#if she's doing crime she should know not to trust other criminals.

[sanguineterrain]

Could we please get a drabble in which Jason and his partner have a fight and the partner walks out of the apartment to cool off and doesn't think the fight was something detrimental but Jason is actually terrified his relationship just ended?

anon?? are we sharing a mental connection?? i literally had this thought a month ago 😳 it fits him so well too :(

jason todd x gn!reader. tw fighting, jason thinks you broke up with him, misunderstandings, happy ending.

****

"You're not being fair."

You scoff, and pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Fair? This is what couples do, Jason! God, I'm not saying we have to go out with other couples every week, but can't we do it at least once in a while? What's wrong with going to one wedding?"

Jason scowls from the kitchen. His arms are crossed, jaw tensed. "Why aren't you happy with just going out together? You're not in a relationship with your friends."

"Because it's good to do new things, and you're someone I want my friends to meet. And I want to meet your friends too!"

"My friends are aliens and Roy. You don't wanna meet them, trust me."

"Yes, I do, Jason. Don't tell me I don't. And I know this relationship is new for both of us, but I don't want it to be that we never go out with people, never meet each others' friends. You don't even have a good reason not to go!" you say.

"I do have a good reason," Jason says. "We don't know them."

"I work with the bride! She's not a criminal—"

"We don't need to go to someone's wedding we don't know," he continues. "Too many variables. Too many things could go wrong."

You shake your head. "That is so ridiculous, Jason. It's not spycraft, it's a wedding!"

"I said no," Jason says sharply, like he's handling a Crime Alley thug.

You take a deep breath.

"Okay." You close your eyes. "This isn't going to work. I need some air."

You grab your wallet and keys and walk out of his apartment. The train station is only a block from where you are; you'll go to the city square, have some lunch, and go back after a few hours. Jason doesn't respond well when he's pushed.

****

It's close to 5pm when you get back to Jason's apartment. He hasn't texted you, but you didn't expect him to; no contact is best for a few hours anyway.

You unlock the door. The apartment is dark.

"Jay?" You put your things down on the side table. "Jason? You here?"

Had he gone on patrol already?

There's a bump in the bedroom, then the door creaks open.

Jason stands in the doorway, clothes rumpled. You turn on a lamp, and he squints. His eyes are red; the skin of his lips are chewed up. He blinks at you, shoulders going to his ears.

"Are you here for your stuff?" he asks quietly.

You frown. "What?"

Jason points tightly to his room. "Your clothes and stuff."

"Why would I get my clothes?"

He takes a deep, shuddery breath, then swallows.

"'Cause we-we broke up," he says, and his eyes become glassy again.

Oh.

"Oh. Oh no, Jay. Jay, baby. No, no."

You walk to him and wrap your arms around his neck. He plants his face in your shoulder, hands going from your hips to your back and down again. He sniffles.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We can go to the wedding."

"Wait, hang on. Jason. Baby, look at me."

Jason picks up his head. His eyes are wide, his breathing is fast.

"Why do you think we broke up, Jay?"

He rubs his eye, pulling the skin so hard it turns red.

"'Cause we fought and... and when I fight with people, that means things are over."

"Things aren't over," you say gently. "We move on. We talk. We forgive."

"Don't deserve it."

"Oh, Jay." You pull him back into your arms. He bends so he can rest his head on your chest. "Sweetie, we're not going to break up over one fight. Certainly not over something like this. We can always talk things out."

He sighs. "I was stupid anyway. We should do normal couple things. You don't deserve my bullshit."

You stroke his hair. He hugs you tighter.

"Jay, being anxious about going someplace new isn't bullshit. And I don't want you to go to the wedding just because you're afraid we'll break up if we don't."

He pulls back to look at you. You're no more than a couple inches from each other.

"I don't want to go to the wedding," he says. "But... maybe we can start with something smaller? Less people? Dinner with another couple?"

"Are you sure?"

He nods. "Yeah, sweetheart. I'm sure. I wanna do that stuff, I just—one day at a time?"

"Yeah, Jay, of course." You kiss him. "Always."

[azulhood]

I feel like Jazz should have her own Bio-dad Aus Now Bruce is a popular choice for most bio dad AUs, but let's add some variety. Harley Quinn is another popular choice, it kinda fits since they have ties to psychology. But let me give you another choice. Harvey Dent. Let's say Maddie and Harvey met at one of Brucie Wayne's fundraiser events, they hit it off, get a bit tipsy, then boom. Jazz's born. Jazz looks so much like her mum that Maddie doesn't even think that Jazz is not Jack's kid. (She does notice some things about Jazz that she couldn't have gotten from Jack or her, but admitting that would probably ruin her marriage, so she employs blissful ignorance.) Harvey, of course has no idea Jazz exists. Years pass, truths come out (or not), tears are shed, life goes on. Now Jazz is looking at schools, and she finds a good one in Gotham, you know, the home of her bio dad. She decides to reach out to Harvey. So, she talks it over with Jack and Maddie and they agree to let her go. Now you could have Jack and Maddie know that Jazz isn't Jacks kid and approve of her reaching out to Harvey, just them being supportive. Or, you could have them not know anything, and have Jazz do this behind their backs as an attempt to have a semi decent role model in her life. Your choice. But anyway. Here Harvey is, planning something (Next court case or next crime) and then, out of nowhere, a kid shows up on his doorstep saying "Congratulations, it's a girl, where's that child support?" And he's just so confused, like how did she find him (Tucker of course) and where were her parents? Harvey who's very concerned: ehh, you do know I'm a criminal, right? Jazz: My mum and other dad have a portal to hell in the basement, trust me, you're an improvement. Harvey who's even more concerned about this kid: ??????? Or you know, Slade Wilson is also an option.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Oooo I have a soft request for Jason Todd! Wondering if I could please request Jason Todd x shy!reader? Little background, Shy!reader is the adoptive daughter of Superman and she got her adopted dad all his powers, including flying when she got injured, it took a transfusion of Superman blood to save her life. Pretty cute Jason and shy!reader are looking at the stars, just fluff. https://pin.it/5MuJAnCCR

Whenever you were stressed about anything, you would fly yourself to your hidden spot, it was a place so far removed from the public eye that it was often regarded as a restricted area, and stargaze for comfort.

At first it was a place solely for yourself as you just didn’t feel comfortable in sharing something that you had came across by yourself with another being, not without it being spread through word of mouth and then used as an place for everything that it’s not. That plus the fact that you often preferred your own company and not have to worry about seeing as rude or unsociable by others, especially whenever you didn’t feel like engaging in what they deemed as riveting conversation.

It just wasn’t your speed.

However you’ve begun to notice how easily frustrated and prone to outbursts Jason had become recently with the sudden spike in criminal activity within Gotham, In Which had Jason neglecting his sleep etiquette in favour for continuous back to back to back night patrols; something that didn’t help in the slightest either his already short temper and his impatience.

All you wanted to do in this situation was help him, and you soon came to the conclusion that by taking him to your sacred spot would relieve at least some of the stress. However the final step in making that happen was you having to ask him, which shouldn’t seem at all that hard but your mind couldn’t help but fool you into thinking the absolute worst of outcomes; and yet you knew you should at least make an attempt before believing the worst of everything.

‘Jason?’

‘What?’ He snapped and immeditly hating himself for it upon seeing you flinch at his sharp tone, taking small steps away from him until there was a response sided distance between the two of you. He didn’t mean to snap at you, never, after all you were the last person Jason would ever take his anger out on, and even then he wouldn’t ever dare do that. ‘I’m sorry chipmunk.’ He rasped, rubbing his hands into his tired eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just-‘

‘The phenomenon that is the crime rates in Gotham suddenly going up more then they have in the past week then they ever have in the past month.’ You cut him off, stepping closer to him and take one of his hands away from his eyes and holding it in your own. ‘This has forced yourself, Batman and any other active vigilante in the field to work overtime to combat it. I’m aware and you shouldn’t have to apologise for it.’ You concluded, raising his hand to your lips and kissing it several times as Jason’s hand went slack in your grasp.

‘Whatcha here for sweetheart because I know it’s just not to check up on little old me.’ Jason said and you cursed him for knowing you a little too well for your liking, but you wouldn’t want it any other way as it only reinforced your strong bond with one another.

‘I came here to see if you’d allow me to take you somewhere for a much needed change of scenery.’ You told him and Jason smiled, his tired eyes twinkled with amusement as his hand squeezed your own encouragingly. ‘Lead the way sweetheart.’ He said but soon laughed upon seeing your face as he kissed the side of your head affectionately. Not able to handle how naturally cute you were and whispered against your skin. ‘You should know by now that I’d follow you anywhere buttercup.’

‘I do and I often worry about your blind trust in me.’ You replied but a quick trip outside town and following a beaten up dirt road later, you and Jason had found yourselves within the clearing of a forest where small grounds of three or five fireflies were scattered about here and there, providing a natural light within the otherwise dark forest. You and Jason then sat yourselves down as comfortably as you could on the lush green grass and Jason was taken by how peaceful everything was, from the fireflies flying before him, the small riverbank that ran past his left hand side, to the sound of leaves being ruffled by the breeze had him feeling more relaxed than before.

Jason could easily imagine you doing the most mundane things possible in this very clearing, whether that be making flower crowns, birdwatching, or taking a quick nap beneath a nearby tree with the cat you just saved, who has now formed an attachment. And yet Jason found beauty in all these things and you, that he felt somewhat envious that he didn’t get to partake in such activities with you because he knew he couldn’t allow for crime in Gotham to rise even further in his absence. While Jason was lost within his head, he didn’t notice that a couple of fireflies land peacefully on his head, not until he heard your poor attempts to silence your laughter.

He smirks at you, loving that he got to hear the sound of your laughter. ‘What’s so funny sweetheart?’

You pointed to his head, smiling so sweetly that Jason thought he’d get cavities, you truly made this man as soft and sappy as a schoolboy with a crush and he secretly thrives on it. ‘Just that there’s a couple of fireflies taking refuge on your head.’ You tell him and Jason went to run his hand through his hair just as a small cluster of fireflies flew back up into the air, directing both of your eyes towards the endless sea of stars that hung above. ‘They’re beautiful aren’t they?’ You asked aloud and Jason took a quick glance towards you to admire just how ethereal you looked beneath the blinking lights of the fireflies and smiled dopily.

‘More than they could ever realise.’ He replied before looking back at the stars just as you went to look at him with a similar look he had given you. ‘Much a diamond in the rough, they are equally as beautiful as they are important.’ You then reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers as you watched how Jason swallowed thickly and squeezed your hand back before looking back towards the stars yourself and allowing the silence to linger between the two of you.

‘This is truly a beautiful place you’ve brought me to chipmunk.’ Jason says after a while. ‘Are you sure you wanted to share it with me?’ He adds sheepishly and a tad uncertain of himself. He didn’t understand why you’ve brought him-whom some considered a violent man- to a place as peaceful and as beautiful as yourself…weren’t you scared that he’d one day destroy it?

You smiled and rested your head on his broad shoulder, pressing a kiss there as you watched as the fireflies twinkled in tandem with the stars. ‘There’s no one else I’d rather share this spot with than Jason. You may think you’re a violent man but you’ve proven yourself to be quite an emotional man also.’ You pressed another kiss to his arm in reassurance. ‘The moment I brought you here you’ve been nothing but respectful and cautious with your movements as though you’re worried you might step on a flower.’ Jason couldn’t help but laugh at that because it was true, he over thought his every movement as though one wrong move and he’d accidentally step on something he shouldn’t have. ‘I knew I made the right decision and now you can come here whenever you like, this place is just as yours as it is mine.’ You told him.

‘I’m only coming here if it’s to stargaze with my best partner.’ Jason said as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, causing you to smile automatically. ‘I mean if that’s okay with you.’ He then adds and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how soft and sweet he was being, something he only ever was when it was just the two of you and you felt honoured in getting to see that side of him. ‘It’s more than okay with me Jaybirdie. I don’t want to stargaze on my own anymore now that you’re here.’ You admit and Jason felt relieved at this that he couldn’t help but be a little cheeky as a result.

‘Is it so that you can watch fireflies make a home out of my hair and not say anything about it?’ He asks, giving you a look. ‘Be honest.’

You shrugged your shoulders. ‘Guilty as charged.’

‘Come here you.’ Jason then lunged for you and while you put up a good fight, you were soon placed between his legs and your back was firmly pressed against his chest as his arms were latched onto your waist as to keep you in place. ‘Now this is better for the both of us, don’t you think firefly?’ He whispered into your ear as he rests his head on your shoulder to be closer to you.

‘Yes it is.’ You whispered back and for the remainder of the night you both sat there amongst the fireflies and watched the stars.

It wasn’t until later that Jason pointed out to you that you had a small cluster of fireflies yourself resting on your lap, blinking softly but didn’t say anything earlier because you looked too peaceful to be disrupted.

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan Investigator

(Fourteenth Official Post)

(Yan’s name is Samuel Goodman)

(This is more of my old writing style.)

(Trigger Warning: You are a serial killer in this post and there is also blood, mentions of death and kidnapping.)

Yan investigator who was hired by his client to find his client’s wife, of course he accepted, because he needed the money. 

Yan investigator who finds his Client’s wife, but she sadly passed away.

Yan investigator who discovers that maybe his client’s wife’s death wasn’t an accident, maybe it was murder.

Yan investigator who starts to ask questions about his client’s wife’s (her name is Anna) whereabouts. 

Yan investigator who immediately finds you suspicious, especially considering that strange smile on your face. But then you mention other suspicious individuals and you treat him so kindly, there’s no way you could be the killer.

Yan investigator who finds that Anna’s death is quite similar to other deaths in the area where Anna was found. He concludes that Anna was a victim of a serial killer.

Yan investigator who studies the past serial killers victims, who finds that the killers M.O usually involves playing dress up and posing their victims.

Yan investigator who begins to find evidence linking you to the crime, but he has to be sure.

Yan investigator who learns that your a photographer and a makeup artist, but surely you wouldn’t be dumb enough to base your M.O off your skills. (You are)

He groans and face palms, for some reason he found you to be frustrating. This could be due to the fact that you don’t answer any of his questions and keep running the conversation in a circle. He massages his temple and exhales sharply. “Okay, let’s try this again. Where were you Friday the 21st of November at 11:30 p.m during the year 2023?” He made sure that this was a clear enough question, surely you can answer that.

You tilt your head and place a finger on your chin, you narrow your eyes and pretend to be remembering that night. Then you shrug and respond with a rather air headed tone of voice. “Dunno, can’t remember. Would you like something to drink?” Samuel resists the urge to strangle you, as you respond in a rather annoying manner. This is the seventh time you’ve asked him if he wants something to drink  and the fourth time you said you didn’t remember. He can’t tell if you’re playing stupid or just playing pretend.

Yan investigator who gives up on questioning you directly, no, he’ll go about this is a different manner. He’ll earn your trust and then gather all the evidence he needs. So, he begins to befriend you, which is surprisingly easy. You’re quite friendly.

Yan investigator who finds himself denying the possibility that you could be the killer, although he knows he shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss such theories, but you’re so friendly, so charming and everyone likes you.

Yan investigator who, over the course of a few weeks, begins to view you as a potential spouse rather than a simple suspects.

Yan investigator who is appalled at your willingness to share everything about your life the moment he simply asks you to share some secrets. (You mean he didn’t have to spend hours questioning you, all he had to do was have a sleepover with you and share some embarrassing secrets?!?!?) 

You even show him mementos of your victim and confess that you killed them because they tried to leave you. Which, Samuel wouldn’t lie, it made his heart flutter at thought of your devotion. (If you could call it that, but i would call it possessiveness) Then, you tell him that you’ll do the same to him if he ever tries to leave.

He stares at you, mouth agape as he tries to formulate a response. He’s flattered but also intimidated, how should he respond to this? I mean, he’s never has a criminal (or anyone for that matter) speak to him in such a way. (Samuel has issues) He can’t help but think about the idea that you love him so much (platonically of course, not that he cares) that you would do whatever it takes to keep him with you.

But now he has a moral dilemma, should he turn you in or hide the truth and blame Anna’s death on someone else? Unfortunately his morals dictate that he just call the police, so he backs away and says he’ll be right back. He tries to ignore the puppy dog eyes you give him when he leaves you in the basement. He manages to find his phone (which wasn’t hard, he just misplaced it) and begins to call the police. Then you interrupt him, your voice so innocent and your gaze so confused. (“What are you doing, Samuel?  I thought we were friends.”) His morals waver and his mind is distracted by your disappointment.

He tries to speak, explain himself and then you start shaking your head. You sigh, expressing your disappointment with his behavior. (“I thought I could trust you, I suppose I was wrong.”) Then it’s like your mood has switched, you’re not mad, but you aren’t happy. You approach him and he swears that you radiate danger. He decides to just call the police, but it’s too late. You stop him and even crush his phone, he can’t help but wince when the glass digs into your skin, and yet you seem unbothered by the pain.

Yan investigator who tries to escape you, tries to fight back, and even tries to manipulate you into setting him free. 

“You don’t have to do this [Y/N], just let me go and I swear I won’t tell anyone!” He cries as he tries to escape from your grasp, you have him pinned down, his arms restrained and he felt an abundant of mixed emotions. “I’m not an idiot, Sammy, I know you’re lying.” Ah, it seems you’re actually smart and your dumb, forgetful behavior was just an act.

Yan investigator who eventually stops fighting and just hopes you’ll be merciful. Although, he’s confused when you don’t kill him and instead drag him down to your basement. (It’s very creepy down there) You tie him up to a surprisingly comfortable chair. 

He’s baffled, shouldn’t he be dead by now? Was this part of your murderous process? But no, you just don’t feel the need to kill him and you want to keep the cops off your back. So, you’re going to keep him captive for a few weeks, until the heat dies down and he’s officially brain washed. Then you’ll let him go and he’ll never tell anyone about you, hopefully, you don’t want to kill another friend.

During the first few weeks of captivity Samuel would constantly struggle against his binds and was always trying to convince you to free him. However, it was like you couldn’t hear him, you ignored his cries for help and barely reacted when he snapped at you. Eventually he found fighting futile and decided to take a momentary break from struggling, so he behaves and gives into your desires. 

Surprisingly, you take great care of him during his imprisonment. You feed him well and when he starts to behave you give him the right to roam the house. You indulge whatever habits he has and will give him whatever he requests, as long as he doesn’t try to escape. At some point, a few people come looking for him, but you manage to distract them with your faux stupidity and your confusing speech patterns. 

Samuel learned not to try and get anyone’s attention after you punished him, by mauling the one who attempted to rescue him. By the time you release the poor being, they were far too mortified to remember anything about you or your place. So, he doesn’t try that again and can only wait until you’ve decides to let him go.

Yan investigator who gets far too comfortable with you, who begins to fall into a strange sense of normalcy. He begins to imagine a domestic life with you and it occurs to him that he might not have a very strong mentality. 

Yan investigator who begins to treat you as a spouse, which makes you rather uncomfortable, and seems almost reluctant when the topic of leaving comes up.

Yan investigator who begs to stay with you when you try to free him, he promises to be obedient and he swears to be faithful.

Yan investigator who feels so empty when you do get him to leave, he doesn’t know how you managed it, but he wishes you hadn’t.

Yan investigator who undergoes a psych evaluation due to concerned relatives and then is mandated (by his mother) to see a therapist. (Despite how often he claims to be sane, he believes his behavior is perfectly normal.)

Yan investigator who is reluctant to appear in court when your trial comes, but his family persuaded him too, and despite his strange remarks about the situation you are charged with multiple counts of murder and kidnapping.

He feels so disappointed and angry when you get sent away, he expresses this to his therapist and, regardless of the advice they give him, Samuel decides to visit you in prison. He makes it a habit, he visits you basically every week, no matter how much you try to shoo him off. However, with each visit to his therapist he finds that maybe his friends and family were right, maybe you are a bad person.

He express this to his therapist, who commends him for realizing this, and then to you. You tell him that he’s right, that you’re a terrible person (at least you recognize your faults) and you tell him to stop visiting. 

(“[Y/N], you’re a terrible person.” He states with a stern tone, you smile and nod your head. “You’re right I am, which means you shouldn’t visit me! You should talk to someone better than me, someone that didn’t kidnap you.” He observes your expression, analyzes your response and then sighs.”)

Yan investigator who pities you and can’t help but visit you, I mean, it’s not like anyone else is visiting you. But now he has a chance to get better and he’ll do just that. Hey, maybe he could get you fixed too? 

(Well, that’s the end, hope you enjoyed it and if you like this, let me know.)

(if you’re wondering what happened to Anna, well the police found evidence that you killed her and also charged you for that crime. As for Samuel, well he retired from the private eye business and decided to open up a small woodworking shop.)

[holylulusworld]

The Widow - Prologue

Summary: You trust now one. Not since they got your husband killed.

Pairing: TFaTW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: death of a loved-one, reader is under protection, bitchy reader, arguments, grumpy Bucky, angst, blood, character's death,

The widow masterlist

Blood…so much blood. 

You always feared your life with Ransom would end like this.

On the run, without anyone siding with you but the cops.

After your husband ratted his partners out it was only a matter of time before you ended up dead.

One greedy agent and you held your dying husband in your arms.

He choked on his blood, staring up at you with scared eyes. “Y/N…sorry…Y/N…”

“You goddamn idiot,” you cried and kissed him hard. “I know…I love you…”

Two years later…

“Why me?” Bucky releases the deepest sigh ever leaving his lips. “Sam, I don’t want to play babysitter for some spoiled woman. Maybe Torres can protect her.”

“Bucky, you are the only super-soldier I know. Torres is a good man and can stand his ground d. But the people who are after Y/N Y/L/N are not the cuddly kind of enemy. If they try to kill you, they use a scalpel to cut you into tiny pieces, not a weapon.”

“Do you try to cheer me up, or scare me?” Bucky scoffs. “You want me to risk my life for some criminal’s wife? Why? We agreed on doing this job to protect the innocent, not people getting rich at the expense of others. That’s not who we are.”

“We protect people who need protection. She ended up in this situation because she fell in love with the wrong man. I checked her background and found out that until her marriage with her deceased husband, she was a good person without a criminal record.”

“She lived a fabulous life, spending money she didn’t earn,” the super-soldier grunts. “How do we know she won’t rat us out, and we all end up dead?”

“You jump out of an airplane without a parachute and now you are scared of a widow needing your protection?” Sam grins. “Aw, are we getting old?”

“Watch your tongue,” Bucky points his gloved index finger at Sam. “I didn’t say that I’m scared. I just don’t trust a criminal’s wife.”

“Who’s that?” You size the new arriver up. “Another loser not knowing how to handle a gun?” You sneer as the agent tries to find another lie. “What? Do you want to tell me that this one will protect me and my husband better than the last agents?”

“Mrs. Y/L/N, this is James Buchanan Barnes,” the agent stammers, as if you should know the name. “He’ll protect you at all costs.”

“Oh, yeah? Like the other ones protecting us before?” You cock your head and raise your hand to stop the agent from talking. “Did you forget that you got my husband and his brother killed?”

“He got killed because he did business with the wrong people,” Bucky sneers. “You made your bed, now sleep in it. I’m not here on free terms. No one wants to protect the likes of you.”

You grit your teeth and glare at the newly arrived asshole. “Do you think I care? One of your so-called fine people ratted my husband and me out for some hard cash. So, you are no better than me. At least I didn’t kill people for money.”

“I see you will get along very well,” Sam pats his friend’s shoulder. “Just remember, don’t kill her. She’s the last witness alive. If she dies, they will all get away with their crimes.”

“I should leave you to your misery. Why should I care about their crimes?” You pucker your lips. “You got my Ransom killed! He only tried to make more money than his fucked-up family. He never harmed anyone with his transactions! When he found out about their crimes, he did the right thing!”

For a moment, you let your mask slip, and the grief shows. Bucky blinks, but the sadness in your y/e/c orbs is gone, and he’s not sure it happened. 

"Just shut up princess and we will get along very well..."

Part 1

Tags in reblog.

[electraslight]

the loss of the addiction angle in Kevin's character in the transition from ogs to uaf really shows to me the flaws in uaf's writing compared to ogs's, at least in terms of Kevin's redemption.

Kevin's energy addiction is a key part of his character in ogs. it's implied to be why he swings so drastically from being good to Ben out of the kindness of his heart to trying to kill hundreds of people in mere hours, and it seems like this has been going on a while, shifts in mood correlating to his energy consumption. the addiction is why Ben and Kevin break apart, because Kevin's behavior because of the effects of the drug and his pursuit of it stop them from being healthy friends. Ben never stops believing Kevin might have the capacity to change, though, trying to see through the person the drug created to the person inside, like him sparing Kevin in framed and helping him out in grudge match. Kevin is, at this point in his life, dangerous, but he's still a kid, and Ben's failure to protect him weighs heavy on him for the rest of his life. you see this narrative and think well, if he's redeemed later, this should be important. recovery should be hard, especially when he seems to have been in survival mode for years. it must be hard for Ben to trust him afterwards, especially with the sheer amount of pain they've put each other through, Kevin especially, because of his addiction.

in uaf, Kevin is already good. he can still absorb things, but they don't hurt him now, they aren't a compromise he makes, sanity for safety. he's a con man, he makes measured plans and scams, not drugged out bids of random violence. he's calm, mostly, and he's a good guy now, and he'll help Ben because he has "honor", and he no longer thinks of life totally selfishly. this, I feel, is a cop out.

main characters aren't really allowed to have rough edges in uaf, and when they do, it seems jarring and out of place, or a result of weird writing. Ben's transition from being a little too kind for Ben to being unreasonably cruel in a way he never was as a child is strange, unfitting of how perfect the show wants him to seem. gwen's random bouts of insulting Kevin or pettily harping on him for things he apologized for seem strange when paired with how kind she usually is to him. and Kevin, Kevin is a "bad boy", but not in a dangerous way. all of his crimes are amorphous "things he's done" that they never elaborate on, his scams not cruel but only conniving. even when mutated, he still seems lucid, way less vengeful and violent than he was as a child. he's not an addict. why would he be? he's a good guy. he's changed. even at times where it seems obvious to show that he's "fallen off the wagon", they don't mention it.

I feel like this leads into a larger discussion about uaf, mainly about character flaws and the white sheet covering specifically the alien trio. character traits that got lost in translation, Ben's hobbies, Gwen's love of technology, Kevin's addiction metaphor. especially in terms of flaws. in uaf Ben's "flaws" fluctuate, sometimes being perfect, sometimes randomly getting an ego, losing it, then gaining it back. Gwen in uaf has no stated flaws, or at least ones that are intentional, but because of that, the ones she accidentally has are more toxic and weird than she ever did as a child. and Kevin? he's an amorphous concept. vaguely criminal. vaguely angry. a doormat. what's the issue with writing Kevin in a way where he really does feel like a homeless kid with addiction problems and enough trauma to have that dead look in his eyes forever? I don't know. I don't know where I'm going with this. give Kevin a little violence back.

[escapedaudios]

Grouchy rant/Audio roleplay pet peeve: I lose it when a character's description based on exposotion/backstory doesn't actually align with their actual on-screen actions. This is especially bad with Listener characters because a lot of VAs/writers just don't know how to write Listener action, or neglect to let Listener characters interact with anyone other than their love interest.

It's so aggravating. A character will be like "This is my fiance, Demon-Stomper 9000 (but I call her Pookie). She's stomped a hundred demons and she's gonna stomp a hundred more. Sometimes I've gotta be like 'woah Pookie, you've gotta stop stomping so many demons, you might hurt yourself'."

Then when a demon is actually on screen Pookie is just like 🧍‍♀️

On my soul, give the Listener some *flavor* and let them DO SOMETHING. On screen! It doesn't even have to be in action scenes, like just for fucks sake show don't tell for once. It's very much possible within the realm of audio roleplay, it just takes a little bit of thinking and a couple of sound effects. Trust me, you'll accomplish more characterization with five minutes of them actually doing something than you would with a hundred hours of expositional backstory.

This happens with speaker characters too, and it's awful. The title of the series will be like "Mafia Boss: Criminal Chronicle [Strangers to Lovers]" then in the actual audios the mafia boss never actually commits any crimes or involves himself in anything illegal and doesn't even talk about crime. He just wears expensive suits and has a really deep voice.

Quick rule: if the audience could listen to the full length of a mafia audio and not be able to tell that the character was in a criminal organization, you didn't make a mafia audio. You just didn't, idgaf what the title says. Image watching a whole episode of the Sopranos without crime being mentioned even once. It would suck. Same with werewolves, vampires, or whatever other trope is getting abused this week.

IDK why this is such a problem in the audio roleplay medium compared to every other medium ever. We've got mafia bosses that don't commit crimes, we've got werewolves who don't turn into wolves, we've got pirate captains who don't commit piracy, we've got vampires who don't drink blood, and we've got yanderes who don't, uh, yander. It's out of control. Just commit to the character type you said you would write in the first place.

This was way longer than I intended it to be so TL;DR: Show don't tell still applies in audios, Listener characters can and should take an active role in the story, and please PLEASE stop marketing your characters around tropes that you neglect to actually write into your audios.

[littlefankingdom]

~ Batgirl (2000)

They are sad and disappointed in themselves and they should be. What they did is not justice.

So, I'm mad about this issue, like really mad for personal reasons I will explain later. For context: a young girl has been kidnapped by a thief who escaped jail. It's not the first time said thief kidnapps this girl. This young girl, around 10 years old, is an artist and her mother exploits her, making money by selling her daughter's art. They are rich. This woman doesn't love her daughter, she loves the money she is making from her daughter. The man that keeps kidnapping this young girl? Her father. Her father that loves and cares for her, that turned to crime to take care of his daughter, and refuses to sell any art she makes because she made it for him, because she loves her father. And she pleads, she pleads Batgirl to let her with her father and not bring her back to her mother who doesn't love her, she pleads her to not put her father in jail. And what do Batgirl does? She stops the father, gives him to the cops and brings back the girl to her mother. On those panels, they are looking at a sad child with her abuser they brought her back to.

My mother doesn't love me. She will say she does to others, but it's not true and it has been the case for a long time, since I was very young. I wasn’t unwanted, I was just not what she wanted. My life was supposed to be centered, until my death, around taking care of my mother (she is not disabled or anything, she just wants people to do everything for her). Raised to make money I would gift to my mother, so she could have luxuries, but I was not successful in that. I grew up pleading for love, pleading for people to listen to my pain. Nobody did. I learnt that people prefer the comfort and peace of their lives over helping others. I learnt to distrust authority figures (teachers, doctors, any adults/people at least 5 years older than me in general), because either they were power hungry assholes who abuse kids, either they preferred to look away, who would tell me to be nice and listen to my mother. It's too much problem to help children. In the end, I could count on nobody but myself to get out. I can count on nobody but myself. I hate the system, and I promised myself I would never be like those who look away, I will defend any child that needs it.

So, to read a story where a little girl pleads a HERO to not bring them back to their abuser, only for said HERO to still bring her back to her abuser, to tell her to be nice and stay with her awful parent... I am furious. This issue is literally telling me that, if heroes existed, the heroes you adore since you are a child, they would not have saved you. They would have bring you back to your mother and told you to be nice, like everyone else. They would have let you go through those years of pain. Heroes would have looked away.

What is the logic here? Because it's neither justice or the good thing to do. That it is the law? Since when do they follow the law? I don't remember vigilantism being legal, or assault and battery, or owning all the weapons Bruce owns. Yes, it was still a kidnapping, her father is a criminal, it would not have been a good life for a child. But, the Bats could have tried to find a solution, instead of simply giving this child back to someone who will treat her like shit.

I know it's just a fiction, so it's not like a real child is being exploited and will be more abused later when she stops being good enough because her mental health deteriorated, nobody is going to become depressed and lose trust in heroes because the bats brought her back to her awful mother. And also, it's not the characters who are at fault, it's the writers. It's not about Cass and Bruce being bad people heroes, it's about who the fuck decided to write that. New entries in my list of enemies, Keller Puckett and Dylan Horrocks.

[monsoon-of-art]

As promised, here is my Long Fiction piece with my Superheros!

"Two Wrongs do Make a Right"

It was generally accepted that Superheroes do not steal.

Superheroes have a verbal contract, as it were. Unstated by most but very well known; to protect their city and the people inside it. Methods and motives vary, but this rule kept things simple.

Dragonfly planned on breaking that rule.

She had never liked being conventional, truthfully. She didn’t work with cops, rarely worked with the local government. She didn’t have powers from the heavens or radioactive spills, and she certainly wasn’t rolling in cash right now. She protected her city and she protected her people, she just did it her own way.

And while she was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and all different kinds of technology, actually robbing a museum was beyond her normal capabilities.

So, here she was. Dragonfly in all of her neon glory, pacing on a rooftop. Her blue goggles only added to her insect-namesake, her thick curls trimmed short. “I just worry about the security. And the cameras. Security cameras.” she rambled. “Being physically seen robbing a museum wouldn’t be ideal.”

“Mhm. No. I imagine it would not be.”

With her was her partner; Clay. A being made of ever-shifting liquid earth, his voice often flat and monotone. Even now, as she nervously paced on the rooftops, he sat idly by, letting bits of himself drip onto the floor with a half-lidded expression.

“Dragonfly.” said Clay, his voice heavy like syrup. “I have never been inside a museum before. It cannot be that difficult. I think you are stressing yourself out. I will take care of the cameras.”

“I think it’s more the robbing- wait. Wait, you've never been? Holy shit, OK. When we’re done with this, I promise I’ll take you to a museum.” she said with a faint smile. “One with lots of hands-on stuff for you to play with.”

“I would very much enjoy that.” Despite the kind offer, Clay’s tone didn’t change. “I am still unhappy with the main part of your plan. Working with. Him.”

Right. Hayday.

Dragonfly and Clay didn’t have many people they could trust. Another terrible truth that came with the job. Dragonfly had no other living family, and Clay’s origins were a total mystery. Their flippant attitude with the local cops and government did them no favors.

And in a sea of criminals, smugglers, gangsters, mobsters, murders, aliens, eldritch beings, and whatever other nonsensical weirdos that had it out for the pair, Hayday was…an exception.

Hayday was a bit of an enigma. No delusions of grandeur, no plans for world domination. As far as Dragonfly and Clay could tell, he was just a dude who dressed up like a scarecrow to hide his identity and commit petty crimes.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you don’t.” Dragonfly sighed. “But please, give him a chance? It’s either Hayday or cops.”

Clay relented on this, if only slightly. “...I do not like cops. But I also do not like Him. The first time we met him-”

 “I believe in second chances.” She said, quietly. “Besides. We need him-”

“-Cuz ya don’t know how to pick locks.” Clambering up the fire escape to join them upon the roof was the man himself. In a striking contrast from Dragonfly's slick, modern look, Hayday looked like he stepped right out of a cornfield; dirty overalls, wide-brimmed stetson hat, a burlap mask that covered most of his face.

Clay stood, shoulders - or what could be generally considered shoulders given his anatomy - tense, brow furrowed. "You are late."

"In case ya haven't noticed, Clay-Dough, but we are currently on top of the museum? They don't exactly want people on the roof. D'ya know how hard it was to climb up here?" Hayday shot back. "Can we maybe meet up somewhere closer to ground level next time?"

"I hope there will not be a next time." Clay hissed, voice dangerously quiet. "And my name is Clay."

"The building schematics says this should be a maintenance entrance." Dragonfly brushed aside their comments with a brief explanation. She gestured to a locked door, no doubt guarding a stairwell. “It’s locked, and you’re the best lockpick we know.”

“You are the only lockpick we know.” Clay clarified.

Hayday looked between the locked door and the two. “Why not have Clay-Dough break down the door?”

“I could-” Clay began to say.

“No.” she said sharply. “I don’t want any real damage here. I want a quick in-and-out operation.”

“Operation? Don’t be so coy, now.” Hayday said with a sneer, rummaging in his pockets. “You’re stealin’. Stop actin’ high and mighty.”

Removing some thin tools from his pockets, Hayday gave the door a cursory glance. “Hm. I’m gonna guess a double cylinder deadbolt. Should be easy.”

Dragonfly and Clay couldn’t help but try and look over his shoulder, seeing slivers of silver tools inserted into the lock. If they focused, they could hear subtle clicks beneath the rumbling city ambiance.

A clank. Hayday pulled back, the door opening with him. “There.”

“How did you do that?” Clay demanded. “That took no time at all!”

Hayday gave him an unimpressed stare. “Ya ever hear the phrase ‘a magician never reveals his secrets’, Clay-Dough?”

“No. What does that mean?”

“It means ‘tough shit’.” Hayday turned to Dragonfly. “Right. Pay up. I helped ya, and now ya owe me-”

“We’re not done?” she said, tilting her head slowly at him. “You said you’d help, and we’re not done? This is only step one.”

Even with the burlap mask he was wearing, the confusion was clear on his face. “...care to run that by me again?”

“We asked for your help with taking the Dragon’s Eye Ruby, currently housed on the first floor of the museum. I got a tip that Snake Eyes planned on taking it, so Clay and I decided to take it before them-”

“And plant a fake, yeah, yeah. I got that part.” Hayday hissed, gesturing for Dragonfly to stop talking. “And I did help. I unlocked the door. What else do ya want me to do?”

“Help us take the ruby?” Clay offered. “You have experience, do you not?”

“I suppose. Experienced enough to know that I’ve already triggered the silent alarm.” he said with a wry smile. “Y’all got about twenty minutes. Thirty if traffic is bad - and let’s be honest, it always is.”

Clay’s form began bubbling like a pot of water. A rare flash of anger crept into his voice. “You knew this, but you did not tell us?!”

“Clay, cool it.” Dragonfly said, placing a hand on his ‘shoulder’, not caring for his goopy nature. “We won’t be that long, with any luck. Besides, we’re at stage two now, and that’s you.”

Taking a deep breath, Clay steadied himself. “Right. Right. I am sorry. I will go in and destroy the cameras.” He turned to Hayday, pointing at him. “If you try anything while I am away. You will regret it.”

Without another word, Clay completely melted. His humanoid form sloughing away like a warm candle, slithering through the door like a mud-covered snake.

Hayday waited a moment before turning to her. “I’ve done my part, Dragon. Pay up. I don’ wanna be here any longer than I have to.”

“Not until the job is done.” she replied. “Once the ruby is in my hand, I’ll give you what you want.”

He glowered at her. “Yer killin’ me, I hope ya know. What do ya want from me? Ya want me to hold yer hand the entire time? What’s yer angle?” His voice grew softer, more hesitant. “I didn’t think ya’d ever wanna see me again, after…”

“You tried to kill me?” she asked, looking up at him. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. She continued. “But you didn’t. That’s the key thing. You had the opportunity. But you said it yourself. You couldn’t.”

Finally, he met her gaze. “It’s…that’s just not who I am.”

“Who are you, then?”

He didn’t respond to that.

Her goggles lit up, the soft blue glow illuminating her dark face. A police report flashed on her heads-up display. “The cops are on their way.”

“Great! Great! Perfect!” Hayday began pacing. “What are ya gonna do about the rest of the security measures, dare I ask? The guards, the proximity alarm?”

“I’ve been carefully tracking the pattern of the security for several days now. If worst comes to worst, we can knock them out-”

“WE?!”

“- As for the proximity alarm, hopefully we’ll be gone by then. The cops are already coming, what are they gonna do? Send more?”

“YES?!”

Clay opened the door, gesturing for them. “The cameras have been destroyed. I have caused a distraction for the guards on the first floor-”

Dragonfly interrupted. “They’re still alive, though, right?”

He blinked at her. “Yes. My distraction caused no damage. As far as I am aware.”

“Clay-Dough, that is not reassurin’.” Hayday wheezed, sounding like a strange combination of a laugh and a choke.

“While normally I would question that statement to Hell and back, we’re really short on time here.” said Dragonfly, glancing back at the police report on her HUD. “The case with the Ruby should have a lock on it.”

She gave Hayday an expectant look. “Please?”

Hayday glared back. Clay glanced between the two of them, unsure which side to take.

"Fine. I'll stick around for now. But so help me, if there is even a whisper of trouble, I am gone. Understand?" Hayday finally said, his voice a quiet, strained hiss.

Dragonfly seemed pleased. "Thanks. We really appreciate it."

"I hold no strong feelings on this matter." Clay muttered. "Do not drag me into this."

"Ladies first." Hayday said with a wave of the hand, encouraging Dragonfly to take the lead.

She rolled her eyes at that, but stepped forward to enter, her faint glow of her goggles and gloves illuminating the dark stairwell. Clay followed, his footsteps quietly sloshing behind her. Hayday went last, closing the maintenance door behind them.

“What happens if Snake Eyes finds out?” Hayday whispered in the darkness of the maintenance tunnels. “He and I aren’t exactly on good speakin’ terms.”

“Why?” Clay twisted his neck like an owl to ask directly.

The man hesitated, fiddling with his hat. “I…erm, well, he offered me a job. I wasn’t able to do it, and I kinda…haven’t spoken to him since?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

Snake Eyes had men in every little nook and cranny of the city. The fact that Hayday had managed to avoid them all was both impressive and concerning. You couldn’t just ‘not speak’ to Snake Eyes; not forever, at least.

“That was not smart of you.” Clay finally said, swiveling his head back to normal.

Dragonfly slowly opened the door to what looked like the storage area, wincing at the creaking metal. “This should be the first floor. Let’s go do the switcheroo, and then we can bail. Don’t touch anything.”

“She is referring to you.” Clay whispered, giving Hayday a look.

She nudged Clay with a grumble. “Be nice.”

“I’m not stupid.” Hayday shot back. “Most everythin’ will have a proximity sensor.”

The three of them stalked through the darkened museum, taking care to stick to the shadows when applicable. The displays seemed practically ghoulish in the low light, with some of the displays quite literally looming over them.

"I do not want to visit a museum anymore." Clay whispered.

The Dragon's Eye Ruby, being a new exhibit, was very prominently displayed. The gem itself was a brilliant gradient of reds, purples, and oranges, and about the size of a large fist. Right in the middle of the room, contained within a glass box. The bottom of the box had a lock on it.

"Hayday, can you please-" Dragonfly began to say.

But Hayday pushed past her before she could finish. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it. But ya better be ready to make the switch. Once that proximity alarm goes off, it's going to be loud."

As he began carefully stepping closer, a loud boom shook the museum. The ground and walls shook, the various exhibits clinking and clattering in their cases.

"...Dragonfly." Hayday slowly turned to her. "When was the heist supposed to happen?"

"Not until tomorrow…" she slowly trailed off. "Shit."

While Dragonfly wanted their version of the heist to be as clean and neat as possible, Snake Eyes and his goons had no such qualms about collateral damage.

Sirens screamed throughout the museum. "I didn' do that!" Hayday yelped, stumbling backwards.

"They must have moved the heist date." Said Clay. "They are going to take the gemstone. I would also guess they will not allow us to leave-”

"Wait, wait! This is a great thing!" Dragonfly grabbed onto Clay's arm, fingers sinking ever-so-slightly into him. "We can just fight them here and now and really send Snake Eyes a message! With the three of us, I bet we could totally-"

"Hayday is leaving."

Dragonfly glanced over to where Clay was pointing, seeing Hayday already having picked the window lock and beginning to open it.

"H-Hey!" She called after him. "Don't go!"

"No! I told ya! I did NOT sign up for a fight! I was here to pick locks!" He snarled, already swinging one leg over the threshold to climb out. "Look. The job Snake Eyes gave me? Was to kill you. If his men see me with ya? I'm in for a world of hurt!"

"If we work together and scare them off, imagine the message that’ll send! With your help-"

"Ya still want my help?! Then take my advice. BUZZ OFF.  Yer not gonna win this fight, Dragon. Give up. Ya lost. If ya stay here, you’re gonna get killed."

Dragonfly stared at him for a moment, before her mild surprise twisted into a deep frown. “You knew this…and your first instinct was to get yourself out of danger? You were completely content in leaving Clay and I to die?”

There was an unpleasant silence that followed.

“W-Well. No. No.” he eventually stammered, trying very hard not to make eye contact. “I-I would’ve-”

Whatever he was trying to say, she didn’t let him finish. “You were! You were! You were going to ditch us to die! I get wanting to leave, and I get being hesitant to help, but you were fine with! With!” 

“N-Now just hold on-” Hayday had almost appeared to shrink into himself, partially trying to climb out the window and partially trying to put distance between him and Dragonfly.

She leaned in close, her voice a near hiss. “Earlier, I asked who you were. You’re a cowardly, spineless thief. And you may not like blood on your hands, but you certainly don’t mind it splattering your boots as you run.” 

Leaning a bit too far out the window in response to the verbal lashing, Hayday yelped as his hand slipped, and he promptly fell backwards out the window. There was a great clamor of noise - glass bottles, metal cans, crinkling of plastic and paper, the noises of trash. Even after everything, Dragonfly struggled to resist the urge to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

She forced herself away from the window, turning to her partner. “Clay, I know this is silly to ask, but are you ready for a fight?”

“Yes. Yes. God, yes.” He answered, fists already raised. Then he thought for a moment. “Where is Hayday?”

"He left." Was all Dragonfly said. But Clay knew her tone of voice well enough to get the picture.

"Ah. I am not surprised. He is a criminal. All criminals are the same."

She felt like she should've disputed that. She instead settled on giving him a disapproving look.

Dragonfly had more important things to focus on right now. Such as the suspicious shuffling from the closed door just to their right.

"How many of them do you think there will be?" Clay whispered, fists raised.

"I'm going to guess six." She replied, turning on her combat gloves. When active, they could deliver a terrible electrical shock, usually just enough to stun. Even as the wielder, she could feel the familiar tingle run through her bones.  "You know how Snake Eyes loves his dice motifs."

"Ah. True."

The henchmen burst down the door not a moment sooner, some of them expressing surprise at the pair being there first. The rest of them merely gripped their weapons a little tighter.

Eight of them. She was a bit off on the numbers. Thank God none of them carried firearms, so sure that they wouldn't face any resistance, they had only brought crowbars. Of course crowbars still had the capacity to hurt, something that Dragonfly hoped to avoid.

(Clay, as far as she knew, seemed completely impervious to physical damage. The crowbars would just thunk into his body, leaving a strange indent, but nothing more.)

Living up to her namesake, Dragonfly was constantly moving. Darting across the room, looking for a weakness in their defenses to strike. The room was far too small to use her wings, but even without them she was quick. 

But even as they fought, they couldn’t keep track of all the crooks at the same time. In the corner of her eye, she could see one of the men start to pick the lock to the ruby’s case. “Clay!” she shouted, narrowly dodging a crowbar.

“Currently occupied!” Clay shouted back, grabbing two of the men by their collars to restrain them.

The man grabbed the ruby from the case, sirens screaming all the while. Upon seeing an opening. She shouted, “Clay! Take over! Like we practiced!” she said, thought for a half a second, then quickly added. “Do NOT kill anyone!”

She bolted as Clay lost all pretense of human form, shifting into tendrils to grab and disarm like a horrifying claymation octopus. She normally did not like leaving him alone in fights (especially like this), and not because she was worried for his safety. But seeing the thing she came here specifically to protect currently slipping from her fingers prompted her to temporarily disregard this concern.

Nearly slipping on the museum floors, Dragonfly chased after the crook with the ruby. “HEY! Stop right there!”

He did not stop. Dragonfly wasn’t sure what she expected.

She certainly wasn’t expecting the handle of a broom to swing from a doorway to beam the man in the face, knocking him to the ground. The ruby clattered to the floor, doing more damage to the floor than the actual gem itself.

Sliding to a stop by the groaning man currently slowly writhing on the floor, she looked to see who was holding the broomstick. And she was honestly surprised to see Hayday standing there, panting as if he had ran a mile.

“You came back-”

“WHY ARE YA STILL HERE?! What part of ‘If ya stay here you’ll get killed’ did not get through to ya?!”

Dragonfly blinked at him, baffled. “Because I don’t run from fights?”

Huffing, clearly not happy with that answer, Hayday gestured to the ruby with the broom. “Well, get the stupid gem and let’s split.”

“We may not need to.” she picked up the ruby with careful hands, holding the cold stone close to her chest. “If Clay managed to beat up the rest, we can simply say that we got here only moments after and stopped the robbery. The police and the news don’t need to know our original plan.”

“Lyin’ to authorities, breakin’ and enterin’, taking’gems from museums, are ya sure you’re a hero, Dragon?” Hayday asked with a lopsided grin.

Dragonfly did not answer, stiffly turning and starting to walk back.

“H-Hey! Hey!” he quickly gave chase. “Are ya mad? Yer mad. But I came back! Look. Look. I’m sorry. Really, I am!” Hayday said. Maybe it was the lack of the smarmy attitude that he had since the very beginning. But something about it sounded genuine to Dragonfly.

Genuine or not, his timing was poor. “Let’s have this talk when we’re not in a museum full of sirens with the police on their way, kay?”

“Good plan. Good plan.”

Returning to the room where the ruby was originally kept, Dragonfly and Hayday were met with men unconscious or in stages of stupor, lying around like ragdolls. “Holy shit.” Hayday quietly muttered. “Clearly ya didn’ need me-”

Clay reformed upon seeing Dragonfly, taking his human shape. “They are still alive. I have checked.” he quickly reassured her.

“That’s awesome!” she said, carefully returning the ruby to its place. “You’re making great progress in not doing that.”

A rare smile graced Clay’s face. However, the smile died almost immediately upon realizing Hayday had returned. “Oh. I was hoping you had left. For good.”

“Yer not gettin’ rid of me that that easy, Clay-Dough.”

The sirens of the museum proximity alarms were replaced with the sirens of police cars. “And now it’s time we leave!” Dragonfly said, placing the glass box over the gemstone. Finally, she placed a small, plastic dragonfly on-top.

“Do ya just carry those around?” asked Hayday.

“Ever heard of a calling card? Have some class.” she replied.

Once the plastic dragonfly was set in place, the three of them bolted for the maintenance stairs. And once on the roof, they kept running; traveling from rooftop to rooftop until the red and blue lights and police silence blended into the usual city rumble.

Dragonfly and Clay turned to Hayday, who was currently wheezing like he had just run a marathon, hands on his knees, almost doubled over.

“For someone so quick to flee. You do not have good stamina." Clay muttered.

“Why’d you even come back?” asked Dragonfly.

“Because-” he said between breaths, “Because I didn’ mean to leave ya.”

Dragonfly crossed her arms over her chest as Clay loomed behind her, the pair of them silently urging him to continue.

“It’s just.” he stood straight, kicking at the cement under his feet. “I’ve been workin’ solo for…years now. When shit started hittin’ the fan, I worked on instinct. And my instincts told me to hit the bricks. You two didn’ deserve that. ‘M sorry.”

“OK. Where is the rest of the apology?” Clay said slowly, eyes narrowing.

“...what else am I apologizin’ for?”

“Being a thief. Being a criminal. Attempted murder-” Clay began to list on his fingers.

Hayday sheepishly smiled, “Oh. Yeah, I ain’ apologizin’ for that.”

“I appreciate the apology.” said Dragonfly with a nod. “And I’m appreciative for the help. My plan wouldn’t have worked without you.” 

“It was an alright plan.” Hayday admitted. “I’m sure it would’ve gone off withouta hitch, if they didn’ move the date of their heist.”

Dragonfly snorted. “Yeah. ‘Moved the date’. Sure.”

Hayday paused. He opened his mouth, closed it again, thought for a moment, then finally managed to ask, “You…you knew they were coming today, didn’t ya?”

She smiled. “Course we did. We’re no rookies, we know what we’re doing.”

“So ya lied to me? Told me that they were coming another day, manufacturing all of this? For what? I don’t get it.”

“I told you why at the very beginning. I wanted to know who you are. A test of character.”

"I tried to convince her otherwise." Clay added, his voice slow and languid. "But I could not sway her."

Hayday stared at her, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted and mouth slightly agape. 

But she continued regardless. “I remember, when you tried to kill me. You were shaking so bad, you know. You said you couldn’t do it, and you vanished off into the night.”

“I think…” Dragonfly looked him up and down. “...you’re a good person. I think that deep down, underneath all the sarcasm and snark and everything. You are a good person.”

Hayday continued to stare. She wasn’t sure if it was confusion, or disbelief, or maybe she had just broken him. “You honestly think. That after everything. That I’m a good person?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence. She could see him working something out in his head. Then, with a deep, rumbling sigh, he reached into his pockets to pull out a jewel-laden necklace. “Here. I swiped it earlier, when ya weren’t lookin’. Take it before I change my mind.”

"I knew it." Clay hissed. "He is a thief. He will always be a thief."

"I gave the damn thing back, didn't I?" Hayday snapped. "I could've kept it!"

"You really shouldn't have taken this. Like. The entire point of asking you to help us was to prevent museum theft." She said, carefully taking the necklace from his hand.

"Ya didn't say I couldn't steal." He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. You owe me. And I'd like to collect now."

Dragonfly sighed. "Clay. Wallet please."

Clay shoved a hand into his own body, not unlike how one would rummage through the mud to find a missing shoe. After a moment, he pulled a wallet from his chest. "Here."

The two silently traded, Clay inserting the necklace into his body for safekeeping as Dragonfly rummaged through her wallet.

(Hayday was silently disgusted by the entire exchange.)

She handed over a plastic card. He snatched it, proceeding to give it a confused look-over. With absolutely no emotion in his voice, he asked, "...is this a fifty dollar gift card to IHop."

"I enjoy their cinnamon roll pancakes." Clay said, confirming Hayday's question.

"You wanted payment. You never specified how. But if you don't want it-" Dragonfly reached over to take the card back.

But he quickly put the gift card in his pocket, "Nope, nope, mine now. In the future, I'd like something a bit more rewarding, mind."

Dragonfly beamed at him. "Next time, huh?"

Hayday paused, as if he only just realized what he said. "Look. We ain't friends. I ain't a good person. I'm only doin' this because I'm in a good mood. Got it?"

"Buuuuut?" She pressed.

He waved his hand dismissively. "...but I wouldn't be completely opposed to working with you two again. But in the future, don't lie to me, and I don't take gift cards."

She took his outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake, much to his confusion. "It's a deal!"

Dragonfly finished the handshake, glancing at Clay expectantly. But he just slowly shook his head. "We should be leaving. The police will be searching the area soon."

"Right, right!" Dragonfly chirped, her smile near infectious. "This was a good day! Tomorrow we'll return the necklace." 

Her backpack whirred to life, two pairs of neon blue wings forming from electrical components tucked inside. Clay had already left, using his semi-solid form to quickly dart off to another rooftop.

"I'll keep in contact." She told Hayday, wings buzzing as she lifted off the ground.

"I'm uh. Sorry for trying to kill ya." He shrugged. "Way back then."

"It's alright." She smiled. "I forgive you."

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of it - 5 - Uncomfortably Honest

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: PG, discussion of past partner abuse (not Jason).

Word Count: 1,639

Summary: Jason and Andy talk about vigilantes who kill people. Andy wonders why he knows so much about these things. Jason wonders why she

Masterlist

Jason typed on his laptop, one handed, with his lips pursed and an irritated spike in eyebrows. His other arm hung in a grey sling with the ends of a bright red cast visible at his wrist. 

Andy sat next to him and restrained herself from grinning at his grouchy face. He had been in a rotten mood since he broke his arm a few weeks ago. ‘Fell off his bike’, he said. He couldn’t do his normal night shifts and was stuck doing admin in the meantime. She’d even gotten texts from him in the mornings. Things were getting dire. 

She’d demanded he join her in the library. If he was just going to be at home sulking over a laptop he may as well come sulk over a laptop with her.  

Outside it was raining, but there were no external windows in the study room, or any windows at all. The only lighting was yellow tinged from old fluorescent tubes. The old oil radiator ticked in the corner. She’d covered the large table they shared with reference books and loose notes, while Jason had only a slim laptop he hunched over. 

He took a disinterested bite from a stale croissant. He sighed and looked at her. 

“What are you working on? That essay on Dumas?”

She shook her head and finished scrawling out a sentence. “History paper today. I’m translating primary sources on the Reign of Terror.”

“Yeah?” He pushed his laptop away, happy to be distracted, and leaned his elbow on the table to face her. “How’s that?” 

“Linguistically fascinating. Thematically… really fucking grim.” She made a face. It was easy to forget the content sometimes as she focused on syntax and word choice. “I don’t mind three or four public executions, or even five or six, but I’m starting to think this is getting out of hand.” 

He snorted. “Not on board with the death sentence?”

“There isn’t a government on this planet I trust with the right to execute its own citizens. Or any other planet for that matter.” 

“Hm. What about the capes?”

She stared at him. “I don’t think they should be executed either? Jason, do you think-?”

“What? No!” He huffed a laugh. “I’m asking if you think vigilantes should kill people. They say that Batwoman with the red hair does sometimes.”

“Not my business.”

“Oh, come on!”

She shrugged. “What?”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “You live in the most cape infested city in the world, and the most crime ridden, in a suburb literally named ‘Crime Alley’, and you don’t have an opinion?”

“Do you?”

“I asked first.”

She sighed and leaned back. “You can be really intense sometimes, you know that?” It was like getting hit with a floodlight in the dark when he turned it on. It made her feel naked. 

His brow lowered. “Do you really not care?” 

She opened then shut her mouth. She hated the idea that he might think that about her. 

“What do you want me to say here?” she asked. “That I think criminals should be gunned down in the streets? Of course not. If you ask half the pricks in the Diamond District they’d probably tell you living in Crime Alley is evidence of being a criminal.”

“Probably.” 

“But what do the other vigilantes do? Leave you for the cops? How many people did the GCPD kill last year?”

“A few hundred,” he said. His expression was just as serious, but less troubled. She still felt like she was under a swinging interrogator’s lamp, and her indignation rose.

“And if you’re lucky enough to not get murdered by the fucking cops then welcome to the prison industrial complex, doing its best Hotel California impression. I hope you weren’t planning to do anything more than underpaid menial labour for the rest of your life, because you are never getting a better job than that. Congratulations. You have received Gotham’s mercy.”

“What else should they do then?” 

She heaved a sigh, letting old grief and anger fall away. It was hardly Jason’s fault. 

“I don’t know.” The Red Hood had saved her life once, and that guy had sure as hell killed people before. She didn’t know if he still did. The police hated him. That wasn’t the heart of the matter for her. “I never said I have all the answers. I’m not running around in a funny hat trying to save the world, I don’t have to have the answers. 

“Funny hat,” Jason muttered, with a quirk of his lips. He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You feel pretty strongly about this.”

She threw her hands up. “First I don’t care enough, now I care too much? What do you want from me? And don’t think I didn’t notice you demanding my take while refusing to share yours.”

“I think Gotham’s vigilantes are too disconnected from the people they claim to protect. Association with the police has alienated them from some of the city’s vulnerable. I think the vigilantes forget that they’re criminals too.” 

It was her turn to stare. That wasn’t a stray opinion formed from half remembered headlines, that was a belief with conviction. Not that she was surprised he had a concrete position, she knew he was smart and thoughtful. For someone who, until now, had never expressed even a passing interest in Gotham’s crime problem, it was… not what she’d expected at all. 

“Yeah… I guess so,” she said, uncertain.

He ducked his head. He tapped a stray key on his keyboard.

She got the strangest impression she’d just seen something of his heart, displayed without pretence. She wondered what burned such an opinion into him. She thought about her own unplanned rant. 

He faced his laptop, idly scrolling through a text file. She stuffed a bite of her croissant into her mouth while deciding if she wanted to share something of her own heart. If she could bear it. Jason could mock and scoff with the best of them, but he wasn’t cruel, and there were things he didn’t make fun of. 

She screwed her courage to the sticking place and took a deep breath.

“I have a friend,” she said, into the silence that had enveloped them.

He looked at her questioningly. 

“Let’s call her… Stacy. She was abused by her partner. Not violently, but… it was still bad.” Her voice didn’t shake, and she was proud of that. “He controlled her money and made sure she had no one to turn to except him. She escaped, eventually, but not without getting an assault charge and six months behind bars for throwing a lamp at him while trying to get out. In the eyes of the law, he’s squeaky clean.” She bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes felt damp, the traitors. 

“If someone in a cape and a mask had smashed through the window that night and killed Kieran for what he did to- to Stacy-” Her voice failed. She looked away to try and regather herself. 

Jason took her hand. She clutched on tight. 

“It probably wouldn’t have been right. But it would have made me feel safer.” 

“What’s so wrong with that?” he asked gently. 

She laughed and it was bitter and more pathetic than she liked. “Because he’d say the same thing. Why won’t anyone think of poor little Kieran’s safety?”

“Because he’s a liar.” 

“I know.” 

“Stacy deserved better,” Jason said, his voice unshakeable. 

She risked looking at him. He met her eyes and there wasn’t a hint of pity or disgust or discomfort in his face. He was calm. She saw understanding shining so staunchly in his eyes it was confronting. Her gaze dropped.

“I know,” she whispered. If she said it enough, one day she might even believe it. She took her hand back and sniffed. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She laughed weakly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you this fine Tuesday morning.”

“I’m a big boy, I can take it. Thanks for telling me.” 

“I’m gonna get a refill,” she said, pointing at her empty water bottle and getting up. “Do you need-?”

He waved her off. 

She left the study room. She took a deep breath after the door closed behind her and headed to the bathrooms to wash her face and try to calm down. She was patting her face dry with a paper towel before she noticed she hadn’t even brought her water bottle. She laughed at herself, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Jason wouldn’t call her out on it. She stared down her reflection, with her splotchy cheeks and red eyes. Kieran would have called her pathetic and melodramatic and attention seeking. He’d have told her she was misremembering. 

She smiled at herself and walked out with her head held high. 

She siddled back into the study room without a word. Jason was tapping away at his laptop and didn’t make any kind of fuss over her looking like a mess. She picked up her notes and tried to find her place. 

“What’d you say his name was?” Jason asked about ten minutes later, not looking up. “Kieran…?”

“Mcleod,” she replied without thinking. She paused. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wondered if I knew him.”

“Doubt it. He’s in Newark. Runs some stupid tech startup.” 

Jason grunted in reply. “You gonna eat the rest of that croissant?”

“All yours.” 

They fell back into the quiet and easy camaraderie they usually shared. Most of her drive to get work done had melted, so she just made notes to flesh out later on.

Jason, however, was deeply focused on his work for the rest of the afternoon. The staccato of one handed typing played a steady beat like a war drum.

Next>>

[yanderes-galore]

Yan Moira vs Yan Hanzo please ?

They have like one interaction so I'll try, yeah. May not be too long. I'm still not too sure how to write Overwatch right-

Yandere! Moira vs Yandere Hanzo

Pairing: Rivalry - Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Protective behavior, Experimentation, Degrading behavior, Implied forced relationship, Jealousy, Paranoia.

These two have very different morals.

With Moira, said morals are non-existent.

Hanzo cares about honor.

Moira cares about progress no matter the sacrifice.

Hanzo knows his family is known for criminal acts but he's trying to redeem himself.

Even more so when it comes to trying to be the best for the one he holds dearest.

He wants you to accept his sins... embrace his changes.

Hanzo wants the best for you and is willing to do what he feels is needed to defend the fantasy he has with the two of you.

Moira thinks Hanzo's attempts at forgetting his mistakes are pitiful.

A criminal is still a criminal even if he tries to play hero.

Moira has little regret for her experiments.

In fact, she feels her darling is her best one yet.

You make her feel things someone like her should be unable to.

She finds you interesting and wants to get closer.

They view you very differently, but one thing is still the same.

They want you for themselves and certainly don't trust the other.

Moira wants her darling as her own personal experiment.

Hanzo wants his darling to love and accept him for who he is, he wants to provide for you.

They're both yanderes but at least one of them respects your boundaries.

Not many like Moira's presence.

Hanzo is one of them.

He thinks, ironically, Moira is a bad influence.

He doesn't want you to fall in her hands due to her experiments.

Being involved with her could get you hurt.

Moira finds Hanzo's excuse laughable.

You perform fine under her.

Why would you take his word?

The whole Shimada family is built on crime.

Yet he claims honor like it means something.

In her mind, you're better off with her.

Alonside you she'll further progress in science, you'll be a great assistant and experiment.

Hanzo's background may be a bit tainted, but atleast he treats you like a person.

Hanzo's fantasies of you include a family and him showering you in affection.

He loves you and doesn't wish to use you.

Moira's fantasies include performing tests and experiments with you.

With can go two ways.

Due to their differing fantasies and obsessions, this causes their rivalry.

Hanzo never wishes to leave your side, protectively holding onto you when Moira's even mentioned.

Moira isn't going to resort to such clingy behavior to keep you.

She's going to use manipulation to keep you in her lab with the excuse of needing help.

You have no idea about their rivalry or true intentions.

Although, when/if you do...

Hopefully you make the right choice.

"I don't trust that scientist around you... she has no honor in her experiments."

"Yet you trust a criminal such as him?"

[inf1nyxw0rlds]

ouuugh thinking about runaways au again... maybe i will tell the rest of you about runaways.

in regards to prev rb, i have a hc that shadow has multiple safehouses in various secluded locations that nobody knows about except for him – rouge and omega included. his experiences with GUN never left him; they killed maria, and when he emerged from stasis in a foreign world they hunted him. he's stuck under their thumb (or, so he thinks. more on that later) as they want to keep him under control, but while they aren't trying to lock him up or experiment on him right now, he can never rule out the possibility and they still treat him as a lesser being while simultaneously praising his ultimate status. he doesn't trust them, and his justified concerns that things could go south anytime are what prompt him to discreetly make sure he has somewhere to escape to should the situation call for it.

he's scared. he feels trapped. he will not say either of these things. shadow will tell you, and at times, yeah, he'll show you that he does what he wants, but the trauma and inherent, programmed "do as you're told" instinct remains, too. why doesn't he leave, if he's the ultimate lifeform?

he's keeping an eye on them, he would say, and it isn't entirely a lie, just not the full truth either. he also has just... resigned himself, almost. he wants out, but out would mean being hunted again, out would make him vulnerable, out is... frightening. because, sure, death to all who oppose me sounds cool on paper – but he doesn't want to go through that again. why make his life harder? he pushes back where he can, shadow doesn't take shit, but he's also stuck in a big power play situation where unfortunately full "freedom" would actually be more limiting.

so. then we get infinite. war criminal, tyrant, world's most hated. secured by GUN and sentenced to imprisonment for his crimes. but it doesn't stop there, of course. it reeks bad news from the moment he's captured. it's about justice, sure, shadow thinks. totally just justice, and not the all powerful rock in his chest. naturally, they don't just want to subdue infinite, they want to run experiments, and take the ruby for themselves.

unfortunately for them, they can't get it out; it's fused to him with an unbreakable force, and they're left with several options... try and shape him into another living weapon, using him to utilise the ruby by extension, kill him in hopes that breaks the connection, or cut their losses and continue with other research.

option one is a bust. infinite is far more resistant and deemed far more dangerous than shadow as a result. he won't cooperate, he can't be properly controlled. they decide to get as much information out of him, verbally or via tests, as possible before considering executing him. it's mostly the tests that yield result. infinite's not much of a talker.

he's outfitted in power restricting cuffs and a shock collar intended to zap him if he tries to activate them despite a lack of effect, or in any instance where he lashes out physically. a warning, a threat, like training a dog. it doesn't stay that way. shadow walks by some soldiers having a laugh in the hall, and they're talking about infinite; about how funny it is when they rile him up, or how he jumps when he's zapped, how defeated he looks, how he deserves this. it's disgusting and alarming and however he feels about infinite, something in him urges him to do something about it.

he could go to the commander. he could report that the guards have been abusing their power. but would he listen? would he care? he may not know about this, but he had to given the go ahead for the experiments and the collar and who knows what else. he's beginning to feel rather sick. this could have been him. maybe rouge could keep watch on the guards, but she has other assignments.

things don't get better. and, maybe, shadow has lost his mind – but he can't just pretend he knows nothing, do nothing. so he finds his way to infinite's holding chamber. no windows, just the flicker of a flourescent light illuminating his form; malnourished and slouched, a picture of exhaustion. still, his eyes sharpen when he raises his head. the first thing out of his mouth is a low snarl, tail lashing, and a word spat through sharp teeth: "you."

his aggression doesn't phase shadow much. he expected it.

"finally decided to send in the executioner, did they? or are you just paying me a visit? want in on the action?" he hisses.

shadow doesn't waste his time with unpleasantries.

it's a stupid thing, freeing infinite; an incredibly stupid, impulsive, reckless thing. the jackal seems to be grappling with his disbelief and distrust, but the collar is pried from his neck just as the alarms start to blare. he makes quick work of the restrictors, as well, after a moment's hesitation. and after barking at infinite to move it, jolting him out of his shock, they run to the sound of angry shouts and screeching sirens. he isn't afraid.

they make it, barely. infinite is in terrible shape, collapsing to the ground as he coughs and wheezes, gasping for air. his fur is tangled and dirty, bones prominent, in no position to be exerting himself. shadow is, under his own shock, a little impressed.

he just let infinite loose. he let infinite escape, helped him escape. he aided a terrorist. there's no way GUN would let this go unpunished, infinite is still infinite, unpredictable and probably even more hateful of the world than he was before. the jackal pulls him from his spiralling thoughts, with a raspy "why?" and he looks at him again, beaten down and shaking with adrenaline. infinite may be infinite, but he's barely capable of standing right now. he can shelve that particular concern for a little while.

"what they were doing to you was wrong. i wouldn't wish it on anyone. even you."

infinite casts his eyes at the ground. it feels like such a ridiculous justification when he says it aloud.

they both understand that they need to stick together; infinite can't hold his own (something that infuriates him), and if he gets caught, this is all for nothing but severe punishments for them both. they're both wanted, now, and they're better off as a combined force, even though fighting is not on the table. infinite hates running, and shadow isn't keen on reliving this nightmare, but he thinks of his safehouses and has never been more relieved that he set them up.

they travel together, often utilising chaos control, though at first GUN are tracking them with suspicious ease, giving them no room to breathe. they chipped infinite during one of their experiments, something he was unaware of, and utterly disgusted by, seething with rage. shadow gets tasked with ripping it from the back of his neck and crushing it underfoot.

they move on, and things get easier from there, shifting between hideouts. they start talking more at length, actual conversations. in the meanwhile, GUN are freaking out, sonic and the others are freaking out, because there are two incredibly powerful people on the loose and nobody knows what's going on, or why shadow freed him to begin with. but in freeing infinite, shadow also did the thing that he was too afraid to do. he freed himself.

it's about as shitty as he imagined, but having someone else share the struggle with him is weirdly comforting, even if that someone is infinite. they don't have a longterm plan, but for now, this is sustainable.

and if they start bonding over trauma and developing feelings that they don't know how to deal with that's just the way it goes

[hmshermitcraft]

Etho is a... vigilante..? Villain on a technicality? Plain ol' criminal? Nobody really knows, least of all Etho, but the fact of the matter is that he isn't liked by the law. He's never killed anyone- well. Never gone out of his way to kill someone. He just likes to make fireworks. Even if those fireworks are more....bomb..like than the normal celebratory ones.

This is what Etho does. He makes explosives, and he'll sell them to anyone who pays.

Cleo, a villain, and Bdubs, a hero, both seem to have it out for him. Bdubs because he's making bombs and selling them to villains and civilians alike, and Cleo because for whatever reason etho screwed her over once with a deal.

They both have been staking out Etho's apartment for about a month now, waiting for an opening to swoop down and get him. They've seen each other too, making eye contact from different rooftops and silently making a deal to not rat each other out so long as Etho is dealt with. They've actually been sitting next to each other nowadays since nights are cold and Bdubs' sick ass moss cloak can fit two.

Bdubs is drifting off, as he's ought to do, when an explosion sounds from a street over. They're both up in a second, watching as Gemini, hero of justice and completely ruthless, gets blown back in the shockwave. Out of the smoke and rubble comes none other than Etho, covered in soot and blood, clutching something close to his chest, and making a dead sprint for his door. He's only just made it into the building when Gemini recovers and swoops over, scanning the street, looking for him. She doesn't spot him or Cleo and Bdubs, so she flies forwards to continue the search elsewhere.

As for the rooftop duo, they're in a bit of shock. Why was Gemini so dead set on getting Etho? Is he involved in more than they thought?? Should they check on the guy???

They do end up checking on him, following the blood trail through the apartment building and coming to his door which is still slightly ajar.

They don't find Etho, or they do but not in the form they were expecting. Curled up on the ground, panting and bleeding from a gash on its side, is an Arctic fox. Now, if Etho was just making and selling bombs, he'd be punished, sent to jail, fined a bit, the works. But etho seems to be a shapeshifter, and those are pretty much illegal in every sense of the word.

Bdubs rushes forwards to try and heal him, the fox makes no indication that he even knows they're there. Cleo shuts the door and ponders her next move. If they turn Etho in, they would almost certainly be pardoned for their crimes. Shapeshifters are incredibly dangerous, at least in the eyes of the government, and they need to be controlled. Most shifters are volatile, human brains aren't made to change in the ways required to shift, so they're violent and aggressive and a threat to the people around them and to themselves.

But Etho isn't like that, Etho's smart and calm and mild mannered and honestly more than a little awkward. He's an outlier is what he is.

Oh also, turns out the "thing" he was holding when he was sprinting home was his fucking eye. Luckily Cleo can reattach it but...woah.

They make eye contact with Bdubs, cradling Etho close, gentle in the way she holds him. The fox is still thrumming with Bdubs' magic, healing him from the inside out, and his eye is carefully sewn back together with Cleo's red threads. They've gotten attached. They both know that turning Etho over would grant them nearly whatever they wanted, they both know that isn't an option.

They've decided together, completely silently and completely by accident, that Etho is their funky little bomb guy, shapeshifter or not. They haven't been watching him to find an opening at all, they've been watching over him like guardian angels. That's some bull. shit. right there.

This is so messy because I kept gaining ideas, I trust you'll find it in ur hearts to forgive me

-s

The issues they had with Etho all seem... Petty in comparison to this. They wanted to turn him in, sure. Cleo wanted a bit of revenge. But nothing like this. Neither of them wanted him dead.

Bdubs' fingers stroke through Etho's fur, the fox curled on in his lap. He's still not come around, but it's a more peaceful unconsciousness now. His ears twitch as he sleeps, making quiet fox noises. It's adorable. It's absolutely adorable. Bdubs just wants to coo over him and kiss his forehead. Even Cleo feels something warm, wanting to cradle him close.

Did Gemini know? It's the only thing they can think would cause this. Sure, Etho is a nuisance, but he's not violent. He's not a massive troublemaker. Not enough to get that kind of response!

And he's cute.

It turns out they're a perfect duo as well! Bdubs is worried Etho won't accept their help. Cleo is enough of a villain to not care, he's getting it anyway!

[bandofchimeras]

ACAB its not just a slogan or a meme.

police make everywhere feel so unsafe.

when you aren't one of the demographic they serve (landowning upper class white cishet people). i don't even think about calling the cops if my life is danger. I did that one time. they arrested me.

if there was a murder need investigating, sure, but i wouldn't trust that they would actually put any effort into the search based on who my friends tend to be.

in this city, they paid serial killers on the force 500,000 pension to "retire" and then get hired again by another county force the next year. everytime a cop car drives by, I imagine that verified murderers and accomplices, heavily armed and angry, are in the drivers seat. how is that NOT a fucking "gang"?

I'm white. I'm never going to understand the particuarly terrifying relationship Black Americans or Native people have with the police.

but when other middle class people make jabs at "unsafe" neighborhoods and places...they forget elite, rich neighborhoods can be just as deadly if you don't look like its residents. My blood pressure rises whenever i have to drive my junker truck with the taped over window into a wealthy area, or park near businesses where most of the other cars are shiny. recently all the side streets in this city have been full of "NO PARKING" signs to target houseless folks. In Kentucky they're working on passing the H5 bill the "Safer Kentucky Act" - which would decriminalize shooting homeless people. and criminalize sleeping in your car. and implement a three strike rule, which can lead to a life sentence or execution.

state sponsored execution for being "undesirable" think about that. they get to just decide who gets to live and die? for being "dirty" or using substances? for being disabled by a disabling virus?

its easy to let ACAB become a slogan and not think about why cops are bastards if you aren't exposed to dangerous situations regularly, and then default to them in a panic when the chips are down. because you haven't seen it. you're the white church mom I used to know posting about how nice the cops were to her when she got pulled over. the lady who makes her blonde friend drive when they go on road trips because she can get out of tickets. but once you witness the level of betrayal and mishandling in the criminal injustice system, the level of abuse and violence, the way your neighbors and friends are trigger-happy to use this armed gang against you the second you're perceived as "out of control, "the second that violence touches you it becomes so obvious these bastards are not your friends and never can be.

unless you adopt the ideology necessary to justify their aggressions against yourself and your neighbors. and even then. you ever seen some wacko with a Blue Lives Matter wrap get pulled over? its funny but also it shows, nothing will protect you. cops are doing heavy PR right now. town halls, coffee and donuts. they're recruiting for the upcoming militarization that's coming in response to Palestine protests and this horror show election in November.

Amerikkkan cops are heavily infiltrated and practically equivalent in many cities to other white supremacist, militant gangs. They are militarizing more and more rapidly. Using AI and integrating with the court system, more survelliance, more rules for how you're allowed to exist in public. think about that. why should it matter? if you loiter, if you skateboard, if you wear glasses or masks? you are being trained to see yourself and your neighbors as potential-crime-committers rather than human beings. we are self-survelling. reporting. getting off on correcting and ignoring eachother. What Israel is doing is a mirror held to our collective potential future. and you should be very, very alarmed. Fuck the cops. Fuck the prisons. Fuck the detention centers. We already have the Gestapo and the camps. Look the fuck around.

[separatist-apologist]

no gods. no religion.

Just bad, bad decisions

Summary: Galactic Senator Elain Archeron knows her ex-fiance is financing a crime syndicate. All she needs to oust him is a little proof.

And, of course, a pilot.

The prompt: SENATOR ELAIN AND FLYBOY LUCIEN

Part 2 | read on ao3 (OR GIVE ME A KISS) | part 1

14k words so you're not allowed to be mean to me

“Who is your contact?” Lucien asked Marcellus, meeting him just outside the cantina he’d left Elain inside. His mind was just vaguely on this mission, stuck in bed where he’d woken to her cheek pressed to his chest and her leg wedged between his thighs. Lucien had tried—and failed—to convince Elain he was feeling much better.

And she’d rolled her eyes and left him with an aching body and a weeping cock. The bacta had left him stiff, but mostly healed, and he thought he had a stim somewhere on his ship. If he timed it just right, he could do unspeakable, filthy things to her before the inevitable crash into oblivion. 

Marcellus spoke, but Lucien didn’t hear. He should have cared more than he did, but Lucien was unfocused again. Elain, Elain, Elain. Those would be his final thoughts when he was shot dead in the face. He had no regrets, at least. 

Well, maybe one. He wanted to know what it felt like to be inside her, and he supposed dying before he had the chance would be a shame. But other than that, Lucien was mostly fine with leaving the mortal coil having done all he needed to do.

Almost everything he needed to do. 

“You’ll like him,” Marcellus continued, shouting over the sound of the hover car’s engine and the whipping wind. 

Lucien didn’t see how that mattered, even on an illicit job site. He worked with plenty of people he didn’t like—Rhysand Moreno came to mind—and managed to get things done. Lucien also doubted he could possibly like a criminal dedicated to making the galaxy unsafer, given his own position within the Republic. 

This was for Elain, who wasn’t his wife technically, though that didn’t stop Lucien from imagining she was. And he supposed he ought to please her in order to keep his position as husband. It was also for the good of the galaxy, which Lucien cared deeply about. There would always be criminals, always scum and villainy like Graysen and for as long as Lucien was alive, he could fight to make the galaxy a little bit kinder, a little more decent. 

If not for Elain, then for everyone else. 

“And if I don’t?” Lucien questioned as they whizzed over the dunes from the day before. No trace of the gundarks left to rot in the cliffside nest he and Marcellus had invaded. Lucien shifted, breathing deep through the orange scarf Elain had purchased for him. His ribs felt better than they had before, though the bruises in the mirror told him he was lucky nothing had been broken. 

“Where is this place?” Lucien called. It was occurring to him he might be a little too trusting. He was out in the middle of nowhere with a stranger. What was stopping Marcellus from putting a blaster bolt in his head and leaving his own body to feed the desert scavengers? 

“Up ahead,” Marcellus said. Lucien turned his gaze toward the cliffs, stretching into jagged mountains that loomed overhead like a great, craggy beast. Lucien could see, high up and built into the basalt columns, was a smooth, onyx building that likely snaked far below the ground. It was a good place, defensively, for a syndicate to hide out. “Mine is a little further ahead.”

“What the fuck is being mined on this sandy shithole?” Lucien demanded as the hover car came to a silent stop. 

Marcellus only shrugged, hopping over the side. “All I know is whatever it is needs little fingers. Lots of kids inside.”

He didn’t react, though internally the thought made him blanch. “Child labor was outlawed.”

“A lot of things are illegal,” Marcellus reminded Lucien pointedly. It was a reminder that he couldn’t truly be himself, but a version with looser morals. Even criminals had a code, didn’t they?

Why shouldn’t he be a little outraged that Graysen employed children in his sketchy mine? 

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Your wife doesn’t seem the sort to let it get that bad.”

“No,” Lucien mused, boots sinking in the sand. “I’m sure she has a contingency if our marriage stops pleasing her.”

Marcellus shot him a sidelong glance, unaware Lucien’s mood wasn’t about Elain but those children, and Graysen, and all the legalities a Senator was willing to break in order to serve his own interests. 

“Explains the gundarks, I guess. I’ve been trying to find a partner for months before you show up. I thought you were looking for an in with Hybern.”

Lucien snorted. “I’m looking for credits.”

“I know that now,” Marcellus said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Were all of Hybern’s guys so forthcoming, so chatty? It seemed like a poor quality unless they were specifically trying to recruit. Marcellus was charming, well-spoken and persuasive. A good shot, too. He would have been a good candidate for the Republic, too. Lucien almost regretted having to leave him behind and wondered if he might not do a little recruitment of his own.

“This way,” Marcellus said, gesturing toward a door carved into the mountainside. “We have to be careful now. A Jedi was sniffing around a couple months ago.”

“Out here?” Lucien asked, his surprise genuine. “For what purpose?”

“Works for some uppity Senator looking to shore up his re-election, is my guess,” Marcellus said dispassionately. “She didn’t find much and no one out here wants to bring the Republic down on their necks, so we let her be. But the doors are reinforced.”

It was a warning, just in case Lucien had any smart ideas. “Smart,” was all he said. He only had a blaster on him, and silently cursed himself for not grabbing his vibrodagger which was also technically illegal. He’d forgotten to slide it in his boot, too distracted by Elain winding her hair up in front of the mirror. 

No bombs, though. Lucien ran a hand over his beige shirt, following behind. Marcellus punched a code in a pad too quick for Lucien’s eyes to track, if he’d even thought to. He was focused on the imager peering down at them both, watching their every move. He held his gaze just long enough that whoever was on the other side knew he was aware of its presence before turning back to Marcellus. 

The door hissed open, revealing a dim room and a labyrinth of halls Lucien would never navigate by memory alone. Lights set against the gleaming walls made everything seem brighter once the door closed behind them, causing Lucien to blink as spots blurred his vision. 

Left, right, left again—Lucien repeated the pattern in his head, just in case he needed to make a hasty exit. Marcellus’s pace was clipped, his shoulders set with a sort of grim determination that made Lucien increasingly nervous. Still, he kept his arrogant, easy swagger and his unimpressed expression, even when he was led into a rather small, dank office. The man behind the desk was just that—a man, perhaps a few years older than Lucien, though not by much. The desert hadn’t weathered away his handsome features, though something had made flint out of those pine colored eyes. Blonde hair had been carefully braided off a suntanned face, leaving the powerful man reclining in his chair, surveying Lucien with just as much cool interest as Lucien surveyed him.

“Tamlin, this is Fox,” Marcellus said anxiously. “Took down a nest of gundarks with me. He’s a damn good shot and he’s got a pretty, young wife he’s looking to keep in comfort.”

Tamlin leaned forward, elbows on the sleek metal surface. 

“What kind of work have you done before?”

Lucien offered up what he hoped was a savage smile. “This and that.” 

Tamlin could read well enough between the lines. Holding Lucien’s gaze, he asked, “Good with a blaster?”

Lucien only shrugged. “I’m not dead yet.”

Tamlin reclined back in his seat, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. “I need someone who can help put down a rebellion.”

Lucien’s stomach splattered at his feet. “Oh?” 

“There’s trouble over at the mines. I need someone who can go in and set the workers right again. Instill a little fear.”

No. It was a violation of everything he held dear, of his central, moral code. Lucien rubbed at his jaw, the stubble scraping over the pads of his fingers. “I heard it was mostly children.”

“Children have parents,” Tamlin reminded him cooly. Stars, he thought in a daze. What kind of galaxy allowed children to labor while their parents were held at blaster point? 

“What happens to those children if I kill their parents?” Lucien asked, arching a brow. Beside him, Marcellus shifted uncomfortably.

“Then they become wards of the mine,” Tamlin replied reasonably. Lucien wasn’t stupid. Wards meant no pay—meant slaves. Children who would become adults, assuming they even lived that long, with nothing and no one. Indebted, even, to the mine that had housed and clothed and fed them, regardless of how poor that care had been. 

“I don’t hurt kids,” Lucien said, thinking he had enough information to take back to Elain. There was no fucking way he was taking this job, no way he was going to be the enforcer in the face of tyranny. 

Tamlin paused for a moment, and then slid a small chip over the center of his desk. “Sleep on it. Consider this a good faith payment…for the gundarks,” he added. And Lucien, who was supposed to be a man trying to support his highborn wife, swallowed against the instinct that demanded he tell Tamlin where he could shove his credits.

He took them with greedy fingers, slipping it into his pockets.

“If you change your mind, you know where I am,” Tamlin said with a shrug, reclining back in his chair. His tone very much suggested he knew Lucien would see the credits to be had and set aside those convictions. 

“We’ll be in touch, I’m sure,” Lucien replied.

But all he could think about was those parents, forced to watch their children toil in brutal conditions. Lucien had the tools and resources to help them if he had enough nerve. 

It was impulsive.

It was risky.

It had his name written all over it.

ELAIN:

“So,” Pina began once the early rush of the morning settled enough for Elain to return behind the bar. Her feet were killing her, and Elain thought if one more person tried to pinch her ass she’d slam her metal serving tray straight against their face.

She didn’t think Pina would mind. 

Elain glanced over, bracing her palms against the bartop. “That husband of yours.”

“What about him?” she asked, trying not to think of how she’d woken. Lucien, with his clever, sneaky fingers had been halfway up her nightdress before she stopped him, while her thigh had been wedged between his own, rubbing the thickened length of him. He’d done his best to convince her he was well enough for whatever activities she required from him but Elain had said no.

Not because she didn’t want him, but because the job had to come first. If they started in the morning, there was nothing to keep them from going to their pretend workplaces and unteasing the mystery that Graysen had laid before them. Elain could think of no greater humiliation than admitting she let another man sidetrack her again. 

Pina was committed to rubbing out some invisible spot only she could see. “I see a lot of folks come in and out of this outpost. Ain’t never seen someone like him before. Where’d you pick him up, again?”

“Corellia,” Elain said, certain they’d had this conversation before. “He worked for my father.”

Pina hummed noncommittally, still rubbing the bar. 

“Treats you good? Better than those rich boys I’ll bet you were supposed to end up with?”

Elain felt her throat constrict, because yes, he did—that wasn’t even a lie. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah. He’s a good man.”

“Those are hard to come by. Unlucky he got scooped up by Marcellus, then.”

Finally. Elain didn’t let herself seem to eager as she reached for a stack of cups. “Oh? He seemed nice enough.”

Dumb, sheltered, rich man’s daughter. 

“I didn’t say he wasn’t nice. But those Hybern mercenaries are brutal. He’s always in here recruiting, looking for new blood. They need it, with how they burn through people.”

“Hybern?” Elain forced herself to ask. Why would she know a thing about that? 

Pina’s eyes were pinched at the sides. “That man of yours should inform you better if he’s gonna let you wander around alone. Hybern runs a little outfit in the desert. Mostly spice, but they dabble in all sorts of things.”

“Like the mine?” Elain asked, adopting a wide-eyed look of innocence. Pina’s expression sharpened. 

“That’s run by some off-worlder. I wouldn’t get myself mixed up with that.”

“Lucien says there is nothing worth mining out here,” Elain continued, determined she’d get something she could tell Lucien later. Proof that she wasn’t useless, that she could do this, too. 

Pina shrugged. “He ain’t wrong about that. But no one’s looking this way and if you wanted to slip the Republic’s notice, this is a good place for it.”

“Why would someone want that?” Elain asked, innocent and sweet. Pina looked like she pitied her. 

“Honey, trust me. Don’t go near that mine. Pretty things like you are awfully tempting to the wrong sort. Warn your foolish husband there are things far worse than not having enough credits.”

Elain didn’t need to ask what might be worse. She understood well enough, the way all women in the galaxy.

“You’ve got a job here as long as you want it,” Pina added with clear admiration. And Elain, who’d felt overshadowed her whole life, didn’t realize how badly she craved this small bit of validation. “I’ve never seen this place half as clean, and you’re a nice girl. Don’t see much of that, either.”

Elain couldn’t hide the flush of pleasure spreading over her face. Ducking her head, she said, “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Pina told her gruffly, taking off to the other end of the cantina to fill up someones cup. It didn’t take much longer for Lucien to appear, striding in with his thumb hooked into his belt. His eyes swept the room, landing wholly on her. Outwardly, he seemed as arrogant as ever—smug, even, if that smile on his lips was any indication. 

But it was that russet eye of his that told Elain something troubled him. Even when he unhooked his thumb to beckon for her, and Pina sighed with exasperation but said nothing when Elain offered a hasty I’m so sorry! as Lucien hauled her up over his shoulder.

“I’ve got amazing news, baby,” he said, his voice carrying even as he dragged her out into the hottest part of the day. Elain was grateful for the scarf wrapped around her head, inching it up so only her eyes remained uncovered. He didn’t bother, and by the time they returned to their home, he was hacking up a lung. He’d dropped her back to his feet, palms braced on his knees.

“Kriffing hell,” he managed, stumbling to the kitchen for some water. Elain didn’t comment as he drank straight from the tap.

“You forgot your scarf,” she admonished, carefully unpinning it from her hair. Lucien nodded, mouth wide as he gulped down more cool water. 

“My hands were full of your ass—”

“Lucien!”

He only laughed, choking out an, “Sorry, I’m sorry—” while not looking very sorry at all. Hands on her hips, Elain waited for him to straighten out, both eyes eager. 

“Well?” she demanded. “What did you learn?”

“Nolan is using slave labor to run his mine through a little technicality in which he utilizes children, and then executes their parents for complaining about the conditions.”

Well. Elain had expected any number of things. But not that. Dizzy, she reached behind her for the little sofa, collapsing to the lumpy cushions as she fought to catch her breath.

“He…” She couldn’t finish that sentence. Because Elain had believed, deep, deep down, that Graysen was the man she’d fallen in love with. That she would recognize a monster, and all of this was some misunderstanding. Maybe he’d merely gotten caught up in something he shouldn’t. But this new revelation killed any of those hopes she’d been secretly harboring, and buried them, too. 

Lucien knelt before her, one elbow resting on his thigh as he took her hand. “Is that the job, then? Helping with the mine?”

“Putting down some small rebellion,” Lucien admitted, his eyes searching her own. Elain knew, no matter how she asked him not to, that Lucien had already made up his mind to help. What kind of person was she to want him to sit it out, besides? 

“The locals all know it’s an off-worlder running the mine. Maybe we could get some concrete evidence, send it to Nesta, and get it shut down,” she said hopefully. The set of Lucien’s jaw told

Elain exactly how this was going to go. Even when he squeezed her hand and murmured in agreement, she understood he couldn’t leave these people to some horrible fate.

Lucien had honor, and maybe she didn’t, if she didn’t want him to involve himself. 

“Did you learn anything helpful?”

“They’re making something that doesn’t come from the planet,” she said, miserable that both her news wasn’t terribly important and she’d once been set to marry a monster. How could he look at her like that, with so much soft wanting etched into his expression, knowing how foolish, how stupid she’d been? 

“Something for a weapon, right?” he interrupted her thought, his voice earnest. “I’ll bet it’s highly illegal. We’ll find it. Together.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him they weren’t actually married. That he didn’t have to try so hard when they were alone because she still liked him, still wanted him. But then he might stop looking at her like she was the sun and he was merely a planet revolving around her. It was just so nice having his attention like she did. Elain couldn’t remember a time in her life when anyone had looked at her the way he did. 

“Together,” she whispered, returning a squeeze to his callused hand. Lucien stood with a grunt, a reminder that he’d let a group of gundarks kick the shit out of him in service to her. It was worth knowing why he allowed that. 

“Lucien?”

He turned to look at her, though he was still making his way back to the kitchen for more water. “Why did you want to be a pilot?”

“I love to fly,” he replied with that dimpled smile. Elain waited, because she knew Lucien understood what she meant. Surely there was some tragedy that motivated him, something heinous that would explain why Lucien was so dedicated, had risen so quickly, was so respected by her sister.

“It feels decent,” he finally said, bracing his body weight against the counter. “That’s what my mother used to say. We do the right thing because it’s decent and kind. Or…something like that.

But I wanted to be a pilot and work for the Republic because I thought it was decent and kind.”

“Where did you grow up, again?”

“Yavin 4,” he said with a dreamy smile. “Until I was eight, anyway. We moved to the inner core when my dad became a Senator. I went to the naval academy, my brother became a Senator like our father…it was a good childhood, for the most part. I was far luckier than most.”

There was an edge to his voice that suggested, while things had been good, they could have been better. Elain knew better than to pick, in part because she understood that well. There was nothing to complain about, and yet it could have been better, too. She felt ungrateful to say so. 

“I just realized,” she said, staring at Lucien. “Your brother is Eris Vanserra.”

Elain had never put it together, but here, looking at Lucien, she saw the resemblance. Lucien was far more handsome, lovelier in every regard. Nicer, too, by all accounts. She’d never spoken to the Senator, who both outranked her in terms of experience, but was also so intimidating in his scope that Elain had never dared to introduce herself.

And here she was, kissing his brother. 

Lucien offered a rueful smile. “I wondered when you’d realize. Yes, the Eris Vanserra is my brother.”

“I know what that’s like,” Elain offered Lucien as he filled up his cup. “I had Nesta. Feyre, too.”

“Yeah, I’ve met Feyre. She’s something else. In a good way, I mean,” he added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wish I’d known about you, though.”

Elain turned her attention back to her nervous hands. “I don’t think that's true. My sisters are so…you know? And I…”

The sound of shuffling feet, and a soft groan brought Lucien back to her. “You’re what?” he asked, his one good eye blazing defiantly. Daring her to say one disparaging thing about herself in his presence. So Elain shrugged, letting her body speak the words her mouth couldn’t quite get out.

“Magnificent?” he supplied, holding her gaze. “Brave? The smartest woman I’ve ever met? Beautiful—”

“Okay, I get it,” she grumbled, though pleasure coiled in her gut all the same. 

“I’m not sorry people don’t see you for what you are,” Lucien murmured, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “I might have competition if they did.”

“Lucien,” she chided, but it was clear there was no deterring him. Not when he leaned forward, still on his knees, and pressed his lips to hers. There would be no arguing or shattering whatever fantasy plagued him. That suited Elain just fine, who was living in her own fantasy that when this was all over, she’d get to keep the younger Vanserra. That he’d still want her once the excitement of their mission wore off and he realized how mundane her life truly was. 

In her mind, Lucien wanted stability amid the adrenaline and the chaos of his life as a Commander. And in reality, she suspected once he realized she was none of those things, he’d leave her behind in favor of preserving the rosy, glowing memories of Florrum.

Stars above, though, Elain wanted him beyond reason. Nesta would call her crazy, as if her sister hadn’t run off with a man she’d known half as long, and look at how they were doing. Perhaps it was a trait of the Archerons to fall in love immediately, to know on sight they wanted something. Even when it shattered her, like her engagement to Graysen had done. 

Lucien wasn’t Graysen, though. Lucien was a man of honor, a man who had dedicated his life to serving others on the word of his mother—because it was right, and decent, and kind. 

Nesta had served him up to her, seemingly unaware of how drawn Elain would be to him. Or him to her, if Lucien’s tangled fingers in her hair were any indication. His want was intoxicating and heady, his tongue impossibly soft and juxtaposed with the rough calluses of his skin.

She wanted to feel them scraping her bare skin, wanted to know what it was like to be the sole focus of his attention, if only once. It had been so long since a man had touched her and maybe longer still since she’d even wanted that. 

Lucien stopped before they ever got started. “Not out here,” he panted, pressing his forehead against her own. “You should know…I was offered a job. I could go to the mine…or the factory…or whatever nightmare Graysen has concocted.”

He said the words as if they pained him.

“What’s the catch?” Elain asked, holding his face lightly between her fingertips. 

“Putting down the rebellion. Making an orphan of more kids that, even if Graysen disappears, won’t have anywhere to go.”

He didn’t add what his eyes were so desperately trying to say. Taking the job might wreck his very soul. Lucien wasn’t the kind to aid tyranny, and here he was, apologetically trying to explain his limitations to her own mission. Silently pleading with her not to make him do it, to let them find some other way to infiltrate that didn’t involve his blaster pointed at innocents.

Was she any better than Graysen if she told Lucien to do it? She didn’t think Lucien would keep looking at her with those eyes if she begged him to.

“Another way,” she said instead, because that seemed decent and kind. And Elain wanted to be that kind of person, too. The sort that Lucien always looked at the way he was right then. Relief flooded his expression, warning her as sure as the sun overhead. “Let's talk about it.” His expression sharpened. “We can talk later,” he said, hoisting her up from the couch with a soft grunt of pain. 

“You’re still hurt,” Elain protested, though it was weak, even to her own ears. 

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to see me naked,” Lucien teased, walking the ten steps to the bed. He dropped her atop it, hesitating as he waited for her response. Do you? 

“I don’t want to have to explain to my sister why her best pilot is in the med bay,” Elain replied with what she hoped was an easy-going smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Lucien.”

“Are you sure?” he replied, crawling toward her. “Because sometimes I think I dreamt you up.”

“We can wait—”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, carefully emphasizing his words. The implication, of course, was that he very much did not want that, but would respect it because he cared about her. 

“No,” she whispered, thinking just this once, she could have the thing she wanted. She could have him, and it wouldn’t all go spectacularly wrong. “No, that’s not what I want, Lucien.”

He exhaled sharply. “Good. I might have died if you’d said yes.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to be reckless. To tell him she thought she could love him, to ask him if he thought he might stay when the whole thing was over. She didn’t, though. Didn’t dare, not when he was pressing her back into the mattress and peppering her mouth with feather soft kisses. 

Maybe the wanting was enough. 

LUCIEN:

Lucien was ruined, and he hadn’t taken off a stitch of clothing. 

He wanted to take things slow, to draw her out and really enjoy her their first time. More than anything, though, Lucien wanted to give her a reason to crawl into bed with him again—to want to see him when the mission was over and she realized how absurd his schedule was. What kind of woman wanted a man who could be gone for weeks at a time? Who couldn’t always reliably reach a comm to let her know he was okay? For someone as whip smart and put together as Elain, he imagined she wanted stability, a thing he wasn’t sure he could reasonably offer. 

Not in the ways he was sure she’d imagined, at any rate. 

He’d come home to her, though, and some hopeful part of him wanted to believe that was enough. That whatever was shimmering between them was compelling to her, a reason to stick around when they finished. And if not, well, Lucien hoped his cock would silence whatever objections she almost certainly had. Some small part of him wondered if he wasn’t trapped in the most incandescent dream. Elain had her arms around his neck, coming through his hair until the leather strap he’d used to tie it off his face was wrapped around her wrist and the strands were unbound. 

His brain was screaming, urging him to move faster before she came to her senses and realized what he was trying to do to her. At any moment she might open her eyes, really see him, and pull away in revulsion.

That had never happened to Lucien, but if it was going to, he knew it would be with her. Lucien had the maddening habit of losing the things he cared about no matter how desperately he tried to hold on to them. She would leave, too—would realize the life he was offering was too simple, unfussy and uncomplicated. He wasn’t his brother, and though he had credits squirreled away, he couldn’t give her the life of a princess no matter how often he called her that.

Elain’s thumbs slid over his cheeks, brushing against the stubble clinging to his jaw. “What are you thinking about?” she breathed, arching her neck for him. 

“How kriffing pretty you are,” he lied, licking the column of her throat. Elain squirmed beneath him, hooking her ankle around his leg so they were all but aligned. “And how cumbersome these clothes are.”

“Take them off,” she breathed, eyes closed. 

It took Lucien a moment to truly register what she’d said. Take them off, her clothes, take them off—

It was the most inelegant moment of his life. Lucien had once believed he was rather suave, cool in the face of the unknown. He’d never had a true test like Elain Archeron before, arching and shifting so he could pull that tunic over her head and slide the pants from her body. Elain pushed her hips upward, grinding against his already hard cock so Lucien could remove the last of her underthings. He flung them unceremoniously somewhere behind him, greedy eyes never leaving her lush, naked form. Gods, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was pretty. Truthfully, he was underselling what she was, but there wasn’t a word in any language Lucien knew that could wholly encompass the sight of her.

“Now you,” Elain said, trying to raise herself up on her elbows. Lucien wanted her to undress him and couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her splayed out, hair a wild halo around her heartshaped face.

“I do as you command.” His voice was a rough whisper, his need making a mockery of him. Still, Lucien somehow got that shirt over his head and his boots off his feet. He had to stand in order to kick of his pants and his own undergarments, all the while Elain watched with sharp, hungry interest.

He was, perhaps, a little too theatrical when he let his cock spring free. Elain’s lips parted at the sight, filling Lucien with more than a little masculine pride. He stood there for a moment, flexing his abs while Elain kept her eyes directly on his cock.

“Are you coming back?” she finally asked, a soft smile twitching over those kiss bruised lips. 

“I find myself distracted,” he admitted, giving himself a quick stroke thinking it would take the edge off his lust. He should have known his previously neglected erection would jump with excitement, begging him to touch himself again.

“By what?” she asked, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“You,” he breathed, settling himself between her parted thighs. This was happening. If he’d wanted to forgo everything, Lucien could have slid himself right inside her with a whispered, no takebacks. 

He wasn’t ready to be finished. Not by a longshot. Content to rub himself against her, letting his cock tease everywhere but where she was so clearly wanted, Lucien came back for a messy, heated kiss. He couldn’t keep his hands confined to her hair, though he knew the minute he was buried inside her, he was coming back for those tangled curls. He wanted his to put his face in the crook of her neck, wanted to be flush against them so not even light could penetrate between the space of their bodies. Just them—just this. 

Elain moaned, tracing his spine with her fingernails. When she reached his ass, she squeezed, pushing them closer together. Lucien gasped, his cock sliding against the slick heat of her pussy. If he’d shifted even an inch to the left he’d be buried inside her without even trying and every last nerve beneath his skin begged him to do it. 

That would mean he didn’t get to taste her, and to Lucien, that felt sacreligious. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to move, rolling his hips carefully so the skin of his cock coated against the dripping wet of her cunt without ever penetrating her. He just wanted to kiss, wanted to touch and tease her pretty, perky breasts while she gasped and moaned and writhed beneath him. 

“Please,” she whispered into his ear, but Lucien didn’t relent. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt so good. Her skin was soft and Elain was absurdly responsive—and Lucien was determined to find every little spot that made her eyes roll up into her head. Behind her ear, the crook of her neck, just beneath her collarbone all elicited that same breathless, “Lucien,” that he was suddenly addicted to. 

She had no idea the sheer power she wielded. Lucien would have done anything she told him to in that moment. Elain could have demanded he stop, redress himself, and destroy the entire outpost and Lucien didn’t think he’d have the strength to tell her no. It was pure luck that Elain was the exact sort of woman he’d been dreaming about his entire life.

She was far too kind to ever demand the suffering of others, though perhaps she enjoyed making him suffer, if only a little. With one last, valiant effort, Elain attempted to realign them, to drag his desperate cock into her body. Lucien angled his hips and slid further down her body, grinding himself against the bedsheets in an attempt to soothe his rageful cock. 

Soon, he told himself, as if that did anything for the sirens currently screaming in his brain. He could have lingered at her breasts, sucking rosy nipples in between his teeth until it was her bucking into the air, clawing at his shoulders to please, Lucien, please—but Lucien had an objective.

He could be singled-minded on a mission. Driven to the point of obsession, even. And all Lucien wanted was to make his way down her soft, unblemished body until he was eye level with her pretty, pink pussy. 

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, rubbing his fingers over the swollen, nestled bud. Elain moaned loudly as his fingers circled idly, watching how her back arched up off the mattress, thrusting her breasts high in the air. Fuck, but Lucien was so ruined. There was no coming back from this. If she left him, he’d spend the rest of his life right here in this bed. “Tell me you want to come all over my tongue.”

“Lucien,” she tried, but he wanted to make it difficult. Wanted to draw out her pleasure. They were alone on this backwater planet, surrounded by whipping wind that would disguise any and all noise they made. He’d never get a better chance to make Elain scream—when they returned to Coruscant, it was impossible that someone wouldn’t hear them, wouldn’t know what they were up to, given how people were stacked atop each other. 

Lucien adjusted himself, holding his body up on his elbows so he could slide a finger into her body. She immediately clamped against him, so tight his head fell between her hips and his eyes rolled up into his skull. 

“Tell me, princess, that you want me to taste you,” he managed, sliding that finger in and out with a tortured slowness, his other finger still drawing lazy circles over her clit. It was possible she didn’t hear him, prompting Lucien to tease around her clit, not touching close enough to give her what she so clearly needed.

Elain’s eyes flew open.

“Tell me to fuck you with my tongue,” Lucien ordered, holding her gaze. Please, he wanted to say. 

“I want you to taste me,” she managed, her cheeks flaming red. She was sweet—wanton and yet still embarrassed to tell him what she wanted. Still, it was good enough to lower his mouth, still holding those brown eyes so she could watch him take an exaggerated lick.

Elain was sweet everywhere. He groaned, not for effect, but because his cock immediately responded. Pleasure slithered into his gut, stilted by the lack of stimulation and still heady and bright. Lucien became half animal in that moment, chasing the taste of her arousal while forgetting he was supposed to be teasing her. It couldn’t be helped—this was for him, now, though she was taking an immense amount of pleasure from his mouth and hand. Elain rolled against his face, draping a leg over his shoulder, the other spread wide. 

Lucien didn’t stop, using the flat of his tongue to rub before sucking her between his lips, all the while watching to see what drew the loudest reaction. What did she like? What would break her apart? He managed to fit a second, and then a third finger into her body, carefully thrusting as he worked her open in preparation for his cock. 

“Lucien,” Elain begged, the prettiest sound he’d ever heard in his life. “Lucien, please—”

She screamed. Thighs clamped tight around his face so he couldn’t move even if he’d wanted, which he decidedly did not. A bolt of white hot excitement flared through him, watching her come. It was as though some unseen being pulled at her strings, lifting her spine clean off the bed. Fingers curled in the sheets, pulling them from the edge of the mattress before they made their way to his hair, knotting in the strands and pushing him closer and closer before yanking with a gasping plea. 

“More,” Elain begged, tugging when he wouldn’t stop. Lucien didn’t want to—he wanted to watch her come apart like that again, wanted to taste the sweetness of her orgasm flood his mouth and coat his fingers.

You can watch her when she comes on your cock, his brain screamed at him. It was, he decided, a compelling point. Lucien released her, pulling his fingers from her body only to press them against her lips.

“Taste yourself,” he demanded, sliding a finger against her pretty tongue. Elain sucked, eyes dark and wide. Lucien couldn’t help his groan, nor could he help how her wet, gliding tongue seemed to lick at his cock, too. He pulled back, kissing her with still wet lips. Pressing his tongue into her mouth, Elain kissed him back greedily, drinking in the salty sweet taste of her body with a pretty, soft moan.

This time, when she hooked a leg around his waist, Lucien didn’t angle away but slotted his cock against her. He could feel her thudding heart even at the opening, and when he pushed himself in just to the head, she convulsed in the aftershocks of his mouth, drawing him in further.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling from the kiss to bury his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled sweet like honey and floral like the shampoo and soap she used. 

Elain dug her heels against his ass, shoving until he was flush against her, buried to the root in her body. Lucien couldn’t breathe, his heart jumping frantically in his throat. She was so wet, so tight and hot and still coming down from that first orgasm. Tangling his hands in her hair, Lucien kissed the skin between her throat and shoulders, adjusting the the silken heat of her body.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, refusing to move an inch until she responded.

“Yes,” Elain gasped, sinking her teeth into his arm. Lucien jerked, thrusting himself deeper into her body. 

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.”

Lucien would give her more. Drawing himself all the way out felt like some kind of sin, while driving himself back into her felt like home. He’d wanted to hold himself against her, but Lucien needed to see, needed to watch his cock slide in and out of her body. Pushing himself up, Lucien spread her legs wide apart, bending them at the knees so they were pressed to her chest.

“Look at how well you take me, Elain,” he groaned, addicted to the sight. It was the most arousing thing he’d ever seen in his life, heightened by the sheer pleasure he felt being gripped by her pussy. “You were made for my cock.”

Elain dug her nails into his forearms. Looking at him, he found her pupils blown out, eyes wide. “More,” she moaned. He understood what she was asking for, releasing one of her legs to return back to her clit. Still pink, still swollen from his lips and tongue, Lucien began rubbing wet, tight circles around it until Elain squeezed so tight stars spotted in his vision. He was going to come, even with his ass clenched tight and his mind reciting star charts in an attempt to distract him, Lucien was building hotter and hotter. 

Elain, too, by the looks of it. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life, bucking and moaning beneath him. Nothing in his life could touch this moment for perfection, and when Elain came again, squeezing around him as her lips parted in a wordless scream, Lucien tumbled over the edge with her.

His cock pulsated, thrusting wildly without rhythm—only the frantic, instinctual need to get deeper, closer. He couldn’t breathe, his skin so tight he thought he might explode into glittering dust motes in the bright sunlight flooding the room. Even when there was nothing left and his muscles began to tremble, his body spent, Lucien couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her.

He did collapse atop her, kissing her until Elain turned her head to suck in a loud breath of air.

“Was it good?” he asked her, searching her expression for some clue. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Yes, Lucien, I liked it. Liked you.”

It was only that admission, spoken to just him and the desert sun, that convinced Lucien to withdraw his throbbing cock from her body so he could watch his come slide down her swollen pussy and drip onto the sheets.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, raised up on her elbows when he went to settle back between her legs.

“Do you have somewhere to be today?” he asked, slicking his fingers through the mess. 

“No,” she admitted.

Lucien grinned. “Good. Neither do I.”

ELAIN: 

“I have to go to work, Lucien.”

His answering groan was the only response she was gonna get. Fingers knotted in her hair, pushing her face back toward his erect cock, a not so subtle attempt to convince her she ought to keep sucking. It was so fun to watch him squirm and writhe and moan—and sometimes, beg, too. She very much liked hearing Commander Vanserra beg her to touch him, to lick him, to fuck him so hard he couldn’t see straight. 

Elain drew him back into her mouth, cognizant that she’d been edging him for the better part of an hour and he was likely three or four good sucks from coming apart. Her aching jaw begged her to finish this, though every other part of her wanted to stay nestled between his splayed legs.

When she said she had to go to work, she was talking more to herself than to him. She was going to be late, and Pina had been so generous that it seemed cruel to betray that. 

So Elain drew Lucien into her throat, letting him push her until she gagged softly. She made up the difference with her hand, stroking and sucking while watching him. Lucien moaned, his feet sliding up and down the slippery sheets. His other hand splayed over his chest, rubbing his skin as thought alleviate some unseen ache.

Elain was right—one, two, three—

“Elain!” he gasped, gripping her hair so tight she could feel him ripping it from the scalp. Fluid flooded her mouth, making a messy of his skin and her face. Elain did her best to swallow what she could, though the rest dripped over his stomach and the bed they desperately needed to wash. 

She released him with a little kiss to the head of his throbbing cock, earning an exhilarated, panting smile. 

She couldn’t help herself. “Was it good for you, Lucien?”

“Oh, stop,” he grumbled, reaching for her. Elain scrambled from his grasp, giggling as she went. Ever since they’d first slept together, Lucien always asked if she’d liked what he’d done—if it had been good for her. Elain appreciated what he was doing, that he cared enough to get verbal confirmation she’d finished, that she’d had fun. And still it felt wildly unnecessary. He could feel her come around his cock and fingers and tongue. He could hear her breathlessly begging him not to stop, for more, screaming, even, when pleasure overwhelmed her to the point speech was no longer effective or possible. 

Lucien didn’t manage to sit up until Elain had shimmied a tunic back over her head, belting it at the waist. She didn’t prefer pants, but the tunic was practical in the heat and the pants beneath allowed her to strap a holster to her leg and carry the little blaster Lucien had given her.

Lucien sighed as she dressed, his expression contemplative again. They were stalled on their mission, with nothing to report to Nesta after that first contact with Hybern. Elain kept a low profile and ingratiated herself with the locals while Lucien picked up odd jobs and tried to find a reason to get closer to the mine. 

How much longer before Nesta pulled the plug on the entire thing? Her last message had sounded gently irritated. Elain wanted to ask Lucien if Nesta had told him to placate her and couldn’t make herself say the words.

So she went to work each morning with a smile, and when she couldn’t figure out how to get people to tell her what she wanted to know, she came home and made love to Lucien until she forgot her impending failure.

He padded over to her, brushing his fingers over her covered shoulders. In turn, Elain reached for his forearm, tracing the thick, black bars of his tattoo. She wondered if he’d get to add another stripe if they did manage to take down Graysen.

“Have a good day, princess,” he said, pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. “I’ll clean this place up and reach out to Archeron. She might have an idea.”

He didn’t sound hopeful, though. Still, Elain flashed Lucien a sunny smile. They were a team and he wanted her to succeed. She didn’t need him to say so to know how he felt, at least in that regard. Everything else felt up in the air to her, unsettled until they returned to Coruscant. Elain was trying not to worry about Lucien leaving her, and yet the thought plagued her the entire way to the cantina. 

It was strange how normal this job had become. Before it, Elain had never worked a job like that a day in her life. She’d gone from tutors to the Senate Hall on Coruscant, and her work consisted of more cerebral pursuits. There was something immensely satisfying about serving people, though. 

Elain never had to construct policy from nothing, nor did she had to create contingency arguments for if her argument wasn’t persuasive enough. She could merely raise her tray if someone was irritating her and hold out her hand until credits were dropped into her palm.

She was saving them as a gift for Pina when she left. 

It was quiet when Elain came in, with a few regulars tucked away in shadowy corners. A blonde she didn’t recognize sat at the bar top, holding a tarnished mug in one hand. Their eyes met when Elain slipped back to tie her apron around her waist. Elain had gotten used to the way people looked on Florrum—the hot, unrelenting sun weathered their skin, aging them quicker than had they not lived on a desert planet. 

This woman couldn’t have been a whole lot older than Elain. She was stunning, maybe the first truly beautiful person Elain had seen since she arrived. Blond tendrils of hair slipped from beneath a tan scarf wrapped elegantly around her head and throat, framing the rich golden brown of her flawless skin. Green eyes tracked Elain’s movement, while slim fingers tapped out some unknown melody against the side of her cup. She wasn’t from around here, then.

Maybe she’d just come in.

Or maybe Graysen was on to Elain. The only way to find out was to walk to her, smiling, and say, “I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I could say the same,” the woman replied, offering Elain a lovely, bright smile. “You just get in?”

“A week ago,” Elain admitted. “I’m Rose. You?”

The woman’s eyes widened ever so slightly, lips twitching like she knew Elain was a liar. Still, she extended a hand while saying, “Arina.”

“Need another?”

Arina shook her head. “No. I heard a rumor though, and maybe you can help me out. I hear the man I’m looking for has an exceptionally beautiful wife, and I’m guessing that’s you.”

Elain’s heart stumbled. “You’re looking for Fox?”

“Is that his name? Yes, I suppose I am. I heard he met with someone I’ve been looking for—I have some questions. No trouble,” she added, catching Elain’s unhidden apprehension. “And I’ll pay him for his time.”

“I don’t know where he went,” Elain lied, which might have been convincing had Lucien not strolled right in, grinning like a fiend. He spared Arina a cursory glance of curiosity before sauntering toward her in his tight, brown pants and a long-sleeved, green shirt that clung to his muscular chest. He’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and hidden his tattoo beneath a leather wrapped vambrace snug against his wrist. A low slung belt over his hips held his rather large blaster, and tucked beneath his arm was his pilot's helmet. 

“Going somewhere?” she asked him breathlessly when he leaned casually against the bar.

“I’m gonna check in on the ship,” he told her, his grin so wide she could see the little indentations of the dimples in his cheek. 

Arina had angled her body toward him, looking at Lucien with warmth. Elain had to swallow her jealousy when the woman reached for his arm and touched gently. “Fox, right?”

Lucien spared her another look, brow furrowing. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“I have some questions. About Tamlin,” she added pointedly. Lucien’s expression flattened.

“Who?”

It was fun to watch him. Arina seemed taken aback, as though she genuinely expected Lucien to just blurt it all out in a cantina filled with watchful eyes and listening ears. She wasn’t from around here, then. Elain felt positively gleeful as Arina gaped, trying to regain her bearings.

“Take a walk with me,” she said, her voice strangely suggestive. Lucien blinked.

“Sure,” he said, pushing off the counter. Lucien didn’t look back, vanishing into the sunlight. Elain was tempted to follow him, but the blonde was replaced immediately by a new, lean body half hidden beneath a dark, black scarf.

“What can I get you?” Elain asked, still distracted by Lucien and Arina.

The man before her inched the scarf over a shockingly familiar face. Her heart leapt into her throat. 

“I don’t know, baby,” Graysen murmured, his brown eyes flashing with ire. “What’s your favorite?”

He waited, holding her gaze, and when she didn’t speak, leaned forward. “I miss you.”

Still, Elain remained silent, though she knew her presence was damning. Elain wanted to scream for Lucien that the woman was a trap, but she couldn’t move. Pinned beneath Graysen’s damning gaze, she waited for him to do something.

“Nothing to say?” he asked with a sigh. “That’s just as well. You know, if it were anyone else out here, I’d chalk it up to some junior Senator trying to make a name for themselves and let it go.

But not you. Never you,” he added with a soft snarl. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you snooping around in my accounts? That I wasn’t watching you after that? I wanted to believe you were just heartbroken and looking for answers so imagine my surprise when I saw a fucking Vanserra sniffing around.”

Elain couldn’t breathe, though she could convince herself to speak, if only to say, “Don’t hurt him.”

“I haven’t done anything, baby. His death is on your hands. You dragged him out here. You convinced him this was a worthwhile use of his time. You’re the problem, Elain. You never know when to leave well enough alone, do you?”

“Please,” she whispered, but Graysen shook his head. 

“None of that. It’s beneath you. Now. Are you going to walk out with me, or am I going to have to kill everyone in here to convince you?”

“I’ll go,” she whispered. Elain nearly untied her apron before realizing it was the only thing concealing the blaster at her side. Graysen hadn’t demanded she disarm herself and why would he?

He knew she’d never touched a weapon in her life and wasn’t about to start now. 

Only, Elain would. She knew it in her bones when his fingers curled around her wrist to yank her into the heat. If he hurt Lucien, Elain would make him suffer for it. 

Her career almost didn’t matter. 

LUCIEN:

“What the fuck, Arina,” Lucien hissed the second they were just out of view. “Don’t pull that shit on me.”

She waved a hand in front of his face only for Lucien to smack it away, irritated Arina had used her Jedi manipulations to convince him to go outside. Hidden just outside the hanger, Lucien readjusted his helmet beneath his arm.

“You weren’t going to leave if I didn’t,” she said unapologetically, shrugging those slim shoulders. Lucien narrowed his eyes.

“Where is my brother?”

Arina was the Jedi assigned to Eris, once upon a time. He recalled a conversation in which his brother ranted about not needing a security detail despite an active bounty on his head. Arina had, as far as Lucien knew, settled that score at the point of her yellow lightsaber. Lucien wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that—but he knew whatever had transpired between Arina and Eris had ended on poor terms. 

Her eyes became flinty. 

“Where have you been?” Lucien added, because he had it on good authority Arina hadn’t been on Coruscant for at least a year. Maybe longer, even—it had been three years since she’d worked with his brother. Lucien knew Eris was difficult, but surely he wasn’t so awful he could rob her of the Jedi path, or whatever it was the Jedi were doing. 

“You spoke with Tamlin,” she said instead, drawing a lungful of air through her scarf. “What did he want?”

“To put down a rebellion,” Lucien replied. “I guess you’re the Jedi that was sniffing around?”

She only rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t call it sniffing. I came here, I found trouble. Isn’t that the way?”

A question in her eyes asked what, exactly, Lucien was doing so far from home, in a ship that was decidedly not his usual X-Wing. And like Arina, who chose not to answer him regarding,

Lucien was disinclined to give her everything she wanted. 

“Tell me what you want, Arina, so I can get back to—”

“To Elain Archeron?” she asked, those eyes seeing far too much. “I can’t wait to hear what Nesta has to say about the two of you shacking up in the outer rim.”

Shacking up. Lucien bristled at the crude language and the insinuation something untoward was happening. 

“She’s my wife, first of all,” Lucien snapped, ignoring Arina’s amused laugh.

“You Vanserras are all the same,” she said, amusement lacing her tone. Lucien raised his eyebrows but Arina lifted a hand. “Tell me what you know about Tamlin.”

“I don't know anything,” he said through gritted teeth, trying so hard to resist the compulsion. “Kriffing stars Arina, don’t use that bullshit on me.”

“You have a strong mind,” she said, which was the first thing she’d ever said to him when they’d met all those years ago. Eris had merely glared, and Lucien suspected he, too, had been subjected to her little tricks. “And that’s disappointing. I was hoping—”

An explosion rocked the world around them. Arina flung out a hand, creating some barrier Lucien couldn’t see to prevent rubble from outright killing them, though it didn’t stop him from being thrown through the air. He collided with a metal beam connecting a ramp to the hangar, only to fall face first back into the sand.

He groaned against the radiating pain, his ears ringing from the explosion. Lucien’s hearing was already bad given how often he was subjected to the deafening blasts of blown up ships and this was unlikely to make things better. He distinctly recalled the medic on Coruscant warning him he was likely to go deaf he didn’t start plugging up his ears—which he did on missions, but not when he was standing out in the open. 

Arina’s eyes were as wide as saucers while Lucien scanned the sky. Surely this was some sort of aerial attack. Surely…surely it hadn’t come from the ground. Only the sky was a clear blue save for the plume of rising smoke. Lucien rose to his feet on shaky legs, thinking of Elain.

Arina pulled the scarf over her mouth, speaking to him rapidly though Lucien couldn’t hear her. All he could think about was Elain, likely cowering behind the bar, terrified and unsure what had happened. She had his blaster—she’d be okay. He just needed—

“Lucien!” Arina screamed, hitting him hard in the face. He blinked, focusing back on the Jedi before him. “You can’t…you…the cantina is gone.”

No. Lucien hadn’t realized he’d shouted it in Arina’s face until she stepped back, visibly upset by his reaction. He didn’t care, staggering forward because it wasn’t possible that Elain—his Elain—was gone. He couldn’t make sense of it. Of course she’d be okay. Lucien made his way through the sand as far as he could, drinking in the blast radius. More than just the cantina was gone—everything around it had been demolished in the resulting explosion. 

Including their little house, the place they’d been living in for the last week. It was like Elain had been erased entirely and every memory he shared was taken, too.

Lucien felt Arina’s hand on his shoulder, and swore if she said some shit about letting go, he’d kill her. She didn’t, though. She merely stood there beside him, touching him gently while Lucien’s hearing began to come back to him piecemeal. The longer he stared at the inferno, at the curling, acrid smoke, the more he knew that this was Hybern’s doing. 

And he wondered if he hadn’t brought this down on Elain by refusing Tamlin.

“You want to meet the Syndicate still?” he asked, thinking if Elain was gone, he’d take the rest of them with her. 

“Lucien,” she warned, though that wasn’t a no.

“You can come with me, or you can go home,” he said, turning back toward his ship. Lucien wasn’t walking through the front fucking door this time.

He was going to blow apart that mountain.

ELAIN:

Nice and tidy. That’s what Graysen had said right before he’d blown the cantina apart. It was, as he’d so helpfully explained, a warning to his enemies and, she thought, his attempt to erase that she’d ever been on Florrum. He’d taken out so much of the outpost that Elain couldn’t be sure Lucien had survived, though she hoped he had.

Hoped he was halfway to the desert with Arina, blissfully unaware of what was happening. Graysen lamented having to make a trip all the way from Coruscant to deal with her as if she were some wayward child. As if she were the one who had done something wrong. She supposed to Graysen, who didn’t like things that didn’t go exactly his way, she had done something wrong. She’d disobeyed him, had risked his source of income.

So Elain sat in the speeder with her hands in her lap hoping she looked appropriately contrite and not furious. He hadn’t noticed her blaster, in part because he didn’t think he needed to. She could end it right then and there if she only had the nerve. Elain wasn’t sure she did and had just managed to convince herself that if Graysen wanted her dead, he would have killed her instead of taking her up a massive cliffside toward some towering, black stone castle.

Graysen gestured for her to follow him off the landing pad and when she didn’t, he shoved her hard enough it was only luck that kept her from flying flat on her face. Stumbling toward several unsmiling guards in tusked masks. Neither of them noticed her blaster, either. She supposed she had her spectacle to blame for that. Still, Elain kept herself silent and small, leaning closer to Graysen when that heavy, armored door opened. 

“Gray,” she breathed, drinking in the artifice of the interior. “What have you done?”

“I used to wonder what you’d make of all this. That was before you bitch of a sister told me your inheritance was forfeit if you married me. But back then, I imagined running this empire with you.”

Elain blinked. “Nesta…Nesta said what?”

As far as Elain knew, she had no inheritance. Her family had money, of course, and when her mother died it was divided among all three sisters, but not as inheritance or a trust, but just money they kept in their accounts. Graysen should have known that—Elain had given him access to her accounts. 

“Your sister told me you’d lose your inheritance if you didn’t marry a member of the Naboo royal family. She assured me you didn’t care, but…”

But of course Graysen cared. And Nesta must have known that, too. She’d have seen what Elain missed, too love sick and desperate for anyone to truly see her for the first time in her life. Ordinarily it would have infuriated Elain to learn her sister had meddled in her life, but now she felt nothing but the warm rush of gratitude. 

Elain couldn’t imagine being married to Graysen. What a miserable existence he offered and even if he’d stolen her chance at real, lasting happiness, Elain had a taste for it now. She wouldn’t be fooled again. 

“Of course,” Elain managed, her thoughts interrupted by a sliding door and the sight of another all too familiar face. Eris Vanserra sat in the middle of an otherwise dim, red-lit room. Stuncuffs restrained his wrists and a bolt around his neck likely kept him from getting up and enacting the violence his amber eyes were promising.

Graysen reached for a blaster tucked into a holster at his hip. “Let me explain to the two of you how this is going to go. There is one blaster and only two of you. Surely you see the predicament? No? Let me explain—”

“Oh, by all means, Senator,” Eris interrupted dryly, his words dripping with condemnation. “All anyone wants is another of your long winded speeches.”

Graysen’s lip curled up over his teeth as he strode toward the elder Vanserra, dressed in his Coruscant best. Disarmed, his cheek dotted with mottled, purple bruises. How long had he been here, she wondered? Elain had never seen Eris Vanserra so rumpled, so vicious and feral. 

Graysen unshackled Eris only for Eris to immediately smash his face against Graysen’s. Graysen stumbled back, dropping the blaster between the two of them. Both Eris and Graysen paused, looking at each other and their mirrored, bleeding noses, and then to the floor.

Elain withdrew Lucien’s baster, finger on the trigger. 

“Let me tell you how this is going to go,” Elain said softly. Eris smiled through blood stained teeth, lunging for the other blaster while Graysen whirled, clearly stunned. 

“You can’t escape,” he told them, spitting to the glossy floor. “Even if you kill me—”

“Oh, I definitely plan to,” Eris snarled, stepping a little closer. “What was it you said to me? Ah, right. On your knees, Senator.”

“Killing me won’t bring back the Jedi,” Graysen snapped, though he did as Eris said with a calculated, careful slowness. “Won’t bring back the child.”

Eris had become so very pale and so very still. “Maybe not,” he finally said, swallowing audibly. Elain wondered if she was imagining the tremble of his hand. She braced herself for what was surely coming. Eris was too lost in Graysen’s words, and for all his skill, all his experience, whatever the lost Jedi and child meant clearly had rattled him.

Graysen had always been so good at identifying a weakness only to exploit it later. 

The problem, she thought, was Graysen didn’t understand what motivated Eris Vanserra, because he said, “Think of what we could do together. There is money to be made in these outer rim planets. The Republic doesn’t look this far, doesn’t care. And we’re doing them a service, employing them…it’s only fair we make a little more.”

Eris’s expression flattened. “And if it's our children being sent to the mine? What then, Senator?”

Eris was going to kill him, wasn’t thinking of the implications. If Graysen died, how would they ever tie any of this back to him? Someone else would merely take over and she’d have to start all over. Graysen deserved to be held accountable, to stand before a tribunal and atone for what he’d done. 

Elain didn’t give Graysen a chance to respond and instead brought the butt of her blaster against his head and smashed as hard as she could. Elain didn’t truly think it would work until Graysen crumpled in a heap at Eris’s feet.

“You know he was going to make one of us kill the other, right?” Eris hissed, eyes narrowed to slits.

Elain crouched, fishing out the key to the bolt wrapped around Eris’s neck. “Yes. But this planet deserves justice, and killing him is a mercy.”

“You will regret this moment,” Eris told her, tossing the bolt to the floor with a loud clank. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Elain replied, thinking of what Lucien had told her. “Sparing him is decent and its kind, and—”

“That's far more than he deserves. I see my idiot brother has rotted out your good sense. Where is he, anyway?”

Elain’s fingers twisted in front of her. “I’m not sure. I think he’s safe though.”

A small amount of relief shuttered over Eris’s expression. “Good. One less thing to worry about.”

Eris kicked Graysen in the ribs before stepping over him as though nothing had happened. Elain didn’t comment on it, though something about it was particularly irksome and at least he’d hadn’t shot him. 

“We can’t bring him with us,” Eris told her, pulling a data pad from his white pants. “Unless you want to sit here and guard him?”

“No,” she breathed. Elain very much did not want to remain in the scummy liar of the crime lord, nor did she want to be the one forced to face Graysen on her own. “Where are you going?”

“To the mine,” Eris said, jaw clenched. “I’m going to blow it into pieces.”

“You can’t—”

“This is your career, right? Bring down a powerful Senator, a crime syndicate, become a hero to the Republic? I respect that. Hell, any other time I’d get out of your way and let you. This is personal and I do not care about your pathetic ambitions. It will take months of arguing, of hand-wringing and pointless speeches about what can be done until eventually something else robs their attention and someone else takes over.”

“You don’t know that,” Elain breathed, but Eris slammed his fist against the panel to open the door.

“I practically wrote the fucking book,” Eris snapped in response. “You have pretty ideals—I had them once, too. I wanted to make the galaxy a better place—because it’s decent and kind—and quickly found the way things actually work. You need to learn how to play the game, Archeron. If you want results, you need to do it yourself.”

“What about proof, about—”

“The proof is the kidnapping,” Eris snapped, shaking out his hand before wrapping it around her wrist so they could run down the sanitized, sleek durasteel halls. “And to be honest, I don’t give a fuck about proof. You should have let me kill him, too. He would have watched you die, you know.”

Elain hadn’t had a second to truly consider that. Eris had hit home, though, his words a punch to the stomach. She had mourned Graysen, and he’d only ever seen her as an account filled with credits, and afterwards, a nuisance. And though that wounded her a little, Elain didn’t regret sparing his life.

She would not let herself stoop to his level. “I’m not going to become him. Or you,” she added as Eris yanked her down a separate hall, pressing her against a wall. The door was right there, and as Elain recalled, guarded by those horn masked men. 

“You’re above killing?” he asked, amber eyes searching her own. “You must be the only person in the galaxy with such lofty ideals. Behind me, then, Archeron. Blaster out, just in case.”

In the end, Elain didn’t have to get her hands dirty. Eris burst from the door and in quick succession, ended the lives of the guards who might have stopped them from stealing the hover car. Elain’s fingers trembled, clutching her blaster so tightly her fingers ached. The toppled bodies, the splattered blood—all of it felt a step too far.

Eris didn’t even blink. 

“Get in,” he barked. Elain did as she was told. 

“Are you going to explain any of this?” she asked the man sitting beside her. Eris brought the car to life, his amber eyes flinty with anger. 

“Why would I tell you anything?” he all but sneered, glancing in her direction as they left the cliffside. Elain meant to respond with equal sass, but the wooshing of ships overhead silenced her.

She twisted in her seat, heart pounding with excitement. She knew that ship, recognized the sleek nose, the little blur of orange painted along the side.

“I see you called the cavalry,” Eris said dryly, speeding along the desert sand. “No subtlety, that one.”

“He’ll buy you time if they’re distracted,” Elain snapped, unable to admit the heartstopping relief she felt. Lucien was alive, he was well, and most importantly, he knew she was in trouble. Elain could relax as much as was possible, given Eris wasn’t taking her to safety but back into the thick of danger.

And this was what she wanted, right? To see the mine, to know the full scope. Surely her word was just as powerful as Graysen, especially when it was backed by two Vanserras? 

“When we arrive, I want you to begin evacuating everyone inside,” Eris told her, ignoring the sound of lasers being fired on the base. Behind them, Hybern had begun to mobilize his own fleet to take on the one rogue ship and Lucien, artfall as ever, dodged and wove his way through the sky, pelting the base with a rain of fire. Elain could smell acrid smoke and burning metal mingled in the air, even as they zipped away. 

She hoped he knew she was fine. There was no way to tell him, not without a comm and she’d left that at home. 

“And what will you be doing?”

“Blowing it afuckingpart,” Eris snarled. “If they want to rebuild it, they can do it on the ruined ashes and over my dead kriffing body.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” she demanded. Eris looked over, jaw set. No. Whatever personal thing this was about—the Jedi, the child, she supposed, given what Graysen had said—he wasn’t going to share it with a stranger.

“You’re not the only one with lofty ideals, Archeron.”

She supposed that was the best she’d ever get. They said nothing else, squinting against the pelting sand and trying so hard not to look behind them and the distant battle furiously raging in the sky. Elain could stand watching Lucien fly—every time the ship rolled or dove, she was certain she was going to watch him explode into bits, just like the cantina had done. 

The mine was surrounded by a high fence that stretched for miles in both directions. Barbed over the top to keep people from getting in…or, more likely, anyone from getting out. It looked more like a prison, not that she’d ever seen one. But Elain could imagine. 

The gate was open, and with a flash of a badge and a smooth smile, Eris managed to convince the guard they had come from Coruscant on Gryasen’s orders. He certainly seemed convincing–slick as he’d ever been. Even his disheveled hair and rumpled clothing could have been the result of the desert. Eris looked like he belonged to the core, at any rate, which was likely what saw them both inside.

“He’ll call ahead. Hopefully Lucien’s got them so distracted they don’t answer, but we still need to move quickly. Remember–evacuate. That’s all you have to do. I don’t want stragglers when the mine collapses.”

Inside the gate was a circular pit of sand and a sea of neatly organized yurts just barely held together with animal skins and string. The air smelled foul, like something was rotting—and it didn’t take either of them long to see why. Bodies stacked tall beneath the hot sun baked as children no older than twelve dug a hole deep enough to bury them. Eris watched, his expression strangely haunted.

Whatever child was gone, she suspected they were lost to that pile, that unmarked grave. Elain couldn’t imagine Eris as a father, but perhaps a nephew, or merely someone he’d cared about. A child he’d mentored, had meant to come back for, only to find he’d been too late. Elain didn’t prod, given they were strangers, though maybe one day when they were back on Corsucant and this was a dim memory, he’d tell her everything.

Maybe Lucien would, if he knew. 

Past the makeshift town set up, presumably, for all the children who lacked parents which Elain found to be horrifying, was the operation of the mine. She saw the open door that led into the planet and just beside, a tall tower built of more basalt stone and a structure built atop the landscape that likely wound its way through the planet like tangled, bloodsoaked veins. 

“Ten minutes, Archeron. Don’t make me tell my brother I blew you up,” Eris said. Elain only nodded, straightening her spine and discarding her apron as she made her way to the tower.

“Shoot first,” Eris added, walking in step with her. “Ask questions later. They won’t share your mercy.” It was Eris who got them in—first with that charming, if not arrogant smile, and then with his blaster. He fired a round of shots, taking down several nosy guards and chattering droids. Elain wondered if she was becoming immune to the death, or if some part of her didn’t think Eris was justified. 

Each time a new body collapsed beside them, Elain only thought of those children stacked beneath the sun while others dug a grave. What was it like to be surrounded by so much death so young? She didn’t think she wanted to know, and she didn’t think she could empathize with Graysen any longer. Though she didn’t regret sparing his life, she didn’t think she’d be so quick to spare him a second time.

This was his dream—his empire, and it was built on the blood of innocents. 

“Go,” Eris hissed, wrenching open the control room. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

He vanished down a long hall illuminated in eerie red. Elain made her way toward the viewport, overlooking a factory filled with little people with even littler fingers operating conveyor belts and picking through tiny metal pieces. Bombs. They were building ion bombs. The Republic tightly controlled who had access to that sort of weapon and the Hybern Syndicate certainly wasn’t on that list. They were dangerous to construct, in part because one wrong move could blow up the entire facility.

And little fingers were likely far more adept and getting the pieces in place. 

Graysen had sold out the safety of the galaxy for credits. Would put dangerous technology in the hands of the worst sort of villainy and scum without batting an eye. It made her sick—it made her angry.

Elain had one particularly good skill, one she’d learned as a child who liked to eavesdrop. Elain could slice through tech like it was nothing, and given Graysen had so obviously tried to cut corners everywhere he could, the tech laid out before her wasn’t particularly advanced. With a few tapping buttons on a green and black screen, Elain managed to make her way into Graysen’s database and, with a little clever workarounds, sent every file straight to her eldest sister. There was no time to parse through and see what was useful and what was garbage or merely administrative. 

Elain hit the evacuation button the next second. She’d wasted a whole minute making sure there would be a traceable record of Graysen’s crimes, that testimony wouldn’t rely on her and Eris Vanserra. 

Nine minutes. Elain watched the conveyor belts shutter and the overseers barking orders, shoving through trembling bodies to ensure they were the first to leave. Elain reached for her blaster, wondering if it wasn’t justice to kill them right here simply for enforcing Graysen’s cruelty. 

She didn’t move. It was her job to get everyone out, and so she simply watched as more people than she’d first believed could exist in one large chamber began to climb up the rickety metal stairs. 

They had, by her estimation, five minutes to fully leave if they wanted to be far enough away that they weren’t taken out by the resulting aftershocks. 

There was a straggler. A little child who couldn’t have been older than three, turning circles and crying for her mother. She was dressed far better than everyone else, in a little dress of white and gold, and with the prettiest strawberry blonde hair that fell in little ringlet curls. She seemed new, and no one stopped to help. The child would have been easy enough to pick up, and yet when a passing overseer saw her, he merely shoved her to the ground and then kicked her aside with a heavy boot. 

It was too much. Elain pushed open the door on the opposite side of the control room, jogging down better made stairs and into the emptied chamber. Behind her, the sound of steps clambering up echoed through the stone, drowning out the wails despite how much closer Elain was to her now.

She reached the little girl just as loud sirens began to blare. Someone had caught Eris—she needed to leave. It would have been faster if she only had herself to worry about—faster, too. Elain scooped up the little girl, angling her on her hip. There was a bruise just beneath the child's eye socket, and when Elain squeezed at her ribs, more tears fell down chubby little cheeks. Her tawny skin was tear stained and filthy, though her dress didn’t seem to be in too bad of shape.

“You’re okay,” she said as the little girl looked up with the greenest pair of eyes Elain had ever seen in her life. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I want my mommy,” she told Elain. Elain had no idea who that person was, but if she was alive, Elain would reunite them. 

She said, “I know,” which seemed to pacify the child just enough to cling to her neck, face buried in Elain’s unraveling hair.

Up they went, back to that control room. Elain knew the way out from there, had thought Eris had bought her enough of a distraction there would be nothing keeping her from getting out.

She was wrong. 

Graysen, bruised and bloodied and angrier than she’d ever seen him, held a blaster in her face the moment she returned to the control room. Elain managed to keep the door open, flung out to the hinges so she had a quick way to escape if she needed to. The child held tighter, and Elain wondered if she’d seen this all before. 

“Baby,” Graysen whispered, his teeth stained red. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“This is wrong, Gray,” Elain replied, her heart pounding in her chest. “Ion bombs? Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of it!” he snapped, his easy patience slipping into hot fury. “What is the difference between the Republic using it to keep the planets in line or anyone else? People still die, don’t they?”

Elain sighed heavily, backing toward the open space behind her. Graysen shook the blaster back and forth in a mockery of no. “Where are you going, baby? Your little friend has this place rigged to the heavens. If you run back down, you’ll die in the collapse.”

Graysen’s eyes slid to the child, a strange smile spreading over his lips. “How funny, that Eris Vanserra would condemn his own child to such a terrible death.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re the one who stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. I let you go, Elain. You should be thanking me, and yet here you are, still making a mess of my life!”

“You swore to protect the galaxy—!”

“I lied!” Graysen all but roared, drawing a whimpering cry from the child still wrapped in Elain’s arms. “I lied, just like everyone else when they took that ridiculous, antiquated oath! You cannot police the galaxy, Elain.”

His finger slid over the trigger. Eyes squeezed shut, her hearing half lost to the distant sirens, Elain waited for a blast that should have come. She heard it discharge, and yet there was no pain, nothing but her own frantic heart…and a broad hand on her shoulder. 

Lucien towered just behind, blaster in hand. “I can police the galaxy you dumb fuck,” Lucien said a mere second before his shot went off. Graysen’s wide eyes were the last thing Elain saw before he crumpled to the ground, his fine black tunic spreading a slow stain against his chest.

“C’mon,” Lucien said, glancing at the child she held. “We need to go now.”

“How did you get here?” she asked as Lucien traded her. He took the child in one arm and thrust a vibrodagger—illegal, though she wasn’t about to comment on that now—into her hands. 

“Luck,” Lucien replied, grinning like this was all just another fun adventure. Did he know he was holding his niece? “I saw the cantina, I thought—”

They burst into the sunshine and ought to have been stopped by a tall man with dark eyes staring with such hatred.

“Elain—” She lunged, plunging that dagger straight into his throat. Not today. Not when they were already so close. Eris had told her to shoot first, ask questions later. Wasn't that what this was? Blood sprayed over her hands, her face, her clothes. 

Lucien merely gaped, eyes wide. “Do you know who that was?”

“No one the galaxy will miss,” was her icy response. Someone who would have been fine to let more children die if it personally enriched them. 

“That was Hybern himself,” Lucien murmured, trailing after her with clear admiration. 

Elain didn’t care.

“Good riddance.”

LUCIEN:

After he found Elain alive and clutching a child that, as it turned out, belonged his deviant brother, everything felt like a blur. Arina had cut down any opposition and Eris had managed to bring down the gates. He never once thought of Eris as a rebel or a hero, but watching the people of Florrum flood the little yurt city and take their revenge made Lucien think Eris was cut from the same cloth he was.

Made carefully by their mothers loving hands. 

There had been no bombs, which annoyed Elain a little. Eris hadn’t apologized, taking the child from Lucien and clutching her as though it had been Elain who’d stolen her from him. And when Arina arrived with a matching set of eyes, Lucien knew better than to ask any questions regarding what had happened between his brother and the Jedi. Tamlin, too, had come with a small armada and some rather unkind words about how they'd fucked his entire undercover operation. Lucien found he didn't care much about that, either. 

Some things, he supposed, were better left unanswered. Eris, for his part, didn’t seem angry—only relieved.

Lucien echoed that sentiment, hustling Elain back to his ship and then into his lap long after he’d punched the coordinates for Coruscant. 

Another week alone—and then her sister, and the Senate, and real life. He didn’t want to go back to any of it, wasn’t ready to hear her tell him all the reasons why would never work. So that first night, Lucien merely climbed into the tiny little bed, lost to the dark and the humming engines, and tried to settle his anxious mind. 

It wasn’t until they’d both cleaned the blood and grime off of them a second time, and the events of Florrum had settled softly in the background, that Lucien dared to broach the topic.

Twisting at the ring on his finger while Elain sat in the co-pilot chair, her legs folded beneath her while she stared at her data pad, he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

She glanced over, her expression paling. “Oh?”

“About when we return to Coruscant. About us.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “What were you thinking, Lucien?”

“That you should move in with me.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Not exactly. Elain’s eyes flew open, her mouth shaped like a soft oh. Kriffing stars, but he’d messed it all up. With nowhere to go, Lucien hastily added, “Because I’m in love with you.”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, either, though he needed to. “I thought you died back there…I thought—” he sucked in a breath of air. “I don’t want to give you up. And I know my life is chaotic and a mess but I can make this work. I want to make it work, because I’m so in love with you I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I—”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, fingers twisting in her lap. “But Lucien, I…my life is boring. Its meetings and policy and late nights in the office. You’ll get bored—”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “You have no idea how nice that sounds, how good it would be to come home to a little quiet.”

He didn’t mention the constant ringing in his ears, how loud noises made him jumpy. Nor did he tell her that the adrenaline eventually wore off, and Lucien had long learned to stop chasing after it. It only occurred to Lucien, after a moment of silent contemplation, the rest of what she’d said.

“You love me?”

Elain blinked. “Of course I do. And I can’t move in with you, Lucien.” His heart sank. He ought to have expected that and still he’d been unprepared for the gut punching disappointment that flooded through him.

“You’ll have to move in with me,” she continued, blithely unaware she’d run him through the full gamut of emotions in the span of a few seconds. “I have a much larger apartment and truthfully, I don’t want to give it back to Nesta. It belongs to our family and she moved in with Cassian without thinking. So I think, if we’re going to do this, you ought to move in with me.”

Pissing off General Archeron and living with his dream woman? “Done,” Lucien said breathlessly. “I’ll start packing the second we get back.”

“The second?” she asked, her voice sweetly suggestive. “Maybe it could wait a couple hours?”

“Oh?” Lucien shifted in his chair. “What did you have in mind?”

Because he was imagining taking her to the temple and marrying her before Nesta got a hold of his neck. Judging from the look on her face, Elain wasn’t thinking marriage—not yet, anyway.

He could work her into it, though.

Just as soon as he took her back to bed.

After all—Lucien had the time. 

[scrapsofthought]

Justice for Rikako

Psycho Pass swiftly became one of my long lasting hyper fixations and has stretched my world view with its masterful attention to detail and strong philosophical musings. I find something new to linger on each time I rewatch it (6 times so far, but who’s counting?). But with each viewing, the same thought sticks in my craw: They did Rikako dirty.

Rikako Oryo is a teenage boarding school student attending a school specifically designed to protect and shelter young girls so that their psycho pass can never be contaminated by the outside world. She is angry at the world and at her father, a once great artist who succumbed to Eustress Deficiency Disorder after the installation of the Sibyl System rendered his message obsolete. She is taking out this anger by killing her classmates and posing their bodies in grim recreations of her father’s work.

When she describes her motives, she is clear and articulate about the message she wants to send: The girls at this school are being molded into nothing more than dolls neatly packaged for marriage. They could have become anything and yet “their fate is the most inconsequential of all.” 

However, this scene is quickly contrasted by Kougami’s profiling of this mysterious new killer. He deems Rikako’s work as being unoriginal and sterile, because it is recreating her father’s work, it is missing the biting wit of the previous plastination murders, and because she used the same park twice to showcase her crimes. Rikako says right before this that she wants as many people as possible to see her message, but Kougami dismisses the validity of her approach when he declares the murders don’t “have anything to say, at least no message [he] can make sense of.”

Throughout the narrative, we’re primed to trust Kougami’s intuition, perception, and profiling. His assessments of other criminals before and after this arc prove time and again to be right on the money. Yet, by putting these two scenes next to each other, I’m left in a rare position of being uncertain of what the show is trying to say. By having Rikako bare her heart before Kougami’s cold assessment that there is no message, is the show saying that Kougami is fallible after all? Or is his profile supposed to render her message invalid, because it is unrefined and she has not yet found her own voice? What insight does Kougami really have into the hearts of teenage girls? And do we not first learn to make art by emulating what we see around us? 

Furthermore, Rikako is used as nothing more than a plaything by Makishima and then quickly discarded once he becomes fixated on Kougami. We can see his growing disdain for her as she insists on continuing to kill the girls at her school even as the noose of the police is tightening around her. He ultimately judges that her motives are too pedestrian for his lofty goals and since she does not see the error of her ways, she cannot be reasoned with. But imagine if he actually acted as the mentor he positioned himself to be and taught her rather than tested her. If his whole deal is to test the value of the human soul and free will, he could have taught her how to live freely and to find her own voice. 

The more times I yell these questions at the tv, the more I come back to the same thought: the show didn’t know what to do with a villain like Rikako. She could have been developed into a truly unique and groundbreaking character, but sadly she falls into a familiar trap. Everyone hates teenage girls. Their thoughts and interests are invalid and they should not be listened to. And like so many other female characters, I mourn for what she could have been.