#fifty flights of stairs

[powerfultenderness]

Bed

Summary: König’s new neighbor finds out how comfortable his bed is. König falls quickly.

Pairing: König/F!Reader (civilian)

Rated: T+

A/N: Just some fluff. 

Word count: 2947

[Neighbor König masterlist]

It was nice to have his own place. Having been in the military most of his life, König was used to base life. The familiarity of it all was a comfort, but there were some, well, comforts that were always missing. Like his bed. The beds on base were little more than stiff uncomfortable cots, a little too small for him, causing his feet to hang off the edge of the bed. But his bed at home? Large and soft and yet firm enough to hold his weight, with ample room for his height. The pillows were like solid clouds. And the vanilla scented candle on his nightstand would fill his room with its delicious aroma and lull him into soft dreams. 

That’s where he was headed now, ready to eat the take out he was carrying, take a nice hot shower and climb into his bed. But as he rounded the stairs to get to his flat, he was met with a slight block on the stairs. A woman was struggling with a box, bracing it against her knee and grunting with every step she tried to take. 

“Excuse me,” he started in German.

You jumped, and let out an undignified squeak, when someone started talking behind you. The surprise made you drop your box, thankfully it was already low to the step and didn’t drop on your foot or anything. Still you were sure you heard something break. “Shit!” 

With a hand over your heart you turned and had to hold back another startled reaction. The man at the foot of the stairs was big, giant even, and was wearing…some sort of…hood? A mask? What the fuck? It took a second for you to realize he was carrying a take out bag, he must be trying to get past you. “S-sorry, you just startled me.” 

He raised his hands, a gesture to show that he meant no harm. “No, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He replied, this time in English. “Do you need some help?” 

You smiled politely at the man, “oh. No thank you! I got it!” You chuckled nervously, still a little out of breath from struggling with the box, while you braced your lower back with one hand. 

He smiled, not that you could see it, and gestured to the stairs. “Ok. After you.” 

Right. Shit, right. You were blocking him, the big guy probably didn’t want to just push past you on the stairs. 

You chuckled nervously again and picked up the box, trying to keep your grunts quiet, and heaved it up one more step. You could feel his eyes on you, another step, two more steps, then the landing. Whew! You gently dropped the box and straightened out your back to look up at the rest of the stairs. 

You sighed, the little flight you just made it up was the easy part, now the long part of the stairs. The faint chuckling you heard from the foot of the stairs didn’t help either.

“Miss, are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

“I mean,” you started with a huff, not out of anger, just an attempt to calm your breathing. “I don’t need help, I can carry it! But, help would be very much appreciated, yes. Thank you.” 

He nodded and smoothly moved up to the landing, keeping his movements deliberate. Something he learned to do long ago around civilians, especially around women that were smaller than him, so he didn’t scare them. You showed signs of being wary of him —a good thing as far as he is concerned, as he is a stranger—and took a step back as he neared you. Since his face is covered, he can’t offer a mollifying smile (though he feels himself doing so anyway), and instead simply nodded at you again before he picked up the box.

He chuckled, watching you struggle with the box had him expecting a heavy thing, but, “this isn’t heavy.”

“What!” You squeaked, hands on your hips, “it’s like, fifty pounds!” 

Even with his face covered (why?), you can tell just by the way his eyes darted over to you that he is smirking. “Where to?”

“Oh, not far. I’m at 203.” 

“Neighbor,” he nodded as he started up the stairs. “I live in 205.” 

You turned to him with a kind smile and introduced yourself, “nice to meet you, neighbor!” 

“König,” he replied, now at the top of the stairs, and shifted the box so he was holding it in one hand. He extended his right hand to you   

“Now you’re just showing off,” you say with an amused smile and shake his hand before leading him to your new flat.

He was surprised when you opened the door without unlocking it first.

“You should lock your door,” he followed you in. 

You rolled your eyes a little with a short laugh and spread your arms out in the literally empty flat. “What, you think someone is going to break in and steal my nothing?”

“No. There are other things to take besides your stuff.” He half muttered as he set the box down by the wall.

“Huh?”

He looked at you, with your head tilted slightly as you questioned him, and understood. You were one of those civilians. Innocent. He can’t bring himself to put a damper on this interaction, in the back of his mind he realizes that now he’ll have to keep an eye and ear out for his new neighbor. 

“Do you need help bringing anything else up?” 

You gave him a strained smile, nervous, if the sound of your voice was anything to go by, and shook your head. “No, no I couldn’t possibly take up more of your time.” 

You reached out and touched his forearm, intending to remind him of his dinner that he was carrying, but only drawing your attention to his muscles. “Oh. Wow.” You mumbled under your breath, before realizing that you’re essentially feeling him up and quickly drew your hand back. 

König blushed at the soft touch, and again at your mumbled admiration. Not for the first time in his life he was thankful for the mask that covered his face. 

“Uhm,” you cleared your throat and focused, “this was the heaviest box! I thought it would be best to start with that one! So I got it, really. Thank you, though.” 

You smiled at him again and König decided then that he liked seeing you smile. “The food can wait. I don’t mind helping.” He offered one more time, that seemed to be the pattern with you.

Honestly, why were you even saying no to this hunk of man? Sure, you couldn’t see his face, but the form fitting long sleeved shirt he wore did little to hide just how fit he was. So you hummed and hedge, “I really don’t want to be an imposition-” 

“You won’t.”

You smiled again, not a kind polite one like before, but bright and happy. He definitely liked your smile. “Well, in that case, König, I’d love your help!” 

His stomach flipped at your words and smile, and he felt himself blushing even harder. He knew why. It wasn’t often that cute civilian women smiled at him like that. It was nice to have the attention of a pretty woman, even if nothing more came of it, as he expected. 

“Let me put this down,” he lifted the bag of food a bit and you nodded, “sure!” 

Out in the hall he paused and waited for you to lock the door. You scoffed playfully and obliged him, “really, someone taking those broken plates off my hands would be a blessing.” 

He smirked but didn’t humor you, he wasn’t going to encourage your carelessness; what if something happened while he wasn’t around? 

With König’s help it didn’t take long to bring up the rest of the boxes. The man doubled up on boxes on both trips while you carried light bags and just opened doors for him. 

As he set the rest of the boxes down in the living room, you were rummaging through one of the bags you carried up, until you pulled out a wallet. “Thank you so much, König, let me pay you for all your help.” 

“No.” He shook his head and raised a hand to refuse your payment, “it was my pleasure.” 

Pleasure? Damn, where was this guy when you were moving out too? 

“König,” you draw out his name in a small pout. “How can I repay you, then?” 

Once again a wave of excitement rushed through him. He couldn’t help the inappropriate thoughts that ran through his mind for a second, that influenced his answer. “Have dinner with me.” 

Normally he wasn’t so forward with women, and never with civilian women. But you were nice, and didn’t seem to be scared of him, and besides, he saw you checking him out at least once! 

You were a little surprised by the request but smiled nonetheless. “Dinner? Sure, when-” 

“Now.”

“Now?” Well now you’re really surprised. “König, are you offering to share your dinner with me?”

He looked around the apartment, the only thing you had were a few boxes, and shrugged. “What else will you eat?” 

Oh. He had a point. You’re sure if you dug around in one of your bags, you could find a forgotten energy bar somewhere, but you didn’t have any real food around. “Well, ok. That’s true. Are you sure I can’t pay you? I feel like the person roping others into helping them move is supposed to pay for dinner.” 

“No.”

You shrugged, “well, alright then. Let’s go. Oh, unless you want to eat here? I can offer premium seating on the floor!” 

He chuckled and moved towards the door, holding it open for you. He once again waited for you to lock the door before leading you to his flat.

205 was a different layout than yours. It was one of the bigger flats with two bedrooms, two baths, a spacious living room and open kitchen. His place was nicely furnished, one of the first things that caught your eye was the big leather sectional in the living room. It was one of those deep couches, which made sense, considering how tall he was. 

The table and chairs that he motioned for you to sit at were also clearly chosen to accommodate his size. You practically had to climb into the chair, and could easily kick your feet while he grabbed the food and some plates.

He had been so efficient in helping you, that even with the short delay, the food was still warm. You thanked him again and started to dig in when he set a plate in front of you. It’s only after your first bite that you noticed he was eating by lifting his mask for every bite. 

Oh. “I’m sorry.” 

He hummed, confused by your sudden apology. “Why?” 

You gestured to your face, “you probably take off your mask when you’re alone in your home.” 

Warmth bloomed in his chest. You were concerned about him? Of course you were, you were nice. A pretty, nice girl who didn’t want to be an imposition on him, who worried about his comfort, who didn’t lock her door. 

He shook his head, “don’t worry about that. It is not a problem.” 

There was something intense about his stare as he answered you, so intense that you dropped the matter and quickly finished your meal. He matched your pace, finishing his meal just as you finished yours.

You opened your mouth, you were going to thank him again and bid him goodnight, he was sure, but he spoke first. “Want a beer?” 

“Oh. Sure.” 

You smiled at him again, causing his blood to thrum in his veins. He wanted to remember your smile for the next time he was on a mission. The other men would brag about their women, and he had no one to think of, but now your pretty smile would keep his mind company. 

Once you had your beer, you glanced around the apartment, taking it in. He had nice taste, the furniture was high quality, and even the TV looked like it was on the expensive side. Whatever he did, he was doing well for himself. But your eyes kept getting drawn to the couch. Maybe because you were currently lacking furniture yourself, it just looked so comfortable.

“König,” you started, not looking directly at him, “can I sit on your-” 

Face? Dick? Yes, whatever you wanted, “yes.” He answered as you finished your question, “-couch?”  

Oh. He deflated and took a breath to calm down. Of course you weren’t asking him to fuck you right now. 

You set your beer down and moved to the living room. “It just looks so comfy.” You explained as you sat down and pushed yourself back into the firm cushions. You chuckled to yourself as your feet hovered off the ground when you were seated all the way back. Yea, this couch was definitely meant for taller people. 

He grabbed your beer and set it down on the coffee table in front of you, to which you flashed him with another brilliant smile. He grabbed the TV remote and turned it on, “movie?” 

You looked at him as he sat down next to you, his knee gently bumping into yours. “Dinner and a movie? Careful, König, I might start thinking this is a date.” 

He laughed, boisterously, nervously, but relieved that you laughed with him. 

The movie was of no consequence, but he felt encouraged every time you giggled at one of his jokes. By the time he was done with his second beer, he wasn’t even paying attention to the movie, instead he was telling you stories about his missions, nothing classified of course, but the way you stared at him with wide eyes, shining in anticipation as if he were more interesting than the handsome man on the television fueled him. At one point he even rolled up his shirt to show you a nasty scar on his side. 

You gasped, eyes wide and looked up at him a little flustered as you asked him if it had hurt too bad.

“Ah, it was nothing! I barely felt it!” He assured you and cleared his throat as he rolled his shirt back down. 

“Wow! That’s crazy!” You exclaimed as you shifted in your seat too.

His eyes flickered down for a moment and he noticed the way your thighs squeezed together before you found a comfortable position. You were closer to him now, and when he draped his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder, you didn’t move or give any indication that you were uncomfortable. He grinned to himself, nervous adrenaline finding its way into his blood and he had to actively stop himself from bouncing his knee.  

And that adrenaline faded as you nodded off to sleep next to him. Well, you had mentioned that you’d been driving all day, moving. So naturally as soon as you were comfortable you fell asleep. 

He was only slightly disappointed, it was still a better night than he could have hoped for otherwise.

-

You woke to the sound of your phone buzzing. Your morning alarm. You sighed, you still had time before you really had to wake up, so you snuggled right back into bed. It was so soft and warm, but the temperature in the room was bordering cold, which made the warm and heavy blankets even more inviting. The subtle scent of peppermint and vanilla-

Wait!

You quickly sat up, eyes wide in confusion as you looked around a room you had never seen before. It took a moment for last night’s events to come back to you. Oh! This must be König’s room…but he was nowhere around.

You straightened out the bed, feeling slightly guilty about climbing into such a nice bed in your street clothes.

“König?” 

“Good morning!” He called from the kitchen.

You followed his voice, glancing at the couch on the way to the kitchen and saw that there was a pillow and blanket folded neatly on one of the cushions.

“Did you sleep on the couch?” You asked once you were near the kitchen, stopping on the other side of the island counter. Like you, he was dressed in the same clothes as last night, mask and all, probably hadn’t wanted to wake you.

“Yes.” 

“You should have just woke me up. Sorry I kicked you out of your room. Did you carry me to bed?”

“Yes. Breakfast?” He asked just as he flipped an egg.

You glanced away and fought down a blush. What you’d give to have him carry you to his room while you were awake! 

“No, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I still have a lot of stuff to take care of, I should get started.”

“Oh.” He sounded so disappointed, and even his shoulders drooped a little.

You chuckled, “but thanks to you, I’m starting the day so refreshed!”

“Me?”

“Yea.” You nodded and smiled at him again, just like you did last night. “Your bed is so comfortable!”

“You like my bed?” 

“Mmhmm!” You flashed him a devious smile this time, “maybe next time you can join me.” 

The clatter of the spatula falling to the floor and him scrambling to grab it, echoed over your cute giggle. By the time he was standing up again, you were already by the door. “Bye, König!” 

“G-goodbye!” He stuttered after you, already dreaming of what next time would entail. 

[houseofripley]

Hotel Hell - Part Two

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

Part One Pinterest

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Fighting, Shoving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, MAKEUP SEX

WORD COUNT: 3,812

A/N: omg i am sorry this took me years to finish, life has been busy but it should calm down soon. i got such a good request the other day and i haven't gotten it off my mind so i will start that tmrw if i have time. also i proofread this at 2am so please ignore any mistakes lol

“The Brutalization Chamber? You want to know what The Brutalization Chamber is?” The Irish man laughed out, his eyebrows raising once you turned your gaze towards him. 

An expression of curiosity displayed on your face as you repeated the name of the supposed ‘chamber’. It was obvious to the man that you wanted to know more.

The man began making his way down the stairs, “No offense sweetheart…but I don’t really think this is the place for a girl li-” He tried to speak before being cut off.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“I don’t really care what you think sir, I want you to show me what's down there.” You chirped out, following the male down the flight of stairs, your hand hovering over your aching ribs.

“Well shit, if you insist,” The guy chuckled out, “Feisty, she’ll like you.” He muttered under his breath as he opened the door. 

She’ll like you…was he talking about the same ‘she’ you had spent your night with? The same woman who just got done unleashing pure cruelty onto you? The same woman who disappeared into this exact building moments ago?

“Name’s Finn by the way,” He mentioned, “It’s just us, the big boss is probably around here somewhere as well.” Finn spoke as you scanned the room looking for ‘the big boss’.

Grimy was the only way to portray the room. Rope lights scattered across the ceiling, some were dim while others flickered. There were freezing concrete walls with cracks littered all over. A red neon sign displaying the letters ‘TBC’. A blood stained ring sat taking up a quarter of the room. Various pieces of gym equipment and punching bags were compressed into a room off to the side. 

“So…just a gym?” You questioned the man, there was no sign of Rhea.

“Nah, it’s a little more than just a gym love…think of it as a fight club. A fight club with a fuck ton of money involved.” Finn stated leading into a room the size of a walk-in closet, the room seemingly being a pathetic excuse of a nurses office. 

You leaned against the door frame while Finn babbled on as he started unpacking his bag, “People come to us in desperate need for money. They’re entered into our roster, put in the ring and bet on. If they win their match they get fifty percent of all bets placed. Bunch of sick wealthy men love wasting their fortune on this shit.”

“Don’t you think this is just a tad bit illegal?” You chuckled, sending a small wave of pain to your ribs.

“Eh I don’t worry about that too often,” Finn shrugged, digging around his duffle. “Rhea’s not too worried about the legalities when there's this much money involved, she can pay her way out of damn near anything.”

Rhea.

Despite your pain you perked up at the mention of Rhea’s name although you stayed silent.

“Rhea would like you, you’re quiet but there's just something about you, like there’s a fire inside you.” Finn mentioned, pointing at you. “I would introduce you to her but earlier this afternoon one of her top guys lost her like seven thousand. She stormed off to god knows where. Another one of her main guys has a big match in about half an hour. Going up against some new kid we’ve never seen so I’m sure she’s busy worrying her ass off.”

You heard a scoff echo from the main room as footsteps approached. “Jesus fucking christ Finn! Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?” You heard Rhea sarcastically laugh trying to cover her anger.

You slowly turned to face Rhea, examining her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Reality had finally washed over you. The weight of Rhea’s actions flooded into your brain. You couldn’t figure out if you felt more betrayal or anger in the moment.

“Ah! Rhea mate!” Finn exclaimed, trying to divert from Rhea’s critiques. “I was just telling this young lady how much you’d like her…I never caught her name though.” 

Your face turned to the ground as you tried to mutter out your name. “We’ve met.” Rhea butted in, her voice was fully flat-devoid of any sign of emotion. That’s when the regret hit you. 

You shouldn't have come here.

“I should leave…it seems you guys have a busy night.” You muttered quietly. Rhea took a firm grasp on your forearm, “That can wait, let’s go have a chat.” Rhea said as her head motioned towards what you assumed to be her office.

“No, I-I can come back another time, I really don’t want to be a bother.” You barely managed to stutter out while Rhea’s middle and pointer finger of her opposite hand guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “I said let’s go have a chat.” Rhea commanded, her grip on your arm tightening. 

You reluctantly followed the woman as she dragged you in the direction of her office. You knew you were in for it big time.

“You are a fucking insane bitch! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to fucking show up to this place?!” Rhea lashed out at you the moment the latches of her door clicked together. She dropped your arm before shoving you towards the other side of the room. You had been lucky enough to catch your balance as you were just inches away from barreling into the concrete walls.

“I just wanted to learn more! I wanted to figure you out Rhea! Can you blame me for wanting to figure out why you’re so angry and cruel every time I see you?” You said loudly, your voice filled with hurt.

“That doesn't give you the goddamn right to follow me to where I work! You don’t fucking get it, these people I work with are dangerous and I don’t want you getting caught up in this bullshit!” Rhea retorted out as her breaths began picking up speed.

“What makes you think I’m so incompetent that I’m incapable of being around danger?! You put me in danger nearly every fucking time I see you! ” Your hands flew around as you yelled at the woman, tears accumulating in your eyes. 

Rhea began inching towards you, a look of irritation covering her face. “I don’t fucking put you in danger!”

“Yes you fucking do! You have no idea how many bruises you’ve left me with. The other month you choked me till I passed out, yet you didn’t stop fucking me to check if I was okay! For fucks sake Rhea, an hour ago you left me bleeding and collapsed to the floor!!” All hell had broken loose between the two of you as your tears started escaping from you.

“You told me you could take it! I don’t get why you’re bitching and moaning all of the sudden.” Rhea continued arguing.

Your fist crashed down onto Rhea’s nearby desk, “I can take it rough, but you can’t keep disappearing after being borderline torturous! You’re so damn immature!!” Your screaming matched showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I’m immature? You’re the one that followed me to my job and is throwing a tantrum right now!” Rhea’s voice thundered around the room. 

“You don’t get it Rhea! I’m a fucking person and you dont give a shit about me! Why don’t you fucking care?!” You yelled through broken sobs as you started unleashing your sadness and anger onto Rhea, pushing and beating on her chest. 

Rhea made no attempt to stop you. She made no moves, just allowing you to inflict your pain onto her. 

Once your hands had dropped to your sides in exhaustion and your breaths became heavier as you tried calming yourself down Rhea quietly mumbled, “I do care…”

“But you don’t…” You looked up at her with wide eyes, lifting your shirt. You exposed your aching torso displaying your cut up skin, dried blood pooled around your laceration and the letters of Rhea’s name carved into your skin. “Someone who cares doesn't do this and run away.” You quietly said, your voice strained from the screaming match.

The regret in her eyes was apparent as she darted her eyes away from you. The realization she had gone too far had hit her hard, feeling as if she was being crashed into by an eighteen-wheeler. 

Her vulnerability was short lived, Rhea quickly repressed her display of emotion, replacing it with her regular cold and emotionless stare. She had to put on her tough guy attitude. It was her only safety blanket. Emotions are for the weak, Rhea could never be weak.

“You get worse every time I see you, something has to change Rhea…” You breathed out, trying to articulate your speech as you lowered your shirt back down. “If you can’t fix this behavior I’m done.” 

“You know you don’t mean that.” Rhea sighed as she ran her hand through her black hair. She didn’t want to lose you but she could never admit that. “I need to think about…everything. Just give me a some t-” 

Rhea was cut off by a deep voice from outside the door. “Ten minutes till the bell Rhea.” Rhea rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, “Just give me some fucking time Damian! And go get a roll of gauze from Finn. Quickly.” Rhea demanded after opening the door just a sliver. 

You clenched your jaw as you sensed Rhea’s levels of anger were once again rising. The last thing you wanted was to end up back at square one with her. You couldn’t handle another argument with her. Not tonight at least. 

The pair of you stood in silence as you waited for the man to return. Once he had arrived he opened the door, handing Rhea the roll of fabric. His eyes curiously examining you through the crack in the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute…” Rhea aggressively muttered before closing the door. She mumbled your name under her breath before walking to her desk.

 “You’re lucky Finn showed up early, only God knows what could have happened to you if one of the other guys showed up before him.” Rhea grunted as she unlocked a drawer and began rummaging through the mess inside. 

What is it about her?

“Why such a dark line of work? What made you choose this of all things?” You questioned, you were terrified to set her off but on the other hand you wanted to push for answers from her. It was the only way to get your foot into the door of her life.

Rhea stumbled her way towards you avoiding eye contact, a tube of antibacterial gel in her hand as she shrugged. “Not something you choose. You’re born into it and can’t escape it, you just have to accept it and make the best out of it.” She mumbled while she lifted your shirt up. 

Rhea applied a small glob of the antibacterial gel to her finger while she lowered herself to her knees, becoming face to face with your shredded skin. The woman began dabbing the gel onto your skin causing  you to let out a small hiss from the pain.

Once she finished applying all of the gel she wiped the residue from her fingers onto her pant leg and grabbed the roll of gauze. Rhea cleared her throat before speaking up, “Just stay in here for a while, I can take you home after this match.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself, Rhea.” You stated, watching Rhea carefully wrap the gauze around your waist.

“I’m walking you home and that’s final.” Rhea stood her ground, “Seriously though, just stay in here. I’ll be back.”

You weren’t planning on fighting about this with her, deciding to keep your mouth shut you let her take the win. “Fine, whatever.” You gave in as Rhea tied a knot in the gauze to hold it in place. 

“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” Was all Rhea had said as she stood up. Nothing else left her lips as she exited the room. 

No apology?

You groaned as you sat down in Rhea’s large chair. You blankly stared at the wall for several minutes before your mind started to wander. Exploring anything that popped into your head. Places, things, people, Rhea. 

If you were being honest with yourself you were doubting the woman's ability to change her ways. You assumed she would most likely be this way her whole life, although you prayed she had it in herself to change. She had the potential to be great if she would put her pride aside.

It wasn't long until the cheers of the crowd on the opposite side of the door had started drowning out your thoughts. 

You wanted to catch a glimpse of the madness. You stood up from the large chair, your feet scuffing the ground as you strolled to the door

You cracked the door open, taking a peek of the ring surrounded by a flock of rowdy men that were yelling. The large man you made eye contact with earlier was in the ring brutalizing a much smaller guy who couldn’t even be older than twenty-five. He was putting on one hell of a fight but it was clear he stood no chance.

Rhea was the only woman there, she was stood right against the ring watching intensely. She had caught your image in the corner of her eyes. Her face turned in your direction, she tilted her head as if she was asking you what the hell you were doing.

You mouthed the word sorry to her before quickly closing the door. 

Fifteen excruciatingly boring minutes had passed, the cheers had dispersed into muffled conversations. Rhea had finally arrived back in her office. She seemed content which you enjoyed. 

“You ready to go?” Rhea asked, you answered with a simple nod.

As the two of you made your way out of the building Rhea exchanged goodbyes with some of the strange men.

The entire walk was silent, the both of you reflecting on the weird night you had been through together. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost peaceful. Having Rhea in your presence when she was somewhat calm was pleasant. You wanted to hold onto this peacefulness for the rest of your life.

It took you by surprise when Rhea insisted on taking you directly to your door instead of just dropping you off in the front of the large building and ditching. 

“You didn’t need to take me all the way up here.” You quietly mumbled as you unlocked the door to your apartment. “Lot’s of bad people around this time of night.” Rhea muttered as your door swung open. 

You turned around to face the woman, her eyes peering over your head, scanning the entry of your apartment. “There’s bad people around all times of the day. I’m used to it.” You said quietly, her eyes returning to you.

An awkward silence filled the air as the both of you gazed upon each other. Rhea began rubbing her neck, “Uh…I should go. I’m gonna go.” She feebly stated before turning away from you, quickly walking down the hall. She had stormed off before you could even speak up.

Still no apology?

—

Multiple days had passed. Rhea had made no contact yet. You spent a concerning amount of time just staring at Rhea’s contact in your phone, debating if you should press the call button. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

She’d call if she cared enough.

It felt as if life had paused, your days seemed empty. The busy streets of New York City felt devoid of any livelihood. The live music that took place at work sounded muffled. The flavor of your favorite foods had been stripped away. Once colorful flowers sold down at the street market now sat dull.

Days just painfully repeated. 

Tonight you had the night off, your only plans were to stare out the window of your bedroom and pray for a text from Rhea. 

You sat criss-cross at the edge of your bed twiddling your thumbs, your mind seemingly empty as you stared into the windows of the skyscraper across the street when the sound of a knock echoed down your short hall.

Groaning in annoyance as you got up you began making your way to the door, chewing the inside of your cheek as your feet shuffled below you. 

You weren't sure who you were expecting to be in the hall but it completely caught you by surprise when you swung the door open to see the dark haired woman waiting for you.

Without a word Rhea launched herself onto your lips, the force causing you to be pushed back a few inches.

Jesus Christ.

This felt like more than just a kiss, it had an intense amount of passion intertwined into it. Rhea’s hands gripped onto your waist as you backed into the apartment, her foot kicking the door behind her closed.

She had never kissed you in this way before. Before tonight you had only received measly pecks while the two of you had sex. It was never emotional.

Rhea slowly pulled away from your lips, both of your breaths were heavy as she finally spoke, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally.

“God, I’ve treated you like shit and I have been such a dick. It’s been the only thing on my mind. You don’t deserve that, It’s not okay.” Rhea began rambling as you stared into each other's eyes. “I get it if you never want to see me again but please just give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll get my temperament under control, I’ll go to therapy, whatever you say I will do it.”

“Rhea-” You whispered, trying to calm her down but she continued her rant. 

“I want to know you, more than just your body. I wanna know everything, The good, the bad, the boring…I wanna know what pisses you off and what makes you cry. I don’t know why I kept you a stranger for so long and I’m sorry for that.”

You led Rhea into your small living room as you listened to her rambling. You took a seat in your chaiser lounge and ushered her to sit in front of you as her speech continued on. “I don’t know why I ran away…I think it's cause I didn't want to hurt you. But I did hurt you, so badly. I don’t want to run away anymore, I had no right to ever hurt you the way I did, just for me to leave you alone right after. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ll never forgive myself for it. It’s just that I-”

“Rhea!” You slightly raised your voice causing Rhea to finally close her mouth. You leaned closer to her, placing a quick and gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” You comforted the woman, softly chuckling.

“I didn’t interrupt your night did I?” Rhea asked, slightly nervous as she scootched up closer to you. You shook your head no as a smile creeped on your face.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to end up in a heated makeout session, your hands roaming over one another's clothing. Rhea groaned your name against your lips before pulling back just a few centimeters. 

“Please let me show you how sorry I am.” She practically pleaded, her eyes full of desperation, “Yes please” you quietly giggled, your eyes adoring the woman's face. The second Rhea heard the word yes echo from your mouth her lips went straight for your neck, causing a whimper to escape from you. 

Rhea took her time as she kissed upon your neck, carefully leaving soft love bites every so often, marking the skin a flushed pink shade. Her lips only leaving your skin as she pulled off your sweater before she began peckering kisses against your collarbones.

Her hands crept behind your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your chest. Your fingers grazed upon Rhea’s tense shoulders as she left a path of kisses down your torso.

As Rhea’s face reached the base of your stomach, her eyes fixated on your face as if she was asking for your blessing. You gave her a nod before lifting your hips into the air, allowing her to slide your sweatpants off your legs. 

 “Rhea, please,” You whined out while Rhea’s fingers toyed with the seam of your panties. Rhea grinned to herself as she slowly shed the final layer of clothing off your body. 

The woman wasted no time connecting her mouth to your heat, causing you to let out a breathy moan. “So fucking beautiful…” Rhea praised against your skin.

Truthfully, her tongue felt like heaven as it worked its way around your wetness. Rhea didn't want to rush you. This wasn't for her, she just wanted to make sure you knew she had the ability in her to change for the better.

Your breaths picked up their pace as Rhea’s hand inched its way closer to your core. Her ring and middle finger traced a circle around the perimeter of your entrance before slowly being pushed into you.

“Shit,” You whined out, your back arching as both Rhea’s tongue and digits worked their magic on you. Although you enjoyed roughhousing with the woman, you undoubtedly appreciated the amount of care Rhea was putting into you.

You were a whimpering mess under Rhea’s touch, and she loved every small sound that escaped from your mouth.

“More! Please, I can take it!” You begged for more of her. Rhea obliged, sliding her pointer finger into your tightness causing you to roll your eyes back as her fingers filled your insides.

“That’s it baby,” Rhea preached quietly when your hips began to rock against her fingers, your moans filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” She added on before her tongue got back to sailing over your clit, her fingers picking up their pace.

Your legs tightened around Rhea’s head as your orgasm quickly approached. “C’mon sweet girl, let go.” Rhea’s encouraging words were muffled, your walls clenched around her curling fingers. 

“Fuck Rhea!” You squealed out as the knot that filled your stomach released onto Rhea’s fingers. Your hips twitched into the air as the fingers inside of you helped you ride out your climax. 

Rhea was grinning ear-to-ear as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your hole. She groaned in pleasure, licking her fingers clean. 

She soon brought her face to meet yours, her plumped lips giving your jaw a kiss before whispering in your ear.

“How’s that for an apology, hm?”

Chapter Taglist: @babybatlover @whiteleoqueen @luvvleah @lovingperson1

[lanitalay]

Back to the basics

Cassian x reader

Premise: Cassian has been working too much, reader is upset

a/n: hello loves, this is my first cassian fic and I'm kind of unsure about it since I've never written for him specifically but hopefully you enjoy it!

warnings: tiny bit of angst (minuscule)

Masterlist

“Cass!” You yell from the bottom of the stairs and wait for your mate to answer.

“Cassian!” Now climbing up, and a little agitated you walk into your bedroom and expect to see him sprawled out on the mattress. But the room is empty and the bed is cold. You roll your eyes and send Rhysand a mental insult. There’s only one place he could be. 

You had grown tired of asking him to take a break and rest. Maybe it was selfish, but you missed your mate. Wanted his attention only on you, like the old days. When he would whisk you away for picnics and spontaneous camping. You couldn’t say you were the outdoorsy type. Having been born and raised in the heart of the Rainbow, you were a proper city girl. But Cassian loved all of that, and you loved him more than what was rational. 

The door to the study was closed and you could hear him shuffling around in there. Probably frustrated with something happening in the Illyrian Mountains, or maybe Eris sent word of Beron’s newest antics. It must not be grave though, since no one called an emergency meeting. Whatever he was dealing with could wait. 

Once the tent and food supplies were packed you barged into the office. “I’m busy right now, sweetheart.” 

“Cassian, I’m going to say this with love. You are a workaholic.” He scoffed “just give me a few minutes-” 

“No! You’ve been in here for who knows how long. I supposedly have a mate but I never see him. We never talk and if we do it's “Devlan this” or "Kier that” or “Eris said” and I’m sick of it! I’m pulling you out. Come on.” You grab his arm and drag him out of the stuffy office. All the way down the stairs he’s complaining “sweetheart, I’m sorry but I have to work, it's time sensitive-” he finally stopped talking when he saw all of his camping gear packed up in the middle of the sitting room. 

“What-”

“We are going camping. Like we used to, you remember? When you still paid attention to me?” Cassian groaned, “I’m sorry I’ve been caught up with work-” 

“Nope. That word is forbidden. If you mention anything to do with work you will have to face… undesired consequences. I’ve told Rhysand to leave you alone for a few days. Let's go.” 

“Are we walking or..?” You smile, he didn’t put up much of a fight.

“You are flying us, silly.” Hand him the bulky gear and then open the door for him to walk out. 

“We can’t go too far if I’m going to be carrying all of this.” You jump in his arms and kiss him on the cheek “let’s go to that little island where we used to see the dolphins.” 

He considered it. The flight was longer than what he would have wanted but you had some precious memories there and he knew that you were trying to do something nice for him. “Alright.” 

After a comfortable flight, Cassian immediately set you, and all of the gear down. “What should we do first?” He asked as he looked around, trying to find a spot to set up camp.

“Let’s set up the tent, then go fishing.” 

Cassian nodded and pointed out a level patch of grass nearby. You begin by taking out the tent from the bag and organizing all of the little sticks and stakes in bunches so you knew how many you had of each. 

“Do you remember how to do this?”

“Well… I think this went together-” he snaps a few sticks together “and then it goes through the loops on the tent.”

“No, I don’t think that’s right.” You distinctly remember that the loops were for securing the rain tarp. Cassina sighed. “Sweetheart, I’ve set this tent up enough times to know how.”

“Well, sweetheart, you haven’t touched this tent in over fifty years so you’re probably misremembering.”

“Do you really want to fight right now?”

After a deep breath you reply “no, but you’re wrong. Those things go through these sleeves.”

Cassian did as you said and the tent was up in a matter of minutes. You grabbed the fishing rods and walked towards the shore. There was a dock that ended near a reef where fish were abundant. It was also the place where you and Cassian had your first kiss. 

Back then you were smitten with the giant Ilyrian but Cassian was sweating cold, unsure if you felt the same. He brought you here for a picnic and when the sun began to set you grew frustrated and asked “Cassian, be honest, do you want to kiss me?” He choked on a piece of cheese and struggled to articulate that “yes, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to kiss you and-” you pounced. Latching your lips to his and kissing him until you were both panting. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smile at him. Months later Cassian told you that he knew he was done for when you smiled at him like that, wild and wicked. 

“Cass?” He hums, eyes focused on the line he just threw, waiting for it to bob. 

“Do you still like me?” 

“What?” You throw your own line. 

“Well, we’ve been together for so long I sometimes wonder if you like me. Like if you saw me walking down the street would you still feel attracted to me?” 

“Of course I’d be attracted to you. You’re the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and I mean that as a fact not a compliment.” 

You give him a soft slap on his shoulder “you old sap.”

“What about you?”

“I think you only get more attractive as the years go by.” The fishing rod bends down, signaling that a fish took the bait. This is where Cassian always takes over and pulls out the catch with minimal effort. 

The sun was setting and you sat flush to Cassian, head resting on his shoulder as he hoped to catch at least one more fish for dinner. You were drawing idle lines on his hand and forearm, just how you knew he liked it.  “Cass?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it that I’m annoying to be around or something?” 

He shifted “what do you mean?” 

“Well you’re always doing something else and I… it sometimes feels like you’re taking on so much because you don’t want to come home and spend time with me. I mean today I had to drag you out of that study.”

 He sets the rod down and turns to face you. His hands come up to cup your face, he almost flinches when he sees your eyes, hard and unfeeling. He knows you’re bracing yourself for whatever he’s about to say and something inside him cracks. “Y/n, I… I’m so sorry if you feel that way but that is the farthest thing from the truth. I treasure our time together and… if I’ve been absent it has nothing to do with you.” 

He feels the roll of your eyes like a stab to the heart “you say that but you don’t even make it home for dinner most days.”

“It's just- y/n, we came so close to losing everything. The war, Hybern, the Cauldron- we are still here by pure luck. I was out there doing my best to keep you safe and it was not enough. Nothing I did was enough. But now we’re here and we know something is happening. Koshchei, Beron and who knows if Hybern had other allies looking for retribution. The only thing I can think about is that now the world knows Velaris exists and you are here if something were to happen… if another attack happens and you get hurt- that would kill me. So I try to stay on top of everything because it's the only way I can sleep at night. Sweetheart, I love you, I love you with everything that I am and everything that I’ll ever be. I’m sorry, just-” 

Cassian stops talking when you wrap your arms around him in a desperate hug, face buried in his chest. He hugs you back and his heart sinks as he hears you sniffle and moisture pricks at his skin. “Sweetheart you don’t need to cry- I’ll be home more, I’ll-”

“No Cas, you don’t need to do anything. I- I’m just so selfish and self centered. Here I was mad at you while you’ve been carrying all this burden and I could only think of myself. You deserve better than a spoiled brat and-”

“What are you saying?”

“I should be apologizing to you!” Tears are cascading down your cheeks now as you burst with emotion “please forgive me, we can go home right now if you want.” You begin to stand up but Cassian pulls you down again. 

“Don’t you see? You’re right. I’ve been obsessing over potential problems but I haven’t been home and you are entitled to react to that because I vowed to you to always be by your side and I’m sorry I failed you-”

“Don’t say that! You haven’t failed anyone. I just- I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“So how are we gonna fix this?” 

“I’ll be home everyday for dinner and we can have lunch together in a cafe and-”

“Don’t suggest I train with you.”

“But babe it would be quality time spent together.” You giggle and wipe away the drying tears from your eyes. “I’ve seen you train and trust me, I’d die.” 

“Are we good?” You nod and crawl into his lap to straddle him. With both hands on his neck, you pull him towards you in a kiss that reminds you of your first. 

He deepens the kiss with a nip to your lower lip and his hands come to squeeze your hips. You pull away “do you want to-” before you can finish, he mumbled a “yes” and began carrying you back to your campsite where you would not be getting any sleep.

[drefear]

Hail to the King

Chapter 1: The Spider Man

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: smut, oral (m receiving) cursing, Miguel is a bit of a creep and a dick.

You stood outside the restaurant for a moment, staring at the dark night sky.

What just happened?!

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill over as you grind your teeth for a moment, practicing self control over your overwhelming upset and hurt. Was that even legal?

You sniffled and balled your fists. Fuck this guy, with his expensive looking suit and obvious God Complex.

You muttered obscenities as you walked home, not getting in the car and waiting like he ordered you to. Fucking ordered!

Two blocks down and you sighed, getting to the subway and finding a train to take you to your apartment, located in a less-than-safe part of Nueva York. But you didn’t care, you could take care of yourself.

Eyes tired from holding back your need to cry, you walked up a few flights of stairs to your floor, you convinced yourself it was good exercise. Twisting your key in the somewhat broken lock, you pushed into your doorway and slammed it shut behind you with the deadbolt.

That’s when the dam broke and the water works started. You’d gotten so lucky with such a great job, and now some power-drunk prick with a nice face ruined it without a solid reason.

He didn’t like you, so he decided to hire you? What backwards bullshit was that?

Not bothering to take your makeup off, you pulled off your clothing and slumped into bed with no plans of doing anything tomorrow morning. It was going to be a day to process and plan your next move.

Loud banging on your door made you fall out of bed, practically jumping out of your skin as the sudden thunderous sound was terrifying without warning. Grabbing your baseball bat from your coat closet, you tugged your hair into a messy bun and swung the door open.

“You’re late.” The big guy from last night? “And you apparently don’t answer your phone either.” His voice was unamused, blunt, and you didn’t care for it.

“How the fuck did you-“ you yelled, then remembering that apparently he was close to Peter, who had all of your information from hiring you. “You’re a sick fuck, now you’re stalking me?”

“Watch it, I’ll fire you.”

“I don’t wanna work for you, now leave!” You screamed and moved to slam the door, only to be stopped by a large hand holding it back. Miguel opened the door with a swift push and you stumbled backwards, caught off guard and off balance from his strength. It was like he was barely moving a cup, not even moving a muscle.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to work for me, and I always get what I want.” He spoke, stepping inside of your small apartment. “Now get dressed, so you can get to work.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You spit back at him with venom you didn’t know you hate. You hated him. “Go find some other girl to obsess over and creep out.” You continued and swung the bat, him catching the wood and staring down at you.

“Obey me and I’ll reward you generously.”

“I’m not your dog, I don’t need to ‘obey’ you!” You groaned out as you yanked the bat backwards.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year plus bonuses when you complete certain tasks.” He spoke almost too fast.

The words passed by your ears in a blurt as white-hot rage filled your mind. The devil and angel on your shoulder fought and you didn’t know which one was fighting for what.

“Fine. Three hundred thousand a year. Bonuses, access to our facilities, a new phone, and an apartment on the west side.” He added.

“What the hell will I be doing? You don’t even know if I’m qualified, or if I’m a normal person. I could be a murderer.”

“That’s doubtful, as you couldn’t even hit me with a bat, and I’ve seen all I needed to. You’re most definitely qualified.” He answered, still offending you in a strange way. “Now get ready. I’m late because of you, and if I weren’t the boss, I’d rat you out.” He fixed his suit and sat in one of your dining chairs, the squeak of its legs making him scrunch his eyebrows in annoyance.

You huffed and moved, accepting that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’ll call the cops.”

“That won’t work. La policía and I have an understanding.” It seemed like nothing was working and he knew it. “Are you done?”

Maybe if you played along for a bit, he’d get the idea and fuck off. Grumbling, you trudged into your bedroom.

“So what will I be doing?” You called to him as you went to your closet and pulled out a random blue dress shirt and black pants.

“You’ll be my right hand. Like an assistant but much more involved. You’ll work closely with my second, Lyla, and head operator, Jess.” He gave a full debriefing as you slipped on the clothes and moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll send a few of my men to help you move tonight, I don’t need you getting jumped out here in the slums.” He spoke with a certain disgust in his tone and you rolled your eyes.

“Your men? Second? Are we in a war or something?” You laughed, but he was quiet. No sense of humor, noted.

“Something like that.” His voice was lower, almost like it was a secret he didn’t want anyone around him to hear except you.

“Not that I care, but why me?” You brushed your teeth and waited for his answer, but nothing came. “Hello?”

“You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just know that I will not accept your refusal. You will work for me.” His speech was almost flattering, if he weren’t so infuriating. You dotted on some makeup and walked out to meet him. Slipping on a pair of low, black heels, he was already at the door. “Let’s go.” He nodded and opened your front door once more before walking ahead of you into the elevator. You hurried behind and almost missed the door as he stuck a hand through to stop them from closing. Your eyes didn’t meet him, avoiding having to thank him for such a small gesture of kindness after all the rudeness you’d endured. “And by the way, they call me Spider Man.” He said calmly as the doors shut and suddenly, your pounding blood was in your ears.

Spider man…?

As in… the most dangerous Mafia leader in Nueva York? The leader of the O’Hara family and the rumored Spider Society? A man infamous for murdering people with his bare hands, constructing some of the greatest hits on politicians and leaders all over the state?

Your body turned cold as you began to sweat. You were in the presence of a man known for being a brutal killer and a money-hungry demon who ruthlessly destroyed lives.

And he wanted you.

The trip to his headquarters was silent, sweating nervously as all of the rumors you’d heard about him came back to you. How he once almost killed a fifteen year old because he “ran out on a tab,” but luckily Peter paid it for the poor boy. Now, apparently, that same boy works for him. Peter told you the story on your first day, how some of the Spider Society frequented their restaurant, but it never occurred to you that this was him.

You remembered Gwen telling you over drinks after your first shift about how a lot of the staff of your restaurant had once been or still were low ranking members of the Society. You had said you just wanted to make your money and get on with your day, to which she laughed and said “that’s how I was too.” You left the conversation there and talked about other things, but now you couldn’t stop repeating her words over and over.

It was like the city was overrun by Spiders, all answering to the Spider Man himself. A man you were currently trapped in a moving vehicle with. A man you knew wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you even so much as messed up his coffee order.

Nothing felt real as your leg bounced with anxiety. Sure, you’d always been mouthy and stubborn, but the idea that those small flaws could have made you a target for him, it was almost too much to understand.

“Hello?” He called out and you turned your face to him. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about… what I have to pack tonight.” You lied, to which it was obvious he didn’t believe you, but he ignored it anyway.

“I was saying, when we get there, I have a meeting with a few of my subordinates. I need you to stay and listen. Lyla will be recording the meeting, but you just need hear it and start understanding everything. It won’t be hard, but it might be a lot so pay attention, entiendes?” He spoke and you nodded. “Once the meeting is over, I’ll introduce you to Jess and she’ll give you a tour of the building and your office. You’ll be working a room over from me. While that’s going on, I have an appointment, and once that’s over, I’ll start explaining the rest of your work.” His words felt unreal, like you were having an outer body experience. Nothing could have prepared you for this and now you were thrown into his web with no way out. Was the universe playing some sick joke on you? Throw you into the arms of a cold blooded killer and laugh about it later?

The numbness in your bones began to settle in and you sighed inwardly.

This was going to be a long day.

Walking into a bustling lobby, your eyes were overwhelmed with an excitement you couldn’t help to feel. The smell of clean air, the crisp modern design, everything screamed class and high end. Almost as if this wasn’t a den of crime and murder. Who would let a kingpin rent such a beautiful and upscale building? And didn’t mafia bosses usually do business out of their homes or secret offices hidden behind a bookshelf?

Ok, maybe you watched too many movies…

No, this was the next level of an efficiently run business. Everyone looked focused and intelligent, some seeming like they were educated at an Ivy League college or politically invested.

You followed the largest man and watched as everyone parted to make way for him, scanning him and then dropping their gaze to you.

You, who looked so out of place and childlike next to the refined crowd.

Your name broke you from your trance and you bumped into Miguel, who was no longer walking. “Stop looking around like a lost puppy. I hired you because of your fire and bite, now bring her back or I’ll toss you back out of here on your ass.” His threat was obvious, and you puffed up your chest after he turned around.

He was somewhat right. You belonged here, you got here by accident and that had to count for something. Other people around you seemed like they wanted to be here, strived for their positions and fought to climb up the latter. Meanwhile, you didn’t even want your position and you got it because of your loud mouth. As much as you hated this all, you knew that some of the roughest and cruelest human beings stood in this building, but he decided to pick you.

“But we will need to buy you new clothes if you’re going to work here. I don’t want to see you in anything less than a thousand dollars. Is that clear?” He said as you two walked into the elevator.

“And where am I getting these thousands of dollars from? You got me fired.” You grumbled, annoyed at his arrogance and assumptions.

“I’ll have Lyla put it as a tax write-off and give you a company card. Your limit is fifty thousand, and you’ll only shop at places from a list she’ll give you.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, barely even seeming like he was speaking to you. What a dick. You rolled your eyes and he glanced downward, a brow quirked upwards. “And save that attitude for the meeting. Everyone here is cut-throat, and you’re here to give them a humbling piece of your mind. I don’t do politically correct-ness. If you think it, say it. The only person you need to answer to is me, and I want you to give some of these sons of bitches a good verbal beat down. If they get out of line, I’ll give them something to really be scared of, so don’t hold back.” His words seemed to hold weight as the elevator doors opened once more and people separated like the Red Sea to let him and you through. Catching up to walk by his side instead of behind him, you kept a straight face and put your shoulders back.

Reaching your new office was exhilarating, seeing as you hated the situation, but began hating everything less and less. Miguel had been right about the meeting, ignoring what everyone else said as you sat and listened to him discuss plans for a new import deal and a possible new business venture. His words were sharp and sliced through everyone in the room, so there wasn’t much room for conversation as most of the people in the room didn’t want to pull the trigger and be the target. You nodded along and made mental notes, adding certain ideas to your cavalry and deciding between when to speak up or not to.

After that, he’d introduced you to Jess and Lyla, who both seemed too kind and cheery to be in this business. How could such funny and smiley women work for a man with so much blood on his hands?

Jess gave you a proper tour as Lyla followed and made snarky comments about certain people, places, and things. Often times, they were about Mr. O’Hara and every time, it made Jess snort with laughter. The three of you talked and laughed, even trading phone numbers with both of them. Lyla excused herself when she was summoned to the fourth floor for a call about a transport, and you and Jess finished the tour back at your office. She showed you briefly how to use your new computer and tablet, both of which had a schedule that you, Lyla, and Mr. O’Hara could see and edit.

“Alright, I have a gynecologist appointment in 30 minutes, so I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, but call me if you have any questions.” She waved and you gave her a goodbye before beginning to type up some of those mental notes from the meeting, sharing them with Miguel’s email to add him in and let him look.

An hour went by and you heard a ding on your tablet, signaling a private meeting in Miguel’s office that had started 20 minutes ago. You rushed, seeing as you didn’t get the notification earlier and now we’re late. Pushing open his office door, you blinked at the sight in front of you and gulped down a new feeling. Dread. Embarrassment. Pure fucking confusion and unshakable mortification.

A woman, thin and blonde, had her back to the door and was kneeling before Miguel. Hands on his thighs as he spread his legs, she bobbed her head up and down as he had both of his arms around the expanse of the couch, head back a bit in enjoyment.

The shock finally settled into humiliation and you felt your stomach lurch with anxiety. He must have heard you step backwards as his eyes opened to stare into yours, an unreadable expression on his face. You shifted your thighs, moving to take another step as your face burned with a blush that could rival most makeup brands. Eyes as wide as saucers, you kept eye contact with him to avoid watching the woman’s mouth move up and down his cock. And he didn’t dare look away either.

He slipped a hand from the back of the couch to her hair and shoved her head down a bit, making her gag, and as the sound reached your ears, you choked a bit in sympathy. He hissed out a soft ‘good girl’ and you felt drool pool on your tongue, closing your mouth before it could drip out. He fucked up into her mouth as his eyes stayed on yours and before you could register it, he was groaning with a tight jaw and finishing. She sputtered as he came down her throat and as the realization of what you’d walked in on had hit you, you’d spun on your heels and slammed the door shut behind you.

Hands shaky, you wobbled back to your own office and sat in your chair, hands holding up your head as if it were too heavy to stay upright on its own.

What the fuck is going on?

Prologue Chapter 2

[murmiss]

Living with a monster guy.

(inspired by the anime 'Monster Musume no Iru Nichijou')

Pairing: TF141/you, maybe Kortac/you.

Warning: Possible mistakes in words,OOC,This is all purely my personal vision of the characters.I will not say that this is a full-fledged fanfiction, more a sketch of the idea.

summary:Hybrids and humans began to live in peace and harmoniously. You're just a girl with a damn lonely and boring life, but your friend, the head of the interspecies exchange department, decided to add a little tin to your life..

Part.1

A few years ago, a great secret was revealed to the world: the existence of hybrid creatures is real. Lamias, Harpies, and even fairy, mermaids were no longer myths and legends, but became common creatures for mankind. Now, going to the store, you can meet not only the neighbor's grandmother or a former classmate, but also a beautiful fairy choosing a herbaceous tincture with the aroma of roses, or maybe a centaur occupying the grocery department, with a grocery basket in her hands. So, hybrids have tightly integrated into our ordinary life, have become friends, colleagues, and even defenders. Defenders? You may ask. That's right, hybrids have obvious advantages over humans:speed, high jump, flight, fire breathing-and these and many other abilities were used in the army, the police, even in volunteering! Werewolves are good at finding people under rubble, they are strong and have an amazing nose that can smell the target they need for several kilometers.

There were also special groups created from hybrids with exceptional outstanding combat skills. One of them was the Task force 141, the most famous group in narrow circles.It will be discussed.

-Tess, you have no idea how lonely it can be, Girly...- you mumbled to the blonde sitting next to you. Tess Oskott is one of the employees of the interspecies exchange organization. This organization is responsible for ensuring that some types of hybrids (and, concurrently, almost all) have at least one owner who would monitor the well-being of his ward and ensure compliance with all the rules.

-And what about Cullen?-Tess asked with a chuckle, leaning back on the bar stool.

- Cullen? I've never seen worse assholes in my life!- you hiccuped, complaining in a genuinely indignant voice about your recent beau.- He talks for fifty minutes about his wonderful work, then made me pay the entire bill and asked me more "Let's go to you or to me?"

-Oh, it sucks -a friend laughed in response, smiling significantly, looking in your direction.

- I know how to help you, dear-Tess's self-confident smile did not mean anything good, for sure not for you.

- No zombie hybrids!- you moaned, getting to your feet and not taking your eyes off this cunning fox. Tess was up to something, but fatigue weighed on your shoulders, forcing you to run away as quickly as possible.After a short chat, you and Tess parted, she went to the office, and you went home.

Opening the door of your small house, you stumbled inside and kicked off your heels at the entrance, staggered up the stairs, opening the first door and casually throwing off your bag by the bed, plopped into the arms of soft and much-desired furniture.Sleep enveloped you almost instantly, taking you somewhere on a fabulous journey through the beautiful open spaces. You're riding a horse across wide fields, the wind is in your hair, and the horse is neighing and saying, "Pretty girl, wake up." You smile weakly, but at the same second it dawned on you: is the horse talking??! And as if at the behest of that bad man, you open your eyes, wanting to look into the eyes of this shameless intruder of your sweet dream. Next to the bed, Tess was leaning over, dressed in her strict black suit, holding a folder of documents in her hands. Workers walked nearby and dragged some furniture into the house. You jump to your feet and let out a cry of incomprehension.

-What the fuck, Tess!?

-calmly, sleeping beauty, I fulfill your wish, then you'll thank me again -the woman winked and immediately turned on the boss mode, rushed towards one of the rooms, saying in a growling bass voice, "I said the bathroom needs to be expanded! We are also expanding the doorways"

- What?? Do you mean to expand the bathroom?- you rush towards your cozy shower room and see a completely dismantled room. A disappointed groan escapes from your lips when you say "Fuck" in a smacky and disappointed way

Before you know it, workers are turning your house upside down, spoiling all the comfort...

"So, miss, you are participating in the 'hybrid exchange' program, your house has been improved in order to create more favorable living conditions for hybrids."

-What the fuck is so official, Tess? In the sense of hydrides?

"Shh, listen further. You have been honored to become the host for an elite group of handsome men, that is, hybrids.".

-What do you mean?-You asked, raising one eyebrow, but the creatures that suddenly appeared in front of you threw away all questions.

A man of large build, tall, with particularly strong-looking hands came into the house. With your eyes, you unconsciously traced every curve of his muscles hidden under his T-shirt, almost drooling. A black T-shirt with a print of some kind of rocker band, gray skinny jeans and sneakers - a simple image that fit him wonderfully.. Oh, a face with rough features, a scar above the left eye, gray eyes with a blue tint, stubble, thick eyebrows, a mohawk, and that self-confident smile! Tess definitely wants you dead, because this man was definitely hot.A light dreamy sigh escapes from your lips as you shamelessly examine the man in front of you. Tess nudges you in the side, whispering in your ear with a smile.

-Wait, it's too early to melt into a puddle, that's not all

When you hear a quiet hiss, you abruptly turn your gaze to the front door, quietly buncha crawled into the house. Stop.. Crawled in? Oh no.. You see Lamia crawling into your house, cursing at the narrow passages and the cold floor along the way, squinting in your direction in disbelief. Following the Lamia came, or rather, flew, a Harpy- a man with dark skin, a charming smile and the purest plumage. Well, in the end, with a slight alarm, a man with dragon wings came in, he turned from side to side, trying to get comfortable, and accidentally flicking a flower vase with his wings.. Your favorite one! You let out a plaintive moan, but while doing the inhale-exhale-inhale exercise, you managed to squeeze out a smile.

-Umm... oh.. uh.. Hi?- you say uncertainly, greeting them. The man with the wolf ears and tail smiled again, showing his sharp teeth and confidently saying, "Oh shit, Gas, I won. Our hostess is charming."

Charming? Damn, after the bar, you didn't even bother to wipe off your makeup, let alone change your clothes, and this dude is telling you that you're "cute"? It all looks like a dream or a violent comedy, and the director of photography here is Tess. The woman, noticing your bewilderment, patted you on the shoulder and threw something simple like "we'll call you later", busily left the house.

So you were left alone with four hybrids, not knowing what to do.

[vamo-vamo-vamo]

The Madrigal triplets embody the Fight, Flight and Freeze responses a little too perfectly.

Fight - Pepa

We see her under immense pressure to keep her feelings contained, but she is quick to snap when challenged. We see it whenever Alma calls out her inclement weather. She is quick to lash out at her niece who she clearly loves. There is so much she’s barely containing below the surface that it comes out quickly and aggressively when she gets triggered.

Flight - Bruno

This one seems the most obvious. Instead of taking a stance when he has the vision about Mirabel, he leaves. He flees the situation. It’s implied that the first time in his fifty years of life that he has ever confronted his mother directly was for the sake of his niece. His stairs got higher and his room got further away so he wouldn’t have to deal with the situations going on in the family. When Mirabel finds him in the walls, he is reluctant to leave.

Freeze - Julieta

I used to get frustrated with Julieta’s passivity before I started seeing her through the lens of trauma. Just because she seems to have everything together doesn’t mean she does, and she deserves the same level of understanding as her more turbulent siblings. I think there is evidence to support that Julieta’s trauma response is to freeze. For most of the movie, she stays quiet and in the background whenever her mother criticizes her daughter. She may have gotten conditioned over the years to just stand there and take it to avoid escalating a situation.

[hannahssimblr]

I open the envelope on the stairs. The same stairs I spent six years rushing up and down, going from class to class, that was always bustling with students, bumping shoulders, swinging school bags, yet here I am, on an empty staircase in the building I thought I’d never be inside again. All the people I thought I’d never have to see again are here too, milling in and out of the foyer, collecting envelopes, telling each other about their summer. Somehow I’d forgotten I would have to do this. 

I keep to myself, wishing to minimise any conversation. Get in, get out, that’s the plan. I slip my thumbnail under the lip of the envelope and pull my results out. 

Mathematics A1 English A1 Art A1 Biology B3 Geography B1 German A2

Oh, Jesus Christ. There’s a roaring in my ears. I shove my grades back into the envelope before anyone can see them, then add up the score in my head.

Five-fifty. Is that possible? I peek inside to check again. 

Yes. Five-fifty. 

I blow out a lungful of air. How can this be? I’m famously a fucking idiot. This is a disruption to my worldview. I hardly even studied towards the end of the year, so how in the-

“Jude?” Someone steps into my space, and I have to suppress a groan as Sam from the yearbook committee stands over me, looking completely misplaced without his uniform on. It’s like the freakish experience of seeing your teacher in the supermarket. Sam, without his starched uniform shirt and perfectly knotted tie, is hardly Sam at all. Perhaps he thinks the same of me without my tie, which was always hanging crooked with a blue ink stain on it that wouldn’t come off after a hundred washes.  

The smug look, however, is Sam all over. “Looking a bit glum. Are you disappointed in your results, or something?”

I pause. “No?”

“Oh, grand. Suppose you don’t need the marks anyway, do you? You’re off to art college in Berlin, so I heard.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Surprised to see you here at all, I have to say. I thought you might have been gone already, off to the continent and all that, instead of coming into school.”

“No, my flight’s Wednesday.”

“Ah. So soon.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He stands expectantly, hovering, and so, with a sigh, I ask him what he is frothing to be asked. “What points did you get, Sam?”

“Five forty,” he gloats. “I’ll be off to Trinity now, all going well with the offers and all that. ‘Twas an expected result, but I’m still thrilled with myself. Just goes to show that hard work and proper study really pay off.”

“Yeah. Well done. Lucky that points don’t count for me, then, hm?”

“Well, it’s only art school. It’s not like you need to be smart.”

“Yep, that’s true.”

Sam’s head swivels like a submarine periscope. “Oh, look who’s just come in.” His mouth stretches into an unsettling grin. “Sure, it’s the lovely Michelle Tengu. You should say hi to her.”

“Right, yeah.” I say, though my fight or flight has activated and my palms prickle with sweat.

Michelle crosses the linoleum floor in the chunky black boots she’s had since fifteen. She accepts her envelope from the principal and stands to the side where she tears it open and her eyes scan the page. It’s impossible to tell how she feels.

She looks the same, of course she does. Maybe her hair is longer, maybe her makeup is different, her skin a little browner, and I have this feeling as I see her, that I am looking at a picture of a person I used to know, someone whose name I remembered, but whose face I had long forgotten. This girl I loved, or thought I did. I don’t really know that person anymore, at least not how I used to. 

She sees me and gives a hesitant wave. 

I wave back. 

“You’re still here,” she approaches me with the caution one would with a spooked cat, emotions flashing over her face, like she can’t decide how to feel. Neither can I. She’s still blocked in my phone, from that fateful night in June, but now, on the cusp of September, those heavy feelings I had seem so melodramatic. I am just Jude, she is just Michelle, and somewhere along the way, without me even paying heed to it, a storm has passed. 

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“I expected you to sneak off to Berlin under the cloak of night.”

“That’s the plan, honestly. I just needed my results first.”

“I see. Are you happy with them?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I got enough for NCAD.”

“Oh, Michelle, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.” An odd moment follows, where I am not sure whether I should hug her. I twitch toward her, then second guess myself, and then I just freeze there, halfway lifted from the step. I slump back down onto it. 

“It, um… Well. It sounds like you had a pleasant summer, and all that.” She says. “Jen was telling me all about it.”

“Was she? Yeah, it was fine. Did she really say it was pleasant?”

“She mentioned that you two had a bit of a falling out, to be honest.”

“Ah, yeah, we did.”

She gives me this awkward smile, and it’s instantly obvious that she knows. Jen, being Jen, has told her the entire story. She’s revealed every aspect of my summer - the festival, the conflicts, and its conclusion. She knows about Evie too. It’s in her eyes. It’s that hint of betrayal she knows she’s not supposed to feel anymore. In them lies the sting of an ex moving on and leaving her behind.   

“I’m, um…” I smooth the front of my hair. “I think things will be alright with Jen, probably. I just need time, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it.” She adds delicately, “though, like, you are leaving in about five days.”

“That’s true.”

“And you were really planning to just vanish?”

“Well, yes. I just don’t know how else to do it.”

“Usually people have a party or something.”

“No, come on,” I scoff. “I’m not doing all of that. It’s so much work.”

“Hm. I just think you’ll regret not saying goodbye.”

I can’t decide whether she’s right, and can’t think of what to argue in my defence, so I say nothing. A sympathetic smile crosses her face. It’s strange. She never looked at me like that while we were together.

“I can help,” she says. “It can be low-key, just a few people. I’ll send out a text and see who wants to come, yeah? Whoever wants to say goodbye?”

“Including Jen?”

“I’ll need to invite Jen.” she shrugs, “it might be a good chance to talk. To get it all ironed out.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I think it’s best not to leave things unfinished.”

“Hm. That’s very philosophical of you.”

“Are you shocked?”

“Kind of.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Well I’ve been seeing someone.”

“A boy?”

“A therapist. I realised after we broke up that I had some things to work through. I had some… big feelings.”

“That’s great, Shell.”

I could swear that her eyes get a little misty as she inhales, as though to say something before deciding against it. She straightens her shoulders and smiles. “I’m happy you’re happy.” She says brightly. “With the Leaving Cert results, obviously.”

“I’m happy you’re happy, too.”

She glances toward the door. “Look, I better go, but I’ll text you about the going away party, right?”

“Yeah, I better unblock you.” It slips out of me before I can stop it, but to my immense relief, she laughs. “Good idea. See you Jude.”

“Bye, Shell. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I dunno. For this.”

She just smiles. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[scotianostra]

On September 5th 1750, the poet Robert Fergusson was born in the Canongate in Edinburgh.

Most of you will not have heard of Robert Fergusson, he suffered from ill health, physical and mental, during his short life, he passed away in barbarous conditions in Edinburgh's notorious Bedlam.

Doctor Andrew Duncan, the name might be familiar to those from Edinburgh, on finding Fergusson before being admitted to the "hospital" described him as being in a "state of furious insanity" he saw no choice but to have Fergusson taken to the city's Bedlam madhouse.Conditions at the Bedlam, which was attached to the Edinburgh Charity Workhouse behind modern-day Teviot Place, were notoriously awful. Patients were treated as inmates, locked in cold stone-flagged cells, with only straw for bedding.

Fergusson may have only lived for 24 years, the last of which was traumatic, but those short years not only inspired Scotland’s best-known bard Robert Burns and the writer Robert Louis Stevenson, it also paved the way for better treatment of people with mental health conditions thanks to the aforementioned Dr Duncan.

Robert Fergusson was born of Aberdeenshire parents in Cap-and-Feather Close, in Edinburgh’s Old Town, on 5 September, 1750. The street has since disappeared, having been demolished during Fergusson’s lifetime to make way for the North Bridge, many of you will have walked over where Cap-and-Feather Close, it is said to have been where the junction at the Tron Church is, the road that now takes you over North Bridge towards Princes Street.

After primary education in Edinburgh, Fergusson entered the city’s High School in 1758, attaining a bursary to attend the Grammar School in Dundee in 1762. Two years later, he enrolled in St. Andrews University. As a student, Fergusson became infamous for his pranks, having once come close to expulsion. Despite this riotous reputation, the poet’s education stayed with him, he moved back to Edinburgh to support his mother, after the death of his father.

He got a job as a copyist for the Commissary Office main concern was, of course, poetry, and on 7 February, 1771 he anonymously published the first of a trio of pastorals in Ruddiman’s Weekly Magazine. Originally he wrote in English but by 1772 he had started to use the Scottish dialect in the standard Habbie verse form - a form which would later be copied and made famous by Robert Burns, indeed this style is now called the Burns stanza, perhaps it should be The Fergusson Stanza?

Fergusson’s own muse was Allan Ramsay and, like the be-turbaned Ramsey, followed a bit of a bohemian lifestyle in Edinburgh, which was then at the height of an intellectual and cultural tumult as the nerve centre of the Scottish Enlightenment. He wrote a total of fifty poems in Scottish English and thirty-three in the Scots language, but it is for his remarkable exploits in the latter genre that he should be acknowledged and acclaimed. His poetic subject matter paints vivid accounts of the life and characters of ‘Auld Reekie’ and drunken encounters with the notorious Edinburgh City Guard of Captain Porteous, the ‘Black Banditti’ of ‘The Daft Days’.

Fergusson began to suffer from depression in 1773, biographers have described his condition as ‘religious melancholia’, but regardless of whether or not that was the case, he gave up his job, stopped writing, withdrew completely from his riotous social life, and spent his time reading the Bible. He had heard about an Irish poet, John Cunningham, who had died in an asylum in Newcastle. That inspired 'Poem to the Memory of John Cunningham', and Fergusson became terribly afraid that the same thing was going to happen to him. Tragically, his dark prediction came true. In August, 1774, Fergusson fell down a flight of stairs and received a bad head injury, after which he was deemed ‘insensible’. His friend, the good doctor Andrew Duncan, had no choice but to admit him to Darien House "hospital", Bedlam, where after a matter of weeks, he suddenly died. He had only just turned 24.

I return to the fact that Burns was a fan and after Fergusson’s death Burns wrote of him, “my elder brother in misfortune, by far my elder brother in the muse.”

Fergusson was buried in an unmarked plot in The Canongate Kirkyard. On visiting Edinburgh in 1787, Burns paid for a headstone over his long-neglected grave, commemorating Fergusson as ‘Scotia’s Poet. I have taken many friends to visit Fergusson's last resting place over the years, mainly down to my late mother's love of Burns, but also because I love showing people around my home town.

The picture shows the statue of Robert Fergusson outside the Canongate Church, if passing go pay your respects to the man, who inspired Rabbie Burns, who, under different circumstances might have been lauded as our National Bard, if you like a wee whisky perhaps raise a glass tonight on what might have been "Fergusson's Night"

This few lines are from The Daft Days, by Fergusson, you will get the drift of Edinburgh being a comforting, hospitable place where they aren't afraid of a drink, which is a s true today as it was in 1772 when they were written.

Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole,

A bield for many caldrife soul,

Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,

Baith warm and couth,

While round they gar the bicker roll

To weet their mouth.

[bubybubsters]

Three Shadow Boys

a/n: good day. Meh. I’m skipping homework for this. Sorry I’ll update something at one point.

masterlist

wc: 1450

summary: just 3 shadow boys hanging out! Ruhn, Azriel, and Xaden.

*****

Crescent City- Ruhn

Ruhn grinned at his new found friends as he lead them around the city. They’d already been to see Bryce and his sister had flirted shamelessly. After an hour of Hunt, Xaden, and Azriel having a pissing contest, Bryce kicked them out to make it up to her boyfriend. So he gave the idiots a tour of the city and naturally, they insulted and laughed at everything that was Ruhn’s. Like how his headphones were navy blue instead of black because apparently ‘we’re the shadow boys, you’ve got to get black.’

When he introduced them to Tristan and Flynn they got along perfectly! Not even a pissing contest over Flynn’s hot girlfriend! They were currently playing poker and Azriel was winning with a giant stack of chips triple everyone elses.

“I swear, he’s cheating,” Xaden’s complaint was met with much agreement.

“I would never! I’m an honorable shadow boy!”

Ruhn grinned, “let’s see how ‘honorable’ you are when we start drinking.” They all laughed and continued their loss of money.

“I quit! Ruhn show us to those guns, please, before I jump that cheating ass.”

“I’m not cheating!”

Ruhn just shook his head and dealt out the cards once again.

By the end of the next round, Xaden had reached his limit and leapt across the table to see Azriel’s cards.

“He’s not cheating! That’s impossible.”

Ruhn joined him and they both stared at down at the smug shadowsinger with a look of pure disbelief.

“Ruhn! Stop giving him all the good cards! I should start dealing!”

Ruhn gaped at Xaden. “You’re blaming this on me!? I can’t control what cards I give who!

“Just cheat!”

“You know what, guns sound great right now. At least I’m the best at that because you idiots can’t shoot.”

***

“What happened to ‘you idiots can’t shoot?’” Azriel grinned at Ruhn as he hit bullseye after bullseye.

Xaden groaned. “I can’t shoot!”

“Why is Az good at everything, it’s not fair.” Ruhn growled in frustration as he missed the bullseye by half a millimeter.

“You can’t be groaning! At least you can hit the damned target.” Both Az and Ruhn laughed as Xaden’s shot went wide and hit the deer head decorating the space 50 feet above the targets.

“Not my fault you won’t accept my help. I’ve told you a million times! You’re holding the gun wrong!”

“I am not! I’m not that stupid.” Rhun raises his brows as Xaden proceeds to hold the gun by the barrel instead of the grip where it’s quite obvious a hand should go.

And he hits the ceiling.

“You want that help now?”

“Fuck you.”

*****

Velaris- Azriel

The biweekly Friday family dinners Rhys had organized came with few rules. One: attendance was mandatory. Two: you could bring up to three friends. Three: if you brought friends, everyone else had a right to be busybodies.

It just so happened to be that Friday in which Mor was back from Vallahan and Elain and Lucien were visiting from the Day Court. Everyone was there to interrogate Xaden and Ruhn. The poor shadow babies had no idea what they’d be facing.

“What do I wear? I’ve got to impress your family.” Ruhn was scanning Azriel’s closet in a desperate attempt of last minute dressing.

“You’ll be fine, they really don’t care.”

“Yeah man. Just bring your own clothes next time.” Xaden was dressed in the flight clothes that came from his fancy-dragon world.

“Azriel said I wouldn’t need anything!”

“And since when has Azriel been right?”

“Hey! That’s rude.” Az put a hand over his heart in mock hurt. He grabbed a black shirt, black dress pants and a belt from his closet. “Just where this, it’s better than that pink Crescent City t-shirt.”

Ruhn glared. “This was fifty dollars! It’s a good shirt!”

“If you say so.” Azriel and Xaden shared a smirk as Ruhn put on the clothes given to him.

They descended the stairs to the dining room and found everyone else already there.

Xaden elbowed Ruhn. “You made us late.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yes you did!”

Azriel watched with a healthy dose of amusement and embarrassment as the room fell quiet to look at the two arguing. Finally after letting the two get embarrassed he poked Xaden in the shoulder.

Xaden looked up. “Shit.” Raising his voice he said to Rhysand. “My apologies, it was merely that this idiot next to me took an hour deciding what to wear instead of a sparkly, pink shirt.”

That got his family laughing.

***

A while later as they were sitting on the couches, drinking wine and exchanging embarrassing stories the interrogation finally started.

Cassian leaned in. “So Ruhn, we have a few questions for you to get to know you better. If you don’t know the answer you may say “no” and we’ll just assume you’re an idiot.”

“Who’s your father?”

“What’s your job?”

“Favorite color?”

“Best friend?”

The questions started innocently enough and Ruhn answered them each with a joke and easy grin. But Azriel knew he’d be saying a lot more “no”s.

The question came from Mor. “Sooo, Ruhn. Who was the best person you’ve ever bedded?”

Ruhn gawked at her and Azriel and Xaden burst out laughing. Mor shot a look at Xaden, “You’re next man. The questions will just get more detailed.”

Xaden grimaced. “I’m really tired today, all that traveling is rubbing off on me. I think I’ll go sleep.”

“Nuh uh uh.” Feyre wagged a finger at him. “Describe, in detail, your first time of having sex with your girlfriend.”

*****

Aretia- Xaden

Xaden smiled proudly as Sgeayl landed on the field. His smirk grew as both Azriel and Ruhn paled and backed away nervously.

Scare them please.

With pleasure.

Sgeayl blew fire at the ground barely ten feet away from his friends. Their eyes widened as the heat hit them full on.

“Uh Xaden. Can we go back to meetin your girlfriend? She was a little less scary.” Azriel pleaded, adding his puppy eyes.

Sgeayl sniffed indignantly and blew a puff of steam.

“Nah. I think you guys could spend some time together, ya know bond with my dragon. Make sure she doesn’t hate you or burn you to dust?”

“Uhh… Think we’ll pass thanks.” Ruhn was slightly less afraid than Azriel and was staring at Sgeayls blue scales as if trying to memorize them.

Xaden sighed, giving in and leading his friends away to see the sparring ring.

Go hunt sheep with Andarna.

You know you don’t give me orders, puny human.

Xaden grinned back at Sgeayl and she sniffed at him before flying away, likely to hang out with Tairn.

***

Thirty minutes later Xaden was watching Azriel beat up Ruhn on the sparring mats. He eyed the shadowsingers stance, it mainly relied on centering his feet. He took notice that Azriel was fluent with both sides but his right side was just slightly stronger. That’d be a good thing to look out for when Az challenged him.

And only a few minutes later, Azriel challenged him.

“Don’t you want some rest before I beat you up shadowsinger?”

“You won’t beat me up, I can beat you in my sleep.”

“Really??”

“Just fight already, pricks.” Ruhn turned out to be a very sore loser as proven but the poker and sparring.

The two circled eachother and Xaden made sure to not give away a single weakness that could potentially be use against him. Azriel launched, going for a simple one-two combination but Xaden was ready for him. He shifted left a bit and let Azriel’s punches hit his right shoulder at an angle that caused the least damage. He swept out his right leg and knocked Az off his feet before jumping on top of him in a way that made it hard for Azriel to switch their positions. He kneed the Illyrian in the crotch and traced a finger lightly against the tip of Azriel’s wing until Az groaned and yielded.

Xaden got off him and was met with a clap on the back from Ruhn, who had somehow managed to find popcorn.

“How’d you know my wings were so sensitive?” Azriel was frowning at him.

“At your family dinner, Nesta kept brushing the tip of Cassian’s wing with a featherlight touch and he kept jerking away while simultaneously leaning into her touch.”

Az groaned. “Damn Cassian. I had a plan to win as well! I was about to flip you over when you touched my wing and all my thoughts went straight out the window.”

Xaden grinned. “Fair fight I say.”

“No fucking way, I want a rematch.”

*****

a/n: not my worst.

taglist:

@thelov3lybookworm @profound-imagination

[theoperativeif]

The Blackout (The Operative/Wrath of an Empire)

Benjamin Hewitt used to love the snow. Loved the sound it made as the leather boots his mother had gifted moved through it. He loved that bite that nipped at his nose. He loved snowball fights with his two sisters as they yelled at him for stealing one of their toys. The winter wonderland that always greeted their home was his to explore. 

He thought it would last forever.

He wished that wonder had stayed, hoped that it wasn't tainted. But now, when he thought of the white reaper that danced around him, he only could see the frozen faces of friends, innocents, and animals. Waking up each morning and shaking the body of a fellow only to realize the reaper lay with him that night and took his breath. 

That reaper had taken his mother when the war came to their home. He found them all there. Why did it spare him each time when it took so many he cared for? Now it mocked him with memories and gifts it once bestowed.

That was oh so long ago.

Hewitt watched the snow flutter in his hands before turning it over and letting it blow away from him.

In front of him, the four bodies lay motionless under the snow. They were in a partially dug ditch, the ground frozen solid by the long winter storms that raged across Parem. One of those storms was still swirling above them like an ancient predator seeking to sweep them away.

But here, the snow buried its own. Why not him?

Major Hewitt sighed, brushing a layer of snow that had settled on his hat. He turned, a frown creasing his forehead as the platoon leader of the 2nd platoon walked over, saluting him. 

"Building secured Sir, but we found something in the shelter underneath," Lieutenant Grace Mallory said, her dull blue eyes coldly watching him.

"Thank you, Lieutenant dismissed," Hewitt said, waving his hand as he stared over at the building. 

Observation post Echo was a large, partially above-ground bunker with multiple lines of sight for the automatic turrets sticking out on its side. It also had an attached tower that could see for miles in clear weather. 

His men had secured the facility, several outposts had lost communications in the previous hours. They had to wait for the storm to clear before it was safe for shuttle flights to check on them. 

Hewitt stepped through the metal doorway, the door swinging shut with a loud bang before locking. The gunmetal gray hallways led to the various bunker defensive systems. Operating gun controls, camera systems and other control consoles took up the first rooms. 

Something was not right. 

The heating was off, water frozen in cups, and food was frostbitten as they passed by the small kitchen. Hewitt stopped, counting the plates and cups that littered the several tables. Obviously, whatever happened made the men leave their meals uneaten. 

Nearly fifty men manned this post. And now not a single soul apart from the four outside being buried by the snow. 

Commonwealth soldiers saluted him as he passed, their bright armor giving them an almost heavenly appearance, seeming to glow in the lights. Their large needle rifles were at the ready, and even they seemed put off.

He walked back into the hallway before stopping, his eyes tracing the long marks along the wall. They looked like claw marks, the metal was torn open like paper. 

"What could do something like that?" Lieutenant Mallory wondered aloud, running her own fingers along it.

"How did it even get in? The facility seemed sealed when we arrived," Hewitt said, gesturing for one of the soldiers, "find Lieutenant Gormly, tell him to have his platoon sweep the perimeter and the outer building again."

The soldier saluted before rushing outside.

"This is what we wanted you to see," Lieutenant Mallory said as they descended downstairs to the underground sections, "we found one body, it was in an interesting shape."

They led him to the bottom of the stairs, quickly turning and heading to one of the officer's quarters. 

Hewitt stared at the body pinned to the wall by a large pipe, a pool of blood below it. The concrete where the pipe had struck had cracked. What in the name of mother Earth could do that?

"It looks like something fired out of a cannon," Malloy wondered, her fingers exploring the cracks running up the wall, "maybe a combat bot?"

"Imperials don't use those," Hewitt reminded her, shaking his head. Only their own forces used ai intensive ground combat systems, after the Imperial Forge incident, their adversaries have been extremely cautious in their implementation of ai military assets. 

"Maybe they gave it a try," Malloy said, shrugging, "either way my guess is something got in here and the boys chased it out into the forest. We should try and catch up to them."

"That doesn't make any sense," Hewitt said, crossing his arms. Whatever got in here made it through the bunker, why wasn't there more of a fight? The number of men between it and this room alone should of been a nightmare of bullets and armored troops—instead, only a few bodies.

"Patterson was the commander," Hewitt stated rather then asked. Patterson was a competent enough XO. His aggression would explain why he set out after the intruder, "do we have an idea of where they were heading?"

Malloy nodded, pulling out a data pad and handing it to Hewitt, who scrutinized it. It was a personal log, damaged but unlocked and functioning. He pressed play.

He listened to the first sentence, garbled audio making him grimace. He skipped to the last entry. Not even four hours ago.

"Captain Patterson reporting. We were attacked by some creature and took only one casualty. but the damn thing hacked our systems and downloaded all known information on our defenses. We've been unable to contact any other posts, we are setting out towards the airfield twenty miles south of here in the morning, I will leave four of my men to seal the compound and guard it. Hopefully, we can warn-" The message abruptly ended.

Twelve hours. They had time to catch up then. 

"Malloy! Tell our shuttle to head to the airfield and sound the alarm, then have reinforcements get to us. We will trek south to catch up to Patterson and his troops."

Malloy hesitated for the barest moment before saluting, rushing off to inform the shuttle pilots.

Fifteen minutes later all soldiers were assembled outside the bunker. Hewitt ordered them to proceed south at double pace to catch up to Patterson and his men. He arranged for Gormly's platoon to stay ahead of the man group, with orders to suppress and withdraw to the main force if engaged.

As the shuttle took off and faded into the distance, Hewitt wondered if he was making the right decision, but he knew time was of the essence. He made a call, and he would live with it for the rest of his life. However long that is. He thought with a grimace.

For the first twenty minutes, all was silent. Until Gormly requested his presence. 

He found the lieutenant standing in front of a large pine tree, the man's round face visible now that his helmet was off as he inspected something on the tree. 

It was only when Hewitt got close that he realized what he thought was another soldier leaning against the tree, was a corpse. A headless corpse.

"Ours?" Hewitt asked uneasily, looking at the soldiers in defensive positions around them, "or-"

"One of Patterson's men," Gormly responded in his usual gruff manner, "his armor is untouched, notice the cut to his neck, something sharp went clean through it. I guess he was at the back of the group, poor bastard never even got noticed. Tracks all lead south." 

"Keep your squads close to each other, we don't know what we are dealing with."

Gormly's platoon continued ahead, reporting more and more tracks of Patterson's men. It was clear the longer the trek went, Patterson clumped his men closer and closer until they were all within a few feet of each other, moving enmass south.

"First platoon reporting contact!" the short-range radio burst to life suddenly, sporadic gunfire echoing close ahead of them before Gormly's gruff voice cut in, "cease fire! Friendlies!" 

Hewitt moved towards First platoon, several soldiers accompanying him.

Soldiers were tending to a soldier on the ground, a bullet wound in his shoulder. Another soldier was standing a ways away, eyes wide, seeming in a daze, his armor wasn't like the others, his was cracked and barely functioning. 

"He's one of Patterson, he was running when he stumbled on squad three," he said matter of factly, turning to the wounded trooper, "you gonna live Harris?" 

"Yes Sir," the soldier gave him a thumbs up before pointing at the new soldier, "come here."

The soldier took a hesitant step forward, almost stumbling, "I'm so sorry I thought-"

"Whats your name trooper?" Hewitt asked, arms crossed, he didn't care, no one was killed, he just need information fast.

He didn't respond, swaying on his feet. It almost looked like he was drunk. 

"Where is Patterson?" Hewitt demanded, looking behind him he noticed a small bloom of smoke in the distance, followed by an explosion rumbling through the air.

"Camp," the man croaked, pointing behind him.

"Show us." 

The walk was short, Hewitt followed Gormly's platoon as Vincent led them to a small clearing. Hewitt's heart sank as a lump formed in his throat.

"Mother of," Gormly trailed off before spinning around, "sweep the area now!" 

Soldiers quicking split into search teams, cautiously moving ahead.

In front of them in the clearing sat a large camp. It was destroyed. Tents lay scattered, fires still smoldering. Bodies littered the area. Hewitt slowly moved forward, soldiers ahead of him checking the collapsed tents and the more intact bodies. 

He passed two bodies still kneeling, their hands palm up and their heads removed. 

Feet stuck out of the snow by one tent with a hand sticking out of another.

"What the fuck does this?" Gormly muttered, crouching down next to one of the arms, "what exploded?"

"It wasn't from the camp," Hewitt said, his heart pounding in his ears as he reached a realization, pointing towards the smoke still a short distance off, "Gormly you don't think?" 

"The shuttle?" Gormly's eyes widened, "no, they wouldn't land without direct orders!"

Mallory's platoon was reaching the clearing when Hewitt gave her the order to investigate the smoke, "withdraw to our position here right away if engaged." He stressed those instructions, as their situation was getting worse by the second. 

They found Patterson's body towards the middle of the camp, his head shoved deep into a camp fires coals, small pockets of fire creeping up his back. There were drag marks leading up to his body.

When they pulled him out his face was unrecognizable. His skull had been smashed badly, with cracks spreading down the forehead, eyes and mouth shattered. Hewitt hoped that he had been dead when whatever it was had dragged him to the fire.

"Mark the location for recovery teams, " Hewitt instructed, slowly looking around before stopping. High above in one of the trees a body was slung over the branches, body smoking as if it had been burnt. He withdrew his sidearm, aiming and firing a single shot just above the body.

The clearing went silent, soldiers on alert and looking towards him, confused. 

Nothing happened. Hewitt frowned, he could of sworn he saw something.

"Major this is second platoon reporting," Mallory's voice came over the short-range communications, "its the shuttle, its in another clearing a quarter of a kilometer ahead, bodies here. Seems like they tried to perform a pickup when something or someone caught them." 

Damn. This was bad, he had alerted the nearby outposts that they were out here. But without the shuttle warning the airfield, would they bother checking? Surely they would. He hoped.

"Sir we might have something here, there seems to-" Mallory's voice cut in as the wind began to pick up.

"Say again 2nd platoon we seem to be having issues with the storm," a communications operator said next to Hewitt, the young man straining to hear as the wind picked up even more, causing the both of them to brace themselves.

"Contact!" the words hung in the air, as Hewitt's eyes went wide, he knew it. 

Whatever had taken out Patterson was still around. And they were the next target.

"First platoon and third platoon move up to support second, double time!" Hewitt ordered, "Operator see if you can get any information from second, and tell them we are coming from North of their position!"

The silence caused Hewitt to turn, the comms operator was dead, his head opened up like a red flower as crimson flowed over the snow. 

"Contact rear!" A soldier shouted, firing up into the trees before a shot hit him, sending him flying.

Sharpshooter. 

Hewitt dove behind cover as he spotted a shimmer high in the trees, "suppressing fire on those trees! Aim high!" 

Soldiers at the rear of the two platoons began firing into the treetops. Hewitt watched as sparks lit up on one branch. And for the briefest moment, he saw a soldier of some kind, a blue and white ghost.

"Contact fro-" The soldiers heading towards second's position went flying backwards, crimson spraying across snow like paint on a canvas. 

Hewitt scrambled back, drawing his sidearm and firing as a formless shimmer dashed through his men. Heads and limbs falling motionless to the ground.

Gormly fired his shotgun at it as he emerged chasing after it, several soldiers following. 

The thing briefly appeared, a humanoid form of metal seeming to weave between the bullets, a long blade lashing out, nearly cutting a man in two. When bullets did hit it they seemed to bounce harmlessly off, or just stagger it. 

Gormly scrambled back, narrowly avoiding the blade.

Mallory soon emerged behind him, bleeding from a severe gash but still in the fight. 

Hewitt tossed his pistol aside, grabbing up a rifle and prying the amputated hand from it. 

Gormly fired a shot point blank, the things blade flying from its grasp. 

In the blink of an eye it grabbed his leg, swinging him like a child swings a doll and slamming him against a tree. The sickly crack made Hewitt's blood run cold as Gormly's bent body hit the snow. 

Hewitt fired all his rifles ammo, picking up another and another.

It just didn't care.

Mallory was next, and it grabbed her by the face, blue energy suddenly arcing from its wrist. 

There were screams. 

Even as Hewitt desperately fired, trying to distract it somehow, it still held her as her body smoked and twisted in its grip.

It let go of her, her face charred beyond recognition. A deathly silence fell across the massacre, it was only them now. 

Hewitt crouched, his hand searching a fallen soldiers belt, his fingers grasping around his only chance.

It turned, the shimmering vanishing and finally letting him see his foe. It was human, or at least he thought, a metal suit with soulless eyes stared at him.

It took a step, its weight crunching down into a body. It paused, looking down in some sick fascination. This was his chance. 

Hewitt pulled the pin, waiting a moment before throwing it. He dove to the side, covering his head. 

There was an explosion, fragments flying up.

Hewitt's brief smile of victory vanished as the thing took another step, black scorch marks now painting its armor.

"No," Hewitt muttered as he slowly got up, "what the hell are you? Why?"

The thing tilted its head before raising its arm. The was a sound, followed by a pain in his chest. Hewitt looked down, staring at the small dart in his chest. His world began to spin, before darkness took him.

There were sounds. The wind weaving through trees. The crunching a something moving through snow. Was it his imagination? Was he dreaming? Was he dead?

Am I dead? He wondered. Trying to open his eyes or move had no results. 

He had come so far. They all had. Now to die in the forest, with no one knowing what happened.

How can that be how this ends?

He didn't know how much time had passed. All Hewitt had was the cold, that cold feeling creeping more and more through him was the only thing he had. Until even that began to fade. Replaced by warmth. And a voice.

"Sir?"

Hewitt, blinked, harsh light burning his eyes as he blinked again and again. And with each time the world began to reform.

"Sir, can you hear me?" He put a face to the voice, a tall woman of dark complexion smiled at him, her uniform was that of a nurse. Frankly, to Hewitt, it was like being woken by an angel. 

Hewitt nodded a confirmation to her, his throat burning as he swallowed. 

"How long?"

"Its been three days since you were brought in."

Three days. He had to warn the outposts, the airfield. 

"I need to contact my superiors," Hewitt rasped, trying to sit up, the nurse gently tried to keep him lying down, "please, all my men." 

"That wont be necessary Major," A new voice spoke up as a man walked into the room, Hewitt knew the uniform, "please give us a moment nurse."

The woman nodded, smiling at Hewitt before walking out of the room. The man watched her leave, his smile vanishing as he turned back to Hewitt.

"My name is Issac, I am with the Commonwealth's Intelligence Burea. I know you've had a rough few days so I will be straightforward. From this moment you are hereby discharged from the army. In fact we are already on a transport taking you home. Your pension will remain intact. But, if you ever mention something of what you think happened there. Well, lets just say I am a lot less friendly on repeat visits." The man said, smiling again.

"But, my soldiers, they deserve-" Hewitt started.

"They served the Commonwealth well. Accidents do happen though, he paused, stretching dramatically, "I think I am going to let you get some rest. Do keep what I said in mind. And I do mean this in the most caring way, I hope we don't have to meet again. Enjoy retirement."

He turned and walked away, leaving Hewitt alone.

Several days later Imperial forces would launch a full scale invasion of the planet. And no one would remember the blackout that proceeded it.

[final-girl96]

Firefly Chapter Fifty-Five

Flashback

“Raaa!”

Ellie's eyes flew open, “Ah!” She threw someone onto the floor and took the switchblade from underneath my pillow. She was prepared to fight for my life until I realized it was just her best friend Riley.

“Riley?” She asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Riley was laughing, “Ow!” She said as she slowly stood to her feet. “I landed on my hip.” Ellie stood from the bed and looked at her best friend. “What the hell? I thought I was bitten,” she said. Riley let out a chuckle, “I know. It was kind of awesome,” she told her with a smile. She paused and looked at Ellie, who still had her blade trained on her. “Well, you're not gonna kill me, are you?”

Ellie rolled her eyes and put the blade away, ”I haven’t seen you in. I don’t even know how long,” she told her girl in front of her. Riley sighed, “Forty-five days. Well, forty-six... technically. Wanna know what I've been up to?” She asked. Ellie was a little angry at her best friend for leaving her here, at the FEDRA school, or as she liked to call it, the orphanage for unwanted children, “All this time... I thought you were dead,” she exclaimed.

Riley softened and reached for the chain around her neck. “Yeah. Here,” she removed the pendant from her neck and passed it to Ellie. “Look.” Ellie took it and examined it. She was looking at a round pendant with the fireflies symbol on it. “No way,” she said in disbelief. Riley shrugged and looked around the room. “Still no roommate? I had to sleep under Liz for three years, and you know how much that girl smells.”

Ellie didn't answer about the roommate. Instead, she said, “You're a Firefly.” Riley pulled a picture of her and Ellie from the wall. “You still have it up,” she said softly.

Ellie came back to reality and rushed past her, opening the door, checking the hallway to make sure no one heard them. “Wha- What are you doing?” Riley asked, setting the picture down. Ellie closed the door and turned to her best friend. “I'm making sure I don’t get caught with a Firefly in my room,” she said.

Riley rolled her eyes at her, “Relax. There are no soldiers on the entire floor,” she said. Ellie gave the pendant back, “Here. Congrats,” she said, more harshly than she meant to. She was still upset with Riley for leaving. She turned away from her but Riley caught her arm, “Hey! Are we cool?” She asked.

Ellie scoffed and snatched her arm free. “Are we cool?” She said in a joking tone. Riley's eyes softened. “I disappeared and you're mad. Ellie scoffed in reply. “And... I owe you an explanation. Let's get out of here and I'll tell you all about it,” She said, hoping Ellie would agree with her.

“It's almost morning. And I have military drills. You know, where we learn how to kill Fireflies,” Ellie said, pulling away. Riley reached down and grabbed Ellie's jeans off the floor. “Put some pants on, and let's go.” Ellie caught them with a sigh. She had a battle going on in her head, but it didn't last long as she pulled her pants on. “This is so dumb,” she commented. Riley opened the window again and stepped out of it. “Come on. When have we ever gotten into trouble?”

Riley led them through the alleyways, being careful not to get caught by the FEDRA officers that were on the night watch. It was way past curfew. She led them to an old apartment building that was no longer being used because of how bad it was inside. Parts of the roof were caved in letting the elements in.

They climbed up onto an old dumpster in the back alley and crawled through a window. “That was close, huh?” Riley asked. They had almost been caught by the flood lights FEDRA used but were able to duck down just in time. “You're kinda fast there. I'm impressed,” Riley said. Ellie said thanks before following Riley up a flight of stairs. “So, how did you find them?” Ellie asked. “The Fireflies?” Riley asked. “Yeah.”

“Remember that Firefly that you bit and stole his gun?” Ellie acknowledged that she remembered him, and Riley went on to tell her how she came to be with the Fireflies. “That's Trevor. I saw him walking the street, so I tailed his ass. I followed him into this alley, and all these Fireflies ambushed me. They took me right to their hideout. To Marlene.”

They jogged down a hallway, turned, and ducked under the bored up door to an apartment. “Were you scared?” Ellie asked. Ellie decided to slow down and look around the apartment, and Riley waited until she was finished. “Terrified. I thought this time she would actually shoot me. But instead, she just says, “what took you so long?”. She was expecting me,” She answered, Ellie.

Ellie was standing at a dining room table and picked up a flier. It had a picture of Marlene on it. A front photo and her side profile, side by side.

WANTED

FOR FIREFLY AFFLICTION

At the bottom had a description of Marlene and any other criminal priors she had and cautious for what to be aware of if someone were to come across her. But at the top, someone had taken a black marker to it, writing HERO over the large red wanted for firefly affiliation.

“And she just made you a firefly?” Ellie asked, turning back around. “Something like that. That whole almost killing me thing was a test. She wanted to know I was committed.” Ellie jogged back over where Riley was and followed her into the main bedroom, or at least that's what it looked like. The ceiling was caved in exposing the apartment above. Riley and Ellie climbed up onto whatever it was that fell all the way from the roof, Ellie wasn't sure what it was. She just climbed up on top of it and to the next floor.

The room they were in had been a kids' bedroom from the look of posters on the wall. There was a giant hole in the wall that looked into the living room and kitchen area of the place. Ellie flattened her back against the wall and carefully crossed to the other side of the room. “Who do you hang out with these days?” Riley asked, climbing through the hole in the wall. “I don't know. No one really,” Ellie answered. “What about Tino and the rest of them? How are they doin’?

“Riley, those are your friends,” Ellie said, following her into the next room. “But you talk to them,” Riley told her. Ellie rolled her eyes and looked around the apartment. “Yeah. Yeah,” she mumbled. She followed Riley around the corner but came to a stop when she saw the firefly's symbol on the wall marked in red spray paint. Above it said “find the light”.

“Have you found the light yet?” Ellie said, rolling her eyes once again. “Oh, har, har.” Riley responded. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend your people,” Ellie said sarcastically. She turned to see Riley ducking under another hole in the wall that led to the laundry room of the apartment building. “So, what? You buy into this whole thing now?” Ellie asked, following after her. “All I know is I'm not a soldier,” Riley told her. They walked out into the hallway, and Ellie saw another sign written in black spray paint and one in red underneath it.

Don't be a sheep

WAKE UP

FEDRA SUCKS

As the two teenage girls headed up the stairs, an announcement came over the intercoms around the QZ.

Attention. We are pleased to report the zone has been free of Cordyceps infection for thirty days. Your cooperation and dutiful attention to suspicious activity…

“Thirty days, my ass. People are getting infected all the time. They just do a good job hiding it,” Riley said. They ran up the steps, took a left, and went down another hall. “You've run into more infected?” Ellie asked. “That's part of my ignition. They actually made me kill this… You know, let's talk about something else.” They went to the end of the hall and jumped through a busted out window and onto the roof tops.

[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: a photo of a flight of stairs in front of a brick building. The concrete stairs are five steps and a black metal railing going up a grassy hill. Next to the stairs is a concrete ramp. The ramp, should we continue to call it that, is about a fifty degree (? math not my strong point) slope and concave in the center. The top of the photo says in allcaps "ableds be like" and the bottom says "'this is a wheelchair ramp'". End I.D]

The "A.D.A. accessible apartment!" search is not going well, lads

[paimonial-rage]

false beginnings - venti

ship: venti & unknown!reader synopsis: when you awoke, the only thing you knew was that you needed to finish it. the song, your song. notes: takes place before the main story; i may make this into a series depending on the trajectory of the moon and the angle of the wind

“Who do you think you are? Even if the God of Ballad and Song were brought back from death and the Dragon of the East awoke from his slumber, I wouldn’t be caught dead playing something composed by a filthy child like you,” the man spat as he threw the papers back into your face.

You were quick to catch your sheet music before the wind caught hold of them. Though stained by the dirt that coated your fingers and bleached unevenly by the sun, they were precious. They were your life. And yet every bard you met so far treated them the same. As if in fear they would be tainted by the filth upon your skin, they turned their backs on your song. 

You wouldn’t normally have taken the route you have chosen. Even if you had a lyre no more, the voice was an instrument on its own. But you singing was not an ability you possessed anymore. Whenever you tried, terrible pain coarse through you. It felt as if a dragon was tearing the vocal cords from their very seat in your throat. And yet, you needed to hear your song. It was crucial. It was essential. It begged you to finish it. 

Were the bards in Mondstadt always this unkind, you wondered as you made your way down the cobbled streets in search of someone new. You must have looked like quite the sight, with your childish stature and filthy appearance, almost seeming as if you belonged in the aftermath of the cataclysm fifty years past. Some kind souls tried pointing you in the direction of the church at the northernmost point of the city. ‘They take care of orphans there,’ they said. But that’s not where you belonged. You had something to do. 

Eventually, you lost track of the amount of time you spent searching for someone to play your song. Was it a few hours? Days? Weeks? But with each rejection, you found yourself becoming weaker and weaker. Were you never going to hear your precious song ever again? 

And that’s when you heard it. It danced like wisps upon a breeze. A lovely song.

Your song.

So you chased it. With a sudden burst of energy, you raced down the cobbled streets, up each flight of stairs, to the melody that called you, oh, so sweetly. 

There he stood in front of the winged statue with its arms outstretched. His fingers plucked at a lovely lyre as a soft smile graced his cherubic face. And when his eyes opened and fell upon you, they were filled with a warmth that words could not possibly describe. 

“There you are,” he finally said, his words wrapping themselves around you like a loving embrace. 

But you were confused, almost turning to see if it was someone else to which he spoke. But the full moon was high in the sky. Only drunkards were found on the streets this late at night, but even they had enough sense to conceal the sins of their indulgence from the Anemo Archon’s sanctuary. That could only mean he was talking to you, but have you met before? 

“Would you like me to play that for you?” He asked, his eyes falling upon the sheet music which you held. 

Perhaps you should have felt apprehensive. No other bard offered their services in your tune. But he felt familiar, as if drifting on a comfortable breeze you felt many times before. So you held your heart out to him. If anyone could play your song, it would be him. 

It seemed as if his body were frozen still as he scanned your notes once, then twice. But with the third time, his shoulders relaxed and his lips raised into a lovely smile. He then turned his gaze to you, delight evident within his emerald eyes. 

“Last time I checked, you were only a verse in! When did you get this far?” He mused cheerily before clearing his throat. “I think I got it. Listen carefully now. I don’t usually play for an audience of one, hehe.”

The tune he played before began to fill the air, this time with the changes you thoughtfully penned in. And when it reached the end of the first verse, instead of repeating, it flowed into the second. Yes, this was it. This was the song that you wanted to dedicate to your home, the one you were never able to finish. 

But as relief filled your chest and exhaustion began to weigh upon your eyelids, you couldn’t ignore the fact that the song was not done. Not yet. It still had a few more revisions to go. You still had to–

“Gods, you were always a fighter, weren’t you?” Came the exasperated voice of your companion.

As you fought the alluring call of sleep, he pouted disapprovingly at you. But when it became clear you would not give in, he sighed and brushed his hand gently against your cheek. It almost felt familiar, inviting you to lean into his warmth.

“Rest. Don’t worry, it’ll still be here when you wake up. And when you do, I’ll be here at your side. I promise.”

And as you decided to trust his promise, you felt your eyes flutter shut, and once more, your song danced into the air from his lyre. And as darkness began to take once more, you wondered to yourself. 

“What shall I write next?”

[equallyloyalandlethal]

ashes ch 3!! :)

Between Scott and Liam, alone in the SUV the alpha had borrowed from Argent, the five-hour car ride back to Beacon Hills passed almost entirely in silence. He lacked words or the desire to break the stalemate once he had been forced to accept the fate of being thrown into the passenger seat while Stiles drove off with Theo. The door lock popped up with a click, his apartment barely fifty feet to the right, and up a few flights of stairs, but that was likely irrelevant. He half-expected the engine to cut out and for his alpha to come up with him, despite the insistence that he was fine and that he would in fact listen to them and their stupid decision to keep him away from the newly found chimera.

Liam sighed, reaching for the handle, his wolf growling lowly and sitting uncomfortably in his chest as he went to get out of the car, or started to, before a hand caught his shoulder, turning him back around.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

There was so much concern in the alpha’s voice alone, but paired with the confused, worried look in his eyes, it was almost enough to knock him off his feet.

Liam being grumpy and pissed like "I'd be better if you let me see him."

"Liam..." Scott shaking his head, a deep sadness and regret twisting off of him in a gnarled ball.

"I know. I know, they did something, and it's not a good idea. I know." Liam gritting his teeth, holding back the shift as best he can. "I just... I need to tell him something."

"And you will." Scott's hand squeezed his shoulder gently, shaking him a little as he added, "When he can hear you properly. Right now, he's... He's not... What they did, it's not something we've seen before, okay? And it's gonna take time. Maybe a lot of time, but we'll get there, I promise."

[anothercrisis]

Inspired by this post by @toomanywordsnllines

Ghost discovering the existence of Soap’s bad knee and the story behind it, after the mission in Chicago.

You can also read this on AO3.

—————+—————

It took everything left in Ghost not to go running up the building, pushing past the personnel in the way, taking the flights of stairs three steps at a time to eat up the distance between him and Soap faster. It was taking more strength than he’d anticipated to remain on the Chicago street outside of the skyscraper that had turned into a bloody battlefield at Soap and Price’s hands. Laswell and her people were here now, milling around and dealing with the aftermath of the mission.

The road was blocked off, the Chicago police hanging around at the fringes watching the city and the military presence that’d appeared. The vehicles Laswell’s people had showed up in were parked in the street, empty as the occupants had set to work sweeping the building, searching for anyone who might have survived and for any intel or equipment. Later, they would work on clearing the bodies, the gore Soap had left in his wake.

Ghost had slung his sniper rifle across his back before he’d come down from his overwatch position, but he was suddenly wishing it was still in his hands. He needed something to hold on to, something to ease the nerves that had him clenching and unclenching his fists like he was preparing his joints before for a sparring match.

Where the fuck was Johnny?

It shouldn’t be taking him this long to make his way to the street. Ghost had been as high up as Soap had been and he was already here. But the fact that he’d ran like his life depended on it was likely at fault for that.

Going into the building was unadvisable, Ghost knew that. He would get in the way, cause more trouble for Laswell’s personnel. But fuck, he needed to find Johnny. Needed to see him, alive, standing, within arms reach, on solid ground. Until he saw Soap again, all he could see was the image of Hassan holding Soap, weak and battered, in front of the shattered window over fifty stories above the ground with nothing to save him but the hope and trust in Ghost.

Ghost’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since those moments, and he was confident it wouldn’t settle until he found Johnny.

Ghost was getting quite a few side-looks from the Americans tending to the aftermath, but Ghost paid them no mind. He paced back and forth on the street, moving through the space between two army vehicles, scanning the open stretch of the first floor for the sight of a familiar mohawk.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, there he was.

Johnny.

Ghost gravitated towards him, his internal compass relocating its true north.

Soap stepped out of a hallway that must have lead to the stairwell, a heavy limp slowing him down to a crawl. His tactical vest and holsters were all empty, his person void of all weapons and tools, nothing but useless straps and a scrap of armor now. His face, pinched in concentration, was splattered in blood, most of it Hassan’s but some of it was probably his own. He flashed smiles at the personnel he passed, accepting their praise, but the moment they looked away, the smile slipped off.

Ghost was less than three yards from Soap when he noticed him, his exhausted eyes drifting up to meet Ghost’s beyond his mask. The relief that dropped Soap’s shoulders was unmistakable, and worrisome because he seemed to be struggling to stand enough as it was.

Ghost’s own relief could have brought him to his knees, because here Johnny was, alive, standing even if it was unstably, within arms reach, and on solid ground. Here, with Ghost where he was safest.

Without a word, Ghost slotted himself up against Soap’s left side, catching him around his waist and bearing some of his weight, giving him something to lean on. And Soap did, shifting his arm back to grip Ghost’s shoulder and settling into his support. Together, they walked out of the building in which Soap had almost died multiple times over with Ghost too far away to help but the once.

His next sign that Soap wasn’t okay was the fact that he wasn’t talking. The absence of his voice in Ghost’s ear was tangible, a heavy hollowness that made Ghost feel like he needed his ears to pop. The fourth sign was that Ghost was allowed to steer Soap towards one of the open vans with no resistance on his part, which impossibly worried Ghost further than he already was.

“What’s the damage?” he asked as he guided Soap down to sit at the edge of the van. Soap flinched and shuffled stiffly as he moved to obey Ghost’s silent command, trading the support of Ghost’s body for the cold stability of the van floor.

“I’m—”

“And don’t lie to me.”

Soap looked up at him. Now that it was just the two of them, as alone as they could be until Nikolai returned to take them back to base, Soap wasn’t hiding behind a mask of his own. He did nothing to hide the exhaustion weighing on him, the bone-deep tiredness that formed into bruises beneath his eyes, beneath all the blood on his skin. He did nothing to hide the way his hands were shaking, the way his breath kept catching in his throat.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Ghost could only nod, struck silent on the matter due to the vulnerability displayed all over Soap’s body.

“Your leg?” he asked instead of acknowledging the fear and anxiety lining the suddenly harsh edges of Soap and the worry and stress pressing against his own.

“Ah,” Soap said, sounding relieved that Ghost wasn’t going to push. He stretched his left leg out, wincing slightly as he rubbed his fingers into the muscles surrounding the joint. “‘S alright. Old injury just got strained. Should’ve worn ma brace.”

Ghost slid to his knees in front of Soap, ignoring the look of surprise that graced Soap’s face, and dug into his vest for the roll of elastic bandage. He reached for Soap’s knee once he had the bandage in hand, but he hesitated before touching him, lifting his eyes in search of permission. Soap sighed softly through his nose and leaned against the open door of the van and Ghost understood that he was allowed to help.

“Didn’t know.” Ghost tried to keep his voice level as he spoke in an attempt to keep the extent of his emotions away where they wouldn’t disturb either of them. He wouldn’t have talked at all under usual circumstances, but there was something about the way Soap was shaking and his silence that wasn’t sitting right with Ghost and he was hoping to lure Soap out of his head with his words. “About your bad knee. Tell me.”

“Tell ya what?” Soap watched as Ghost began to wind the bandage around his knee, over his jeans. Ghost hoped it would stabilize Soap’s knee enough to ease some of the pain.

“About your knee.” Ghost refrained from fondly calling him an unpleasant name, afraid of his sergeant’s fragile state and worried one wrong move would break whatever control Soap had left. “What kinda injury? What happened?”

Even with the dried blood splattered across his skin, Ghost could still see the blush that crept up Soap’s neck and into his cheeks. “Ya won’t like it.”

Ghost didn’t know what he meant by that, but he was too distracted by the presence of Soap’s leg under his palms, the heat of his body that he could feel even through the layers of fabric, to dissect the comment. “Tell me anyway. Let me decide.”

Soap opened his mouth, hopefully to tell Ghost the story, but they were interrupted by an actual medic showing up beside them, her hands gripped around a medical kit.

“I’ve got it,” Ghost said before she could say anything. He ignored the way his body tensed up, defensive and protective, and held out his hand that wasn’t holding the end of the bandage to her, asking for the kit silently.

She frowned, clearly concerned about passing her job off to someone else even if that person was him. She looked at Soap, causing another muscle spasm to break out across Ghost’s back like his body was preparing to react.

But this wasn’t about him, so he lowered his hand and turned his face to Johnny, searching for an answer.

It was because Ghost was on such high alert, was so used to Soap’s body language after so many weeks in his company, that Ghost noticed the way Soap was digging his fingertips into the seams of his vest, his ribs. Ghost hadn’t noticed when Soap had crossed his arms, but it must’ve been when the medic had shown up, because Ghost had checked on him moments before that and he’d been relaxed. Or something akin to it, because he was still shaking.

“Not hurt badly,” Soap said finally. “Lt. can handle it, can’t ya?”

I will handle whatever you allow me to.

Soap calling Ghost Lieutenant seemed to remind the medic of his rank and she nodded, deferring to him, and set the bag down beside his leg before she cleared off. Ghost eased the tension in his back and returned to wrapping Soap’s knee like nothing had happened, when in reality there was a part of him basking under Soap’s preference for him.

Once Soap’s knee was braced, he offered Ghost his hands. His palms were battered and bloody, filled with cuts and scratches and pieces of glass. Ghost reined in his sigh and started to dig through the medical kit for the tools he’d need to take care of Soap’s hands. He slid the gauze, tweezers, alcohol, bandages, and a shallow metal dish across the van floor before he picked himself up and sat down next to Soap, a leg bent so he could face him. He located his flashlight in his vest and attached it to the side of his headset and settled in, pulling one of Soap’s hands towards him.

As Ghost worked, gently pulling chunks of glass out of Soap’s palm, Soap told him the story about his knee.

“Was only a few years back. Didn’t happen in the field, on a mission, or anything. I was, eh, screwin’ ‘round as ya would say. With explosives.” Ghost wasn’t surprised in the slightest to hear that; he hadn’t spent more than a few months with Soap, but one didn’t have to know him for longer than a couple of minutes before his love for demolitions became apparent. “I’m good at it, ya know. Good at knowin’ what’s gonna happen, but I, eh, made a miscalculation, that time. Was packin’ a bigger punch than I thought, so I had ta…get outta there. I was too close, ya know, the blast radius bigger than I thought. Hurt myself retreatin’, fell on ma leg wrong, fucked up ma knee. It’s alright most the time, but it gets strained every now an’ again.”

“Like when you’ve got to climb down fifty flights of stairs.”

“Aye.” Soap smiled lightly, reservedly, as he glanced at Ghost, brushing his eyes affectionately over Ghost’s mask like it was his skin. Ghost thought Soap was glad that he hadn’t scolded him or called him stupid or reckless.

Ghost ducked his head, pulled Soap’s palm closer to his face. “Could’ve called for me. Would’ve carried you down.”

Soap laughed, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly and easing the tension in Ghost that he’d been holding onto, wary of Soap’s fragile state. “That so? Give me a piggyback ride down the stairwell? Ya sure you coulda carried me, Lt.? Not a light lad, I tell ya that. Might’ve sent us both tumblin’ down fifty flights of stairs if ya tried.”

Ghost was comforted by the appearance of Soap’s ramblings, short as it was and even at his own expense.

And Soap was starting to shake less, his breaths setting into a calmer rhythm. He was figuring out how to be okay right now, because he had to be, had to be of sound mind and steady when Price and Laswell came looking for a debrief.

But later…later he could go back to being not alright, and Ghost hoped he’d be allowed to be there, like he was now, to make sure Soap had someone there when he broke apart. Someone who he was comfortable being not okay around, someone he trusted to look at him no differently because of his vulnerability.

And, from what Ghost was gathering, he qualified.

[pampushky]

Creature (Both Haunted & Holy)

Vinsmoke Sanji - Chapter 25 - 5k

As you leave Drum Island, you reflect on a few things about your life. Kureha, shockingly, joins you.

ao3 | series masterlist | masterlist | next part

For the foreseeable future, Luffy has been banned from ever trying to operate something with wheels. Zoro cackles when you tell him this, your hair much too messy for him to take you seriously until you pull him down by the collar of his jacket, snarling in his face that he had better pray that he never gets injured to the point of needing a wheelchair like you and Sanji had. The memory of your near trip down a flight of stairs as Luffy attempted to drift your chair while he was pushing it still haunts you, and the fact that Luffy had even managed to get Sanji to topple out of his chair, ass over kettle, doesn’t lend to any argument that your captain makes that he won’t do it again.

Zoro doesn’t need much convincing after that. To your captain’s credit, he has the decency to look at least a bit apologetic, trailing one of his feet in the snow as he apologizes, as though he is a young boy and not a seventeen-year-old. When he sees Nami wheeling you to the castle’s storage room, Sanji is at your side. You’ve been told that you will have at least a few more days in the chair, much to your displeasure, but Kureha and Chopper are stubborn. You just wish you could have had a bit more of a say in your treatment, but you can’t even argue when the old woman mentions you putting yourself through chronic fatigue, especially with Sanji backing her up, hands on his hips as you grumble about being able to walk. 

It’s out of love, yes, but you’re allowed to be annoyed with him, dammit! And speaking of which….

“Ma moitié, could you take a look at this for me?” Sanji looks at you over his shoulder, while combing through the castle’s extensive library, searching for more cookbooks and any books on foraging and nutrition he can get his hands on. You reach upwards, and weigh the book in your hands, looking at him a bit curiously as he continues to scuttle up the ladder to find more. It’s leather-bound, with yellowing pages. The front is detailed with the crudely-embossed image of what looks to be a selkie in their selken form or maybe a merperson. It’s honestly hard to tell, with just how crude the image is. 

The title and around half of the table of contents are missing, yet most of the book seems to be intact, with none of the actual information gone. You can see ‘ O’Hara Printing’ on the back page, with a date from nearly fifty years ago stamped on the paper. It’s when you find the copyright with the same date, that you finally find the title. Commentary on the Selkenfolk Way of Life. How exhilarating— but certainly not what Sanji was looking for in this room. 

“That’s odd,” You mumble, and close the book, flipping it over in your hands as you examine it. “There’s no contents, it’s missing…  are you sure this is a cookbook, Ji’?”

“I just thought I saw your—oh, what’s the name of it—”

“Selken form?”

“Yes! That— I saw it on the cover. It could be helpful. Or amusing to debunk, later,” He looks over his shoulder at you again, a pretty smile on his lips as he looks down at you, a few books in his hands. 

You look down at it again, tilting your head to one side as Sanji places a kiss on the top of your head, settling into the chair beside you, one of his hands loosely holding your own as he leafs through a few of the cookbooks he’s found. It’s oddly domestic, something you’d never really experienced in your years as a teenager in your village, or in your imprisonment with Arlong. Occasionally, you feel him rub his thumb over your knuckles, while you fidget with the rings on his fingers. 

The book itself seems rather accurate, detailing things about Selkenfolk culture that you yourself had come to forget in the two and a half years you hadn’t been involved in it. The fishing, the importance of pods, and many other things you find yourself missing as you scan the pages. Naturally, there are some things that are incorrect, as would be expected in a fifty-year-old academic text, but it’s mostly correct. You could even update it, perhaps, add it to the small bookshelf in the galley. 

Maybe even share it with your crew, your pod, and try to celebrate the holidays that your family once had. An altar to the Sea Mother could be nice, you think, as you flip to the next chapter.

“Well, how is it?” Sanji’s voice breaks you from your concentration, and you realize it’s dark out, as your partner leans over you slightly, his visible eye gazing down at you with utter adoration. “Not….terribly, incorrect,” you stretch, and set it on the table, as Sanji starts to wheel you back to the room with your cots. Your back feels stiff, and you grumble, as he continues to push you, “I may need to correct some things in there, but, there’s some stuff I… kinda forgot about,” 

“Like what? Tell me,” Sanji opens the door with his back to it, backing into the room before lifting you up from the chair, even when you insist you can manage the few steps to the cot you share. 

“Minor holidays, feasts, things like that,” You loop your arms around his neck, as he sits you on the edge of the cot, helping you ease out your pants, and playfully pressing a kiss to one of your knees, “Even had some pictures of the dogs we had on my island… though there were a few I didn’t recognize… I do miss the dogs…” You arch your back a bit, trying to get the tension from your shoulders, and Sanji, ever observant, brings his hands up to cup your shoulder blades for a second, before letting his hands start to work out the knots. He even chuckles when you let out a little trill, slumping into his chest as he continues. How did he always seem to know where you needed the most attention?

“That a bit better?” 

“More than a bit,” you sigh, and keep yourself leaned on his chest, grumbling when he makes you sit back up so you can change into a larger sleep shirt while he goes to change himself. You take the moment to admire him, with his back turned to you. The work on the ship had only served to make him more muscular, the muscles under his skin seeming to ripple when he did a few little stretches to loosen up. 

And then you see the wound on his back, still healing, though he doesn’t need to bandage it anymore. It goes up just a quarter of his back, maybe a third of his spine. But it’s obviously giving him a bit of pain, as you see how stiff his movements are around the area, and how careful he is when he twists a bit, pulling a t-shirt over his head and wandering back to you.

When had he gotten that? He looks down at you with a confused grin, when he sees the look on your face.

“Hey pretty, what’s going on in that head? You haven’t changed your shirt yet,” He kneels down at the edge of the cot, resting his arms and head on it as he looks at you with worry. 

“I didn’t know your back was hurt,” You whisper, and Sanji frowns, getting up as he realizes what you mean. He turns back around, so you can have a better look at it, now that he’s closer, though he does look at you over his shoulder. 

“It doesn’t hurt much, it’s just a bit tight right now,” Sanji shivers a bit when your fingers brush over his skin, just under the shirt. The stitches feel harsh against your fingertips, unfamiliar and grating to the otherwise smooth expanse of his back. “Lapahns managed to get a good hit in. S’why I was in a wheelchair.”

“Oh.” You keep your fingers on it and feel oddly remorseful. Would he have been injured the same way had you not been so careless with your own well-being?

“Kureha had to hold me down when we fought off Wapol. Said I was one wrong move away from being paralyzed,” Sanji admits this to you quietly, and you stiffen, hand freezing where it is. “…it was worth it, to keep you and Nami safe, though,”

Quietly, you shake your head, pulling your hand from his shirt, and then tugging on the hem, to have him look at you. Sanji had almost paralyzed himself for your sake? The thought fills you with terror, and… a bit of anger. 

“Please… never do that again,” Your voice comes out as a low murmur, too shocked and too terrified of how your partner had so hypocritically risked changing his life in such a major way while telling you not to do the same the day after. “…You can’t do those things and then say I’m not allowed to do them.”

He freezes, feeling you lock up as you hold the front of his shirt, head bowed as he stands between your legs. There’s the sound of something tiny falling. Then another. And he soon realizes that you’re crying, fat tears falling onto the floor and onto his feet, while you hold onto him desperately, as if he’ll disappear the instant you let go. He kneels, wincing still as his lower back aches, and cups your face.

You shouldn’t cry over him, not him, not the unwanted prince, the starving child on a rocky island. Not you, wonderful, beautiful you, with your obsidian eyes, and pretty dappled skin, with white freckles that form your original constellations. Everything about you is so ethereal to him, from the most mundane moments, like when you’re drooling on him when you sleep, to how you would conduct the waves, to push other ships away, not wanting to get into a skirmish. He loves watching you wring seawater from your hair after fishing every morning, grinning when you notice him looking, or how you watch your grandfather’s vivre card flutter in your palm when there’s a quiet moment on the Going Merry. 

Everything about you is so ethereal. You’re a divine creature, shaped by the waves, blessing him with your presence. He doesn’t deserve to stand beside you, to have you look at him so fondly, to be so kind, and to treasure him, Sanji Vinsmoke, so lovingly, trusting him at your most vulnerable to care for you. 

You shouldn’t cry over him. 

Yet you do, with large warm tears that fall on his palm. You look at him with utter devastation, your dark eyes cloudy with grief for a future that never occurred, but a grief nonetheless. Those big dark balls of obsidian, stare straight through his very being as the bond between the two of you tightens, and then explodes with emotion. Anger. Worry. Terror. Sorrow. It makes his stomach drop as you shake your head in his hands, and he can feel your claws pricking at his skin as you hold him, too lost in the moment to realize you’re possibly hurting him. 

Sanji relents, then, and puts his head to your thighs, regret’s pungent scent rolling off of him like a deep fog. 

“Forgive me,” he weeps as he says this, his tears starting to fall as you bring your hands to his head, gently massaging his scalp. 

“Of course,” you pull his head back up, to look at him, cradling his cheek in one hand while the other swipes his bangs out of his eyes, tracing the curl of his eyebrow delicately as he looks up at you with regret. “Please. Find the will to stay, and be healthy, with me.”

“No grave could stop me from crawling back to you,” Sanji whispers, hands shaking as they try to find a place to rest on your torso. 

“Never make me bury you so I don’t have to test that,” you hold his face, a wet sniffle escaping your mouth as he presses his forehead to yours, hands on your waist as he keeps you close, guilt and regret soaking your mind as he holds you.

“Never,” He promises, “You’ll never test that.” 

You fall asleep in Sanji’s arms, legs loosely tangled together with his chin on top of your head, snoring softly as you occasionally let out little trills in your sleep. The sun peeking through the blinds doesn’t wake you. Even the shrieking of Luffy chasing Chopper through the halls— it’s all background noise as you doze peacefully in your cot. Sanji does crack an eye open— he checks just to make sure you’re still asleep, and right as he’s about to let himself slip back into the peaceful bliss of unconsciousness, someone kicks the door in, and any chance of falling back asleep is violently dashed on the floor as you shoot awake, and reach for your weapon that isn’t there, only—

Tide is there. Flying into your outstretched palm, while a very surprised Zoro looks at you with wide eyes, his hand still held forward as if he was going to give you the weapon, while his other hand holds the door open, jaw dropped. While you’re positioned with Tide at the ready, and Sanji’s foot solidly placed in the door where Zoro’s head had been just a second before. 

It’s a very long pause. Long in Straw Hat terms, at least, meaning it takes a few seconds before Zoro and Sanji start an argument, shouting and wrestling on the ground the moment Sanji gets his foot out of the door. You don’t really pay it mind, more concerned over how Tide had flown into your hand, humming in your palm…. sounding annoyed? The pitch of the hum is low, and the metal of the trident is ice-cold, vibrating in your palm just enough to make your skin go slightly numb as you stare at it. Tide is annoyed, almost pouting as you examine it until Sanji and Zoro’s argument grows loud enough to distract you from trying to understand your weapon. 

“Can you not do this in here?” You sigh, just as Sanji and Zoro’s scuffle nearly goes under your cot, the two men looking up at you, as if they just realized you were still there. Sanji has the decency to look embarrassed, while Zoro looks more confused as to why you haven’t left yet. 

“Sorry, my pearl,” Sanji goes to pull himself up, only to have Zoro pull on one of his legs, causing him to smack his face on the edge of the cot, and the wrestling starts again. Kureha even walks in at one point, and then turns on her heel and leaves, returning a minute later with Nami. You flinch at the sound of her smacking their heads together. “Ow…. Nami, must you be so cruel to me?” Sanji whines, sprawling himself dramatically in your lap, and looking between the two of you with puppy-dog eyes. 

“I will, when you’re annoying the entire crew,” She doesn’t even spare him a glance, and leaves, discussing with the older woman what supplies the castle can spare to be packed onto the Going Merry. You only sigh, setting Tide down on the cot, and scratching your partner’s scalp as he sulks over Nami lecturing him while Zoro lays dazed on the floor. 

Two hours later, you’re dreading an appointment with the head doctor. You’ve been hobbling around the room, and you’re certain she’ll be able to tell. Granted, you’d done this under Nami’s watchful eye, while Sanji groaned about you putting your well-being at risk to the point that even you were a tad annoyed at your partner. 

But oh, how amusing it was to watch him crumble into dramatics the moment he could sense your feelings, groveling at your feet and begging for forgiveness. Part of you is worried, as to why he seems to think you will abandon him after every small slight, but that’s for you to uncover later. You watch as Kureha walks into the room, without her bottle of plum wine, and looks over your chart, after checking the state of your muscles and wounds.

“You’re allowed to start using crutches for walking long distances,” Kureha is flipping through something on a clipboard, frowning as she does so. Tide is leaning against the wall, glinting slightly in the sunlight. “.....however, I’m going to have you hold off on using any of your abilities for at least a week.” 

“Really?” You slump a bit in your chair, sighing heavily. “But I feel fine— I’ve been able to walk around the castle just fine,” 

“Which you shouldn’t have been doing,” Kureha scowls at you, and you let out a little ‘ha….’ you scratch the back of your head nervously. “But, I am forgiving,” 

You sit there a bit awkwardly until she clears her throat, looking at you. “I… want to ask you about Chopper.”

“...yes?” 

“He needs to work in the field, his talent would be squandered staying here,” She looks almost sad, as she says this. “...do you understand what I’m trying to say?” 

Quietly, you nod. The little reindeer obviously needs to socialize more, and you can’t help but feel an odd twinge of empathy. You’re both in the same boat, albeit for different reasons. You’ve been given a second chance at life by the Straw Hats, and it seems, Kureha wants to give that to Chopper— a chance to truly see the world, and to find the good in humanity. . 

“But he won’t do that on his own. He’d stay here his whole life if he could.” Kureha sighs, and looks at you evenly, her eyes much too somber for the same woman who had called Luffy a ‘monstrous condom-like man��� after watching him bounce off the ground after falling two stories, “...if I were to pack and leave supplies for him in a certain bag… could you ensure that he gets them, and brings them aboard the ship?”

“Of course,” You nod and watch as she sags in relief. For a second, she shows her age, over a century old, before she straightens again. 

“Wonderful. Now describe how destitute your ship is, so I have an idea of what I need to get you to leave!”

The pink clouds of snow that hang around the summit of the mountain are quite possibly the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It’s like a giant cherry blossom tree, something you’d only seen in books and stories. The Selken Isles were too cold to have anything like that grow there, but your mothers had seen one, once, while on their honeymoon in Wano. Sion had even shown you some of the vibrant pink petals she’d preserved between two glass panes, framed and hung on the wall above their bed. 

But this?

It’s ginormous, turning the entirety of the mountain into the trunk of the mighty cherry blossom tree, taking the very breath from your lungs as you stare at it while the sleigh slides towards the hidden bank where you’ve docked the Going Merry. Sanji’s wonder scratches at you through the bond, and you look over at him, to see him staring up at it in awe, while one of his hands gently grasps at your own. 

You want to pluck the flakes of pink snow from the sky as they fall and press them between two panes of glass to keep forever, to show them to your own children one day, to speak of your freedom in the world by your courted’s side. The mere idea of the present moment one day being cherished memories— things to tell to your pups one day— makes you shudder, partially in shock at your boldness by thinking such thoughts, but also in excitement, for what could be, all with Sanji by your side.

So you happily take his hand, and watch the pink cloud of snow, basking in the light of the bond and the sweetness of the moment.

No one comments when Chopper wails when he finally gets to look at it properly. The crew just gathers around him, watching it with him until Drum Island fully fades from view, and is a speck on the horizon, still glowing a beautiful pink in the distance. You manage to nudge him to the boy’s dorm, but even as you go to the girl’s dorm, you find Usopp sleeping on the other bed, yours originally at the start of this journey, though… you do suppose that it had been around three weeks since you’d slept there. 

“Kinda…. Thought you’d be sleeping with Sanji,” Usopp says sheepishly, already gathering his bonnet and moisturizer to head back to the boy’s dorm. 

“No, I was, you can take this room if you’d like,” You only laugh a bit back, and sit on the bed beside him, “....most of my stuff is up in Sanji’s room, anyway. Kinda… only have my clothes, pelt, and my journal.”

Tide hums angrily from where it rests against the wall. 

“And you— don’t get angry, I already apologized for not taking you with me,” you whine, picking up the trident. The humming stops immediately, and it almost seems to purr, as you hold it. Vivi and Usopp only look at it over your shoulders, both confused and intrigued by how it talks. 

“You… understand that thing?” Usopp asks warily as if he’s waiting for it to make some angry noise. But it only keeps making that rumble-like crackling, and you swear so that you can hear the sound of crashing waves in its purr. 

“Kinda,” you let it slip through your fingers, twirling it as slow as you can, before setting the butt end down on the floor. “Its like… rumbling. All tones and context.” You demonstrate this by letting out a low rumble of pod, happy, safe, and gesture to Usopp. “Did you get that?”

“Being totally honest… no, only… you said family, right?” 

“Pod, but, close enough. Would be closer to saying found or chosen family,” You shrug, but take the last crewneck of yours from the drawer, “All yours to move into, Usopp.” 

Sanij is waiting for when you come back into the boy’s dorms, already setting the hammock up the way the both of you have found most comfortable. Sanji is practically a human furnace, with bony knees and ankles, and you’re slowly starting to gain the natural selken plushness back, while also greatly needing deep pressure therapy. So you lay happily on the bottom, while Sanji settles his face next to yours while laying on top of you, both arms managing to worm their way around your waist while you intertwine your legs. 

Call it codependent all you want– you’ve never slept better since your village was burnt to the ground, so you’ll take cuddling with your partner over horrifying nightmares every single time, thank you very much.

“What’s this?” Sanji watches as you fold the crewneck, and place it in his top drawer. All of his clothing, even the two pairs of sweatpants and the three hoodies he owns, are hung in the wardrobe against the wall, leaving the drawer open for you to claim with your admittedly meager amount of clothing. Your pelt is the only thing that gets hung up with his different suits and dress shirts– the rest is folded neatly and spaced out between two drawers that you’d claimed. 

“Crewneck. Old thing, but Noijko gave it to me… still smells a bit like the marmalade she used to make,” you murmur, and pull out one of Sanji’s hoodies to sleep in. “...I don’t really have much when it comes to clothing, just some stuff Nami, Nojiko, and a couple of other women in the village gave me,” 

“We could get you more,” Sanji helps you into the hammock and leans back as you take your place, nestling on top of the sheet you use to protect the bottom from any stains, while Sanji pulls a warmer blanket up past his hips, face settled next to yours as you play with some of his hair. 

You let out a small chuff at that, and shrug, as you listen to the sounds of Luffy and Chopper getting ready for bed. Zoro is taking watch, and you can already hear him shuffling around in the galley above, likely drinking from the pot of coffee Sanji leaves out every night to aid whoever is pulling the long haul. “Don’t really need much else.”

“But do you want anything? Like a sweater, or a hoodie of your own,” Sanji pulls at the hem of the one you’ve borrowed from him, grinning, “Not that I mind. You look better than I do in this. But I could ask Zeff to send one, for wherever we stop next. He’d be happy to, I’m certain,”

“That’s your dad, right?” You tilt your head a bit, managing to fight off the purple hue of your blush, as Sanji plays with the hem. 

“Mhm. Good old lad, but, still a bastard of a man though,” Sanji chuckles, forehead against your shoulder. “What about your grandfather?”

“I… don’t really know him,” you feel embarrassed. Feann had talked about him, of course, and you’d had a few den den mushi calls with him, with time split between you and Toha, as the main children who could talk. “He’s… well, that was the first time I met him, back in Lougetown. I… honestly forgot about him, until I saw him. I thought he died, like the rest of my pod.”

Pell… was still an unfamiliar figure in your life. He was that strange voice on the other side of the line, with your mother’s accent and rasp, the picture on the wall that Feann had pointed to, with her in his arms as a tiny pup, with Coth, your grandmother, beside him. You had his number— you could easily call him, ask him for advice, just as he had told you to if you needed anything, but… it felt so odd. To reach out to someone and ask such intimate questions of him when he was practically a stranger. Everyone seemed to know him better, the infamous Blackfin Pell, the navigator and helmsman of the Roger’s Pirates. Scourge of the Depths, Storm King Pell, and Emperor in the North Sea, among other titles he had earned during his time there. The flags of his crew were hung proudly from the rafters of your childhood home, some bearing the scars of battle, while stories of his adventures lulled you to sleep at night, whispered by both of your mothers. 

Yet he was just… Pop, to you. 

The man in the picture. Who lived across the grand line from you, far away in Lougetown with your grandmother, and then, without her, the woman who had died years before you were born. The man who had the same wild, dark hair and charcoal patterns on your face, with splotches of pale grey around his mouth and neck. The man who’d retired to live a low-profile life at the mouth of the East Blue, pulling a few strings here and there to get to that point. 

The last link to your mother, Feann, and so many other things you now desperately wanted to reconnect with. 

“Hey… you don’t have to call him,” Sanji whispers, sensing the turmoil in your mind through the bond. “I’ll ask Zeff. We should… probably look at getting some more money, soon, anyway.”

“Is it… weird I don’t know him?” 

“I never knew either of my grandfathers or grandmothers,” Sanji shrugs. “Every family is different.” 

“...I guess,” you sigh, and take your hands from his hair, just as he loops his arms around your waist, slightly propped up so he can look at you. “I’ll… call him after all of this Alabasta stuff is over.” “It’s all up to you,” Sanji whispers against your cheek, sleep heavily coating his voice, as he soon starts to snore softly against your shoulder. But you stay up for another thirty minutes, kept awake by how little you truly knew of your grandfather. 

Across the world, in a prison where a certain terror of a fishman is kept, an old man of sixty-eight walks freely amongst the halls. Alarms blare, and guards cry out before they’re frozen or boiled the moment they cross his path. There’s no hesitation, and not one single person has been able to come within five meters of this man.

The sea-prism-stone bars of a cell start to rattle, before bursting after an explosion of steam and ice so quickly changing that there had never been a chance for the bars to hold, to begin with. He steps 

An old selkie looks down upon a sawfish fishman with a noticeably crooked nose with a kindly smile. He offers him his hand, to help him stand. He waits patiently, watching as the fishman eyes him warily. But hesitantly, and after a minute of contemplation, Arlong takes the offered hand from Blackfin Pell, not that he knows who his supposed savior is. The instant the fishman takes it, half of his body boils while the other half freezes.

Arlong the fishman crumbles, and purposefully, still alive as the old selkie’s face turns cold. 

“For Seal’s Drop. And for my poor, sweet Feann,” Pell utters, watching as his eyes widen in fear and recognition before his body is shattered and strewn across the cell floor in chunks of frozen fishman. 

Pell lets out a loud, guttural scream of sorrow, the skies darkening with storm clouds, thunder rolling right on top of the prison as it starts to pour. Pell doesn’t take any mind to this, crying as he falls to his knees, only wishing that he could have brought back his daughter, her mate, and lost grandchildren with the death of the man who perpetrated their tragic ends, and the suffering of his only surviving grandchild left.