaining about that last part? Spending time with the likes of her? What the fuck is wrong with you? Give her to someone who’d appreciate her then.”

“I’m not complaining. Far from it. I’m just saying there needs to be something more to this life. I feel like I need to be doing something more. I need to feel useful again. Like I’m not just washed up, broken down ex soldier with a drinking problem.”

“You’re a husband. And a dad. You help raise little human beings. There’s nothing useless about that. You should be sitting back enjoying your life. Appreciating what you have right in front of you. How you gonna feel if all this blows up in your face? If things go to hell and you lose everything? What the hell you gonna do then?”

“I don’t know. Put a gun in my mouth?”

Koen scowls. “I’m being serious, mate.”

“So am I.”

“All I’m hoping is that you got your shit together and you know what you’re doing. Because this is some serious stuff here. Getting back into being a merc. And you’ve got a lot to lose now. You’ve got everything to lose. That’s all I’m saying.”

Tyler smirks. “When did you become so sensitive and sentimental?”

“Don’t be a dick about this. I’m just worried about you. I don’t want you going back into this and losing what you have. Because you finally got your shit together and got a life that’s worth living.”

“I appreciate you worrying about me and all that, mate. I do. But I’ve got it under control. I know what I’m doing. This isn’t going to be like last time. I won’t let it be.”

Koen sighs. “You always have been a stubborn sonofabitch.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tyler insists. “And I wouldn’t be doing it if I couldn’t handle it. Things will be alright. Esme and I are in this together. We’re on the same page. We’re not going to let this break us.”

“I hope not,”  Koen says. “Because I don’t think you’d survive that.”

***

His flight arrives on time, touching down shortly before noon hour at Cooktown airport. She parks the truck on the tarmac and waits; a pair of aviator style sunglasses covering her eyes, fingernails drumming against the steering wheel. She gives the pilot a small wave and a pleasant smile when he nods in her direction; they’d met briefly two days before, when he’d come to the house after Tyler had sought out his help.  Short and broad shouldered; brown hair cropped tightly to his head and kind green eyes that sparkle when he smiles. The quintessential ‘boy next door’ with his youthful wholesome good looks and his khaki pants and crisp white golf shirt.  Quite the juxtaposition compared to Tyler; all power and muscle and the tattoos and scars that tell of a hard life spent living on the edge.  

This is the furthest she’s ever gotten into the job; not only helping organize and run things, but the acquiring of weapons and ammo and other supplies, and the handling of money -big money-  aside from her own payouts. It makes her anxious; knowing that she’s one of two people that others will come to now. Instead of being approached with work and offered jobs,  now she’s in charge of finding and assigning them. Gathering intel had been one thing; she’d spent years honing those skills. Being boss is an entirely different animal all in itself.

So much for not getting ‘too involved’.

Four large and heavy locked trunks are placed in the bed of the truck, followed by several smaller duffle bags that are loaded into the back seat. All containing a shockingly generous amount of automatic and semi automatic rifles and handguns, various types of grenades and their launches, knives, and utility vests. Whatever immediate gear that a merc would meet. All would be placed in a storage facility on the outskirts of town, save for a handful that would be kept in the two locked and secure  gun lockers  that already exist at home; one in their garage and the other in the attic.

Once things are safely loaded, an envelope of money is exchanged. Everything being handled off the books; no paper trail that can connect the pilot to the or the very illegal transport of weapons. You never know who is watching. Now that word has gotten out and spread like wildfire, support and interest are pouring in. But it isn’t just the good-intentioned that are paying attention; a man like Tyler Rake burns a lot of bridges and makes a lot of enemies. Evil, dangerous people who feel as if he wronged them and have been holding onto grudges and fantasizing about revenge.

“Hey,” she cheerfully greets, as he slides into the passenger seat. “How was the flight? How…?”

His mouth is on hers before she gets the rest of the words out; a hand tangling in her hair as he aggressively pulls her into him.  The kiss is long and soft and sweet at first; his lips bearing a hint of coffee and a touch of mint. But then things quickly take a more intense turn; his tongue pushing its way way into her mouth, the miss much more ravenous and needy. Desperate.

“Wow…” she breathes, when he pulls away, forehead briefly resting against hers before his lips brush against the bridge of her nose. “...what was that for?”

“I wanted to kiss my wife. That’s not allowed?”

���Of course it’s allowed. And encouraged. But that was...intense. That wasn’t your usual ‘back after only twenty four hours’ kiss. That was your ‘I’ve been gone for two or three weeks’ kind of kiss.”

“Guess I just missed you.” he reasons, and then presses his lips to her temple before settling back into his seat and reaching for the belt.

“Okay, something is going on. You kissed me like THAT and you’re letting me drive your truck?”

“You had to drive it here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you’re here now and it’s your baby and usually…”

“It’s just a truck,” he says with a shrug, and buckles his seat belt.

“Something is definitely going on with you.”

Tyler chuckles. “There’s nothing. I didn’t sleep well last night and I have a killer headache and it’s probably just better if you drive. That’s all.”

“Do you have a killer headache because…?”

“I wasn’t drinking iof that’s what you’re going to ask. I stayed sober. I told you I wasn’t going to be like that again and I meant it.”

“What was the dream about?”

“Can’t remember. I just know it was fucked and I don’t want to have it again.”

Her eyes narrow as she watches him, noticing the way he grimaces when he stretches his legs out in front of him and the frown on his face as he rubs at his troublesome knee. The scar is long and jagged; starting three inches above and stopping four inches below. There’d been complications; the surgeon discovering more damage, bone fragments and scar tissue than he’d initially expected and having to not only replace the knee, but repair ligaments and tendons that were nearly severed.

“What’s this about?” She reaches over to tussle his hair. The length on the top is the same as when he’d left, but the sides and back now shaved as close to the skin as possible.  High and tight; a Marine cut.  

“Just something I thought I’d try.”

“You’re going back to the old hair aren’t you,” a slow smile spreads across his face. “You’re going to let the top grow out.”

“It’s the look you liked the most, yeah? Now you can’t say I never do anything nice for you.”

“Baby…” she leans across the space between their seats and presses a kiss to his cheek; his beard still full yet trimmed and tidier. “...you’re the best. You know how to keep your girl happy.”

He grins. “Sometimes.”

“All the time,” she says, and places a kiss to the corner of his mouth before settling back into her seat and starting the ignition.  A companionable silence falling between them as they pull out of the hanger and head for home.

****

“ARE you okay?” Esme asks several minutes later.

“Fine,” Tyler replies, his head tilted back against his seat, eyes closed; one hand on his stomach, the other on her thigh, thumb continuously brushing against her skin.  “Just tired. It was a long night. Couldn’t fall asleep and when I did, I had that fucked up dream.” “And you don’t remember what it was about?”

“Nope. It wasn’t one of the usual ones, though. Never had this one before. But it was messed up. I remember that much.”

How do you explain a dream like THAT? That you’d been  willing to sacrifice someone’s life for five million dollars; knowing that a drug lord would have used and abused them  in horrific and degrading ways before killing them? She doesn’t even know about the whole truth about what happened at Gaspar’s. For nearly seven years she’d assumed that the deal had been for Ovi; that Gaspar had been hell bent on killing him and Tyler refused to give the kid up and all hell broke loose.

“Hmmm…” she turns her full attention to the road, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip. She’s used to this; his constant need to keep everything inside and shoulder every single burden on his own. It’s his protective nature; not wanting to add any extra stress or worry to her already overflowing plate. “...and things went okay?”

“Everything went fine. Got Koen on board, got everything we need to get started. Things went good. Place doesn’t even look the same anymore. Not inside, anyway.”

“And he’s still okay with letting us stay there?”

“Yup. Just said to make sure we change the sheets. Said he doesn’t want to be lying in our ‘business’.”

She laughs at that.

“Did Nik call you?” he casually and calmly asks, hand sliding onto the inside of her thigh; fingertips against the bare skin just below the hem of her shorts.

“Nik? Why should she call me? I’m probably the last person she wants to hear from after that night at the restaurant. I’m sure she blames me for Kyle calling things off.”

“Well in all fairness, you did kind of instigate the whole thing. Hooking him with the neighbor. Even after I told you to stay out of it and mind your business.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault it was instant lust between them. We know all about that, don’t we.”

He grins.

“But no. She didn’t call. That’s kind of a weird thing to ask, About Nik.”

“She called me,” Tyler admits, and he notices the way both of her brows arch. “Last night. I only answered because I thought it was you and that maybe something was wrong at home.”

“Why would she call you? Was she having a lonely night? Wanted to have phone sex?”

“I didn’t have the energy. I’d already had phone sex with you, so…”

“Boy that must have broken her heart; the fact you keep shooting her down. Maybe she feels if she keeps bugging you enough she’ll wear you down and you’ll give in.”

“Not gonna happen. I already told you; I’m not a cheater. I don’t want anyone else but you. And she actually called to give me shit. I guess word travels faster than we thought it would.”

“Well it was going to happen sooner or later.”

“Later would have been nice.”

“I take it she wasn’t happy.”

Tyler smirks. “That’s one way of putting it. She lost her shit. She’s taking it personally; thinks I did it to purposefully fuck her over and put her out of business.”

“Mercs are jumping ship left, right, and center. I can’t keep up with all the messages and the emails. She’s not going to have anyone left.”

He shrugs. “Guess she shouldn’t have let things go to shit.”

“They went to shit seven years ago when she made the decisions she did. That should have been the end of it; when she was so willing to leave you on the bridge to die. She totally fucked you. And not in a good way. Like whose dick is she sucking that she keeps her job?”

A grin tugs at the corner of Tyler’s mouth. “You’re feisty today.”

“I hope you do put her out of business. I hope she loses everything. Because she fucking deserves it. She’s done a lot of shitty things and I’m glad karma is finally biting her in the ass.”

“She’s not going to go down without a fight. She’s pretty pissed. And pretty determined to make my life hell.”

Esme frowns. “She said that? That she’s going to make your life hell?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Well what did she say? Did she threaten to show up and kick your ass? I’d love to see her try.”

“She just said some shit. About us. When I said something about how my wife and my kids will always be around, she made a comment about how she’ll ‘see about that’.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. But I told her I wasn’t fucking around. Don’t threaten my family. It didn’t end well for the last person who tried it and it won’t end well for her.” “Nk hardly seems the type that would hurt kids. There’s no doubt in my mind she’d come for me. She’s been wanting me out of the picture for a long time. But to do something to hurt the kids? I can’t see her stooping that low.”

“I don’t think it was a physical threat. Nik’s all about screwing with peoples’ heads. Look what she did to me. She knew I was messed up and she knew exactly what buttons to push to get me to do what she wanted.”

“You think that’s what it is? Psychological warfare? Because she’s never gone up against me and that's a  battle I will not lose. I’ve gone up against bigger and better than her and I’m still here to tell about it. Besides, what could she possibly say that would bother me that much? After everything I’ve been through in the past seven years? Nothing could unnerve me that badly that it would screw things up between us. Look at everything we’ve been through. That shit we’ve survived.  She doesn’t even know HALF of it. Trust me, there’s nothing she could say that could hurt us.”

“It’s Nik. She’ll make shit up if she has to.”

“She can save her breath. I know all your deepest and darkest secrets. So if she thinks she has something to surprise me, she’s got another thing coming. I do, right?” she casts him a sidelong glance. “Know everything I need to know?”

“There’s nothing I haven’t told you. I told you most of it in the first couple of days. Everything else you’ve lived through with me.”

“Then let her make shit up,” Esme shrugs. “I think I trust you word over hers. After everything she’s pulled,  I wouldn’t believe a goddamn word she says. And the fact she’d even threaten you? Like, she knows who she’s talking to, right? Someone who killed two people with one garden rake. That’s really who she wants to go up against?”

“She probably thinks I won’t retaliate. I don’t give a shit what history we have. You don’t threaten my family. Ever.”

“Normally I’d tell you you’re being paranoid and you’re way too overprotective, but this side of you is kind of hot.”

He grins. “Kind of?”

“Totally hot,” she admits, then giggles and shoves his hand away when he slides it towards her crotch. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“What’s gotten into you the last few days? You’re a little...I don’t know...assertive...when it comes to the whole sex thing.”

“I’m not allowed to want to have sex with my life? First I can’t kiss you a certain way, now I can’t have sex with you either?”

“It’s not that you can’t. You’re just a little more...demanding...than usual. Needy.  Needy is a good word for it. And we’ve always had a lot of sex but lately, you’ve just been...extra...about it.”

He gives in an amused smirk. “I’m extra?”

“In a good way,” she assures him.

“Look, I love you. You’re beautiful. You’re sexy. And I want to fuck you. So…”  his hand once again slides along her thigh, slipping under the leg opening of her shorts. Fingertips grazing against the edge of her simple cotton pants. “...when we get home, that’s what we’re going to do. Fuck.”

“Addie and Declan are there. Ovi’s watching them.”

“Send them to his place. Tell him we need half an hour kid free. He’ll know what that means.”

“A half an hour?” she playfully inquires. “When has it only taken half an hour?”

“I’m in a mood,” he replies, and slides a finger under her panties, and she swallows noisily and her entire body tenses when it pushes through her folds and grazes over her clit.

“Obviously. And you’re going to put me in a mood!” She squeezes  her thighs shut, trapping his hand between them. “Stop! I’m trying to drive!”

“Just relax. Let me do this.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Come on…” he grins. “...do it. I know you want to. It’s something we’ve never done before. You can’t tell me you don’t want to try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh I don’t know, Tyler. I could crash and kill us both and our kids would be orphans. That’s pretty much the worst.”

“Do it…” he encourages. “...open your legs...let me do this for you...let me make you feel good.”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“Our little secret,” his grin widens. “I promise.”

“You're insane. You really are.”

“Maybe. But I can feel how wet you are. “I know you want it just as much as I do. Just do it. Just this once. Let me to this for you.”

She sighs heavily, thighs releasing the grip on his hand.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, swallowing noisily when he slips another finger between her folds, watching her face as the tips press against her clit. Noticing the flush that creeps into her cheeks and the tips of her ears, the way her teeth dig painfully into her bottom lip.

“You really are a bad influence,” she half-heartedly complains.

“Yeah,” he agrees, as his fingers continue their ministrations.  “But you love me though.”

She doesn’t even attempt to deny it.

[nitewrighter]

Hey Chica! Could you write a lil drabble for Carmine and Baines?

“One week of leave,” Carmine stretched her arms high above her head as the dropship touched down on the airfield of the Croatia base. She and the other Talon troops walked out of the dropship, trudging along the airfield to the base where they could get into their civvies. “Finally. I thought that mission would never end.” She glanced over at Baines, who was hunched over a tablet. She elbowed him a little. “Any plans?”

“Mm?” Baines looked up from his tablet, “Oh… I figured I’d stay close to base, catch up on some old mission files, fix up Rita a little bit… get ahead on things, you know?”

“You’re going to spend your leave working?” Carmine huffed.

“You’ve got better plans?” asked Baines.

“Uh yeah. Plan one: Beach. Plan 2: Bikini. Plan 3: Mai tai.”

“Sounds like good plans,” said Baines.

“Uh, yeah, and you should join me,” said Carmine, putting her hands on her hips.

“You know we aren’t really supposed to interact outside of work,” said Baines.

“Well that’s Talon’s fault for not giving me time for a social life,” said Carmine. 

“Well look, some of us may be in the merc life to make good money and get out, and some of us want to make a name for ourselves,” said Baines.

“You’ve been reading up on Doomfist’s manifesto again?”

“He actually has some pretty brilliant insights on how people think en masse–”

“He should have called it the Mani-Fist-o.” 

Baines snorted. “Hey you should tell him that, maybe you’ll get a promotion.”

Carmine shuddered hard and giggled. “No thank you.”

 They watched Talon ship descended onto the airfield. “But seriously…” said Baines, “Don’t you want to ride around in that one day?”

Carmine shrugged. “I’m a sniper. We do our best work when we don’t make big targets of ourselves. I just want to make enough money to get a nice little place on the coast… maybe a boat…Somewhere to hole up and chill out while Doomfist is burning the rest of the world dow–”

Carmine cut herself off as the door to the larger dropship opened and several elite troopers in their all-black armor stepped out. Carmine and Baines steped back a ways from the dropship, but still staring at it. One of the elite troopers held up their arm signaling an all-clear, and the rest stepped off in a neat line off to the side of the dropship. 

“Sticks up their asses—” Carmine muttered.

“Shh!” Baines put a hand on her shoulder.

A cloud passed over the sun, rendering the light colder and grayer as Reaper emerged from the dropship after them. His white mask glaring out from beneath his hood, his black coat flaring out behind him in the sea breeze, he cut a terrifying figure.

“We need to get into the hangar,” Baines’ voice was very low, backing away towards the hangar as Reaper walked across the tarmac.

“We’re just standing here,” Carmine hissed back, “And we’re on leave after this mission, he’s got better things to do than talk–”

“Enforcer 268?” A voice rasped behind the bone-white mask and Baines stopped dead mid-step.

Baines snapped to attention and Carmine stood up straight next to him.

“Yes sir?” Baines stammered out.

A few tense seconds passed. Baines heart was thumping hard in his chest and ears. “…Blaine, right?” said Reaper.

“B-baines, sir,” said Baines.

“I was watching footage of your sector on the trip back. You did good work back there,” said Reaper. He gave Baines a single clap on the shoulder with his metal-clawed hand before walking past him and disappearing into the hangar.

Both Baines and Carmine stood in complete silence for a few seconds after the door closed behind Reaper. As the line of elite troopers dispersed, Baines suddenly buckled over, his hands on his knees.

“Ho-ooly shit—” Baine’s words were shuddering, “Did you see that!?”

“Yeah, I was right there, B–”

“He said I did good! He remembered my name!” Baines was pressing his gloved hands against his helmet, utterly star-struck.

“He called you ‘Blaine,’” said Carmine.

“That’s really close though!” said Baines, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Carmine gave him an affectionate pat on the chest. “Guess we should celebrate, huh?”

Baines seemed legitimately conflicted for a few seconds.

“I mean, if old Big and Spooky himself said you did good, that’s worth taking a few days of your leave to celebrate, right?” said Carmine.

“Yeah…” Baines said a bit hesitantly, then enthusiastically, “Yeah!”

“That’s what I like to hear,” said Carmine, walking off, “Come on, Blaine.”

“Still really close!” said Baines, following after her.

[inspirationaldump]

Project Hollywood

We walked back to the house to meet the owners and sign the paper- work. The former home of Dean Martin (and later the comedian Eddie Griffin), the Rat Pack crib was just above Mel's Diner on Sunset Boulevard. It was $36,000 cheaper per month than the supermansion, and it was walk- ing distance from the clubs on Sunset Boulevard.

The living room looked like a ski lodge. There was a fireplace, a sunken dance floor, a thirty-foot-high ceiling, a massive wood-inlay wall mural, and a large bar in the corner. The space could easily hold a few hundred people for seminars and parties. There were two bedrooms off the living room on the ground floor. Outside each of these rooms was a staircase leading up to another bedroom. And then there was a small maid's room off the kitchen.

The crown jewel of the house was the multitiered backyard. On one level, there were two patios shaded by palm and lemon trees. On the second level, there was a large brick terrace with a peanut-shaped pool, a Jacuzzi, a dining area, and a working barbecue and refrigerator. Beyond it lay a land- scaped hill with a path winding up to a small, secluded deck at the top of the property. From there, we could see the glittering lights and ten-story movie billboards of Hollywood. The place was a chick magnet. There was no way we could fail here.

Papa put his name down on the lease. This, in addition to paying the larger of the rents, earned him the right to the master bedroom, which came equipped with a raised platform intended for a bed, picture windows, and a fireplace. The bathroom was decked out with a glass-encased circular shower, two walk-in closets, and a whirlpool bathtub built for three.

The possibilities were limitless. Papa had visions of renting the house for after-Grammy parties, movie premieres, and corporate events. He no

longer sarged girls when he went out; instead he sarged promoters and celebrities, trying to make connections for Project Hollywood after-parties. He even used Speed Seduction and NLP tactics to try and hypnotize people into investing in the house.

In his spare time, he made bids for tanning beds, movie projectors, pool tables, and stripper poles on eBay. He wanted to make Project Hollywood a place Paris Hilton would want to come every weekend to party.

There were still two bedrooms that needed to be filled, so we issued a call for roommates on Mystery's Lounge. The response was terrifying: Everybody wanted in.

The first night, we all sat in the Jacuzzi from midnight until the skin hung loosely from our bodies, gazing at the palm trees of our new place and the lights of the Hollywood clubs we would soon descend upon. Mystery sang the entire soundtrack of Jesus Christ Superstar to the night sky. Papa told us about his plan to use the house for A-list Hollywood parties. And Herbal served watermelon drinks from his blender. There were no girls, and we didn't need any to validate us. Tonight, it was just the boys. We had done it. Project Hollywood was not just a fantasy anymore.

"We'll make the house famous with our public exploits," Mystery pre- dicted as we all sat there with smiles plastered to our faces. "People will drive by and say, 'This was the home of the Hollywood celebrities Style, Mystery, Papa, and Herbal. They built their careers here and had parties that were the envy of the world.'"

Herbal was our fourth roommate. He was a tall, pale, even-tempered twenty-two-year-old PUA from Austin who peacocked by painting his nails silver and wearing all-white clothing. Like the rest of us, he was a reformed geek. But he owned a house in Texas, a Mercedes Benz S600, a Rolex, an of- fice on Sunset Boulevard that he never went to, and a robot vacuum cleaner. They were impressive holdings for someone his age. He had earned them in some kind of shady casino operation, in which he hired others to gamble for him. In his spare time—which was basically all his time—he explored caves, recorded extremely catchy rap songs, and surfed the Internet for un- usual items to buy and then never use.

Mystery insisted that everyone in the home have an identity—so we had a magician, a writer, a gambler, and a businessman. It was a combination that would prove more dramatic than the most sensationalist reality show.

A few days later, Papa moved a fifth roommate, Playboy, into the maid's room. Playboy was a party promoter from New York who earned my admi- ration when he told me he'd worked for the Merce Cunningham Dance Company. He was genetically good-looking—tall and slender with thick black hair—but he had a bad habit of wearing long artsy scarves and pants pulled up to his belly button. He had quit his job to move in with us, so Papa hired him to work for Real Social Dynamics in exchange for rent.

Then there was Xaneus. He lived in a tent in the backyard.

Xaneus was a short, stocky, fresh-faced college soccer player from Col- orado who had begged to live in the house. He said he'd sleep anywhere and do anything. So Papa pitched a tent for him, asked him to pay for utilities and house cleaning, and brought him into the Real Social Dynamics fold as an intern.

For the first two weeks, all we did was marvel at the house. We'd done it; we had beaten the system. We had the most desirable location in West Hol- lywood. And we had lucked out with our roommates. Herbal had already scheduled a Pickup Artist Summit—the first annual—to take place in our house in a month.

At our initial house meeting, we established a structure for Project Hollywood, putting Papa in charge of social activities and Herbal in charge of finances. Then we laid down the rules: No unapproved house- guests for more than a month; anyone conducting a seminar in the living room has to give the house fund a ten percent kickback; and no sarging women another PUA has brought into the house. All these rules would soon be broken.

I initially enjoyed living with roommates, leaving my introverted writer's world and being part of a whole that was greater than the sum of its parts. Every morning, I'd wake up and see Herbal and Mystery pitching quarters into an ice bucket in the middle of the living room or jumping off a stepladder into a pile of pillows. They were like two kids in search of a playground.

"I have a feeling that you and I are going to become great friends," Mys- tery told Herbal one morning.

When Playboy threw our first house party, five hundred people showed up. We were setting a great example—maybe not to the neighbors, but at least to the community. Within a month, we had franchised.

A group of PUAs moved into Herbal's old house and christened it Project Austin.

Some of our former students in San Francisco rented a five-bedroom house in Chinatown and held pickup seminars in their living room, giving birth to Project San Francisco.

Several college students in Perth, Australia, found a house together and started Project Perth, approaching one hundred women in their first three days on campus.

And four PUAs Mystery and I had trained in Sydney rented a beach apartment with an elevator that opened directly into a club below them. This was Project Sydney.

Nobody had understood the potential of this whole pickup community, the bonding power of dudes talking about chicks. We had manicures, we had mansions, and we had game. We were ready to infect the world like a disease.