#interact with the sight a little BEFORE putting a target on your back

[thesleepypencil]

Ryan Reynolds first mistake was announcing himself.

Entered a circus full of clowns In a brand new suit and asking to be pied energy.

[yesimwriting]

Purpose

“This is the fic I talked about here

Summary: Episode 3 was too beautiful for me not to write a fic where bill’s letter makes joel think about reader 

anyways this isn’t an exact recreation of the episode,, it’s more about location and the vibes of the episode

----

The words won’t stop echoing in his head. Again and again, a round of bullets bouncing around in his mind, desperate for a target to pierce. Bill’s letter was written in anything but malice, yet it still manages to pry into Joel, get under his skin the way nothing has in a long time. 

Purpose. Saving, taking care of who’s worth it. The mention of Tess. The way his mind keeps floating to you. 

He shouldn’t. You haven’t been around long enough to even scratch at the surface of what Bill and Frank had. He knows that, but his mind won’t stop weaving the sentiment in Bill’s words to all the bits of you he knows. The tempo of them matches the sound of your laugh, the emotion behind them tethers itself to the tugging feeling that lingers in his chest whenever you tilt your head and look at him with those eyes when pitching something he’d instinctually say ‘no’ to.

It’s never a form of manipulation, either. It’s always teasing, always pushing in good humor, always innocent. You never take advantage, never try to. He doesn’t even think you know that you have that specific look. One person worth saving. 

There’s a soft creaking of floorboards. Joel turns his head instinctually, body stiffening in an instinctual preparation for the worst. Oh. His eyes find you and his stance instinctually eases. “Guys.” You’re more excited than you want to seem, completely unaware of the thoughts in his head. “They have hot water.” 

Ellie recovers faster than he can. For a brief second, Joel feels a pang of something oddly close to jealousy at her ability to interact casually. “No, shit--really?” 

“Really,” you confirm, “Does anyone want the first shower or can I steal it?” 

Turning her head, Ellie briefly looks like she’s considering asking for it instead, but then her eyes flit back to Joel. He’s staring, a little more out of it than she’s yet to see him. There’s something bordering on awkward in the way that he’s watching you. 

Oh. The realization finally hits Ellie. A hot shower would be amazing, but putting it off for a little will definitely be worth this. “I’m okay with that.”

You nod in her direction with a quick mumble of appreciation before turning your eyes to focus on Joel. You’re not doing the plead-y thing. His thoughts swell. Of course you’re just waiting patiently for an answer, genuinely willing to give up the first shower spot that you could have just taken. 

“Joel?” 

Shit. He hasn’t responded. “Ye--” It’s a small sound that’s not quite a word that Joel quickly disguises by clearing his throat. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Ellie’s eyes are burningly obvious. Even if you didn’t notice, Joel’s never hearing the end of it from that kid. 

You lean against the doorway. “You good?” 

“Fine,” now he’s replying too quickly, “Just--Bill said a lot more to me than he ever has.” Great. His second mistake. The last thing he needed to do was hint at emotion, the one thing guaranteed to sway you away from the promise of a hot shower. “If you ask me about my feelings you’re losing your first shower spot and I’ll run the sink until it’s icy.” 

You cross your arms in front of your chest. “You wouldn’t, Miller.” 

“Try me.” 

He can feel your eyes burn through him, can sense the way you see through his shit. You don’t push, you just straighten your stance, “Fine, you’ll only have that threat until I’m out of that shower.” 

Joel keeps his expression flat. “Plenty of time for me to think of a new one.” 

“Looking forward to it.” 

 When you disappear out of his line of sight, his breathing improves and worsens all at once. Joel curses the ridiculousness of it. Sure, there were certain thoughts when he was around you before the letter, but this is something else. Something he needs to get over fast.

He lets his eyes drop towards Ellie and he takes her grin as the gut punch it is. “I’ve never seen you shy--it’s cute.” 

“Don’t.” 

She doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be influenced by the gruffness of his voice. “Don’t what?” 

The false innocence in Ellie’s tone isn’t worth engaging with. Joel glares, turning to leave the room before anything else can be said. 

----

Leave it to the end of the world to teach someone how to appreciate the little things. A lifetime of warm showers with a guarantee of water that could hold the temperature long enough for someone to really feel clean and Joel doesn’t think he’s ever understood the world of good a shower could do someone until now. 

You had been diligent, worried about taking up the time and heated water from anyone else, but when you stepped out of the bathroom, hair still wet, Joel practically forgot how to look you in the eye. It’s not that the shower changed you completely, though clean and safe is a good look on you, it’s that it made things feel normal. The kind of normal that would take nothing to slip into and turn to habit.

He had practically ducked out of the room when Ellie told him to go ahead since he so clearly needs a shower more than she does. It felt like the beginning of some kind of scheme, but there was nothing he could say with you in the room. So what if Ellie makes a comment or two? That doesn’t mean she knows anything. It’s not like Joel...he doesn’t. He can’t. Not with you. 

As he showers, he thinks of not thinking. Focuses on dislodging those thoughts from his mind. The echo of Bill’s words hold firm as they merge with memories of you. 

What makes a person worth taking care of so completely? Does the worthiness come from kindness or personal attachment or some natural, intrinsic quality? 

It doesn’t matter. No matter how many times he runs through all the potential categories, Joel knows who always fits it. 

“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Ellie’s voice snaps him out of that train of thought. Before Joel can reply, she turns, “Don’t you think so?” 

You blink, Joel briefly debates locking Ellie in some other room until it’s time to go. You take your time glancing over at him. “Yeah.” It’s been too long since things that mattered in the past have come up for him. He isn’t used to being overly aware of his appearance. The strangeness of it is daunting. “Joel’s the prettiest.” 

A cop out enough answer. It’s an easy way to appease Ellie and keep from turning something casual into something weird. Joel mentally scolds himself for being surprised. What else could he have expected? That you’d immediately jump to describe your opinions on his appearance? 

There’s no way that would have been a particularly good thing. He may not be as aware of his appearance as he was before the world changed, but he knows that he’s both older than you and made up of tattered edges more akin to shards than anything else. 

Ellie starts to approach the doorway. “I’m gonna take a shower.” Maybe that will help Joel regain control of whatever ill timed spiral this is. Removing Ellie’s comments and sideways glances definitely won’t make things worse. “For at least 30 minutes.”

It’s said with a deliberate slowness and Joel can feel heat settle in his face. “Just go.”

She holds her hands up in mock defense before turning and finally leaving. Joel frowns at the realization that his mental tension doesn’t immediately vanish with her. 

You turn casually, “That was weird.” 

“She’s a kid,” he mumbles, “Kids are weird.” 

There’s not that much space between the two of you. A casual distance that could be destroyed by a few steps. It’s an impulse that burrows itself deep beneath his skin. Joel straightens to avoid giving into the need to be closer. 

“Yeah.” It’s a breath, casual and flat. Joel finds himself unexplainably grated by the sound. He’s not the kind of person that dwells on others. Especially not in this way. “You know what’d be fun?” 

Joel swallows at the easy transition. You walk past him and towards the wooden table top. He isn’t sure what your goal is until your fingers bend around a neck of a bottle of wine. There’s something particular about the way the corner of your mouth tugs upwards. Mischievous. 

“I-” He clears his throat again. “I’ve gotta drive.” You say nothing, but that touch of an almost pout and the goddamn head tilt. “We need to stay alert.” 

You let out a sigh, turning the bottle in your hand. “You’re going to get out-of-it drunk off of one glass of wine?” 

He can’t afford anything right now. “You might.”

“You’ve never seen me drink.” 

So much indignation. Joel fights against a grin. You’ve spent most of your adult life in a post-outbreak world. There likely hasn’t been much opportunity for you to build your tolerance. And at this point, he feels like he knows you, and nothing about your personality or general being indicates that you’d be able to handle your alcohol. 

Sure, he doesn’t think you’ll genuinely be drunk after one glass, but he also doesn’t believe you’ll stick to that. A light buzz here wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it’d be inefficient. An additional distraction that Joel is doing his best to keep from.

Joel sighs at the accusatory way you raise your eyebrows. “I can still tell.” 

You roll your eyes. “I should go through with it just because you said that.” He watches you set down the bottle.

The lack of protest hits him harder than it should. It was a small thing to ask for and there was such a genuineness in the way you introduced it. You know what’d be fun? Even your defense was framed innocently. You’ve never seen me drink. Like the whole idea was more about the two of you than the actual drinking. Like you’re friends more than you are just friendly. 

Once again, his mind latches back onto the letter. An element he doesn’t need in the air right now. “Y/n.”

“I said we didn’t have t--” Joel grabs the bottle and takes a quick sip before you can finish your sentence. The immediate half-laugh-half-scoff that follows makes it all worth it. “Classy.” 

He does all he can to keep from smiling, but he isn’t sure he’s fully successful. “Always have been.” 

It’s the stupid kind of joke that you and Ellie would have exchanged a look over. You two would have picked it a part, pointing out the evident laziness of it. Instead of that, you laugh again before pushing away from the counter. He’s still as you walk towards him. 

The entire thing is casual until your eyes meet his. Joel’s body instinctually locks into place. It’s a form of defense, of keeping this moment from shattering. Your hand moves forward slowly--or maybe you’re moving normally and everything just feels slow when you’re focusing on him like that--until it finds the bottle. The tip of your fingers brush against the back of his palm. 

For a second, that’s all that exists. All that matters. You squeeze the bottle and Joel lets you take it. “You know it’s hard to measure a single glass without the actual glass.” 

You set the bottle down and turn your attention towards finding any type of cup. Joel keeps quiet as you find the set of long stemmed wine glasses. You set out two of them and fill them each a little less than halfway. A reasonable amount. A controllable amount. 

Turning back to face him, you hand him a glass. 

“One glass.” 

Nodding once, you pick up your own. “One.” Extending your glass with no warning, you quickly clink them together. A soft cheers. 

----

About three glasses later. 

“...That doesn’t,” laughter, “make--make sense.” 

There’s no slurring, but the small giggles pressed sporadically throughout the single sentence cues Joel in on something he should have taken into consideration about two glasses ago. You’re tipsy. Not drunk or fully out of it, but buzzed in some sense of the word. Buzzed enough to not even pretend to follow on his comment that hadn’t really meant anything. 

Joel sighs, forcing a bit of annoyance into the sound. “Maybe not to you.” 

You pout without reservation. “That’s rude.” 

Reaching around him without any tact, you try to find the bottle. “That’s enough.” 

Joel can deal with how you are now, but any further could be risky. It’s not like the three of you are settling in this house. His hand finds its way to your wrist as you try to squirm back. It takes you less than a minute to still. Joel doesn’t pull away. A second longer. Just to be sure. 

He returns your hand to his side gently, easing you back into place by your wrist. “I’m not drunk.” 

There’s no argument in your voice, no protest or anything that gives any indication of your flat observation. The certainty in your voice settles against Joel’s skin like a second layer. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming from the same person that just couldn’t get through a sentence without being interrupted by a fit of laughter. 

Joel’s chin tilts downwards in a barely there nod that he trusts you to pick up on. “Never said you were.” The realization that he hasn’t let you go yet hits him with no warning. His pointer finger and thumb are still grasping your wrist. It’d be so easy to turn over your hand and let your palms meet. “We should keep it that way.” 

“I trust you.” You breath out the words reluctantly, like you’re annoyed by the truth of it. The casualness of your voice has to prove that you don’t mean anything by it. Smiling almost, you breeze past what you just said. “This is fun. I haven’t gotten wine buzzed sin--” The cut off is jarring, but Joel knows better than to push. “Awhile. Since Ruth.” 

A name that has only ever slipped out from time to time. Joel’s picked up on enough pieces to know that it’s sore subject. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know.” Your eyes feel distant, you’re going somewhere else now. “Ruth was like a grandmother to me. Sweetest old lady, tough as nails, too.” You laugh again, the sound sharply bittersweet. “She didn’t like being handled or taken care of, but she was getting a little older and she--she was developing some kind of early memory issue. One day we got into this warehouse and it was full of wine. So we drank and then...” Eyes practically glazing over, you angle your chin downwards. You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. “I don’t know how I didn’t know. She had been talking about not wanting to live in a world where she couldn’t remember her children or-or take care of herself, and she’d been struggling a little more.” Joel swallows once as you pause. “She waited until I fell asleep. Left a note saying she’d never be a burden.”  

Joel relaxes the fingers wrapped around your wrist and turns his palm outwards. You meet him half way, interlocking your fingers with his. It surprises him more than it should. 

There haven’t been many times in which Joel actively reflected and wished that he could be different in some way. It’s his ability to remain detached and distant from emotions that have allowed him to last. But if he were some other version of himself, he’d be able to say something insightful or sympathetic or maybe even kind. 

But he’s not, so after the second, the only thing he can manage to say is, “Sounds like the kind of person you’d care about.” 

It feels like a wrong reaction, and maybe it would have been for someone else, but you give no indication of being upset. You let out a sad kind of laugh. “You know, now that you mention it you do kind of fill the grumpy, old lady void in my life.” 

The implication of your joke should sting more than it does considering the mess of his train of thought today, but it tugs at something in him instead. “Funny.” 

“Just like Ruth would have said.” 

He sighs, too aware that his expression doesn’t project the right kind of annoyance. You’re smiling again, though, like you’re pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. It’s a reset, knowing that you’re feeling better and that in some way it’s because of him. 

It clicks then. Settles like the world after a storm. Joel understands. It’d be easy to build a life out of protecting someone. He sees how it’s the kind of purpose that can burn away the frayed edges of someone that seems to be made of them. 

“Y/n.” His throat feels dryer than he remembers it being. There’s an uncertainty in where to go next, but you feel the shift the same way he does. Joel sees it in the soft nod of your head. “Y’know what Bill said in his letter?” His eyes flit away from you, “’About purpose and...” 

You were exploring the home when Ellie read the letter, but you had picked it up and read about half of it before Joel took it back. It was a bit petty, but you didn’t press. It’s his business more than yours.

What you had read had gotten to you and you didn’t even know Bill and Frank. It must have Joel, even if he refuses to let it be obvious. “I know it must have been hard to hear, but it--what I did read sounded like a better way to live than most did even before.” The response fits you. Of course you’d see it. “Sorry, that was--that was probably overstepping. They were your...” You hesitate, unsure if friend or associate would be more fitting. “You knew them and--” 

“No,” he breathes, “You’re right.” Joel takes a moment to just look at you, to take in what it feels like to be standing somewhere safe, holding your hand. “It does sound like a good way to be.”

Joel doesn’t know what to take from your reaction. The way your eyes widen just enough to be noticeable. You didn’t expect that level of candor from him, especially not about something so close to feel-y. “You think it’s unrealistic?” 

Your question comes out almost hesitant. It’s the kind of thing you would have never asked if it hadn’t been for the wine. The way you clamp your mouth shut after speaking is evidence enough. 

There’s so much he could say to that, but nothing feels like it’d fit. “Not for you.” 

You smile again but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It isn’t for you, either.” Eyes briefly dropping, you tact on an almost shy, “If you wanted it. I know you’re...” Tilting your head in that one way that always gets under his skin, you settle on, “Most comfortable with what you know.”

Joel presses his lips together before correcting his expression into something more neutral. The sensation that he’s teetering on something twists at the air in his lungs. “You sayin’ I’m set in my ways?” 

Your amusement feels genuine again, free from whatever had been eroding at it before. His words are another step forward, an attempt at meeting you in the middle. “It’s not a bad thing.” When Joel raises his eyebrows, you let out a sigh. “You’ve said worse about me.”

He fights down a grin. “Doesn’t sound like me.” 

“Yeah, you’re a damn sweetheart.”

This time Joel lets himself react in the form of what’s almost a laugh. “That’s more like it.” Your eyes soften and there’s a warmth there that Joel doesn’t know how to hold onto. It melts at a part of him he didn’t think existed. It’s dangerous, more risky than the wine. “Do you think you’d--you want that?” 

You blink and Joel can find no way to blame you for your hesitance. The question was blurted out so haphazardly, so unlike what it is and now it’s looming over the both of you. 

Your mind is racing in a way you can’t justify. It’s not the question, but the way it came out of Joel, coated in a layer of hesitance that practically felt nervous in a way that doesn’t suit him. “Yeah.” The single syllable is so low it almost feels like a secret. “I--I think I do.” It’s surprising to you. “You said it yourself--it’s a good way to be. I’m sure for some people, it’d even be peaceful.” 

Joel’s jaw briefly locks at that last part. “And if it’s someone that can’t give you that last part?” 

The hollowness of the question startles you out of your initial reaction. The words alone would have been fine if they felt less raw. Your mind can’t wrap around them this way. “I uh--I’d probably be the unpeaceful one.” You don’t think you can describe it in a way that anyone would understand. “Caring about anyone that openly and trusting them to do the same...I don’t think I’d be a natural at that.” 

You don’t want to dwell on your words or the honesty of them, so you move on the only way you can think to: “What about you?” 

He should have known that you’d ask. He should have thought through some kind of response that wouldn’t leave him exposed. Then again, maybe that was the point of leading you here. Bill and Frank were here one day and now they’re not. 

“Y/n...” You’re silent, waiting patiently for the end of his sentence. There’s so much to say that none of it can come out. It traps itself in his throat. Too much about the day he first met you, the first time he heard you laugh, the first night when Ellie fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, the fact that knowing you’re okay could fix practically anything. “I don’t know why I’m still here and I’m not too sure Bill was right about me, but I...” The words jam in on themselves and Joel takes it as an opportunity to drag his thumbs across your knuckles like this might be his last chance to do so. “I think you might be part of it.”

The lack of immediate response twists at his stomach. Joel moves to take his hand back and at the last second you snap back into reality. You squeeze his hand, pulling him back towards you. “Joel...” You’re watching him so intently Joel needs to do something. He steps forward. “Are you--are you saying--” 

Sometimes action comes more naturally than words. Joel knows that, knows the familiarity of jumping into something when there’s nothing left. He moves his hand up your arm and settles it on your shoulder. His other hand brushes against your cheek. He pauses long enough to give you a chance to protest. You don’t. 

Closing the distance between you is a snap of everything into place. He can’t remember the last time something felt so natural. You melt into him, fitting into place like you’ve always been there. 

You’re warm enough to melt through all of his reservations. Joel places a hand on your side, pulling you even closer. It could be an eternity or it could only be a few seconds. You start pulling back first, Joel chases after you, grazing his teeth against your bottom lip.

You move back only enough to breathe, but you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. “Joel.” You want to tell him you get it now and that you agree. That you’d come back to this again and again. That he’s your purpose. “It’s you.” 

It’s the only thing you can say, but that’s okay. You trust him to understand.

----

Taglist: @ciniluv

[harufluff]

txt as romantic tropes

warnings - cursing, breaking up??, let me know if there's any more.

wc - 2.6k (all together)

genre - txt x fem!reader (individually written), established and un-established relationship aus, idol au and non-idol au, angst and fluff

yeonjun

bully turned lover

honestly high school felt like another lifetime. your entire high school experience was mostly just you trying to get through all your classes and get into a good collage. sadly there isn't a high school experience without some downs. choi yeonjun. your high school bully. popular as he was, he wasn't necessarily the nicest guy around. you would never in any universe consider him a friend or anything more.

girls would swoon over him and his good looks, but you saw right through that. little did you know that made you a target for him. the constant words being thrown at you by himself and his friends, the ongoing harassment. obviously high school was not a great couple of years for you.

thankfully after graduation, you decided to take a couple of years off before college. just have fun and be an adult. dating is naturally part of that "adult experience". over the time you were out of school you decided to go on some randomly scheduled dates. whether they be from online dating, or set ups from friends.

anyway back to real time, cute cafe date with some guy you thought was nice on some random dating site. honestly it wasn't that fun, but at least you could get a coffee and not look lonely.

'i'm gonna go get a few napkins ok?'

your date asks you while beginning to sit up. you nod with a small smile. you take your phone out while he walks around to the front counter and asks the employee for napkins. your about to put your phone away, when there is a light tap to your shoulder.

'uhm...l/n y/n?'

your head turns around at the sound of your name being called by a familiar voice. you turn your head to see choi yeonjun. your high school bully in the flesh.

'y-yeonjun?'

your eyes grow wide at the sight of him. you briefly exchange simple "how have you been"'s and "what brings you hear"'s. to which you answer that you're on a date, and he tells you he was just in the area and wanted a drink.

'uhm...i just wanted to say, that i was a jerk in high school towords you. i really am sorry. i had always thought it was cool of me to be acting like that, but i realized after we graduated how stupid i was."

yeonjun continued his entire apology speech to you before you stopped him and asked him what the point of this was, while also thanking him.

'i was wondering, i-if you were free tomorrow?'

you smiled at his gesture and accepted his invitation. you simply gave him your number and he promised to text you when he got the chance. you smiled at him as he walked away. as your date came back he asked,

'who was that?'

'a friend.'

soobin

rejected to lovers

today was the day he was gonna do it. soobin was gonna confess his feelings to you. he knew he had a small chance of you feeling the same way. but he had confidence! confidence that you would like him too.

the cocky side of soobin coming out, he thought that you could like him. he was good looking, a sophmore like you, good personality, polite, and he was never rude or imposing.

so here he was, standing out in the courtyard, holding a flower out to you. his head was down and his eyes were closed, in hopes you wouldn't see him embarrassment. your eyes are wide, and mouth is slightly agape. you look down at the flower in his hands.

'uhm...i'm sorry, but...i don't feel the same way."

soobin looked back up with you, before bowing once again, handing you the flower, and running away to somewhere you don't know. honestly you didn't know what happened from there. you didn't interact with him as much after that.

--------

ahh finally. senior year was here. the years prior went by fast. stressful assignments that are finally done and gone, the long hours of studying for a test are finally over with, and hopeless relationships that you initiated, and one that you didn't, and declined.

oh yeah. you remember that, when a boy you had liked in middle school confessed his feelings to you in the courtyard with a flower in hand. every since that day, you had thought about it more and more. sometimes you still wonder why you declined. sometimes you wondered if you lost feelings, or were just too oblivious to realize.

honestly, deep down you know if you said yes that day everything would change. maybe you did have a crush on him now, but you knew he wouldn't take you back after that. damn it he probably hates you!

--------

soobin was on your mind every freakin day. literally there was nothing you could look out without thinking about him. fuck it. you were gonna at least write him a note telling him you liked him and you were sorry. save yourself the embarrassment of being rejected face to face. damn it. that's what he you did to him...

at that realization you screwed the note, ran to his house after 7th period and prepared yourself for rejection, because goddammit you knew what was about to happen.

you rung the doorbell of his home, and for some reason was surprised to see your classmate there, uniform still on, hair shaggy, and a surprised expression prominently taking over his face.

'h-hey, y/n. uhm, what are you doing at my house...?'

your face mirrored his when he asked that simple question.

'i just wanted to say i'm sorry for sophomore year. i don't know what i was thinking when i said that. to be honest with you i was pretty much in love with you all of middle school and probably now too, i'm just too much of an idiot to realize that until now.'

you rambled out. his mouth with now in an "o" shape. what the heck did he just hear??! his crush of two plus years is literally confessing to him that she's been in love with him since middle school?!

'ok then. let's start over. hi, im choi soobin, and i'm in love with you too'

(sorry this one was a bit confusing :/)

beomgyu

other side personality shown

the world knew beomgyu as the meme of an idol. the happy go lucky mood maker member of txt. that wasn't how you knew him though. you knew him as the caring, well thought out guy who casually told you he liked you a couple of years prior.

you knew him as the chill guy who you met on some dating sight, fell in love with, and found out he was an idol. honestly that didn't change anything for you though. if anything it made your trust for him better.

the fact that he was able to continue talking to you while also having the responsibility of being an idol and keeping something from you that he shouldn't be throwing around on a dating website.

you saw the smart man behind the outgoing personality he had with his friends. the calm and relaxed romance was always the guy you saw when you opened the door.

'hey.'

beomgyu said with a sweet smile on his lips. he was pretty much beaming, but in a different way than he does with his friends. with his friends its a constant mischievous smirk. with you its a look of love and admiration.

'hey gyu.'

for the rest of the night you sat in each other comfort and the silent night outside you window. thanks to your boyfriends busy schedule, these rare times where you can be together in the kitchen and make ramen are precious.

so here you are standing at the stove stirring the ramen and adding in the powder to the mix, while beomgyu is washing the dishes that were still sitting in the sink from the other night when he was over.

'its done!!'

you say happily turning around and proudly pointing to the ramen on the counter. he snaps his head around and dips his head down to smell the comforting ramen smell. but before standing back up to his level he leaves a quick peck on your lips.

'sorry. i had to'.

his playful side coming out, you smile and decide to peck his lips back. with that small interaction between lovers, he drops the towel in his hands and brings you closer by your hips. his head turns to the side as he sweetly kisses you.

with you there was no competition. no constant need to be better than his hyungs. obviously you love everside of the guy, but this special side that only you get to see is by far your favorite.

taehyun

oblivious x oblivious

'HE LIKES YOU WHY DON'T YOU REALIZE IT.'

was what your best friend was currently yelling at you. she was always on your back about your love life even though you told her not to. but there's no way to stop the people who care about you.

well anyway, she was talking about taehyun. you had known him since senior year when he transferred to your school and became a prominent part of your friend group.

he was never someone you would hang out with unless it was with someone else too. your friend group was pretty mixed, so multiple grades and girls and boys.

naturally that led to some crushes, which led to gushy relationships along with heartbreaks. you didn't want any part of that. and neither did taehyun.

'he doesn't like me.'

you answer turning your head and smiling to yourself. why does she push so hard. he doesn't like you and that's just it. end of conversation.

'boo'

you hear from the back of you. you flinch slightly at the cold hands being placed on your shoulders. fuck it was him. did he hear you? did he care? i guess he would have said something but whatever.

'oh hi...'

you say quietly as if you're trying to hide from him. he smiles at your small interaction.

'OH TAEHYUN!! we were just talking about-'

you clapped your hand around her mouth in order to stop the information from coming out. damn it, if you let her say one more thing your cover would be blown.

taehyun simply stood there then smiled and look at his feet.

'ok then, well i better get going. see you y/n'

you nodded and said your goodbyes as well. she gave you a look of disappointment and a hint of side eye. to be honest you felt the same way. maybe if you had just let it play out he it would have worked out. it doesn't matter anyway he doesn't like you.

'WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU'

your friend says right after you lift your hand gently from her mouth. you look at her with a blank look.

'why don't either of you realize you like each other.'

normally in moments like this you would defend your understanding, that he doesn't feel the same way. but this time was different. you were so close to even the slightest chance of being with him. but you let it slip away.

you look down at your feet before turning around on your heel and walking in the direction taehyun did. you didn't look back, but you knew by the silence that your friend was smiling.

'taehyun!!'

you yell while waving your hand to get his attention. he turns around from where he stood a good 10 feet away from you. you stopped in your tracks and made eye contact with him. neither of you moved in that moment that felt like it was just to two of you.

'i like you!!'

you yell, closing your eyes, too scared of what the outcome will be. maybe he would walk away and not say anything. maybe he will come up to you and tell you you're weird. maybe he'll just flat out reject you.

you open your eyes to the feeling of big, warm hands cupping your cheeks. your eyes blink open and you see his tall, broad figure standing above you.

'i like you too'

huening kai

opposites attract

he was everything you didn’t want. he was exactly the opposite of what you wanted in someone to be a relationship in with.

kai was crazy and loud, and had little to none idea what he was doing half of the time. or at least that’s what you thought.

on the other hand, you were exactly what he didn’t want. you weren’t someone to go out on midnight dates just for the fun of it. not the type of person to have flour fights with in the kitchen.

why the fuck would he want you then? well, guess your friends thought otherwise when they set you up together on a blind date.

the look of astonishment on your face when you saw him walk through the door of she semi nice restaurant one of your friends left you at.

eyes widened, mouth agape slightly. you were kinda pissed if you don’t say so yourself. he simply stood there with a smirk on his face as he walked towards you, knowing full well this wasn’t gonna work out.

‘hey.’

you look down and reply quietly with another hello. what the fuck were you doing here. you knew this wasn’t a good idea. it was a horrible one to be honest. your thoughts continued to run wild until his voice stopped you.

‘well, how about we just enjoy the night and tell our friends it went great, but we still don’t like each other.’

‘sounds good.’

you answered with another short reply. throughout the night went on, you noticed things about him. the small mole on the side of his neck, even the way he talked when he got exited.

you also learned things about him like, he stays up late playing games, and that his love for plushies is never ending, and he even pointed out that he doesn’t normally like people more down to earth like you, but he didn’t enjoy your company.

maybe after tonight you didn’t hate him so much anymore. as soon as it came, the end came as well. you paid the check and walked out of the restaurant maybe a little closer than you used to.

you said your goodbyes and started to walk back in the direction of your home, still thinking about how much fun you had.

sure it was just a simple dinner date, but you had more fun in that night than you did all week. maybe he wasn’t so different from you.

‘wait!!’

you hear being screamed from behind you. you turn around with a questioning look on your face as you stopped and started as he started jogging to where you were.

‘can i get your number?’

you stared at him with wide eyes as you contemplated what was happening.

‘please?’

a smile started to seep through your lips as you giggled at his delayed politeness. you nod enthusiastically and pass him your phone with the text screen open for him to fill in his number. he passes his phone in return.

god he’s so cute, you think to yourself. why did he have to be so different?

‘so, i know we’re different people, but i would really like to see you again soon. honestly, i really like you.’

he says, his head held down while handing you back your phone you you handing him back his.

‘i would like that.’

©️harufluff 2023

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated

haruka rants - i tried to use less common tropes. also thank you for continuing to support me even thought i haven’t been active as much lately. i haven’t been feeling very motivated to write.

[saruman-the-silly]

Life ain't fun without a little flame

tags: sodo x gn!reader, some mild swearing! friends to lovers yay, two idiots in love more like, fluffy

You had been hired as a stage manager for Ghost, which meant you were checking that everything was going smoothly before the gigs. When you first started, the ghouls had been a bit hesitant about you. After all, you were human and usually most humans didn't take the whole "Satanic church with literal ghouls from hell" lightly.

All the hesitation disappeared soon though, when after sound check, you had approached Sodo and begun making small talk.

"Hi! I'm the new stage manager here and just wanted to say, E-string is a bit flat, thought you'd wanna know." He scoffed, and grabbed his tuner. Turns out, you were right. Sodo shook his head, and looked at you. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing really, just wanted to chat and maybe get to know you guys a bit. It's gonna be a long tour so, yeah!"

Sodo, being Sodo, thought you were being weird but quickly realized you were actually pretty fun company. He enjoyed your odd sense of humour, because he also had a weird sense of humour.

Sodo was definitely not the one to chat about with stage crew, and Swiss was gaping at the interaction with his mouth open, before Rain pulled him away.

"Did you see that?? He fucking SMILED AND LAUGHED WITH THEM?" Swiss grinned at Rain. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS-"

"SHH, yeah I know, Sodo hasn't really laughed in like a decade but shut it now or he'll hear you and bite your arm off!" Rain slapped Swiss' shoulder.

Swiss was, of course, right as always and everyone else except you and Sodo noticed it over time. Sodo wasn't really much of a talker, but with you beside him? You had conversations that lasted many hours, only stopping at midnight when one of you fell asleep. One time, you had been talking till very late at night, and you had fallen asleep against Sodo's shoulder.

When he noticed, he smiled and gently carried you to your room. Of course, Swiss saw you and now would not stop pestering Sodo about it.

---------

"SHUT THE FUCK UP NOW will you Swiss, I do not want to hear it-" Sodo crashed into the ghouls den, Swiss following right after him.

"NO I WILL NOT SHUT UP WHEN ARE YOU GONNA TELL THEM-"

"Tell who what?" Your voice rang out, stopping both Swiss and Sodo abruptly.

"Uhhhhhhh-" They both stood there, with their mouths open.

"Sodomostdefinitelyhasacrushonyoubuthe'stoodumbtosayitoutloudokayBYE-" Swiss ran out the room, just barely avoiding the ball of fire Sodo aimed at his head. Sodo cursed to himself, and tried looking anywhere but where you stood.

"You- You have a crush on.. me?" You whispered.

"Stupid Swiss, always sticking his nose in stuff where it doesn't belong- okay, yeah might as well get it out now, I do have a crush on you okay? I'll get over it in like a few weeks, it is not going to disrupt our friendship-" You gently grabbed his hand, and Sodo looked at your smiling face.

"I never thought someone as cool as you are would like me back honestly," You grinned and squeezed his hand. Sodo scoffed:

"What do you mean by that, you are literally the coolest person I know you idiot," Sodo booped you on the nose. You smiled and wrapped your arms around him, embracing him tightly. The moment was calm and peaceful, until-

"NOW KISS YOU IDIOTS-" was followed by some more screaming from Swiss, Sodo's fireball had finally hit its target. You giggled at the sight of Swiss running away with his helmet on fire, while Sodo grinned.

He gently brought your lips to his, capturing them in a gentle kiss. After a moment you pulled away, only to hear Swiss screaming at Rain and Rain trying to put out the fire. You both cracked up, and soon you were both rolling on the floor with laughter.

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

this has been rotting away in my drafts for like months now, but I finished it ayy go me

as always, thanks for reading <3

[theboywithburninghands]

So I finally got it done, yet another Funnybunny piece. the longest one I think. But I have to confess that this one is a little bit lighter on the romance, since I worry a bit about the formula getting stale. But the upside to this is that I actually got to include all six performers this time. This one is more of my own personal headcanons about what kind of music the cast enjoys, but the Funnybunny enthusiasts will get your food if you pay attention throughout and stick around 'til the end. Also it's semi-interactive; there's a ton of links to outside media in the text, and it's all links to music. If a line is underlined, it's a link to a song. Okay, shutting up now, enjoy. The Jitterbug

Dinner time after another adventure. The Performers were all gathered at the table, picking at their food. It was one of the rare moments of awkward silence between the six of them. The adventure that day hadn’t been anything particularly noteworthy… well, for Caine anyway. It was music themed, a romp through a lush theater populated by anthropomorphic instruments. The goal was to track down the six missing members of the grand orchestra and bring them to the stage within an hour long time limit. The intention was to have the group split up and find each band member individually, a plan which would have gone swimmingly if Gangle had been able to persuade her target to return. She found herself too meek to tell the guy to come with her, which, if it hadn’t been for some timely intervention from Jax, may have cost them the adventure. They were “treated” to a performance by the grand orchestra of instrument people, which consisted mostly of improv and a few subpar renditions of classical pieces. They played Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, although they only managed to pull off “Spring” before scrapping the rest for being “too boring” and moving onto an improv piece. Said piece sounded like someone instructed the orchestra to play The William Tell Overture before putting said orchestra on a bus and driving it off a cliff. The performers’ ears were still ringing after the cacophony of noise, and thus weren’t particularly in a conversational mood. 

Gangle: Mmmgh… eh- Gangle appeared to be struggling to hold her fork. There was a crude double knot in her ribbon right about where her hand would be, and it prevented her from gripping her fork hard enough to stab into her digital pot roast. She managed to spear one prong onto a piece of meat, but it fell with an almost comical plop onto the edge of the table before dropping out of sight beneath her chair. Gangle: *whine of defeat* 

Pomni looked at Jax, who was watching Gangle struggle with minor amusement. The purple rabbit met her gaze and his faint smirk disappeared. 

Jax: What?

Pomni: You know what. *she points at him, then at Gangle with her fork*

Jax gave an exaggerated sigh and got out of his chair, slinking to Gangle’s side and taking her ribbon with the knot in it. 

Jax: Hold still, Crybaby. *he takes the knot between his fingers and undoes it*

Gangle: …Uh… thank you, Jax. *she experimentally curls the ribbon around, it’s undamaged*

Pomni: Is there anything else you wanted to say to Gangle?  

Jax: Wanted to say? No. 

Pomni shot him an exasperated glare. Jax sighed and turned back to Gangle without looking her in the eyes. 

Jax: *speaking rapidly and insincerely* Gangle, I’m sorry I used you as rope to tie up the last band member. *looks at Pomni* There, we happy? 

Pomni: Are you okay, Gangle? Gangle: Oh… um… yeah! I’m okay, uh… I-I’ve been in worse… binds. Eheheh… uh… I’m okay. 

Pomni motions Jax back to his seat. The rabbit plods back to his spot at the table and sits, resting his cheek on his hand sullenly and poking at his food. 

Ragatha: Wow… I never thought I’d see the day! Jax actually said sorry! Jax: Yeah, whatever, toots. I save our butts with some quick thinking and I’m still the bad guy. 

Zooble: Don’t be an @$$. There were six of us and one of him. There could’ve been a way to get him back with the others without having to hurt Gangle. 

Jax: Oh really, and what bright idea did you have, Hodge-Podge? *in a babyish voice* Asking him nicewy? Zooble: You wanna lose an eye, limp&!$#?!  *holds up butter knife* 

Ragatha: Guys… *pinching the bridge of her nose*

Pomni: Alright, stop! Can we please just &%$#ing stop?! My ears hurt and I don’t need you two shouting! Just… sit down and shut up. Both of you. 

Zooble: …Tch. Fine. 

Jax: Yeah. White flag or whatever. You hear me? White Flag. *he waves a napkin around half-heartedly before tossing it over his shoulder*

The six performers continued eating in silence, everyone’s mood set right back to bad. However, one of Jax’s ears twitched and his pot roast froze halfway to his mouth. 

Jax: …What’s that? Ragatha: What’s what? 

Jax: Shh! Listen!

Everyone, sans Kinger, stopped eating and listened. There was a continuous but very faint sound coming from somewhere. 

Gangle: I-I hear it! It sounds like… music?

Zooble: Good music. Like an orchestra. 

Ragatha: Where’s it coming from?

The performers turned their heads to better locate where the pleasant song was coming from. After a couple of seconds of listening, their eyes all fell upon Kinger, who was still eating his dinner. He froze in the middle of cutting his pork chop and slowly looked up to meet everyone’s gaze.

Kinger: I’m being observed… 

Jax: It’s cuz you’re making music.

Kinger: I’m not making music. I’m eating dinner. 

Ragatha: No, Jax is right, Kinger. Do you have something in your robe? 

Kinger looked down at his robes and patted around inside them. He froze when he felt a foreign object clinging to the white inside and pulled it out. Inside his robes was a creature about the size of a baseball, that looked like a mix between a ladybug and the grille of a microphone. The orchestral score emanating from the creature reached a swell before suddenly-

Bug: LOOK! YO!-

Kinger yelped and dropped the creature as it suddenly exploded into a rap verse. It lands on the table and stands back up, bopping along to the rhythm of the song playing from its grille-like carapace. 

Zooble: What the #%!! is that thing? 

Kinger: Oh! I remember you! *reaches his hand out to pet the small creature* I put her in my robes back at the theater. 

Pomni: I guess Caine missed deleting it when he sent us back here for the night… 

Kinger: She’s not an it! Her name is… *there’s a drawn-out pause as Kinger struggles to remember what he called the creature* ...Layla!

Upon hearing this, the microphone-bug suddenly plays a guitar riff that makes everyone jump. Ragatha: I know that song… *beams* That’s a REAL song! From outside! It’s by uh- 

Zooble: Hang on. This thing plays-

Kinger: Layla.

Zooble: …Layla plays music? 

Pomni: That’s… I thought that was impossible… 

Gangle suddenly appeared beside Kinger, moving quicker than anyone had ever seen her move before. 

Gangle: Layla! Play uh, play… Play Melt by Hatsune Miku!

Jax: Play what by who?

The microphone-bug, which was apparently named Layla, began to play a sugary-sweet J-pop song, quiet at first before bursting to life. Gangle stood and watched the creature with a twinkle in the eyes of her mask, her mouth wide open in delight and her ribbon-hands on her cheeks. 

Ragatha: Oh, oh! Can I have a turn? Uh, Layla, play Respect by Aretha Franklin! 

Layla began to play a funky soul song, Ragatha giggling girlishly and beginning to dance along to the rhythm on the spot. Her energy was so infectious that the other performers couldn’t help but watch, especially as she began to lip-sync to the song with an invisible microphone. 

Gangle: giggles 

Jax: My turn. Layla! Play… Sandstorm by Darude. 

Everyone gave a collective groan as Layla began playing a familiar Finnish techno beat. 

Jax: Whaaat? I like this song! You guys have no taste. 

Ragatha: Well, you picked it! Now you gotta dance to it! Come on!

Jax: No I- HEY! 

Ragatha grabbed Jax’s hands and pulled him up onto his feet. 

Ragatha: Come on! Follow my lead! 

Ragatha began to dance along with the music, Jax scoffed and crossed his arms.

Pomni: *trying not to giggle* You made your bed Jax, time to lay in it.

Jax: Oh, have I? Layla, play Everywhere at The End of Time.

Zooble: Ew, Jax, what the h€!!? 

Kinger scooped Layla up before she could begin playing the six-hour depressing behemoth of an album Jax requested. 

Kinger: Everyone, stop! You’re going to make her overheat! *he pets the little microphone bug* There, there, you did good. 

Gangle: Aw, is it over..?

Zooble: Kinger’s got a point. We don’t want to push that thing’s-

Kinger: Layla.

Zooble: -Layla’s processing too hard. You know how weird NPC’s get when they’re overclocked. 

Pomni: Overclocked..? What does- Actually, I don’t want to know.

Kinger: Layla can stay in my room. I have other bugs in there so she won’t get lonely.

Jax: So Kinger just gets to keep the thing that plays real music in his room? 

Kinger: Layla.

Jax: Whatever.

Ragatha: Well, he did find her… and he did go through all the effort of sneaking her back to the tent. That would make her his.

Jax: So if I found a dozen donuts, I’d get to eat all of ‘em and not share, since they’re my donuts. 

Zooble: You’d probably do that anyway…

Jax: I’d share ‘em with everyone but you, Zooble.

Gangle: I’d get a donut, really? 

Pomni yanked on one of Jax’s shoulder straps, a sharp reminder to behave.

Pomni: I’m sure Kinger wouldn’t mind sharing Layla now and then. Is that okay with you, Kinger?

Kinger: Don’t eat her! *holds her away from Pomni*

Pomni: Wh- nobody is going to eat her!

Gangle: Layla isn’t a donut… 

Kinger: Oh. Well. Maybe. As long as you’re gentle with her and don’t let her overheat. 

Ragatha: We can all promise that, right everybody? 

There was a murmur of affirmation, but then everyone looked at Jax. 

Jax: Oh for- *sigh* fine. Yes. I won’t hurt the bug thing.

Kinger: Layla.

Jax: *deep breath, phony enthusiasm* LaYlA!

Ragatha: I’ve gotta say, that’s the most fun I’ve had in a while. Real fun, not Caine fun.

Zooble: I didn’t peg you for an Aretha Franklin fan, Rags.

Ragatha: Yeah? What kind of music did you think I liked? *smiles, amused*

Zooble: I dunno. Sara Bareilles or Taylor Swift. Maybe that song Wildfire. 

Ragatha: Oh, so horse girl stuff, huh? I see how it is, Zooble. *she’s still grinning playfully* 

Jax: We didn’t get to hear what you liked, Hodge-Podge. Who are you to judge? 

Zooble: Call me Hodge-Podge again, Jax, and I’ll tie your- 

Kinger: Frank Sinatra…

Zooble: Huh?

Kinger: That’s my favorite. Frank Sinatra. *he sings a little to Layla* “I’ve got you… under my skin.”

Layla: *Playing a snippet from the real song* “I’ve got you… deep in the heart of me.”

Gangle: Awwww…

Zooble: *they get up* I’m tired. I’ll see you all in the morning. *they walk towards backstage before pausing for a moment* …I like Janelle Monáe by the way. 

Ragatha: G’night Zooble. It is getting pretty late… I’ll be right behind you. 

Steadily, the performers left the stage and headed back to their rooms. Pomni left not long after Ragatha, rubbing her eyes. It was weird how her eyelids still felt heavy despite her body being a bunch of pixels… 

She wished Ragatha good night as she passed her in the hallway, went into her bedroom and flopped onto the bed. It had been a pretty bad day, like most other days in this technicolor hell. But it had an okay conclusion. It was nice to hear real music again, but she wished she had gotten a turn. Although,  she did wonder a little… if that bug could play songs from the outside world, maybe there was a way to get out of here after all… 

There was a knock at the door. One thing at a time. Pomni rolled out of bed and shuffled to the door to open it. She smiled a little seeing Jax leaning against the doorframe, and the rabbit gave her a smarmy grin right back.

Jax: Leavin’ me behind, huh? Pretty cold, Pompom. 

Pomni: You’re a big boy. You can handle being alone for a little bit. Also, you’re knocking now. 

Jax: You should note the date and time. *he strolls into her room* So, what’s the plan tonight, Pomni? 

Pomni: I’m too tired for much of anything… you wanna just cuddle? 

Jax: Sure. But how about a little music? *he takes Layla out of the front pocket of his overalls*

Pomni: Jax! Where did you get- did you steal her from Kinger? 

Jax: You’ll be happy to know I asked before I took. *he sets Layla on top of one of the oversized building blocks in Pomni’s room* 

Pomni: R-Really? He actually let you borrow her? How did you convince him..?

Jax: You really think I can’t be charming? You fell for me, didn’t you?

Pomni: *blush* …Alright, alright. 

The two of them crawled into bed, climbing under the covers, Pomni scooting her smaller frame backwards into Jax’s arms. The rabbit held her close, resting his chin on top of her head.  

Jax: So. Whatcha wanna listen to?

Pomni: …You know what? You can go first. 

[klbwriting]

Combining Two Worlds

Chapter 9: Visiting

Fandom: DCEU

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Orm tells Arthur about a new plan and goes to visit Y/N who has a surprising reaction

Note: Yes, 2 chapters in a few hours, I want to get this out before inspiration leaves me!

“You want to plan your wedding, invite Syfin and his family, and pretty much make your pregnant wife a target so you can prove that they are trying to kill her and my son? You do know the danger that she and your daughter will be in, right?” Arthur asked, staring at Orm as if he had grown tentacles. He knew his little brother hadn’t come to this decision lightly, but it was still crazy.

“I don’t want to do it Arthur, I want to bring my wife back, marry her, have our child and live happy and safe, but that isn’t an option, and I am tired of all of this. I’m sure you are too,” Orm said, sitting in Arthur’s sitting room, dangerously calm. Arthur remembered this Orm, from back when they met and no matter what he seemed unshakable. It had been years and Arthur had learned his tells. Orms eyes were barely contained rage, his hands slightly shaking despite the rest of him being stone still. A flash of worry coursed through Arthur that his brother might be delving back into that place he used to live in, and that he wasn’t sure if Orm would come out the other side the same.

“Go talk to Y/N, take a few days, take Mera, sit down together and decide. You know that I will do whatever you want, and I support you little brother,” Arthur said. Orm sent him a look at the term ‘little brother’ but didn’t say anything, just nodded and left the room. This worried Arthur more.

Y/N saw Orm and Mera coming before he had even gotten to the beach. She popped her head into her mother’s house and called for Tom. The little boy saw his mother coming up the beach and he started running towards her. Mera caught sight and ran to meet him, both falling into the sand in a sweet hug. Y/N smiled as she walked carefully towards Orm. She saw the look in his eyes and stopped. His anger was palpable.

“What happened?” she asked, a hand shaking as she reached for his hand. He took it and pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly before moving to kiss at her stomach. She could tell something was brewing in him, something she had never seen before, an anger he hadn’t reached since before they met.

Orm nodded for her to go inside, and Mera followed, carrying Tom. While Mera and Janet caught up and talked about the young prince Orm went to Y/N's room with her, having her sit before he told her everything that had happened and his idea for how to fix everything. Y/N listened and after a few moments surprised him.

“How was Lydia while her mother was talking to you?” she asked. Orm furrowed his brow and thought back.

“She seemed, uncomfortable and she looked tired, almost, like she wanted to be anywhere else,” he said, focusing hard on her in that room. Y/N nodded.

“I’ve been thinking back to every interaction we’ve had with Lydia when her family wasn’t around. She pulled all her tricks, but she always looked sad. I thought it was because she wanted you, but from what you just said, the game might be over for her. Maybe she never wanted anything with you, but her family was putting pressure on her. You say that you father exhiled them for what they tried to do to you and your mother, what if they are worse than him? And they have put their children through horrible things just to try and get the throne?” she said. Orm let her finish before he responded.

“She still did all those things, still tried to poison Tom…”

“We don’t know that was her, that could have been anyone in her family…”

“Including her,” he said. “Why are you siding with her all of a sudden?” Y/N sighed and moved to her bedside table, pulling out a piece of Atlantian parchment. She set it down between them and he looked at it. It was a letter, from Lydia. “When did you get this?”

“A few days ago, I didn’t know what to make of it and wanted to show it to you when you visited,” she said. He picked it up and read it slowly.

Y/N, I must apologize for everything. I know that I have been hurting you and horrible, but you don’t understand. I need to be with Orm, there is nothing else for me. I don’t want this, but I have to do it. Please just stay away, live your life, you have your child, keep them close and I will make sure no one bothers you but stay away. Lydia

“She is telling you to stay away, why do you think she isn’t a part of this?” he asked.

“This is a desperate plea Orm, this is someone who’s afraid, not in love, and I know that you and Arthur aren’t the ones scaring her,” she said, taking the letter back and putting it away. “I will go back with you and Mera, but I want to talk to Lydia by myself.”

“Never, I won’t let any of them near you or Velka,” he said. Y/N stared at him, and he realized he wasn’t going to win this one. “Why do you always try to see the good in everyone?”

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t be with you right now would I? As I recall you used to rather enjoy calling me a half-breed,” she said. Orm winced. “I will be careful, but I won’t let her suffer. She is still young and if she is hurting imagine her brother, he is still a child, what are they doing to them?”

“Fine, we will return in the morning, but I want a tracker on you, and I want to be with you as much as I can, and if I’m not there and you’re not in our rooms you have protection, Arthur, Mera, mother, anyone,” he said. She nodded and agreed to his terms.

“Come on now, I made lasagna for dinner,” she said with a smile.

[ruins-and-rewritez]

DAY 8: KNIFE WIFE: Kanej

Sometimes it's hard to know whether the skills that you've adapted to survive are something to be proud of or not. If they've allowed you to keep going shouldn't they be seen as a badge of honor rather than a mark of shame.

Inej often walks that delicate balance between the two never able to decide which side to fall to if she'd ever lost her footing. The choice will be made later, after she's had enough time to make a proper decision, but for now she lets her newfound skills shine.

Her family can't seem to believe that these abilities she's gained with a knife are real and not some sort of trick. As performers they all know quite well that seeing and believing are two very different things.

Inej hits the target, marked on the trunk of a tree, again and again. One blade after another, slice into the bullseye, until the bark in the center has all been chipped away, and her collection falls to the ground with a clang.

Her parents, cousins, the whole family, take a collective pause before bursting into applause. Her uncle (a former knife thrower) gives her a pat on the back for her dexterity. Her cousin Miri asks with bright eyes if she can teach her how to do that (at 8 years old Inej is inclined to say no).

Everyone appears to take this new talent of hers in stride not questioning the reasons behind it or where it was learned and refined. The adults not wanting to turn the conversation to something unpleasant and untouchable, and the children only knowing the Inej was 'away' and not the circumstances that led to her being gone for so long.

Inej knows that the story is probably something they'd want to know, they don't refrain from letting her talk about her trauma but they don't ask either (save simple 'how are you' interactions). Inej can't blame them, she doesn't, they're there when she needs them but they still don't try to force it, it's something she has grown to appreciate, especially on the rarer growing bad days.

They might not ask for the story, but she can't help but watch it replay in her mind with every throw.

Kaz's dark attic room, an over cast sky, training dummies on the far end, bright splotches of red where their hearts would be.

"If you're going to make yourself useful to me, you need to be able to protect yourself when the time comes."

When he first pressed the handle into her palm she flinched, steeled herself, and tried to focus.

"Think as though its and extension of yourself."

Inej grips it better, making it comfortable in her hold, he doesn't correct her, so it must be sufficent.

"Put the weight behind it when you release."

He circles behind her to correct her stance, fear rises in her throat, being unable to see him, but she's the one holding the knife, and that helps.

"Bend your wrist. Like this."

He stands besides her, curling his own small blade toward his arm. She doesn't know whether him not touching her is for Inej or himself, but a small part of her is grateful.

"Dominant leg first."

She follows.

"Sight the target. Breath in. Pull back. Throw. Out."

She watches his every move filing it away, catalouging it, memorizing. It hits the target, a little right of the center.

"Now you."

His instructions are meager, straight to the point, and somehow, all she needs. She visualizes and follows through. She hits the target almost dead on.

Kaz seems relieved at this, or maybe angry, she can't read his expressions, not yet anyway. But the practice continues, and for the most of it she is near perfect. A natural.

He eyes her as their session ends, calculating something in those cold eyes of his.

"No doubt you'll be deadly with a knife. Wraith."

And no doubt, she is.

[ikemenomegas]

Ooh that poly au piece was so cute! Maybe its because their dynamics with the alpha is cute but maybe its also bc if they're in a poly rs, it means that nobody died which is great! But i was also wondering what Suguru or Satoru would do if they felt possessive or jealous

Was it cute XD, am I cursed to forever be cute even when I am really trying. Maybe I need to try harder...

Let's say it out loud: Suguru is the kind of person to expressly lure you into fucking him on every plausible surface in the house. Satoru is the kind of person to fully imply that you are going to fuck him in the next five minutes just to let other people he's taken and so are you.

Here's the bit nonnie, they're always possessive, and they're the most jealous people you've ever met. For someone with the bad fortune to be a little too aware of this, it's a nightmare lol. This alpha is either oblivious to or unconcerned by or both when it comes to a good portion of their behavior, and the rest of it they probably agree with.

Alpha is perfectly capable of handling themself when it comes to oglers and flirtatious people who can't take a hint. It will never mean anything to them, it barely even registers because their mind is always elsewhere and never decided on finding someone to date before Satoru and Suguru happend. You have walked away in the middle of someone trying to ask you out on a date because Satoru called your name or you caught sight of a snack.

As you get older though, your tolerance for disrespect goes down lol, especially after you bond with them. It sort of makes sense because you can tolerate a lot of insult, but when it comes to Suguru and Satoru there are days where your patience is on the floor. So... people who don't believe in omega rights or respect personal space should be wary. It's a shame because Suguru won't let you beat anyone up and Satoru's so obvious and huge that when he's around mostly he can loom and interlopers will go away.

They're unbearable about it afterwards though. Suguru pretends to be disappointed in you for losing your temper even though the only reason he's holding you back is so he can get to your target first. Satoru sulks around and baits you because he thinks its kind of hot when you actually release your inhibitions but also he knows being directionlessly angry eventually makes you sort of blank so he diffuses the emotion.

Satoru overall will put on a show. He scents you in public, he pulls you right up against his body, if he's feeling particularly irritated, he'll punish you with a bit of public (or private) humiliation. Spicy rules this week so - that means he'll make fun of you for being so hungry for him while he's gripping your hips and making you ride him or using your body in whatever way he wants, alpha is just a sex toy for his amusement, and he doesn't share except with his other half. He'll also do silly petty things like pull whatever you're reaching for out of your reach. If you ask him for a bit of food he'll make you chase it and eat it from his fingers. There's been a handful of times when he's gotten very possessive for some reason and during these times he won't let you take missions - you don't know it, they just stop requesting you and suddenly look at that you have a whole day to spend with him.

Suguru is more insidious with his possessive behavior lol. It doesn't read like possessive from the outside, not unless you can hear the things he's saying. He will insult anyone of any dynamic who he doesn't think is good enough for you, either in a way they won't notice until the two of your are long gone or out loud, but acting like he's talking to you so he has plausible deniability. He will actively guilt trip you about whatever made him jealous. He'll slowly bring up the details of an interaction or imitate a behavior you know he finds particularly irritating to witness and then you know, Suguru is upset and he expects you to try and fix it. And he'll draw it out too. Suguru experiences sexual desire in a way that's very different from Satoru, mostly because he finds you sexually very appealing. There's times Suguru comes at you like a man starved. When he can press the advantage, he does. He knows he has your full and undiluted attention while you seek his forgiveness and better humor. This place where you're fully focused on him is a place he finds interesting to engage with. Expect pillow princess behavior, edging (of you), overstimulation (of you but not so far you lose focus on him), but it always ends in an intense kind of love making that probably makes you forget your own desperation until the next time he gets like this.

All jokes aside, I like poly au for the same reason, it means things are fixed (ish) and fine (ish) again.

[creepycassidy]

Chloroform Honey: Pt. 1

(This has been abandoned but another fic is in the works)

Hello!! I hope everyone enjoys. This was originally written as a grabber x OC fic for my boyfriend, but I felt there isn’t enough content for grabber x male or NB/GN readers. Let me know what you think!! AO3 link here.

TW: Blood, physical and psychological abuse, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, just the grabber in general tbh.

—

You could hardly even remember how it had all started. You crinkled up your nose in deep thought as you tried to conjure the tiny details. It was late September…or, was it October? You sighed, a frustrated noise passing your lips. Late September, you thought, because it was just finally starting to get a little chilly! You had left your shift at the Texaco gas station in the early hours of the morning, just around 5:00 am, after being coerced by your boss into working yet another graveyard shift. You remembered vaguely that it had been nice enough to walk to and from work for those past few days, so that’s what you’d done. Thank God you did. Otherwise, you may not have even noticed the man in the top hat who had been struggling with the brown bags of groceries in his arms. Now, the idea of taking another street made your stomach churn, the bile coming up your throat and making you wince.

You hadn’t even thought about how dead the streets were, barring the two of you. It wasn’t even unreasonable to get groceries at that time of the day. Harold’s supermarket was already open, just an hour earlier. He’d just looked so… strange, you remembered thinking. Dressed in black silk with a red turtleneck and a smearing of white makeup across his face, the man looked far from average…but so handsome. You smiled wearily at the afterthought.

Thankfully, you had never been the judgey type.

Obviously, you’d read the papers, seen the flyers, and heard the warnings.

‘Don’t talk to strangers.’

Sure, who hadn’t? For months on end, fear had plagued the suburbs. Parents were on high alert and children were urged to come straight home, no exceptions, lest they end up like the others. You knew you weren’t exactly in the target demographic… or so you’d thought, anyway. As it had turned out, you’d been in the grabber’s sights for quite some time and was none the wiser. It was all very romantic, your heart fluttering as you reminisced. No one had ever loved you like this before.

You hummed to yourself contentedly while you recalled the brief interaction that the two of you had outside of the van. You were helping him to gather the dumped groceries from the sidewalk. Boxes of macaroni and cheese were salvaged, but the eggs, unfortunately, couldn’t be. The mysterious man had called himself a part-time magician, which undoubtedly piqued your interest. The rest of the conversation’s details were a hazy blur in your damaged mind… but, what you did remember was before you knew it, you were being pulled into the back of the black van by a pair of strong arms. You hadn’t put up much of a fight, and in hindsight, you knew you’d made the right call not to.

The first thing that you could remember after that was waking up in the cold, black of the basement. Your body ached, your ears rang and your lip hurt where you’d bitten straight through the delicate flesh in response to the grabber’s fist. The mattress smelled… off, but the only other distinct thing about the room was the black telephone that hung on the wall, one that you’d later learned had been long disconnected. Otherwise, it could have been anyone’s basement.

… And there was Albert too, donned in a mask void of emotions. He was the best part of it all! You thought back to his calming words, his assurances that he wouldn’t hurt you, and that he’d never do a single thing that you didn’t like. Still, there was no point in denying that you’d been, for a lack of better words, terrified of your masked captor. You had barely moved from your chosen spot on the mattress during that first week and a half. In time though, the terror melted away to reveal exciting new feelings bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when you’d fallen for Albert… maybe it had just been gradual, little by little every day. Everything about him that used to make you cry, now brought anticipation for his attention. Excitement, desire, longing. You loved Albert, and you knew inside that Albert loved you too.

Just how long had you been here though? Weeks? Months? The blinds had been secured tightly, shutting out any prying eyes from the outside and seeming to, in a way, slow the world around you down to a halt. Your life had been condensed down to these four walls, and you were grateful to be wanted, to have been given the privilege to come upstairs…but why hadn’t you thought to keep track of the date? Down in the cold of the basement, you’d seen it. Scratches, crudely carved into the concrete walls documenting the days that your captor’s previous hostages had been there. Tally marks on the walls of a prison cell, never more than fourteen. You knew what had happened after they’d stopped. Almost as quickly as those stomach-churning thoughts had entered your mind, you were ripped from your head as the pan of lasagna slipped from your fingers and crashed to the kitchen floor, shattering on impact.

“Shit-!” You gasped, hopping backward away from the shards of glass and sauce. The sound of it breaking was too loud, so loud that you could have sworn that you felt it reverberate throughout your entire body.

Albert had come to investigate the noise in an instant, cocking his head down at the mess as he rounded the corner. His fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his forearms popping out and his knuckles turning white as he debated whether to strike you or not, making your blood run cold. The unforgiving claw of fear ripped through you, nauseating and leaving you to stand there paralyzed. “Oh my… What a mess.” Albert tutted, looking up away from the smear of sauce.

“I’m-” You choked, inhaling sharply as you were met with sharp cerulean eyes behind the grinning devil mask. “I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it… I’ll pick it up, I’ll-I promise-”

The Grabber stepped further into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the broken shards as he closed in on his object of affection. “Good boys shouldn’t swear… or be so messy.” Albert wagged a disapproving finger at you. “Naughty, Naughty.”

“I know. I’m sorry-’ You repeated in a wheeze as you fought back the tears that were now threatening to flood your eyes. “but-”

“So… pick it up.” The older man sighed lowly, motioning down towards the glass as he ripped the belt from the loops of his pants in a swift motion. The sudden change of his voice made you fall to your knees just as quick, if not quicker than Albert had readied his belt.

The grabber almost seemed apathetic as he held the leather in his hands.

“You did this.”

Snatching the dishcloth from the counter on your way down, you winced as you hastily went for the glass, grabbing up handfuls that sliced into the soft flesh of your palms and the pads of your fingers to collect it into a neat pile. Oh, God. You stifled a sob. The dishcloth was turning red now and you couldn’t help but notice that behind the tears clouding your vision, it was impossible for you to make out what was tomato sauce and what was your blood. “I deserve what's coming to me.” you thought to yourself. As you finished up, you could practically feel Albert’s displeased eyes upon you, boring into you, only serving to make you all the more nervous.

Then, it all seemed to happen so fast, even if you already knew that it was coming. “There, see, it's clean and-” you sniffled, before cutting yourself off with a loud yelp when the belt lashed across your shoulder blade, and hard. The tears were streaming down your cheeks now, choking out a sob as your nails dug into the kitchen floors. The second strike hit you right across the face with a loud crack. Knocking your glasses to the floor with a clatter, you cried out in pain, bringing your hands up to your nose as blood dribbled out between your fingers and onto the floor. So much for it being clean. Your back stung horribly, and you thought about the way the bruising on your face might look in a few hours as you awaited the next hit.

… But it never came.

Satisfied with the pain he’d inflicted, Albert slid his belt back through the loops and buckled it, paying no mind to the flecks of crimson splattered across the buckle.

At this point, you could only whimper out apologies and pleas for forgiveness while you retrieved your glasses from the bloodied floor. You peered up at the grabber through misty eyes, blinking back any tears that were still threatening to fall. “That won’t happen again, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You mumbled before reaching up to take the hand that Albert had so graciously extended out to you. The hand of what felt like God.

The older man agreed, “I’m sure it won’t.”

You fought back the urge to cling to your love’s chest as you were pulled up from the blood slick floor, careful not to slip and make a mess of your clothes. You’d been bad. Naughty. Undeserving of affection.

Suddenly, Albert raked his hand into your hair. Not enough to hurt, only to guide. He knew that he didn’t have to tell you what came next, and you did too. That’s just how the game was played.

This was the worst part, you thought, more painful than any beating could ever be.

Silently, the only sounds in the kitchen being the steady breathing behind the grabber’s mask and your bare feet against the linoleum, you were led down the steps of the basement and into the dark chasm akin to what you imagined the grave to be like.

“I’ll be back for you.” Albert sighed. He watched closely as your shaking frame curled into the mattress, taking note of your unintentional puppy dog eyes. “I promise.”

Furrowing his brows, he traced his finger over his chest in the shape of an ‘X’ as he turned to leave.

“Cross my heart.”

With that, any light coming from upstairs was snuffed out when the door shut tight, leaving you with nothing but a sliver of moonlight and your tears.

[itsuji]

Hehe, hi

If I can can I request Desmond Hall and Mark "Mayhem" Berskii (separate) angst with the reader? like they get into an argument regarding the killing game and S/O becomes a victim directly after it? then they realize that S/O was an easy target to the Blackened because they were sobbing over the argument? just some sad stuff.

love your fics btw <3

— tears

a/n: ty for your request!! I love this idea veryvery much!! sorry for the late reply I had to go somewhere!! sorry if the arguments are a little too bad !!

warnings: a bit of cursing in desmonds part. impaled in marks part.

characters: mark “mayhem” berskii, desmond hall. ( jett and kai mentioned as side chars! )

genre: heavy angst ( i love angst sm ty for this request )

Desmond was the type to usher himself away from people, only interacting if forced to. Now he was forced to survive in a killing game, where the chances of survival are thin. When he met you he started worrying about what would happen to him, or you if any of the both of you died.

He sat on the bed which the both of you shared, his shoulders tense, looking at the ground. You entered the room and looked at him “Are you..alright?” You asked him, confused “What if you die, or I die? What’ll happen to you..or even me?” He replied, his voice breaking at the last bit. You softened your eyes and took a seat next to him. “We’ll be alright Des, as long as we’re by each others side.” You comforted him and put a hand on his shoulder, he looked at you and softly smiled, then looked at the ground again, then he stood up. “I’ll make sure we escape. “

your eyes widened, and you took your hand off his shoulder “What the hell do you mean by that?” Desmond looked in your eyes, his eyes were different, full of hate, rage. “It means that I’ll kill someone.” He turned to the door looking like he was leaving, you stood up and grabbed his wrist “Hang on, those are our friends out there Des, you can’t just kill one for the benefit of us!” You rebutted, pulling him back into the dorm, “One life for two, its logic s/o.” He replied pulling back his wrist “Des, wait I need you alive! If you get caught in the trial…then!-“

“Dont, call me Des.”

“Des I cant watch you get executed!”

He clenched his fists in his hand and grabbed your shirt. “CALL ME DES ONE MORE TIME.” He shouted at you, tears brimmed the corner of your eyes. “ s/o, sorry I just-“ you ran out of your shared dorm sobbing. Desmond took a step to run after you, but he knew that he shouldn’t go after you.

————-

Then Desmond got even more worried about you when you didn’t come back at night. He was already in bed, stepping out of the dorm every 5 minutes looking to see if you would come back. His finger tapped against the mattress, he didn’t like silence at all. “Fuck it.” Desmond got out of his bed and put his jacket on and went to look for you.

“s/o? look I’m sorry about the fight we had, please come back.” He said in the hallways, hoping that you would come back soon. He walked in the hallways with a worried look plastered on his face. Thats when a bloody trail appeared before him, was this the reason you didn’t come home? But really could he call this home? He rushed into the dining hall, and thats when he saw your bloody body against the wall, there was blood everywhere, in the kitchen, some on the walls, but Desmond could hardly focus on the crime scene in front of him, he rushed straight towards your body. “ s/o!” He said shaking your body, you looked at him weakly. “Des- I mean Desmond.” His eyes became glassy at the sight of you, he held onto you for dear life, like he depended on it. Which he did. “You can call my Des, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He said, almost breaking down, you sniffed, hugging him back.

“Des, go get others.” You said weakly, tears running down your cheeks, “Not until I’m ready to leave you…who did this?” He asked, finally breaking down. “ Des, you deserve happiness, more than I can give you.” You held his hand, dodging the question. The marksman left the hug and kissed you passionately.

He pulled away from the kiss, and looked at you. “I can’t believe I did this to you.” Guilt overcame Desmond as tears rolled down his cheeks, you wiped them away and cupped his cheek.

“Don’t let this drag you down Des, I love you.”

Desmond watched you pass away. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like without you, and now it was real. The last thing you heard was Desmond screaming your name in rage.

( MY BABY WAAAAA )

Mark laid with you in your shared bed. Thats when you asked a question out of nowhere, “Mark, would you care if I died?” He looked at you, confused. “…Of course I would, why would you ask that?” He replied, “It’s just that..never mind, it’s dumb anyway.” You said, slightly frowning. “…No it’s okay, you can say it.” The music producer wrapped his arm around you.

You sighed, ready for what was about to come, “If you really want me to say it, You seem like you prioritize your music over me, Ever since we’ve been together.” Mark squinted at you. “…No I haven’t, if anything I’ve been spending every half of my day with you since then.” He rebutted, you got out of Marks hold and looked at him and scoffed, “What do you mean half? You spend all day making music! What if I die and your not with me?”

“Dont bring the killing game into this s/o.” Mark replied, already annoyed by your responses. You pulled out of Marks hold and got out of your shared bed, grabbing your bag and your jacket. “…Where are you going?” Mark asked you, also getting out of bed and putting his hands in his pockets “Somewhere, where I can’t see you.” You rushed to the door and pulled the handle, stopping to look back at Mark “If you wanna be alone Mark, Be alone.” You commented before slamming the door.

—————

Mark waited for you at your shared dorm, he even asked Eva, your old roommate who had a newly single dorm after you moved in with Mark, and Kai, one of your close friends in the ‘game.’ “Yo’ Mark, you look worried.” Jett asked the worried music producer from across the room, Mark sighed “….We had a fight and, I don’t know if they’re coming back.” Jett walked over to Marks side of the room, “If ya want, we can go and look for ‘er, it’s almost night anyway.” The racer looked at Mark, who was staring right back at him, “I’ll take that as a yes! Put your jacket on Mark, we’re going!”

“Hey!! vocalist person!! where are you!?” Jett shouted in the courtyard, “…You’re still loud even under that helmet…” Mark replied, squinting at Jett in annoyance. “Sorry man!”

Mark walked in the hallways of Edens Garden Academy, he himself never thought that he would have to look for his own s/o in a killing game. That was when Mark stumbled upon the dining hall, one of the doors were slightly opened, blood on the handle. Mark quickly rushed to open it, but there was nothing but blood on the the table. But that was when he felt something wet on his shoulder.

Mark reached his hand out to touch it, blood. Mark looked up, horrified with what he saw, It was you, your mouth was taped shut, and a spear impaled you, probably how you got stuck to the ceiling. Mark collapsed onto the ground, still looking at your dead body. This…This was his fault, no doubt about it.

-🌹 itsuji

[blue-cadence]

♭Inevitable Fate♭

TW: Violence ❦❧ Character: Sakura(PE)

❦❧ Genre: Angst, hurt no comfort, romantic

❦❧ Word Count:526 words

❦❧ A/N: N/a

❦❧ Summary: She was like a fire and comforted you in the coldest nights. But you got too close and now it’s starting to burn.

Clink.

The sounds of glasses hitting each other echoed around the large room. Both of you were putting up a façade for the show, exchanging glances with Sakura. Her sharp alert eyes met yours, giving a slight shake of her head.

Almost like she was signalling ‘not yet’. You waited, interacting with some of the guests. Sakura had brought you here for a supposed assassination target she had. After what had happened to Rin, she never wanted to let you out of her sight. Fearing for your safety.

You started to feel exhausted after a long time of conversing with people, you sipped a little bit of your drink before Sakura pulled you abruptly. “Let’s go.”

"But- The target?" You spoke up in a suddenly confused tone. The entire reason you were here was to assist your girlfriend. “Don't worry." Her voice chilled you. It was colder than usual, like she hid something. Like something was wrong. Every step she took was made with hesitance, Sakura rarely displayed any sort of hesitance, really.

You decided to speak up after a bit,

Silence met you with a chilling silence before decisively responding. "Nothing." Your heart thudded loud in your chest, something was going to happen.

The stars above illuminated the sky and shone moonlight on the couple's faces. Sakura stopped and pressed you against the wall, and the cold stone made you shiver. Her hand went to the hilt of her katana and drew it speedily against your neck. Faster than the eye could see. "Sakura?!"

“…”

Her refusal to speak said everything. You were the target she meant. The truth hit you like a brick wall to the face with a realization, and the cold ice blade snapped your thoughts back to reality. Sakura held you in an almost longing gaze before shifted her eyes away from yours.

“I’m sorry.”

The only words she spoke already made all the sense you could make it out to be. Blood oozed down your neck and left a sticky feeling. "Move or scream and it's over." Sakura was dead serious about this, seeing you like just another target. Not someone she had spent countless nights with, or spent the rare days off hanging out with.

Did it all mean nothing to Sakura? Was it simply a front? "Please, you're hurting me-" The blade pressed deeper and quickly shut you up. Her gaze fell away from yours again. "I'll make it quick for you." She promised.

You couldn't scream or cry, instead all that came out were raspy breaths. You drew your hand to brush against her cold cheek, and it seems Sakura's face fell. A tinge of... Sadness? Regret? Washed across her face. It became clear this was the first time she hesitated to kill a target.

In a quick motion the frost bitten blade cut your jugular and you slid to the ground. Sakura reached her arms out, almost as if reflex to catch you. Her face buried into your chest and her ears fell limp. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

The last words she heard were your dying breaths and a promise.

"I'll look after Rin."

The petals of the Forget-Me-Nots fluttered down as a lay parting gift.

[thesmallmeggles]

WIP Wednesday

I'm still working on the Macaron & Zanzo "Burnout" fic. ✍️ Though this time around, I wanted to share a different WIP: "Zanzo's Revenge" (Aka "what if Zanzo had more presence in the DLC?")

Contains Spoilers for Arcade Mode! Update!

👇Is under the read more👇

"Mister Chai!" an all too familiar voice crows from somewhere out of Chai's sight line. "Destiny aligns our paths once more." Zanzo emerges from behind a server tower with a Cheshire cat grin.

Chai cocks his head to the side. "Shouldn't you be in prison or something?"

"I'm under more of a probation right now. But on to business!" Zanzo points upward. "I've arranged a special challenge for you."

....

Chai brings out his trash grabber with a flick of his wrist. "I beat you once. I can do it again."

Zanzo clicks his tongue. "Let's even the playing field."

An electric bolt jolts Chai where he standa, not unlike what occurred in the testing chambers. He feels drained. "Ugh, what happened now?"

"You've been downgraded!" Zanzo says with a little too much enthusiasm. "If you want your abilities back, you have to earn them."

*****

Chai finds himself inside a messy computer desk filled room. (Stagnant air, deactivated PGR-0101 units slumped over at their desks. An odd drone punctuated by beeps from a mini blimp encircling the space. Reading notes, some of them funny. Chai shudders at the contained DM-ET1L. A bearded robot wearing thick framed glasses had been pierced with multiple arrows, including one in the knee joint.)

On top of a desk at the furthest wall lays the gift basket in its red, gold, and Zanzo merch filled glory. Chai taps on one of its sides with his knuckles, relieved it is solid. Given the basket's pristine state compared to everything else in the room, Chai figures it must have been moved here recently. But who-?

"I forgot how creepy this room is." Zanzo mills mere feet behind Chai, scrutinizing his surroundings with a curled lip.

"Let me guess, this studio was one of your 'pet projects'," Chai says.

"While Vandelay Gameworks existed within the Research & Development Department, I wasn't responsible for its daily operations. Shocking as that may sound." Zanzo strides up to Chai's right. "For your exemplary performance - a long overdue reward." He bows at the waist, gesturing to the basket.

"Oh, sweet," Chai says. "I'll make sure to put it somewhere special."

Peppermint speaks up through 808. "All the junk in there will be great as target practice."

A half hearted laugh escapes Zanzo, and he rubs the back of his neck. "As long as it's useful to you, that's all that matters." A pause. "Now that everything's settled, farewell. I need to catch up on some episodes." He salutes Chai before turning around and appearing to blink out of existence. Right, the temporal displacement thingy, Chai reminded himself.

808's lights shift from blue to yellow as CNMN takes control of her. "This may be my observation alone, but didn't Zanzo seem uncharacteristically low energy during this interaction?"

"Was he? I didn't notice." Chai attempts to lift the gift box. It's not heavy, but its size makes it awkward to handle. "Let's get this up to the hideout. I'm dying to know what other goodies are inside."

"Wait for me, Chai!" Macaron calls out. He appears at Chai's side, scooping up the box one handed with ease.

****

Zanzo unplugs from the ceiling mounted terminal with a sigh. Handing over the gift basket to Chai went about as well as he expected. It'll take some time to decipher this jumbled yarn of inner feelings, but for now he needs to fly. With haste, Zanzo clears out the program tabs and shuts down the computer, plunging the office in darkness. He zips toward the door, stumbling over some object and catching himself in the same moment. The hallway is empty when he peered out. Good.

Apart from a few close calls, no one halts Zanzo in his retreat from Research and Development. Back when he was department head, he could readily excuse his after hours presence. He's unsure what he could say now. Intense LED streetlight almost drives Zanzo back into the building. (Imagine that being bothersome after being surrounded by lava!) Thank goodness his apartment is within walking distance so he won't need to suffer long.

Airi should be in charge mode, which means Zanzo can continue his stealth streak. Once inside his bedroom, he can remove his prosthetic legs and maybe one arm unassisted, but he would need help for the remaining limb. Crap. Although! Zanzo could press the release button against a wall and shimmy out of that second arm prosthetic. If Airi happened to roll in to check on him, he could say he passed out with it attached. Wouldn't be the first time.

Zanzo leans too far into the window, tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud. He hisses as pain wracked his body. Hopefully he didn't break any bones. That would be an awkward conversation for the doctor. Yes, I busted my rib cage climbing through a window.

Airi rushes through the door. "Zanzo! What are you doing?"

"I rolled out of bed?" Zanzo offers with a faint smile. He sits up, stiff but thankfully with minimal pain.

"I would believe that if you were anywhere near your bed," Airi says with their arms crossed. "And if you were not wearing your neural wires."

The wires twitch as Zanzo's smile becomes a grimace. "I had business to address, alright? A loose end in need of tying."

"You went to the AI Labs." Airi slams their grippers to their head, as anxiety rises in their voice. "The one place you are not permitted to be."

"This is a one time violation. It won't happen again. I promise."

"How could I have overlooked such an egregious security gap? There are going to be repercussions for sure."

"Airi." Zanzo places a hand on one of Airi's arms. They cease their anguished pacing, blinking at Zanzo with their huge yellow tinted eyes. "Take it easy, alright? You're going to burn out your battery."

"Will you tell me what you were doing in the AI Labs while I get you ready for bed?" Airi asks. "Seeing as it is currently twenty nine minutes past eleven o'clock pm?"

Zanzo glances at an alarm clock on a shelf with furrowed brows. "Curfew only applies to travel."

"A regular sleep schedule is integral to continued good health." Airi pauses, then adds with extra emphasis: "Including those with day jobs."

[winniethewife]

Eclipsing Love

(Marc Spector x Mafia!OC) (A little Jake Lockley this time)

Last chapter ~ Next chapter

Chapter 9: Worst Nightmare

Words: 1551

It was a dark night, it was the new moon and the cloud coverage blocked the stars. Charlotte was ready, her sniper in hand aimed at the target. She exhaled slowly as she looked down the scope, she steadied herself as she looked. Her calm quite demeanor before the kill was normal for her. She had stopped counting how many hits she had carried out in her life, she refused to play statistician with some of the other members of the family. She waits for the exact moment the second he turns down the ally, and she takes her shot. One silenced bullet hits the back of his head and he crumples to the ground, No one sees, No one the wiser. She heads down to the alleyway, her things stashed away to confirm the kill. She takes her gloved hand and rolls the body over Just to be shocked at the sight…Marc?

Charlotte sits up with a start, she’s in her bed Marc sleeping next to her. Her heart is racing, her blood runs cold. It was a nightmare. A very vivid, very real nightmare. She sighs and blinks trying to get a hold of herself. She looks at the clock on the bedside table, 3 am not a great time to be up. She sighs and slides out of bed grabbing her robe off of its peg and wrapping it around her as she heads to the kitchen, hoping to grab a night cap. Something to ease the tension. Something to ease the sight she saw in her dream. Once she has the whiskey in her glass she leans on the kitchen counter, her knuckles white on the counter.

“Hermosa…” The gruff Spanish accent startled her slightly she spun around.

“Jake…Sorry I…I just had a nightmare.”

“Sí, you okay?” he mumbles getting closer to Charlotte a concerned look in his eyes, he carefully pushes a strand of her copper hair behind her ear in an affectionate manner. She may be Marc’s girl but he can’t help but be attracted to her, to want to protect her from whatever is going on in her head, or anything out in the world. He would put himself in the way of anything to keep her safe. She blushes slightly, his body maybe Marc’s but something about Jake is different, the way he touches her… its entirely unique.

“Yeah I will be…” she says softly.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked quietly as he caresses her cheek softly, encroaching on dangerous territory. He knew that but he can’t help it, he wakes up next to this woman, her scent surrounds him all the time, and she is more like him than any other person he’s ever met. Khonshu chose her, she is well acquainted with violence, so much here, but Marc had made the boundary very clear, Charlotte was his first, maybe if she initiated something with the other two that would be fine, but she has to make a move.

“Um… yeah…” She takes a drink form her glass and looks to the side, leaning on the counter as she sighs. “In the dream…I was taking out a hit. Standard procedure. Everything was normal until I got to the body…It…it was Marc’s...er, your body…I…I killed you all and…” She feels the tears in her eyes.

“Cariño…” Jake softly cooed as he wipes the tears from her face “It was just a dream…We’re fine, you’re fine, nada te pasará…te lo prometo” He leans in like he’s about to seal the promise with a kiss when he hesitates, pulling away before he does something he’ll regret.

“Jake… I-” Charlotte’s hazel eyes gaze into his, the most complicated part of this relationship is when the body doesn’t hold Marc in it. The want for comfort from him is battling out with the idea that she doesn’t actually know Jake. They had only interacted a few times over the time that she and Marc had been together, but he’s standing so close, making intimate promises. Its confusing.

“It’s okay Charlotte. Do you want me to wake Marc?” Jake asked, he wanted her to say no. he wanted to hold her. To be her comfort in this moment. He knew he’d catch hell if he did any of the things he was thinking of doing, but just holding her? In her time of need? That can’t be a crime…

“No…no he needs his rest. It’s been…stressful lately.” She says with slight hesitation. She finished her whiskey and looks at him. Stressful was a understatement. She could tell how much the change in the plan has changed her, how every day she was less pretending to be the boss and more becoming the boss, the choices she makes, the lives she’s taking, she hardly recognized herself most days, and she could tell Marc was having a hard time too, nothing was like they had planned, nothing was like they had wanted.

“A’ight…Hermosa, it’ll be okay.” Jake couldn’t help it, Marc be damned, she looked like she was going to break down, He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. He takes a step closer and pulls her into an embrace, holding her tight. “I’ve got you… te tengo nena…” he whispers as he holds the back of her head, kissing her forehead softly as she starts to shake with emotions. It was too much.

~

Marc woke on the couch with Charlotte asleep in his arms. This wasn’t where they went to bed, that’s when he looked up at the mirror over the mantel piece, Jake in his refection looked back.

“What happened Jake?” He whispers as he glances back at Charlotte, her strawberry hair lays across his chest.

“She had a nightmare, she didn’t want me to wake you. La cuidé, amigo, está bien.” Jake smirks slightly, he won’t admit how much he enjoyed doing so, Marc glared at him.

“You took care of her? What the hell does that mean?” he growled lowly, he didn’t trust Jake as far as he could throw him.

“Oye, relájate. Nothing happened, she just wanted to be held. She was scared. Had a dream she took a hit out, on us, it scared her.” Jake left out the part where he initiated it, but what mattered was Charlotte was okay. They could at least agree on that.

“Fuck…that’s…I wish she woke me up…” He says softly as he looks at her peaceful resting face. He loves Charlotte, more than anything, it hurts him to see how much this life is affecting her. All she wanted was for her and Isabella to get out of this life, now Isabella is gone and she’s a mob boss, it was like her worst nightmare come to life. He caressed her face gently, not wanting to wake her. He felt guilty, if he hadn’t shown up…

“It’s not your fault Marc.” Jake says firmly. “Khonshu would have found her anyway, you and I both know this. She wouldn’t want you to think this way. She needs you, she needs us…now more than ever, and at the very least she’s not doing this alone.”

“I know…” Marc sighs looking at the peacefully sleeping woman in his arms. “I know.”

~

Charlotte woke a while later, Marc running his fingers through her hair as he watched her sleep.

“Morning…Marc…” She sleepily mutters as she looks at his face, he looks worried. “What is it?”

“Jake told me about your nightmare. You okay?” He asks as he caresses her face. The worry in his eye goes beyond that.

“Yeah, It was just a dream. It shook me up a bit but Jake helped me calm down.”

“And you’re okay with that? Jake, I mean.” Marc asks nervously. “I know he can be…a bit much sometimes”

“It was fine Marc, he helped me…He just comforted me. Is everything alright, between you two?” She takes his hand and runs her thumb across his knuckles.

“yeah, I just…I know how he has treated some past relationships…I don’t want to see you hurt.” He can hear Jake cussing him out in his head, he was just going to ignore him when he heard him say something that caught his attention.

“hijo de puta! ¡La amo! La amo, idiota.” Hearing this he looks to the mirror, this was not a confession he expected to hear. Jake looks back at him. “You loved her first, that’s true but that doesn’t change how I feel, or how Steven feels. You need to understand that amigo.”

“What is he saying?” Charlotte looks up at him and reaches out touching his jaw. Marc looks down at her, the curious look on her face makes him smile, the way she makes him feel, it’s no wonder the other two have fallen as well.

“He’s fallen in love with you, Steven too… He… He loves you Charlotte.” Marc traces her lips with his thumb holding her chin up. “Is that okay?”

“It’s…more than okay. They’re a part of you Marc. I will love you and all parts of you, until my last breath. I promise.” She whispered. She pulls herself up and kisses him softly, gentle lips move against his, moving together. She pulls away and touched her forehead to his. “I love you Marc…All of you.”

Translations:

nada te pasará: nothing will happen to you

te lo prometo: i promise you that

te tengo nena: I've got you babe

La cuidé, amigo, está bien: I took care of her, friend, it's fine.

Oye, relájate.: Hey, relax.

hijo de puta! ¡La amo! La amo, idiota.”: Motherfucker I love her! I love her you idiot.

~

Masterlist

Tag; @ominoose

[malarkay]

Inside the Wire Chapter 10

Summary: During their final battle with the Storm Hawks, Cyclonis is stopped just short of destroying the Dark Ace. Victory, however, eludes them. With Cyclonia fallen, and escape to the Farside cut off, they're forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

It had been a month since she and Dark Ace had arrived at Zartacla.  Every day, Mr. Moss found a reason to punish at least one of them for some infraction, real or imagined, using it as an excuse to keep them all on lockdown.  It was usually her, though Snipe wasn’t an infrequent target, either.  Even Ace and Ravess had drawn his ire a few times, as tempers were boiling over more frequently the longer they were forced to live like this.  They had nothing but Mr. Moss’ tasks to occupy their time with and were only let out of their cells for half an hour every other day to shower.  It was wearing on them all.

It had been a relief when, the week before, the Storm Hawks had come for another checkup.  Both Aerrow and Piper seemed a bit bewildered by her willingness to be genuinely civil toward them, but she deflected when Piper asked her about it outright.  She wasn’t about to admit that she was happy to see them, if only because it allowed her to stretch her legs and interact face-to-face with people who weren’t actively trying to humiliate her.  How pathetic would that sound?

Speaking of humiliation, she was currently standing in the common area of the cell block writing, ‘I must not mock or insult Mr. Moss’ a thousand times on a large chalkboard he had brought up.

At first, she wondered how he found out about that transgression.  She had voiced some harsh opinions about him while venting her frustrations to Ace the night before, but not before peering out of the slot in her door to confirm that there were no guards around.  But now, after enduring hours of Ravess’ mockery at her current predicament, she could make a fairly educated guess about who had ratted her out.

The combination of being given a child’s punishment, Ravess’ barbs, and the cramping in her hand and arm put her in an even worse mood than usual.  So when, with her just one line away from completing her task, Mr. Moss dragged an eraser diagonally from one end of the chalkboard to the other and declared that her last twenty-five lines were illegible and would have to be redone, she couldn’t stop an angry tear from falling.

She tried to dash it away before he saw it, but wasn’t fast enough.

“Well, what d’you know, looks like all the lessons might finally be sinking in,” he chuckled, throwing the eraser at her.  “Erase that mess and redo it, then get back in your cell,” he said before raising his voice so the others would hear.  “Lockdown ends tomorrow.  Don’t make me regret it.”

~*~*~

Cyclonis expected Mr. Moss to go back on his word this morning, to mess with them, and for the lockdown to continue indefinitely.  So she was surprised when the guards had them line up outside their cells instead.

It was her first time seeing Ravess and Snipe fully since their arrival.  Their jumpsuits were a lighter red than the maroon she and Ace wore, and she realized she didn’t know how long a sentence they had been given.  Based on the colour coding, she assumed they had managed to avoid life imprisonment, at least.

Snipe, while still broad, looked a little slimmer than when she had last seen him, his hair trimmed similarly to Ace’s.  Ravess looked much the same as she always did, though her gaze unsurprisingly lacked the obsequence she was used to seeing from her when their eyes met.  

Their name tapes read S. Fortier and R. Fortier, respectively.  House Fortier was one of the oldest and most influential noble families in the Empire.  Ravess and Snipe were a discredit to the name.  All the anger she had felt towards them when she banished them was getting stirred up at the sight of them.  She should have been able to count on them, yet they had failed her time and time again.  They were emblematic of the decay within the Empire she had had to fight against nearly as much as she had had to fight the Free Atmos, and it made her sick just looking at them. 

“If you pick a fight with Ravess and get us locked down again, I will have some choice words for you,” Ace told her, his tone only half joking.

“I’m not going to,” she snapped at him.  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You were staring at her so hard; she’s lucky she wasn’t vaporized on the spot.”

“Eyes forward, no talking,” the guard added.  

When they had complied, the guard escorted them to the cafeteria.

A few dozen inmates, all in the same shade of red as Ravess and Snipe, were already there.  Some were seated, having already gotten their breakfast, while others were still getting food from a long counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen.  Half a dozen other inmates, all dressed in green, were working behind the counter, dishing up the meals.

The room got quiet when they entered.  They were the center of attention, although everyone tried not to blatantly stare.  At least until one of the guards gave a sharp whistle and ordered everyone to mind their business.  That didn’t stop the glances entirely, but the noise level in the room did go back to a low buzz, and they were ushered forward to get into the breakfast line.

Trays, plates, and cutlery were stationed at the end of the counter, free for the taking. Complete sets of actual metal cutlery!  She hadn’t had access to more than a spoon since her first day on Atmosia.  Acting on impulse, she grabbed a second knife along with the rest of her utensils, slipping it into her pocket as she took a tray and plate and continued down the line.  

She worried for a moment that someone had seen and would call her out, but Snipe proved himself useful as an unwitting distraction.  As soon as they got in line he loudly began talking about what he hoped was being served, and as they went down the line, he kept demanding double or even triple portions of every item.  The cafeteria workers and nearest guards had their hands full, explaining to him that he was only allowed single portions.

She and Dark Ace made their way to an empty table.  She had noticed people sitting at it when they came in, but it had conspicuously been wiped down and vacated by the time they made it through the line.  At least some people still knew how to show respect for their betters.  Sitting, she draped her napkin across her lap, slipping the knife out of her pocket as she did so and tucking it into her sock.

While a table knife was useless as a weapon, it could potentially pry the leecher crystals free from their cuffs.  She and Ace could be out of here in less than 24 hours.

“What are you smiling about?” Ravess asked suspiciously as she took a seat across from her.

“What makes you think you can sit here?” she shot back, scowling at her. 

“I’ll sit wherever I please, you little-“

“Everyone here’s so mean!” Snipe whined as he dropped onto the bench next to Ravess.  “No one cares that Snipe’s gonna starve to death!”

He reached over to steal food off Ravess’ plate but hastily snatched his hand back when she tried to stab him with her fork.

“Even Snipe’s sister doesn’t care that he’s gonna starve to death!” he complained.  

“Here,” she said, pushing her tray across the table to him.

Ace made a disgruntled noise and pulled her tray back toward her.

“Thank you, Ma-aww, no takebacks!” Snipe pounded his fist on the table and glared at Ace, but backed down when Ace glared right back at him.

“Now I know you’re up to something,” Ravess said.

“You’re right, I am.  I’m trying to shut Snipe up.  His incessant whining is giving me a headache.”

“You need to eat,” Ace said between bites of his breakfast.

“I need quiet more than I need whatever this is,” she said.

“It’s food,” Snipe supplied helpfully.

“Debatable.”

One of the guards walked up to the table.  “Am I going to have to write up the four of you on your first day out of lockdown?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” she answered for them all.

“Good.  I hate paperwork.  So, to keep us all happy, I’ll remind everyone of the mess hall rules.  No sharing food.  No stealing food. No violence.  Got it?”

They nodded, and the guard moved on.  

Everyone ate in silence after his departure, allowing her to fantasize about disabling the leecher cuffs in peace.  If she couldn’t use the knife to pry the crystals free, she’d move on to trying to break the locking mechanism.  And if that failed, she could perhaps use the butt of the handle to shatter the crystals. She had several options and all the time in the world to try them out.

Once breakfast was over, she turned in her tray and cutlery and lined up with the others to leave the cafeteria.  It was there that her little fantasy was shattered when the guards began searching every prisoner.

She glanced around her for a place to ditch the knife, but her options were limited.  Dark Ace was in front of her.  She could slip it into his pocket, but she wouldn’t resort to him taking the fall for her if there was another way out.  Ravess was behind her, but it would be impossible to plant the knife on her without her noticing. 

Her only real option was to quietly hand off the knife to Ace and have him plant it in the pocket of the prisoner in front of him.  She shifted to see who that was and recognized him as…well, she couldn’t remember his name, but she knew his face.  The commander with the scar.  Perfect.  He’d do nicely. 

But before she could put her plan into action, a guard appeared at her side.  Some guards had started their search at the back of the line to speed things along.  She hadn’t noticed.  The guard ordered her to hold her arms out to her sides and began his pat down.  She held her breath as he got closer to discovering the knife, only to let it out when, with only the briefest hesitation when he first felt the metal, he smoothly took the knife away from her and slipped it up his sleeve.

Straightening back up, he bent closer to her as he ostensibly double-checked her sleeves.  “Do you know what Mr. Moss would do to you if you were caught with a weapon, Master?” he asked lowly.

“Am I about to find out?” she asked, just as quietly.

“Not today.”

She glanced over at her unexpected saviour, memorizing his face and name.  Officer H. Martlet.

“Some of us are still loyal, but we can only help you so much.  This can’t happen again.  We-“

“Count’s off!  One knife’s missing!” called one of the cafeteria workers behind them.

“Alright, inmates, hands on your heads. Nobody moves, nobody talks,” shouted the guard who had spoken to them earlier.  “Front of the room guards, continue your search of the prisoners. Back of the room guards search the tables.  Nobody leaves this mess hall until that knife turns up.”

Martlet cocked an eyebrow at her as if to say, ‘See?’

He went off with the others to search the cafeteria, and after a tense few minutes, he ‘discovered’ the knife on the floor under one of the tables.

“Found it!” he called, holding it up.  “One of these no ‘counts must’ve dropped it.”  He returned the knife to the cafeteria workers.

The guard who had taken charge nodded.  “Repeat your count,” he ordered the workers.  “Inmates, you are responsible for returning all cutlery at the end of every meal.  If you drop something, pick it up.  If this happens again, you’re all getting smoked.  Including you!” he said, pointing to the cafeteria workers.

“Boss, that ain’t fair!” one of them protested.

“It is when it’s your job to make sure everyone turns everything back in.”

“But everyone did turn everything back in!”

The guard scoffed.  “I’m sick of your whining, McNair.  Next time you open your mouth, you’re off this cushy detail, and we’ll have you digging ditches outside the wall.  How’s that sound?”

McNair snapped his mouth shut and shook his head.

“Thought so.  All clear?”

“Yeah, the count’s good,” another worker announced.

“Excellent.  Everyone back to your housing units!”

~*~*~

The next several months passed uneventfully as they settled into a routine.  Wake up, attend morning count, go to breakfast, back to their cells until lunch.  After lunch, they went out to the yard, which for them was the flat, razor-wire-enclosed rooftop of the prison.  After an hour outside, they had time to shower or do laundry; then it was back to the cells until dinner.  After dinner, their cell doors remained unlocked for an hour, and they could spend time in the cell block’s common area if they wanted.  Then it was time for the evening count before being locked in for the night.

Every two weeks, Piper and Aerrow would visit.  Their conversations, for the most part, remained cooly polite.  After a few visits, Piper began to talk about some of the projects she was working on and the problems she was running into.  When it became clear that she wouldn’t volunteer to brainstorm solutions with her, Piper became more direct.

“So?”

“So?”

“Don’t be a jerk; you know what I’m asking.  What do you think?“

“I think you were already given a chance to work with me, and you threw the offer back in my face.  Why should I help you now?”

“You wanted me to help you conquer the world.  You can’t compare that to what I’m asking.”

She shrugged.  

“Aren’t you bored in here?  If I were you, I’d jump at the chance to do something useful.”

Did Piper think she could dangle a puzzle in front of her face and expect her to trip over herself to solve it?  That was just irritating.

“Bored?  Not at all.  I’ve found being here to be a welcome change of pace.  It’s relaxing.”

Piper scoffed.  “You’re such a liar!”

She just smirked at her.

“You’re not going to help me?“

“No.”

Despite her rejection, Piper kept regaling her with tales of what she was working on at their next visit, and the one after that, and the one after that.  Sometimes she would try to get her to help her with a problem.  Sometimes she wouldn’t.  As time passed, it got harder to say no to those requests.  There was something almost charming about how Piper spoke about her projects, an infectious enthusiasm that was difficult to avoid getting swept up in.  

“I have a problem,” Piper told her towards the end of one of their visits.

“You have five of them,” she agreed.  “I tried to get rid of them for you.  Sadly, I was unsuccessful.”

“Keep it up,” Piper said with false brightness.  “One of these days, jokes about trying to kill my friends might actually be funny.”

“So what’s the problem?”  

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing,” Piper hedged.  

That made her grin and sit forward, resting her forearms on the table.  “Ohhh, so it’s a personal problem.  Why didn’t you say so?  Should Aerrow wait outside?”

“No, he can stay.  The problem is Finn.  He keeps breaking into my diary to read it.”

That surprised a laugh out of her.  “You keep a diary?” she snickered.

“What’s so funny about that?” Piper asked with an offended edge to her voice.

“It just seems so frivolous.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us have a giant stick up our-“

“Erm, what Piper is trying to say is that we’ve tried a million things to get him to stop, and nothing’s worked,” Aerrow spoke up.

“Can’t you just get a lock for it?”

“It’s not a physical book.  I record it on a memory crystal.  I tried hiding it in a locked box, but he still managed to get to it.”

“Well then, just imprint yourself on the crystal.”

“What do you mean, imprint on the crystal?”

She smiled.  One of the rarer features of a memory crystal was its ability to be keyed to a specific person, rendering it nothing more than a shiny rock to anyone else trying to access its contents.  She felt a certain amount of vindication at the fact that Piper seemed unaware of that little bit of trivia.  For a moment, she considered keeping the mechanics behind it to herself.  But the blond Storm Hawk was the most obnoxious of the bunch, and she sympathized with Piper’s desire to protect her innermost thoughts from his prying eyes.  So she taught her how to lock a memory crystal and the kind of keys that she could use to unlock it.  Something unique to her, like fingerprints.

“But it would be too easy to lift a fingerprint off something I’ve touched and use it to unlock the crystal.  Aren’t there other things the crystal can use as a key?  Something more secure?”

“Sure, but I’m not going to do all your thinking for you.  You’ll figure something out.”

Piper nodded slowly before smiling.  “This has been helpful.  Thank you.”

She shrugged off the thanks, glancing over to the guard by the door, who tapped his watch when he saw her looking.

“Looks like we’re out of time,” she said, standing.  The other two stood as well; then Piper surprised her by coming around to her side of the table and throwing her arms around her.  

She stood awkwardly frozen to the spot for the duration of the hug, arms stiff at her sides.  “Thanks again,” Piper said before stepping away when the guard reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to do that.

“Okay,” she said, the only words her stupid brain was offering up at the moment.  

“I’ll let you know if it works at our next meeting!”

~*~*~

The walk back to the Condor was short but awkward.  At least for him.  Piper walked along with a spring in her step and a grin on her face, acting like everything was perfectly normal.

“So,” he said slowly once they were back onboard.  “What the heck was that?”

“What?” Piper asked, glancing over at him curiously.

“The hug?” 

“Oh!”  She stopped and held her hand up, thumb and pointer finger pinched together, smiling triumphantly.

“Huh?”

“The key!  Or, well, the key to the key.  Probably.  Maybe.  I think, anyway.”

He looked closer, realizing she was holding up a strand of hair. 

“She said it had to be something unique to a person.  Well, what could be more unique?”

“Than hair?” he asked skeptically.

She rolled her eyes.  “Think about it.”

“DNA?” he asked after a moment’s thought.

“Yep!”

He grinned, feeling his shoulders relax.  “That was quick thinking.  There wasn’t a less awkward way to get that, though?”

“Anything else would have made what I was doing too obvious.  Anyway, why do you look so relieved?  You weren’t jealous, were you?” she teased.

He laughed.  “Jealous?  Nah.”  Of his best friend hugging their mutual worst enemy?  Of course not!

Grinning, she held out her arms, and he gladly stepped into her embrace, hugging her back.  They stayed locked together for a long moment until Piper joked, “Good.  Besides, you’re a much better hugger.”

They continued walking until they got to her room.

“So how does this work?  Do you wave the hair in front of the memory crystal and hope it recognizes it?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” she said, opening her door and rummaging through her things until she came across Cyclonis’ memory crystal.  Despite her words, she tried what he suggested.  Nothing happened.  Nothing happened when she tried brushing the hair against the crystal, either.

“What I’m probably going to have to do is find a way to amplify her DNA within some sort of crystalline simulacrum that I can use to trick the memory crystal into thinking she’s the one trying to activate it.”

“Just don’t accidentally clone her or something.  One Cyclonis is more than enough,” he told her with a smirk.

~*~*~

Within a few months, Cyclonis had compiled a comprehensive list of the guards on her side.  If she was going to escape from this place, she would need their cooperation.  In the meantime, they were proving themselves valuable in other ways.

When one of them was on shift, life was a little bit easier.  Extra food would find its way into her pocket after dinner during the search, an apple or an orange or an extra bread roll.  The hot water would last through an entire shower instead of ‘running out’ halfway through or not working at all.  As winter approached, she found an extra blanket stashed in her footlocker.  Terra Zartacla wasn’t known for its cold.  There hadn’t been any snowfall recorded in nearly thirty years.  But overnight temperatures during the winter could fall to near freezing, and not much effort was put into heating and cooling the prison.  Not in the cellblocks, anyway.

Their loyalty would not go unrewarded.  Once she found a way out of this place and reclaimed her throne, they could look forward to generous promotions and their choice of assignments.  The only problem was that she hadn’t found a way out yet.

“-eat it this way, instead of this way, and you can eat the whole thing!  Hey, is anyone listening?  This is important!”

She looked up from her bowl of the shockingly bland soup the kitchen staff called chilli, and Snipe’s face brightened at finally having someone’s attention.

“Master, watch!  I invented a way to eat the whole apple,” he said excitedly, chomping down on his apple from the top, biting clean through the core.

“Game changer,” she deadpanned.

“Mmm-hmm!” Snipe agreed as he chewed.

“And stop calling me that.  You remember what happened last time.”

Mr. Moss had caught wind of Snipe’s bad habit of addressing her by her old title and had locked him down in his cell for three days.  And then he had turned around and locked her down, too, for allowing it.  As an extra turn of the screw, he’d reduced their rations to bread and water for the duration.  It hadn’t been her favourite way to spend a long weekend.

Snipe frowned at the reminder.  Setting down his apple, he removed his piece of cornbread from its foil wrapping and fashioned the foil into a hat, setting it on his head.  Ace rolled his eyes with a sigh.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping the guards from reading my mind.”

“I wasn’t aware there was anything to read,” Ravess smirked at him.

“How do they know what we say when they aren't around, then?”

She glanced at Ravess from the corner of her eye, wondering how Snipe could be thick enough not to realize that his sister was a snitch.  She wasn’t sure what she was getting out of her role of informant, whether there was some material gain involved or if she was doing it for her own amusement.  It didn’t really matter.  All they could do about it was watch what they said around her, something she and Ace were already doing.  At least Snipe was finally starting to ask the right questions, even if he was coming to wildly incorrect conclusions.  He’d figure out the truth eventually.

“They can’t read your mind, Snipe.  And even if they could, that hat won’t stop them.  Take it off,” she told him.

“No, foil stops the rays from getting through!  Everyone knows that!”

“For that to work, you’d need to have your entire head encased in the foil.  Your hat that…”

She knew how to get out of here!

She fought to keep from smiling and continued, hoping Ravess didn’t notice anything strange about the brief mid-sentence pause.

“-that doesn’t even fit right isn’t doing anything.”

Pouting, Snipe took the foil hat off his head and threw it down on the table.  They continued their meal with no more talk of mind reading or foil hats.  She scoped out the cafeteria as she ate and noticed two of her favourite guards were on duty, including Martlet.  Perfect.

At the end of the meal, she began collecting everyone’s trays, stacking them on top of one another.

“What are you doing?” Ravess asked, eyes narrowing.

“Helping.”

Ravess laughed.  “No, really.”

“Really.  I’ve got this.  The rest of you can go line up.”

Before Ravess could protest further, Ace put a hand on her shoulder and started steering her toward the line.  

She took the trays over to the trash.  A quick scan of the room showed the guards otherwise occupied and Ravess saying something to Martlet, not even being subtle about it.  Too bad for Ravess, she chose the wrong guard, and she would win this round because of it.  Quickly, she shoved all the foil she had collected at the table into her pocket, tossed the napkins, turned everything else in to the kitchen staff, then got in line.

Predictably, Martlet came up to her immediately for a pat down. 

“Got reasonable suspicion to believe you’ve got contraband on you,” he said, loudly enough for the next nearest guard and every prisoner in between to hear.  “Hands on your head!”

He was rough with his search, but he had to put on a convincing show.  

“Huh,” he scoffed, stepping back once he was done, empty-handed.  He shook his head and told his fellow guard, “False alarm.”

Once back in her cell for the night, she carefully smoothed out her pieces of foil, inspecting each one to ensure they were all intact.  Then she hid them at the bottom of her footlocker and laid down, running calculations in her head until she fell asleep.

~*~*~

It was done.

Piper held her newest creation up to the light.  It was a cloudy white crystal the size of her fist, and if she was correct, it would allow her to access the information stored on Cyclonis’ memory crystal.

The moment of truth finally here, she eagerly retrieved the memory crystal, setting it atop her workbench.  Bringing the new crystal closer, she activated it.  A white glow surrounded it, and after a moment, an answering light surrounded the memory crystal as it flared to life.

“Yes!” 

She punched the air as the memory crystal projected a holographic image of the first bit of information stored within it.  But her enthusiasm was dampened when she looked at what was in front of her.

“Wha-?”

Where she had expected to see schematics of a weapon to rival the Storm Engine, or pages of arcane knowledge on crystal magic, or even the most closely guarded state secrets of Cyclonia, there was a photograph instead.

“No way.”

She cycled through the rest of what was on the crystal, confident she’d find what she had expected hidden somewhere.

“There’s just no way!”

It was all photographs!  Cyclonis had hunted them down, ripped a hole in their ship, trounced 5/6ths of the team, and almost got herself captured, and for what?  To fix a broken photo album?  

She scrolled back to the first photo, just in case she had missed something.  She hadn’t.

“She’s insane!”

There was a knock on her door.  “Uhh, you okay in there?” Finn’s voice asked.

She opened the door.  “I’m flabbergasted,” she told him.

“Oh.  I bet Stork has something you can take for that.”

She shook her head with a laugh.  

“What’s that?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before coming into her room and looking at the picture floating above her workstation.  He made a face, recoiling slightly.  “She seems nice,” he joked.  Then, “Is that Cyclonis?”

Piper realized she hadn’t paid much attention to the pictures in her search.  She looked now, at a small Cyclonis clutching Atmos’ creepiest-looking doll, then up at the woman who accompanied her.  A chill went up her spine as she met the hard, pitiless stare of Cyclonis’ predecessor.  The woman didn’t look like she had an ounce of warmth or kindness in her body.  This was who raised Cyclonis?  No wonder she was so messed up.

“Yeah, it is,” she said, scrolling to the next picture.  

“Aww!“ Finn laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile, too.  It was another picture of a very young Cyclonis, hamming it up for the camera.  She looked so much happier than in the first photo.  She sat atop the shoulders of a man who looked about thirty, whose resemblance to both the woman in the first picture and Cyclonis herself was unmistakable.  He had his mother’s high cheekbones and his daughter’s crooked grin.  

But there was something else about him that was unsettlingly familiar.  Blond-haired, blue-eyed, with a sparse smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, he looked a lot like a grown, masculine version of Cyclonis’ Lark disguise.  She wondered if that had been deliberate or if she had done it subconsciously.

The following two pictures featured him, as well.  The first was of him with a woman.  Tall, slender, with raven hair and indigo eyes.  Cyclonis’ mother.  They looked happy.  She frowned when she realized there were no pictures of this woman with Cyclonis.  What happened to Cyclonis’ mother was not a matter of public record, at least not on Atmosia, but she could make an educated guess. 

She moved on.

Cyclonis’ father was younger in the last picture to feature him, maybe twenty, sitting sideways on his Switchblade like he was waiting for someone.  His hair was wind tousled, his pose and expression casually confident.  He looked, she hated to admit it, very cool.  

The last picture was of Cyclonis’ grandmother in her prime, standing before her throne in full imperial regalia.  She looked less ice cold than in the first photo, but not by much.

She scrolled again, and it brought her back to the first photo.

“Dude, where did you get these?” Finn asked, and she started.  She had forgotten he was there.

“Cyclonis’ memory crystal.”

Finn laughed.  “Seriously?  This is all that’s on there?  Oh man, you must feel so stupid right now.”

“Gee, thanks, Finn.”

“No problem.  We should show the others!”

She grabbed the crystal before he could.  “I dunno about that.  These seem kinda…personal?”

“Oh, come on!  Now you feel bad about going through her stuff?”

“Kinda.  I mean, obviously these are important to her, and she didn’t want anyone else looking at them.”

“Pfft, too late!”  He snatched the crystals from her hands and ran off down the hall.  Exasperated, she went after him at a slower pace.  By the time she got to bridge, he was already showing off the pictures to Stork, Junko, and Radarr.

A few minutes later, Aerrow and Starling wandered in; towels slung over their shoulders and water bottles in hand.  They had spent the better part of the afternoon training together.  

Starling had returned to Terra Mesa after the tribunal members were released from their duties but promised to come to visit them more often.  So far, she had kept that promise, coming to stay on the Condor for a few days once a month.  It was nice having her around semi-regularly.  It’d be nicer if she stayed full-time, but they’d take what they could get.

“Whatcha doing?” Aerrow asked.

“Looking at pictures,” Finn grinned.

“Who is that?  He’s fit,” Starling said, taking a swig of water.  The crystal was currently displaying the second to last picture.

Piper couldn’t help the strangled noise she made.  Starling wasn’t usually one to make such comments.  Whether it was because she was naturally reserved or because she considered them too young to talk that way around, she wasn’t sure.  Finn’s grin grew diabolical.  “Cyclonis’ dad.”

Starling choked on her water, and Aerrow pounded her on the back until the coughing subsided.  

“You okay?” he asked her.

Red-faced either from the choking or embarrassment, Starling nodded.  “The one time I say anything,” she muttered, mopping water off herself with her towel.

Aerrow grinned before turning his attention back to the photos.  “Is this all that’s on the crystal?” he asked as he scrolled through them.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“I wish I was!”

“And you’re sure this is what she used the Nil crystal on?”

“I’m positive.”

“Huh,” he said with a hint of a smirk.

“You’re not upset?”

“Nah, I’m kinda impressed.  Reckless and sentimental aren’t words I’d use to describe Cyclonis before now.  Are you upset you wasted so much time on this?”

“Actually, no, I learned a lot from this project.”

“So what do we do now?” Junko asked.  “Do you think she’d want this back?”

“There’s only one problem with that,” Stork pointed out.  “She can’t have any crystals without-“ he gestured with his hands, simulating an explosion.

“Stork’s right.  She can’t have this crystal back,” she said.  But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t have the pictures.

~*~*~

Things were coming along nicely.  Cyclonis had filled in the Dark Ace and Martlet about her escape plan while keeping Ravess and Snipe in the dark, and they were fully onboard.  

They would choose a day when Martlet was assigned the graveyard shift in their section.  He’d leave their doors unlocked at lights out, and once the others were asleep, he’d leave his post long enough for them to slip out.  Getting down to the ground floor would be the trickiest part.  They couldn’t hand-pick the entire staff, after all.  There might be one or two who would look the other way, but they’d need to be quick and decisive in their takedown of the others.  They couldn’t let them raise the alarm.  And besides, they’d need uniforms.

Once dressed as guards, they’d have an easier time moving freely.  Ace would go ahead to clear a path and open the gates while she stole Mr. Moss’ ride.  She’d walk it to the outer gate where Ace would be waiting, they’d push it far enough out into the forest that no one would hear the engine start, and they’d fly their way to freedom before anyone even knew they were missing.

But first, she needed enough foil and plastic wrap to construct energy-blocking shields for the cuffs.  That would allow her to escape on the Heliblade safely and perhaps even use her powers to a limited extent. 

Martlet was helping her with that, too. Between the two of them, her collection was quickly growing.  Soon she’d have enough foil to cut the leech crystals off from the outside world.  

It wouldn’t be long, now.

~*~*~

“I have a confession to make,” Piper said, watching Cyclonis to gauge her reaction.  They were halfway through their visit, and she had seemed unusually disengaged the entire time.  Piper thought they were past this.

Maybe she was coming down with something.  Winter had hit the ground running this year, and word around the prison was that the flu was spreading like wildfire across Zartacla and Seraph, a small terra about ten klicks to the east, where the guards and their families lived.  Even Mr. Moss had sounded sniffly and congested when he greeted them.

“Oh?” Cyclonis asked, clearly disinterested.

She could fix that.

“I can’t make heads or tails out of this idea of yours,” she said, holding out a rough sketch torn from one of Cyclonis’ notebooks.

Cyclonis snatched the page away from her, glancing down at it and then back up at her, gaze sharp.  “Where did you get this?”

“The ruins of Cyclonia.”

A pained look flit across Cyclonis’ face at the mention of Cyclonia and ruins in the same sentence but was quickly suppressed.  “You’ve been down there?”

“We had to make sure there was nothing left that could be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.”

“What a clever way to justify looting.”

“Pot, kettle.”

“Yet only one of us is behind bars for it.”

Aerrow decided to step in before things could get heated.  “We’re getting off track here.”

“There was a point to this?”

“Yes,” she told her.  “I thought you might be interested in finishing this.  This and other projects in your notebooks.  We can work together to make them a reality.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Because they’re your projects!”

“That you’ll take all the credit for?  No thanks.”

“We’ll share the credit.  And it’s not about that, anyway.  You said you wanted to take over the Atmos to make it a better place.  The plans and sketches I’ve seen?  Some of those inventions could do that!  If there is any truth to what you claim motivated your megalomania, now’s your chance to prove it.”

Cyclonis sneered and threw the page back towards her, but she pushed it back to her side of the table and tossed a pencil down on top of it.  “Keep it.  Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

At first, she thought she’d refuse, but she angrily folded up the page and shoved it and the pencil into her pocket.  “Happy now?  Are we done?”

“Actually, I have one more thing for you.  But I’m not sure you deserve it now.”

“Keep it, then.  I don’t want it,” Cyclonis shot back flippantly.

“Trust me, you do,” Aerrow stepped in again. 

Surprisingly, that shut Cyclonis up long enough for her to slide the envelope over to her.  “You might want to handle that a little more gently than you did the other paper.”

“Is it a full pardon from the Sky Knight Council?  Because if so, you should have led with that.”

“The Chairman is old, not senile,” she joked, and at least that drew a smirk from the other girl.  A smirk that faded as she opened the envelope and removed the photographs within.  It was replaced with the softest, tenderest expression she’d ever seen grace Cyclonis’ face.  Slowly, carefully, she shuffled through the short stack of photos.  

“Umm,” she began, pausing to clear her throat when it came out thicker with emotion than she probably intended.  “How?” she asked, furrowing her brow as she looked back up at them.

“I might have lied about my diary troubles,” she shrugged.  She could almost see all the questions taking shape behind Cyclonis’ eyes and held up a forestalling hand.  “We don’t have enough time left to get into the technical details of how I managed to hack your memory crystal.  Your questions will have to wait until next time.”

Cyclonis nodded, slipping the photographs back into the envelope.  “Next time,” she echoed before looking over to the guard, who held up five fingers.  “Although, we do have enough time for one question.”

“Sure,” she agreed.

“Why?  You didn’t have to give these to me.  You could have let me believe they were lost forever.”

“I could have, but that didn’t feel right.”

Cyclonis was silent for nearly a full minute.  And then, in a move that shocked Piper, she quietly thanked them.

On their way back to the Condor, Aerrow looked over at her with an incredulous, “She said thank you.”

“Sometimes wonders never cease.”

~*~*~

Two days later, it was time.

Cyclonis had the materials she needed to construct her shields, and, in a stroke of good luck, half the guards assigned to Section A of the prison that night were loyalists.

The moment Martlet ‘locked’ them in for the night, she got to work.

First, she wrapped the cuffs in plastic wrap, fully insulating them before she began to encase them in layers of foil.  She worked carefully to ensure that there were no gaps in coverage and that the foil layer was of sufficient thickness with no weak spots.  She would feel more confident if she had something to measure with, but she didn’t.  Eyeballing it would have to be good enough.

Once that was done, she retrieved the photographs Piper had given her out of her locker and tucked them into her pocket.  They were the only thing in this gods-forsaken place she cared to keep.  Days later, she still felt a combination of confusion and wonder when she thought of what Piper had done for her.  The Storm Hawk could have chucked the crystal back into the Wastelands once she learned that it contained nothing of any use to her, and she would have been none the wiser.  Instead, she had gone to the trouble of having the photos printed off and handed them over to her without asking for anything in return.  

Would she have done the same thing in her place?  Definitely not.  It annoyed her that that realization bothered her just a little.  And it bothered her even more that, despite Piper asking for nothing in return, she still felt like she owed her something.  And that was how she found herself jotting down notes and equations on the page Piper had given her, working by the light that filtered into her cell from the hallway in the hours leading up to her escape.  She wasn’t going to have time to finish her work on this project, far from it, but she could at least start it and trust Piper to figure out the rest.  

When Martlet passed by on his rounds and gave her the nod that signalled it was almost time to make their move, she scribbled a hasty ‘For Piper’ on the top of the page, placed it atop her cot, and moved to the door in anticipation.  Once she heard the main gate of the cellblock open, she counted to ten and then slowly pushed open her door.  Martlet had freshly oiled the hinges to prevent any squeaking that might awaken Ravess or Snipe, but she wasn’t taking any chances.  

She froze when the snoring coming from Snipe’s cell stopped abruptly, replaced by a violent coughing fit.  The virus going around had hit him pretty hard.  She had been studiously ignoring her headache and the tickle in her throat that had started earlier that afternoon.  She never got sick, and she didn’t intend to start now.

Snipe’s cough quieted, the snoring resumed, and she slipped out of her cell, closing the door quietly behind her.  Ace was already waiting for her outside his door, and together they moved silently toward the exit.  Peeking out, she saw Martlet talking to another one of the guards, one who wasn’t with them.  Martlet had maneuvered them so he was facing the cellblock, leaving the other guard’s back turned away from them and the stairs they needed to reach.

They made it to the stairs undetected and moved down to the second level.  From here, they needed to get down the hallway to the other stairs leading to the first floor.  This would be the most treacherous section of their journey, as a look toward the guard post showed that neither of the guards stationed on this floor was in on their plan.  

They ducked into a supply closet and waited for the guards to make their rounds again.  They didn’t have long to wait.  As soon as one of the guards passed by, Ace grabbed him in a chokehold and dragged him into the closet.  The guard’s struggles grew weaker and weaker until, after what felt like an eternity, he went limp.  Ace waited a little longer before releasing him and letting him fall to the ground.  Together they stripped him and, after pressing her fingers to his throat and feeling a pulse, bound and gagged him.

The guard was on the smaller side, so she got his uniform.  It was a bit baggy on her, even with her wearing her jumpsuit underneath, but in the dark, it would come close enough to passing muster.

Twisting up her hair, she tucked it underneath the guard’s cap, then picked up his baton, which was armed with a stunner.  She activated it, watching how the energy swirled within and around the crystal.  Most people only saw a glow emanating from crystals, like a lightbulb.  But the trained crystal mage could see the wispy strands of power that infused each crystal.  It was these that they could manipulate directly, that they bent to their will.  She watched for any sign of the leechers siphoning power from the stunner but saw none.  With a smirk, she deactivated the crystal and nodded to Ace, then signalled for him to wait here.

Stepping out into the hall, she kept her head down as she walked toward the guard station.

“Thought you got lost,” the second guard joked as she approached.  When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Aguilar?  You alright, man?”

She activated the baton once she got within range of the other guard and thrust it toward his chest.

“Hey!”  

He grabbed at her wrist just as the crystal discharged, and he slumped in his seat.  Unfortunately, his effort to save himself ripped a hole through several layers of foil, weakening the shield enough to allow a trickle of energy to flow from the stunner to the leecher.  She let the baton clatter to the ground as Ace came up behind her and hoisted the unconscious guard over his shoulder.  They brought him back to the supply closet.

She did her best to repair the damage while Ace assessed the second guard’s build.  “This isn’t going to work,” he said.  “He’s too short.”  He bound and gagged the guard, then looked at her, pointing to her wrist.  “Is that going to be a problem?”

She shook her head.  “It’s a minor inconvenience.  We can still go through with the plan.”  She hoped.

“Who’s left?  Drongo and Wilder?”

She nodded.

Drongo was a Wallop.  A particularly large Wallop.  They were lucky he was with them rather than against them, but his uniform wouldn’t fit Ace, either.  “Wilder it is,” Ace said.  “Let’s go.”

Down on the ground floor, they motioned for Drongo and Wilder to follow them, leading them out of the cellblock and into the guard’s locker room.

“Strip,” Ace told Wilder without preamble.

“Whoa, what?  That wasn’t part of the plan,” he said.

“I need your uniform.”

“How are we gonna explain that to Mr. Moss?  Martlet said you were just gonna sneak by us.”

“Just say we snuck up behind you and hit you with this,” Ace said, holding up the baton he took from the second guard upstairs.

Drongo snorted.  

“Problem?”

“Aye.  Go ‘head and give it yer best shot.”

Ace activated the baton and jabbed it dead center in the middle of Drongo’s chest.  The Wallop didn’t even flinch, not even when Ace held it there for several long seconds.

That did pose a problem.  How would they explain how Wilder was taken down without Drongo noticing and raising the alarm or simply stopping them himself?

“We don’t have time for this,” she said.  “Drongo, you’ve caught the flu.  It upset your stomach.  You’ve spent the last hour in the bathroom.  You didn’t see or hear anything.  Go.”

Drongo left, grumbling about the indignity of that cover story.

They both returned their attention to Wilder.

“Your uniform now, if you please,” Ace prompted.

“What?  Right here in front of her?”  He leaned in closer to Ace and lowered his voice.  “I don’t wear…uhh….” His face flushed red as he trailed off.

Eww.

“She doesn’t care,” Ace said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yes, what is that supposed to mean?” 

Ace sighed.  “Just…wait outside?”

Rolling her eyes, she did as he asked.  A few minutes later, he came out wearing Wilder’s uniform and carrying two pairs of dark adaptor goggles.  He handed one pair to her, and she put them on.

They moved on, past the cafeteria, the infirmary, the visiting room, and intake.  Using the keys pilfered from one of the guards, they opened the front door and stepped out into the night.

They crept past the tracker beast cages, fearful of waking them up.  They didn’t need their baying raising any suspicions.  Once past them, they went their separate ways, him to deal with the guards in their towers while she headed around back.

That was where the warden’s two-story building sat.  The entire first floor was one large office.  The second floor was a fully furnished apartment.  The warden had a house on Seraph, of course.  The largest one on the terra.  But Mr. Moss preferred to stay on Zartacla.

Behind the building, walled off between it and the wall surrounding the prison, was The Courtyard.  And off to the side was a separate garage.  That’s where his beloved Bessy would be.

She passed a patrolling guard along the way.  They nodded to each other, and he walked on by, but then he stopped and called out, “Wait!”

Damn.

She stopped and faced him, tensing for a fight.  She hoped it didn’t come to that.  That could draw the attention of other guards.

“What’re you doing here?  This is my route.”

“It surely is,” she said brightly, adopting the prevalent accent of the region.  “I was just bringin’ some cough medicine over to Mr. Moss.  He called the infirmary sayin’ he was out and needed s’more.”

“Drew the short straw, huh?”

She laughed.  “Oh, I don’t mind.”

“Tch, it’s freezing out here.  Why don’t you hand it on over?  I’ll take it to him, and you can go back inside where it’s warmer.”

“Well, bless your heart; chivalry ain’t dead, after all.  But I’ve come all this way already; what’s a little farther?”

“Suit yourself.”

He gave a jaunty little salute, turned, and went on his way.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued to her destination.

No lights were on in the main building.  Mr. Moss must be asleep.  Good.  Even better, the garage was unlocked.  As quietly as she could, she rolled it open.  She uncovered Moss’ Heliblade and checked the fuel compartment, finding it ready to go with new engine crystals.  She closed the compartment door and took a seat.  Gripping the handlebars, she focused her attention on the cuff with the compromised shield, on the alert for any sign that the leecher was siphoning energy from the crystals.  But it seemed to be holding.

The only problem now was that the key wasn’t in the ignition.  Of course, nothing could ever be simple.  She got up and began looking around the garage for the key, but it was nowhere to be found.  With a sigh, she realized she’d have to search the office.

Wishing she had kept the baton, she grabbed a crowbar as a tool and weapon and headed for the main building.  Unlike the garage, the door was locked.  With a little effort, she pried it open with the crowbar and slipped inside.  Closing the door behind her, she paused and listened for any sounds that would indicate that the noise of the break-in had woken up Mr. Moss.  But all was quiet.  She relaxed a little.

The front of the office was faintly illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the front windows.  But the further into the office she ventured, the darker it got.  There were no windows along the back wall where the desk sat.  But she dared not turn on a light and risk tipping Mr. Moss off that someone was here if he were to awaken.  At least it wasn’t pitch black.

She slid open one of the desk drawers, freezing when she heard him cough from upstairs.  The tickle in her throat, the one she’d done such a good job ignoring up until this point, intensified at the sound, and she choked back a cough.  Now was not the time!

Once she had it under control, she squinted through the darkness at the drawer's contents.  Her priority was the skimmer key, but she kept an eye out for the cuff keys, as well.  If she could rid herself of the cuffs here and now, she wouldn’t have to worry about the integrity of her makeshift shields.

The first drawer didn’t yield anything she was looking for.  Neither did the second.  As she opened the third, another, more violent cough came from upstairs, followed by loud grumbling and a light flicking on.  

She searched the third and fourth drawers, found the skimmer key, and grabbed it.  She was halfway to the door when another light flicked on, and footsteps started down the stairs.  She dove behind an armchair, poking her head around it just far enough to see Mr. Moss.  He was dressed in his uniform slacks, with his shirt unbuttoned over an undershirt and no boots.  As she watched, he walked over to his desk, sat down, and turned on his desk lamp.  She ducked back behind the chair.

She had hoped that he had just come down to grab something off his desk and return upstairs, but a full five minutes dragged by and he didn’t move.  She chanced another glance and saw him reading some reports.  She’d never been one to subscribe to the childish notion that good things happened to good people and bad things happened to bad people.  Even the idea that people could be categorized as good or bad was a gross oversimplification, as far as she was concerned.  But she knew what column she fell under in the minds of the general populace of Atmosia. As she sat trapped here without any useful crystals in sight and no plan for this contingency, time ticking away, she was starting to rethink her dismissal of that philosophy.

Even more so when Mr. Moss suddenly spoke aloud, “Why in the blue blazes is it so cold in here?”

Mr. Moss got up and went to the door, and her gaze followed him.  She must have damaged it more than she thought when she pried it open.  It hadn’t latched fully when she closed it behind her, and now it stood just slightly ajar, letting in a draft.  Opening the door wider, he peered out into the darkness.  It was the best opening she was going to get.  She stood, tightly gripping the crowbar with both hands.  But before she could rush him, he whirled around to face her, and she hesitated.  If she attacked now, having lost the element of surprise, it would be far too easy for him to disarm her.  And then what?

“Well, well, well, what have we here?  I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried to fly the coop.  Why don’t you put the crowbar down, and we can have a rational discussion.”  

Her disguise, such as it was, hadn’t fooled him for a second.

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

Mr. Moss moved so that his back was no longer to the open door.  He must suspect she wasn’t alone and didn’t want anyone sneaking up on him.  “We’ve got plenty to discuss.  Like how much trouble you’re in.  Care to take a wild guess?”  When she didn’t respond, he grinned.  “The answer’s gonna surprise you.  You’re not.  On one condition.”

She laughed skeptically, and he continued.  “I mean it.  I know I’ve been hard on you.  I’m not gonna apologize for it.  I knew from the start that you’d need a firm hand, and I was right.   But let’s forget all that, just this once.  If you come along quietly back to your cell, I’ll forgive this transgression.  That goes for the Dark Ace, too, since I’m sure he’s skulking around somewhere.”

Even if she believed him, she had no intention of just giving up now.  Not when her key to freedom was quite literally in her possession.  And not when his overabundance of caution had given her a free path to the door.  With all her might, she threw the crowbar right at his face.  He tried to dodge out of the way but wasn’t fast enough.  While he was spared a crushed nose, the crowbar struck a glancing blow that lacerated his cheek.  His hand flew up to his bleeding face as he unleashed a howl that was half pain, half rage.  

It was time to go.  

She ran for the door.  He lunged at her but missed, and she took off toward the garage.  “You little hellcat!” he yelled.  “Imma tan your hide for that!”

That she believed, but he would have to catch her first.  

She fished the key out of her pocket once she reached the garage.  Hopping onto the Heliblade, she wasted no time starting her up.  Shifting into first gear, she rolled on the throttle, riding out of the garage and right into the path of a crowbar-wielding Mr. Moss.  

She turned to go around him, bracing herself for the swing he would undoubtedly try to take at her as she passed.  Instead, he threw the crowbar through the spokes of the bike’s front wheel, bringing her to an abrupt halt.  She rolled out of the way as the bike toppled over, not wanting to be dragged with it as it skidded to a stop a few meters away.

“Look what you made me do to Bessy!” Mr. Moss seethed as he stomped toward her.  She scrambled over to the fallen Heliblade, ripping open the fuel compartment door and grabbing two engine crystals.

Standing, she ran to put some distance between her and Mr. Moss.  As she did, she forced the energy from one of the engine crystals into the second, overloading it.  When it grew hot in her hand, she turned and threw it at Mr. Moss.

Unfortunately, she miscalculated the timing, and the crystal exploded in midair between them.  The force of it knocked them both back.  

By this point, the commotion had drawn the attention of the nearest guard tower.  Ace’s job had been to target the guards at the front of the prison.  They hadn’t thought they’d need to take out the ones near the rear.

The tower’s searchlight found them, and the alarm sounded, muffled at first but slowly growing louder.  

Younger and healthier, she was the first to recover.  She pushed herself to her feet while Mr. Moss was still on the ground.  All the exertion had triggered another coughing fit in him.  “Don’t just…stand there!” he spluttered, red-faced behind the mask of blood still flowing from the gash on his cheek.

She whirled to find the guard she had spoken to earlier swinging his baton at her.  She caught it, closing her hand around the stunner crystal.

The guard gave an incredulous laugh.  “You can’t be that stupid,” he said and pressed the button to activate the crystal.  Nothing happened.

“I’m not,” she smirked.  A couple of seconds was all she needed to render the crystal powerless.  His eyes widened as it finally dawned on him who he was dealing with.  To his credit, he didn’t back down, and they grappled together for control of the baton.

At least they did until Mr. Moss grabbed her from behind.  The guard wrenched the baton free from her grasp as she struggled against Moss’ attempts to pin her arms behind her back.

“Take the fight out of her,” Mr. Moss ordered.  The guard drove the baton forward, landing a hard, perfectly aimed hit to her solar plexus.  Her knees buckled as she fought to draw in a breath with lungs that refused to work.  

Mr. Moss grabbed one of her arms, shoving up her sleeve.  “Think you’re slick, figurin’ out how to stop the cuffs from working, dontcha?”  

She shook her head, breathless and unable to speak.  Panic gripped her, and she broke out in a cold sweat.  She was only vaguely aware of Mr. Moss tearing away pieces of foil and plastic, uncovering the leecher cuff.  The guard followed suit, destroying the shield surrounding the other cuff.  

They had stripped her of the guard uniform, and three more guards had shown up to point their crystal-tipped staves at her by the time she took her first gasp of air.  The black specks that had begun to overtake her vision slowly faded, and she looked up to see Mr. Moss glaring down at her; a handkerchief pressed tightly to his cheek.

“You gon’ live?” he asked.

She made a sound that was definitely not words, which didn’t seem to satisfy him as an answer.  

“Are you going to live?” he asked again, annoyed that he had to repeat himself.

She drew in a shaky breath and tried again.  “Yes.”

“Good.  Would ruin my fun if you died now.”

Two guards grabbed her and dragged her to her feet as Mr. Moss began barking orders.

“Release the Occucrows and the Tracker Beasts.  There ain’t no way she was working alone.  The Dark Ace is out there somewhere.  Put together a team and scour every square centimetre of this terra if you have to,” he ordered one of the guards, who saluted and ran off.

“Go to the infirmary and tell the medic to get his ass out here and bring his kit.  Then I want every guard assigned to Section A tonight to assemble in The Courtyard.  Hell, bring the other prisoners from 3A with you, too, assuming they’re still there,” he told another.  “If not, I want them hunted down within the hour, along with the Dark Ace.”

Then he turned his attention to the two guards holding her.  “This one has a date with the strap.  Make sure she gets there.”  Then, to her, “You’re gonna wish you had taken me up on my offer.”

The two guards roughly escorted her to The Courtyard.  The yard itself was nothing more than a large patch of barren dirt.  In the center of the yard stood a whipping post.  Not far from it stood another, shorter wooden pillar with two large nails driven into it.  A red bag hung from one of the nails, and a wide strap of thick leather hung from the other.

She dug her heels in, but it barely slowed them down as they dragged her over to the post.  One of them let her go long enough to unbutton her jumpsuit and pull it down, tying the sleeves like a belt around her waist to secure it.  The thin, short-sleeved undershirt she was left with offered scant protection from the cold and would offer even less against what was to come.  She was already shaking from earlier, and the cold didn’t make it any better.  The chains rattled when they shackled her to the post.  Gritting her teeth, she gripped the chains and willed herself to be still.  She didn’t want them to think she was afraid.  

“-need stitches,” came the insistent voice of someone new entering The Courtyard a few minutes later.

“Not now, I said!  All I need from you now is something to stop this blasted bleeding.  Glue it if you have to,” Mr. Moss’ voice answered before he bellowed, “Where is everyone?  One of you get over to Section A and light a fire under them.  I ain’t waiting around here all night.”

There was quiet for several minutes while the medic patched up Mr. Moss’ face as best he could.  She spent that time trying to control her breathing, which sounded too fast, too loud, and too uneven to her ears.  Maybe it was just her imagination.  But then Mr. Moss was beside her, regarding her with a grin that was not at all friendly.  “Scared?” 

No good could come of responding to him.  It would be better to keep her mouth shut.

“Should I be?” she sneered instead.  “I’ve heard some people enjoy this sort of thing.”  

“That so?” Mr. Moss asked, sounding a little too calm.  “Think you’re one of them?”

He went over to the pillar and retrieved the strap, then disappeared somewhere behind her.  A moment later, she was struck across the back with such force that she would have been knocked off her feet if not for the shackles and the post in front of her holding her up.  She’d been in her share of fights and taken her share of hits, but this bore little resemblance to any of those.  She wasn’t sure which was worse, the stinging pain of the blow itself or her helpless inability to defend herself.  

He walked back around to where she could see him.  “What do you think now?”  He sounded so smug that she wished she had a smart reply for him, but she didn’t.  Before he could say anything else to her, his attention was drawn back to the entrance.  “It’s about time!  Muster up!  Guards on one side, you two on the other!”

Ravess’ laughter set her teeth on edge.  “Now, this makes being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night worth it!”

Mr. Moss glared at Ravess.  She turned her head in time to watch as her laughter died and her grin faded.  Swallowing hard, Ravess lowered her gaze to the ground in front of her feet.  She missed being the one who could quell the other woman with such a look.

Beside Ravess, Snipe didn’t look like he wanted to be here, either, but for different reasons.  He was flushed and shivering, his breathing raspy, and he wasn’t complaining.  He had to feel pretty miserable if he didn’t have the energy to complain.

On the other side of the yard, the guards stood at attention.  Aguilar was still in nothing but his undergarments, while someone had thankfully found a spare pair of pants for Wilder to throw on before coming out here.  

Mr. Moss raised his voice to be heard by all assembled.  “As I am sure you are all aware by now, an escape attempt was allowed to be planned and carried out under your noses!  How the hell could you let this happen?  I want an account of what went down tonight in your section, and I want it now.  Starting with you.”  He pointed to Wilder.

Each guard gave a short briefing, and Mr. Moss zeroed in on Martlet and Argus, the other guard assigned to 3A for the night.

“There’s no way they could’ve got out of their cells on their own and snuck by you without you noticing.  Either there was some serious dereliction of duty going on up there, or you two helped them,” he said with certainty.  “If I were a bettin’ man, I’d wager it’s the second.”

“Sir, I would never, I swear!” Argus argued, and Martlet echoed his denial.

“We’ll see,” Mr. Moss said, then looked at her.  “Tell me who helped you, and you can go back to your cell right now.  Things don’t need to get any uglier.  Not for you, not for Ace when we find him.  And we will find him; make no mistake about that.”

It was a clever ploy, and an insulting one.  He was so confident that she would betray the guards who had helped her to save her skin.  But she couldn’t.  If she turned on them now, word would spread.  She would lose the loyalty of every guard who still showed allegiance to her.  And for what?  To spare herself some pain?  Was that worth all she would lose and the scorn that would rightfully follow her for the rest of her time here?  

“No one helped us.”

“Hogwash,” he hollered.  He disappeared from view, and she braced herself.  The second strike of the strap came down even harder than the first, and she stifled a yelp.  She wasn’t going to cry out.  Not in front of Ravess and Snipe.

“That jog your memory?”

“Ace and I worked alone,” she insisted through gritted teeth.

Frustrated, he stalked to where Martlet and Argus stood.  “You’re either traitors, and she’s covering for you, or you’re idiots.  I can’t prove the first, so I have to assume the second.  And since I already employ one idiot here and don’t need two more, you’re fired!  When we’re done here, you’ll be escorted to the first transport ship off this terra.  If I ever see either of you disgraces again past sunrise, you’ll become my permanent guest here.”

Stepping back, he said, “The rest of you are on thin ice.  If anything like this happens again on your watch, you’re out.”

He crossed to the other side of the yard.  “As for you two, pay attention.  Consider this an object lesson in what happens when you cross me.”

“And you,” he said as he came around to face her again.  “This ends when you apologize, and I believe it.”

“Sir,” the medic spoke up.  “Policy dictates that for female prisoners, a maximum of twelve strikes with the strap be administered at any one time, and-“

“This ain’t my first rodeo!” Mr. Moss interrupted him angrily.  “I know what the policy is.  I’m making an exception.”

“That’s not-“

“Not what?” Mr. Moss demanded, brandishing the strap at the medic, who raised his hands in surrender.  “That’s what I thought.  Now let’s begin.”

The first strike landed right below her shoulder blades.  The second one below that.  The third below that.  That one made it particularly hard to keep her promise to herself.  It landed where one of the earlier blows had and was already tender.  She choked back a whimper.  

“You’re too quiet,” Mr. Moss commented, laying down the fourth strike in his methodical march down her back.  “What number was that?”

“Four,” she answered tightly.

“Keep counting,” he ordered.  

The strapping continued until he reached the back of her knees.  

“Eight!” she counted, hating how her voice rose in pitch at the end.

“Where’s my apology?”

“I’m not sorry!” she told him stubbornly.  To have an apology forced from her would be even more humiliating than the strapping itself.  She wasn’t going to humour him.

“Well, we’ll see how you feel after eight more.”

The second round was so much worse than the first.  He didn’t let up even a little.  He continued to put his full strength behind every swing as he layered new strikes over old, making her feel like she was on fire.  By the time they got to sixteen, her eyes were tearing up so badly that everything was blurry, and she was shaking from the effort it took to suppress her reactions.

“My apology?” Mr. Moss prompted.

“You’re not getting one,” she told him, and to her shame, even her voice was shaking.

“This is ridiculous,” Ravess spoke up.  “Just apologize.”

“Stay out of it,” she spat.  “I’m sure you’re loving this.”

“I would be, but you’re ruining it with your stupid, stubborn pride.  If you’re not going to make this at least a little entertaining, I’d rather go back to bed.”

“Enough!  Do you want me to add your name to the list of people getting whupped tonight?  No?  Then keep your mouth shut,” Mr. Moss said to Ravess before returning his attention to her.  “You sure you don’t have an apology for me?  Alright, then, round three it is.”  The strap cracked across her back once more.

They were halfway through round three when a commotion interrupted them.  “Aha, the Dark Ace,” Mr. Moss said.  “About time you joined us.  Put him over there where they can see each other.”

Four guards dragged a bloodied, struggling Dark Ace into her field of view before forcing him to his knees.  Her heart sank.  He hadn’t gotten away.  This had all been for nothing.

“Whoo, boy!” Mr. Moss laughed.  “I was gonna say you missed out on most of the fun, but you look like you’ve been through the wringer!”

There was a still bleeding gash over one of Ace’s eyebrows, along with several other cuts and red marks that looked like they would be bruises tomorrow.  The eye under the cut was already starting to swell shut.  One sleeve was ripped to shreds, and his arm covered in bite marks.  And that was just what was visible.

“Strip him to the waist,” Mr. Moss ordered the guards.  “I need to finish up here.  What number are we on?”

“Twenty-one,” she answered bleakly.

“See, this is why I hate getting interrupted.  That number don’t sound right to me.  Let’s start back at seventeen, to be sure.”

“Wait!  I’m sorry, alright?” she said before he could begin again.  “For trying to escape.  And for the crowbar incident.”

“And Bessy?”

“And for crashing Bessy.  We’re sorry for everything that happened tonight.”

Mr. Moss chuckled.  “Oh no, your window of opportunity to apologize for Ace has closed.  Tell you what, though.  I’m willing to be merciful this time on account of how it looks like he’s already most of the way to learning his lesson.  I think ten lashes should get him the rest of the way there.  But let’s not worry about that now; we were on seventeen, weren’t we?”

“I apologized!”

“That you did.  But if you recall, I have to believe it.”

She was a sobbing mess by the time they reached twenty-four, but she could hardly bring herself to care.  Dignity be damned.  Ravess was right.  It was sheer, stubborn pride that made her try to pretend this didn’t hurt like hell, and it had done nothing but lead to more pain.

“Well?” Mr. Moss asked after allowing her a moment to pull herself together enough to give a coherent response.

“I’m sorry.”

And she was sorry.  Sorry they failed.  Again.

“I accept your apology,” he told her with a ‘friendly’ pat on the back that made her flinch.  “Oops.  Honest mistake,” he smirked.  “Anyway, now that I’m all warmed up, time to let the cat out of the bag.”  He nodded to the guards holding down Ace, and they hauled him to his feet.  She was unshackled and pushed off to the side to where Ravess and Snipe stood as Ace replaced her at the whipping post.

“You deserved that,” Ravess hissed at her as she pulled the top of her jumpsuit back on and buttoned it with still trembling fingers.  “I can’t believe you and Ace tried to escape without us.”

“You couldn’t be trusted.”

“Please.  Do you think I would have sabotaged my own chance to get out of here just to hurt you?  You’re as self-absorbed as ever.”

“Ladies, is it social hour?” Mr. Moss asked with a hint of warning in his voice.  He stood raking his fingers through the knotted cords of the cat o’ nine tails he now held, untangling them.  

“This isn’t over,” Ravess told her.

Satisfied once everyone was quiet, Mr. Moss turned his attention back to Ace.

“I find myself faced with a quandary, Ace.  Will a few welts be enough to teach you the lesson I’m aiming to teach, or do I need to leave a more lasting impression?”

Ace just glared at him without answering, refusing to play his game.  Mr. Moss was undeterred.

“You’re right, of course.  Nothing worth doing is worth doing by half measures.”

He positioned himself behind and just off to the side of Ace, giving the whip a final little shake out as he leaned onto his back foot.  Then shifting all his weight to his front foot, he delivered the first lash with a full-armed swing.  Ace grunted as the cords struck him, leaving angry red marks against the pale skin of his back.  

Mr. Moss took his time returning to his starting position.  “Now I know I can do better than that,” he said as he studied his handiwork.  The second and third lashes looked much the same as the first.  The fourth through sixth left angry, raised welts in their wake.  Mr. Moss worked at a leisurely pace, really drawing the flogging out.  

The seventh lash took some skin with it.  The pained noise it drew from Ace, while still subdued, was the loudest sound he’d allowed himself to make the whole time.  Mr. Moss smiled, encouraged.

The last three lashes left more abrasions.  Blood trickled down Ace’s back from at least a dozen cuts, but he had refused to give Mr. Moss the satisfaction of crying out any further.  Nevertheless, the warden seemed pleased with the job he had done.  He handed the whip to one of the guards to clean up and put away.  

“We’re done here.  Pair off,” he told the guards.  “First pair, escort your former colleagues to the docks and get them off my terra.  Second pair, take Cyclonis to solitary.  If you lose her along the way, you will not like the consequences.  Third pair, take Ace to the infirmary to get cleaned up, then straight to solitary afterwards.  Don’t lose him, either.   As for the rest of you, take the other two prisoners back to their cells and lock ‘em down for twenty-four hours.  They can spend the time contemplating tonight’s lesson on the futility of trying to escape.”

[wri0thesley]

I know this is judgement free but I’m so shy so I’m staying anon for this

Tbh rotating all of la squadra in my mind, thinking about being a freelance assassin hired for one mission together.. we’re at a ball targeting one of the rich guys funding the event and we all take turns dancing together in pretty suits and dresses before finally carrying out the hit and fleeing together preferably towards a balcony, the night is already dark and the moon is out and glittering all of our formal attire, not a cloud is in sight and the stars are beautiful, we escape down to the ground floor and go our separate ways with a bit of longing and mystery as we hope to be put together on a job again one dayAHHH AHHH AHH I’m so normal I’m so normal I’m literally just some guy I don’t think about ballroom rivals to lovers scenarios especially not where we’re given the same target and compete to who gets to them first and are pissed at whoever succeeds but also have a bit of deep respect for their abilities and AHHHHHHHH I’m so so so normal please I swear I’m normal I’m normal don’t put me back in brainrot jail I promise I’m normal and I don’t think about dancing with your rival assassins with silly little weapons strapped to each of your thighs underneath the silky gown AAAAAAAAIM NORMAL IM NORMAL

every member of la squadra on their own little platform rotating like a game show prize

AHH... i love any excuse to imagine the boys in formalwear, and i LOVE rivals to lovers. especially if perhaps you were known to them before and this is the first time they've gotten to interact; if they see you in your own formalwear and they daydream about slipping it off you. if they dance with you in a ballroom and lean close, pretending to flirt like a perfectly normal guest only to goad you quietly as they insist they'll best you on this job . . . aaaa

we're all normal. it's fine. we're normal <3

[8flesh]

                         [ ... ]       MORBID CURIOSITY ~                                                            “  it’s easy t’ blame the dark.  ” /  @azraelreckoning​​​​​

CLIP EMPTY,    AND EYES ON THE TARGET BEGIN TO TIRE.     need to change magazine  though his hands keep missing  the where it’d clip in.  gunfire is still being exchanged down bellow though he remains above the rest watching.   suppose to be giving calls.  eyelids heavy as weights pulling for him to slowly blink himself to sleep.  a few  ricochet  against the ground and door hiding him under shadows.  not much of a reaction though annoyance as it begins  the ringing in his ear that wakes him.  another look through the scope but he’s slow to call an enemy making their way towards other team members.    once the ringing stops he can hear calls coming in  ‘  COME IN 7-5 ’​

“    OSCAR MIKE.  ...  TWO EAST.  INBOUND.      looks like red on red.   heading west.   ”    two groups seemed to have  wanted each others attention more than focusing  on other possible enemies moving in or around them.   the night sky veiled them from a clear sight if not for their equipment. ...   equipment dae-hyun  keeps taking off  then putting back on.  heavy on the head is the current excuse.    LOW EFFORT BEING PUT ON THE BATTLEFIELD  ...  though he’s still moving forward.     as if he hadn’t experienced the military before.   team members push ahead while he remains up high watching it all unfold.  another enemy soldier coming towards the team.    “   ON YOUR SIX.  [    he checks the scope to watch the interaction.   one ...  two ... three ... and another.   ]  ...    nice.    ”       missed a few who  strayed from their pack  and suddenly he’s putting the helmet ( he keeps taking off ) back on to try and scope in night vision.  forgot to reload the magazine results in them exchanging fire.    *    just wait for the right shot.    nearly misses several shots by a hair.   hearing their remarks  he blames the night for blurring the ability for a clear shot.

  “   i don’t see you sprayed with bullets i wonder why?   ”        bitter little bitch.