#next i will do a small and smaller lure so she gets into position more auatomatically

[abirddogmoment]

Now I'm introducing a board so she will have clear criteria for starting and ending her retrieves in heel position.

This was just an intro session so very easy, just stand on the board until released. She already understands the board (from her conditioning course) and heel position so it was simple to put them together. Next steps are to fade the big lure onto the board and waiting longer to release her from the board.

It's crazy to think that she's just a baby! Not even six months! She's doing so so so good, I'm so proud of her.

[blackjackkent]

All righty, it's another very special day in the Hector liveblog today; come hell or high water (probably hell), Cazador Szarr dies before I go to bed tonight.

We left off after learning that Astarion is still on board with the ritual sacrifice as long as he gets to be the beneficiary instead, which Hector is super not thrilled about, but we're holding out a certain amount of hope that some positive outcome to this situation will present itself.

Probably not immediately, though, because the next thing we have to do is check out another of Cazador's jail cells full of spawn, specifically the one full of Gur kids. :(

"Hey. Hey you. Come closer."

"Oh, gods... it can't be..."

"It *is* you! I knew it! I'll kill you! Once I get out of here, I'LL KILL YOU!"

Hells, Hector thinks bleakly. The only thing that could make this whole situation more terrible. "You're the children from the monster hunter's camp?" he says. It's phrased like a question, but really he knows the answer before he asks.

The girl's body spasms with sudden effort akin to pain. "Camp... monster hunters..." she mumbles. "The Gur camp... oh gods... my parents' camp!" Her small fists clench at her sides and her voice cracks. "Chessa... focus... Resist the beast inside you. You promised!"

Her eyes fix on Astarion again and she hurls herself against the bars, crying out at him, "It's your fault! You did this to us!"

Astarion recoils away from her, his face twisting.

The girl looks towards Hector instead, vibrating with rage. "Didn't he tell you?" she snarls. "He's the one that kidnapped us! He's the reason we're spawns!"

Back to Astarion again, her voice rising into a furious scream. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Instinctively, automatically, Astarion's tone shifts into the brittle cockiness that shields everything happening beneath it. "Ah. Ah-hah-- yes, now that you mention it, I may have done... that..." He gives a weak laugh, a valiant attempt to make it sound like nothing, which might work better if what he was describing was not so utterly horrific.

Hector rounds on him sharply. Astarion visibly flinches but holds his ground. "Don't look at me like that," he says coolly. "Cazador's orders. Quite the deviation from my usual routine, of course. Capture, not lure. I didn't bring them in with sweetrolls or anything." He examines the hilt of his rapier with sudden intense interest as an excuse to look away from both Hector and the child. "I really forgot about them. Felt nothing the moment I handed them over to him..."

He trails off. Hector watches some complicated emotion work through the elf's face - dismay? Fear? And then the mask is back in place, and those red eyes lift to Hector's grey ones and look back steadily.

For the first time in this whole mess, Hector allows his own disgust to take hold - just for a moment. With a sudden, sharp movement, he lashes out with both hands; one catches Astarion's wrist and pushes the rapier aside, and the other grabs the smaller man by the collar and holds him perfectly still.

It's an unspoken threat. Take this seriously. Or I will *make* you take it seriously.(*)

Hector knows full well that Astarion, as a thrall to Cazador, was not in control of his actions when he brought these children here. And, most likely, that the detachment the elf describes came from that same control. Which is all very well, but Astarion is free now. And much as he might wish to withdraw into that same indifferent shell, Hector will not allow it. He cannot allow it.

For a long moment the two of them simply stare at each other. Astarion's expression is utterly unreadable, no matter how hard Hector searches it for either guilt or glee.

"Easy, Hec," Karlach mutters from behind him.

Hector frowns, then releases Astarion's collar with a sharp jerk. "We promised their parents we'd save them," he says.

"Parents?" the girl says, gripping the bars of the cell with sudden intensity. "You've seen my parents?"

Hector looks back towards her, nods. "They're looking for you."

The girl makes a soft noise of despair. "I miss them... I think. Or perhaps it's the hunger. Oh... I don't know." She slams her fist ineffectually against the door. "It's so hard to tell!"

A pause, and then her expression hardens, and she looks up at Hector with a gaze that is far older than her years. "You should go," she says flatly. "Leave us here. We shouldn't be out there. We'd hurt our families..."

No. No, no, no, no, no, no! He can't. He can't simply abandon a cell full of children, no matter what might have happened to them.

No matter what they might do...

And yet... he knows she isn't lying about the hunger. He saw that same look in Astarion's eyes, that night in camp so many months ago. The desperation and longing and need for the sustenance that only blood can provide...

Moonmaiden... help me... I do not know the right course...

"I'm going to help you," he says unsteadily. "How do I free you?"

Narrator: Behind the exhaustion, starvation, and fear, recognition stirs in her eyes. And with it - hope.

"You... you really mean it..." the girl whispers. Her head twitches and she groans softly, fighting down some inward compulsion. "Cazador's got this staff," she goes on. "It controls the doors. If you get it, you can set everyone free... if you get it... somehow..."

Hector's shoulders square and he nods firmly. "All right. I'll free you once I have the staff."

He turns away, but the girl's words follow him and send a chill down his spine. "Good luck. If you fail, well... I suppose we'll be seeing you again in here."

----

(*) This whole little interlude is, obviously, artistic license.

[voicefromunderthecovers]

Total Drama: The Creeps Cut Episode 1 | Not So Happy Campers

Chapter 0: Audition Tapes

Ezekiel 

In a dusty, cluttered, cramped space with a mess meeting you at every corner, sat on top of an old, barely functional TV is the field of vision of a low budget, partially grainy camera. A greasy, pimpled hick with an awkward air about him scratches the back of his pencil neck insecurely before flashing a small closed smile. 

“Yo, name’s Ezekiel, or like, Zeke, y’know? As you can probably tell, I’m kinda new to this whole celebrity thing, eh.” His smile fades and he looks around nervously. A few coughs can be heard in the background as he rubs his arm. “Anyway, Pa used to be the breadwinner but now he can’t work as hard no more. I’m gonna get on this show and bring home the bacon instead, I mean, without me, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to support ma. I’m ramblin, I know, y’know? Er, you know what to do.” His dopey grin ends off the video.

Two men, one tall and built and the other small but well put together are sitting and watching the following tapes. They glance at each other and shrug. “So.. what do you think?” Chef Hatchet, the larger man asks.

“I’d say the kid’ll be at least partially fun to make fun of. But people also love a good rags to riches story. I’m game! Next?” The smaller one, Chris Mclean, beckons an intern to supply him with the next tape.

Eva

The first shot of the video is of a black haired, butch type woman doing pulls up at a close-up angle in a public gym. A few prettier, pinker girls walk behind her and mutter something as she finishes up her routine, grunting out the number of reps she’s done.

“57.. 58.. 59.. 60!”

She then hops down on her feet, solidly standing tall. She nearly lets her eyes linger towards the sound of the teenage girls in the background she can so obviously hear, but refocuses on the camera, tightens her fists and talks to the hosts.

“You see that? I’m the only girl in my school who can do more than ten pull ups. So whatever you can throw at me, I can handle it.” She points at herself confidently, head held high and eyes closed. The girls in the background find a red dodgeball and aim it. “Bring it-” BOINK!

It collides with her temple, knocking her off balance. “HEY! You’re dead, you hear me?!” She barks as their fits of giggling turn to panicked gasps and screams. The footage cuts just as the girl rushes at the posse harassing her. It returns to an image of the angry teenage girl with blood on her fists, now outside of the gym on the sidewalk.

“My name is Eva Chantrey. If you want a fierce, no holds barred competitor who is also a huge team player.. You’ll pick me.” She points a thumb in her chest. “Hey, you can edit this, right? Good.”

Chris and Chef recover from chuckling as the footage cuts. “Man, talk about psycho!” Chris belts out.

“I like her.” Chef muses.

“Of course you do. She’s in! Who’s next?”

Noah Sitting at a desk in the middle of a quiet library is a young man with a medium-dark skin tone. Despite the camera being focused on his face he isn’t at all interested in it until he turns to the next page of the book he is currently trapped in. “Yo,” finally looking up from his book to reveal his bored frown gives the first glimpse of realization to the camera. “Look, you’re probably going to get a dozen audition tapes from ‘musically’ talented teens or dependent dorks who claim to be ‘intellectual prodigies’ so I’ll save you the time… Like you should save yourself from reading this cliche ridden novel.” Taking the book from its face down position, Noah flaunts it to the camera with an annoyed expression plastered to his face. “The cover lures you in with a depiction of an epic story. Heroes, dragons, castles… What do I see? A thousand and one cliches on how NOT to write a fantasy novel. I haven’t watched any of the audition tapes on your website, which is so 2010 might I add, yet I can already guess that ninety-nine percent of your auditions are from rich kids or dumb jocks far too in over their own heads. With Noah? Nuh-uh. I’m the real deal, an actual schemer not some wannabe used car salesman. Put me on your show and it’ll be a domino effect of backstabs with me always staying a step or two ahead. In the school chess team? Grand master. Yeah, you can see what I’m getting at.” Noah pushes the book he was reading off to the side before looking at the camera one more time with a confident smile. “See you on the show, big name Hollywood executives.” “Heheh, he’s right about the numerous trust fund kids we’ve gotten so far ain’t he Chris?” Noah seemed like just the type of kid that could use some of Chef’s… Bootcamp. A snobby little poindexter like that? Chef would accept him on grounds of breaking him alone! “I think the irony of his tape is what gets me the most. Going into intense detail about all the scheming little yuppie kids he hates without the self awareness is HILARIOUS! Reminds me of how much you hate that hotshot chef on that one cooking show. What was it called? Cooking Up Drama? That guy is a total Hollywood sleaze!” Chef raised an eyebrow to Chris. That sleazy chef reminded him more of Chris than himself. “But hey, I feel an odd connection to the kid. Consider him in the show! Who do we have next, Chef?” “Some girl who claims to be able to talk to ghosts or something! Oh, and another set of those damn BlixBloxxers!” “Kids, aren’t they the greatest?” Chris’ rhetorical question was only answered by a devilish grin towards the camera.

Justin

The camera pans to show one of the most handsome men in the world with a frown on his face. He’s crouched up on a rock, hair wet (it looks sexy even when wet) and all hope lost. What tragedy could’ve befell this gorgeous man?! “I’m Justin… And once I got lost at sea. Then… I remembered pretty men don’t need to read maps, they just need Dude Time for Men .” Justin sprays himself with the cologne, this parts away the clouds and sends the bad weather long off into the distance. In its place comes a herd of women, all of them eager to rip Justin’s shirt off to reveal his perfectly chiseled torso. “ Dude Time for Men is not responsible for any side effects that may occur such as constant attraction of females, an enhanced sense of confidence, a flock of women tearing your clothes off, or erectile dysfunction. If you experience testicle shrinkage please consult your doctor immediately and stop usage.” One of those commercial voices ended off the advert, Chef raised an eyebrow while Chris clapped his hands together. “Classic Dude Time for Men , I did a commercial for them a year or two back. My agent told me I should probably demand they never show my clip again though after that huge lawsuit they got in for those nasty side effects.” “Plus that smells nasty! Ain’t no real woman gonna want to smell some Dude Bro whatever the hell it is.” To Chef’s cynicism, Chris shook his head. “Just because you’re jealous of a product doesn’t mean you have to shame those of us who found success because of it, Chef.” “Man, didn’t you just get divorced a year ago?! Face it, Dude Time don’t work… But that kid's a looker, though, reminds me of my first– gig. I worked at a modelin’ place, pretty boys like that all over the damn place.” “So you’re saying you want him in? Meh, okay. He’ll get us ratings, he’s already a totally hot model. Just look at his gram! That’s a lot of followers bro.”

Katie and Sadie

A nauseatingly pink polka dotted room filled with childish plush toys and a big speaker is the backdrop of this next one. Two teenage girls, one chubby and white and the other brown and slim (both wearing the exact same outfit) are holding each other's hands while Glamorous by Fergie plays in the background. 

“Oh my gosh, I cannot believe we’re doing this!” The larger one exclaims. “So cannot believe we’re doing this!” Her friend replies.

“Okay, um.. Hi!” A fit of giggles erupt from them both. “Oh, I can’t lead, Katie you have to!”

“Okay, okay.. I’m Katie, and this is Sadie. We both want to apply for Total Drama because I mean,”

“Just look at us! We’re cute and we both have our own Blickblock account, KatiexSadie=, AND-”

“And we’re sooo close! We’re inseparable, which is like, so rare for small town girls like us.” They hug each other, nuzzling one another’s cheeks.

“So, so rare! Ooh, Katie, let’s show them our dancing!”

“Oh, uh-” Katie’s grip on her friend loosens and she backs away.

Sadie turns up the volume incredibly loud, swinging her body to and fro wildly, flabby skin smacking against her body while she seductively glances at the camera. Katie blushes and gives a nervous smile.

“Ahaha.. Woohoo.. Go Sadie.” Her words are too quiet though.

“What?!” The camera falls from the vibrations of the music right onto the carpeted floor. 

Katie picks it up and is joined by Sadie as they both shout, “Put us on!~” the clip cuts out.

Chris and Chef simply blink, then look at each other. “Blickblockers on my show? Chef, look up KatiexSadie+ultra whatever now!”

Chef glares. “I ain’t your personal assistant, fool.”

“Just do it, ya big baby.” He slaps him on his toned shoulder.

“Ugh,” Chef gets on the computer and looks up their username. “One hundred thous- well I’ll be..”

“One hundred WHAT NOW? What do their fans say?”

“Oh, they posted the audition. Let’s see..” Chef applies his reading glasses, scanning the comments. “‘Katie is so cute. Go Katie!’, by Pepefan24. ‘Katie needs an Onlyfans, sweat drop emoji.’ by Crimson Candy. ‘I want a Katie solo account (i love you Sadie too ooh woo.)’, by tearjerker.tdi.”

“Katie is the star, but they’re both annoying. Why not include ‘em both, for.. Brand recognition?”

“Mm, good idea.” Chef nods. “Next up: Tyler.”

Tyler

The video starts without a star in front of the camera, this quickly changes as we hear a boy curse as he sprints over to the front of it, just barely avoiding tripping over his own feet. “W-Woah! Sorry about that, I’m Tyler! A totally serious athlete who everyone says should be in the Olympics… Or was it the Paralympics? To tell you the truth I don’t really know the difference. Either way, check out this highlight reel from my time here at Bullworth Academy!” The camera fades from Tyler to a clip of him giving a thumbs up to the camera as he jumps up to catch a football thrown to him. In a horrible miscalculation the ball actually comes down and smacks Tyler square in the face! Another clip flashes by, this time Tyler gives another enthusiastic thumbs up as he goes to block a hockey puck via glove save. Yet another terrible stroke of luck causes the puck to go right past his hand and smack him dead in the face again! The final clip shows Tyler in a stairwell at what looks to be a hospital. His head is all bandaged up and he’s missing a tooth, even still he gives a thumbs up and hops on his skateboard. He jumps on it and tries to ride down the rail, this results in him being launched off the board and flying into a hamper of towels! Despite the stunt being a failure, he smiles at the camera just happy to not have taken another shot to the head. However this proves to be his undoing as the board comes back down right on top of his head, knocking him out one final time. “Yeouch! That had to hurt!” Chris chuckled as he rewinded the tape to play some of the brutal injuries over again. “Is that one of them Jack’s Ass boys?” Chef couldn’t lie, watching Tyler get hit over and over with various sporting goods was pretty entertaining. “Oh MAN look at that hit right there! Duuuuude!” It had been six rewinds before the two hosts finally stopped laughing, it was pretty obvious Tyler was in. “He’s absolutely terrible at sports but imagine the ratings we’ll get on him!” Chris explained.

Izzy

A black and white filter overlays the camera feed. A dark room, or as dark as you can piece together through the filter, is lit up by candles, emitting enough visual aid to showcase framed pictures of a blonde haired, fit surfer dude with a chiseled jawline and casual looks on his face. Several of these pictures show him smiling on the sidewalk, laughing inside of a restaurant, eating a messy sandwich, clocking in at the production studio for Fresh TV.. wearing a nametag that says the name Graham.

Suddenly, the camera spins backwards to reveal a filterless girl grinning ear to ear at the camera, orange, unkempt neck length hair and orange lipstick on her. “Boo! HAHAHAHA! Gotcha, Graham-Graham! Surprised to see me?” She appears to be wearing a lab coat with goggles on her forehead. “Yeaaah, I had no idea you were working at Fresh TV now, I’m so jealous! That means you’re kinda sorta barely famous, Graham! Isn’t that wild?? Remember when you used to talk about owning a mansion and three dogs named Skip with me? Or settling down at a nice graveyard with both of our gravestones next to each other?? Oh man, great times! You were an awesome boyfriend. In case you don’t see this, or remember, hey! I’m Izzy, and I’d be really good for the show Total Drama whutz it becauseeee I am multifaceted and very attentive! I swear I’ll leave your viewers laughing and my fellow castmates entertained! As for you, Graham?”

She finally takes a breath of air to jab a finger into the camera, zooming in on her green eyeball. “I missed you, baby~! Wait for me!”

Static fills up the last four seconds.

“..Batshit crazy, man.”

“Right on, brother. As if this show needs more insanity.” Chris grins, writing down her name anyways.

“Do.. Do we even know a Graham?”

“I think he’s a production assistant? I dunno, all of the lackey’s look the same.”

“True that. Soo..?”

“She’s in. I like her breed of insanity: dangerous, but quirky. Lesbians around the world will relate to her immensely.”

“I get the feeling she’s the type to enjoy my camp food.”

“No offense, bro, but I wouldn’t feed your cooking to a starving raccoon. I’d pay to see it.” His grin only becomes more cocky.

Chef growls, then stands up and yells. “Shut up! Next!” He sits back down cross armed for the next tape.

Cody

“Oh hey there, didn’t see ya. I’m Cody Emmet Jameson Anderson, the Codemeister is what all my friends online know me as.” This audition tape took place in the RGB colored room of who could only be identified as a tech-fetishist. Computers, consoles retro and new, even what seemed to be a fridge with a screen on it. “You may be caught up in all my cool gadgets, don’t let that fool ya! I’m like Batman, cool gadgets and machines at night… Playboy also at night. I’m missing the rich part, which is one reason why I want to be on Total Drama!” Was I interesting enough? Oh crap Cody think, think! “L-Look! I’ve got music too!” Cody fiddled around with his keyboard, finally finding the space bar as his beats started playing from his speakers. “I-I can actually play that! I was just editing it, oh! This is the good part!” Cody threw up the rock and roll symbol with his left hand as he jammed out to his solo, smiling up at the camera. “A man of many skills as you can see. Games, music, ladies… Did I mention my YouTube channel? Ohhhh it’s not too big or anything, just SEVEN HUNDRED subs. Heh, see this is my latest video, I talked about some chicks from Blickblock.” Cody’s channel was pulled up on his phone, the latest video sure enough was about Katie and Sadie. “Small world.” Chris remarked. Y’know, there was a total audience for guys like Cody! “Girls won’t be able to get enough of him and he’s just dorky enough for guys to find a liking to as well. I mean making fun of Blickblockers on the internet? He’ll have his own unique fanbase.” “Either that or he’ll stir up enough drama tryna be a cool guy. Hehe, what’s your decision Chris?” “Seen worse… Why not? If worse comes to worst, he does have seven hundred subscribers. That’s at LEAST fifty viewers.”

Beth

“Hey there! I’m Beff!” Spitting all over the camera was a gal with braces, glasses, and a lisp. “I’m here with my best friend in the whole wide world, Bertha! Say hi Bertha!” In her arms is a squealing pig, it doesn’t at all look happy to be held by the four-eyed teen. “W-Woah, don’t wiggle so much! I’ll-!” As the pig desperately wiggled out of Beth’s grasp, the momentum of a pig almost half her size caused her to land forward onto her face right into some mud! Beth defeatedly pulled herself up to her knees again, face covered in mud and tearfully clenched her fist.”I-I get it, I look like another pathetic nerd girl who can’t do anything right… Mark my words, if I get into your show? That’s all going to change! You’ll see, everyone from school will see, and doormat Beth will be NO more!” “Nerd rage, eh? What do you think, Chef?” Chris was a bit on the fence about Beth. She was another nerdy looking competitor, they already had a lot of those… “That girl got a look in her eye that none of those other kids had. A scary one.” A bullied student out for revenge? That’s one reason he became the way he did! Chef was a sensitive soul underneath all the war paint, military training, and awful culinary skills. “Revenge in a lawsuit kind of way or a ratings kind of way?” Chris questioned his co-host. “I doubt that girl could actually cause harm to anyone, prolly just a ratings thing. Probably .” “Alrighty then, Beth? You’re in!”

Courtney

In the center of a courtyard, a Latina-Asian girl with short chestnut hair and freckles is sitting in front of a camera, a table separating her from the camera man across from her. On the table are pamphlets that read, “Courtney for Student Council President”. Several students walk past her, scoffing or outright rolling their eyes at her from behind, all while she emphatically chants:

“Vote for Courtney! A vote for me is a vote for a well organized, better serviced and happier classroom. Vote for Courtney!” She glances at the camera before focusing her attention on it entirely. 

“Oh, hello there! As you can see, I’m running for Student Council President. If I’m elected, I swear to make this school a better place. So, why do I, Courtney Barlow, wish to enter a drama reality TV show when it’s so obviously below me? Well, discounting the prize money, I think it’s best for any great leader to surround herself with commoners before she becomes a responsible ruler for the people. Essentially - I want to know what people are like outside of the bubble that is high school.”

“Hey, can we hurry this up? I gotta head to gym class.”

“In a minute, Tom! Ugh, you better edit that out.”

“Yeah, yeah, Court, I will.” Tom mumbles, sighing. She seems offended, mouth gaping.

“Don’t address me that way! Do you know how degrading nicknames are? How do you think most political campaigns end, Tom? Nicknames!” She claps her hands together thrice, scathing with gritted teeth and furrowed brows.

“Okay, okay, whatever, you crazy bitch, just finish up!” He yells back, probably for the first time ever. A few students freeze and look at the duo, then move on with their day.

Courtney glares daggers at the controller of the camera for a few seconds, then puts on a fake smile and flashes a peace sign. “Ahem.. Vote for Courtney!” 

The recording ends with a subtitle:

Don’t vote for Courtney

Chris chuckles iconically. “Hehehe, damn.. Can we get Tom on the show? I mean, the back stabbiness, the character development unraveling as we watched in real time, the emotion necessary to freeze a room! Incredible!” He throws his arms into the air to exaggerate his point.

“Even A students watch TV, man. Need someone relatable for the preppy dorks of the world to latch onto.” Chef folds his arms, looking down at his partner with a stern, almost bored look.

“Is that Beth chick not enough? Fine. Courtney is in, if only so we can see more of her looney side. Next!”

Harold

This audition tape began with yet another dork smiling at the camera, he was in what looked like a boy scout outfit. “13.2 seconds, that’s the time it would take for me to kill an elephant with my bare hands. Not that I would, they’re endangered. But I could, that’s my hunting hand to hand combat badge. HYAH!” From out of nowhere two yo-yo’s entered the field of view for the camera! “I call this the double-decker-loop-to-loop-wild-style-space-typhoon technique, something taught only to grand masters at Rolling Steve’s yo-yo and- AUGH! OUCH!” One of the yo-yo’s hit Harold in the nose while the other wrapped around him in a way that took him to the floor! Luckily, or unluckily for him he was still visible! “I can get out of this, don’t worry. I have a badge in escape arts, I could probably get out of this if it was chains and I was submerged in water with sharks or something…” Harold was really hoping he could escape some sharks while drowning. That would be so awesome. After struggling for a moment Harold was actually able to get himself out pretty seamlessly. “As you can see I possess some mad skills no one else has. I can nibble rope like a rat, I can hold my breath under water for seventy three seconds, I can even pick locks with my teeth if I need to… Probably.” “Well that was a whole lotta nothing from that string bean. NEEEE-” “No, no, wait a minute! Chef…” Was that tears in Chris’ eyes?! 

“Oh… What’s up man? Cecilia taking more money aga–” “NO CHEF, SHE IS NOT! Ahem , I used to use a yo-yo. Maybe you don’t know this, before settling on being a host I was in Toronto’s Next Yo-Yo Stars until… I tragically took one to the gonads. I-I had to make a career decision and focus on television!” Chris looked like he was about to tear up again, Chef knew all about giving up on a dream and settling. “It’s alright Chris, hey maybe we can take this kid then?” “I had to settle and here I am… Divorced and hanging out with a disgruntled drill sergeant turned Chef!” Chef’s empathetic expression quickly turned into one of annoyance as he let go of Chris. “And here I am hanging out with a divorced PAST HIS PRIME Cali-Dude Bro!” “Past his prime? Nonsense Chef! For Harold we’re in agreement he’s in, right?” That story about the yo-yo thing couldn’t be fact checked. Chris just figured another punching bag wouldn’t hurt the show too much. “Fine! String bean can be in the show! Can we just move on? And don’t tell any more LIES!” “My bad Chef! It was the actor inside of me.”  

Trent

Next up was a young man sitting at his computer desk, he had a guitar in his hands and a microphone up to his mouth. “Hey there whoever is watching this, I’m Trent. Just your typical dude who loves playing guitar and writing music. Check this one out.” Trent began strumming his guitar humming in melody with the instrument until his eyes opened getting ready to sing. “I–”

“TRENT!” His door swung open as a man who looked as if he could be his father stepped in the room and gave him a disapproving glance. “I thought you were studying for your SATs? Why are you playing a pretend band again?” Trent rolled his eyes before turning to face the man. His previously composed posture had turned into a slouched mess. 

“Dad, I’m just taking a quick break. Trying to get onto that show I mentioned earlier, remember?” 

“Is that show you’re trying to get onto comparable to Yale? How about Harvard? Even Princeton?” His father argued rather matter of factly. “Maybe? There’s a cash prize for whoever wins. What if life isn’t so cut and paste as you make it seem?” Trent tried to argue his case but his pleas just got met with a door shut in his face. His dad was always like this, never once could he support his son without making it about what he wanted. He finally turned back to the camera with a sigh as he started strumming a new tune, this one a lot more somber than the last. “So you see… I really want to try and win that money so I can go to any school other than a posh law school. Maybe meet some like minded people, join a band… Meet a girl?” “Hey Chef, we have daddy issues yet?” “Is there ever enough?” “Nope, probably not! Plus he gives off that ‘not like the other guys’ vibe teenage girls just love.” Trent wouldn’t be that hard at all to market. His audition tape sells himself!

Bridgette

Ah, the beach. Typically, a calm and serene despot for young teenagers to run about, get high or catch a wave. Today however, we see a large crowd of people surrounding a blonde haired, hourglass shaped swimsuit toting girl as she places a beached baby whale on her surfboard, gently as if it were made of porcelain lying it down on its back. The camera shakes and thrashes as if its holder is running. It stops to zoom into the savior’s face as she carefully pushes her board out, getting on her knees to usher the whale back to the open water.

The crowd around her cheers while she swims back some thirty seconds later before dispersing back to their cliques to celebrate the saving of ocean life. The surfer chick looks surprised when she notices the camera is on her.

“What, we’re doing that now?”

“Bridge, chillax, girl. It’s been on! Just roll with it, okay?” A feminine voice with a heavy hippy accent says from behind the camera. The star rubs her bare arm, looking nervous.

“..Okay. Hi! I’m Bridgette. I’m sure you understand what I’m all about from.. All of that just now, so.. Let me explain my reasons for wanting to join.” Bridgette takes a deep breath, hands on her hips. “I know there will be plenty of people joining your show looking only for the pleasures of wealth, to satisfy their own selfish desires. But I think the cash you have, producers, could be put to real good use.” 

She pauses, picking up her board to lean against it, making her appear smaller. “Foundations, charities, safer beaches, animal and people hospitals, commercials raising awareness for these very big issues, I think with one hundred thousand dollars I could very well save lives and make Canada one step safer than it was before. If I do lose, I promise to exit with my head held high and my spirit ready to make an improvement either way!”

“That was it! Wasn’t so bad, was it, babe?” The girl asks, a smile obvious in her voice.

Bridgette nods. “Thank you for your consideration.” She finishes with a cute smile as the screen fades to black.

Chef, bored again, waves his hand with mediocrity. “Eh, too goodie-goodie. Pass.”

“Woah, Chef, hold on: did she say commercials? Imagine how many lawsuits/morality wars we could avoid with the producers and viewers if we have a few scenes of Bridgette telling us off, or rescuing wounded pigeons. Boucot bucks saved and made, man!” Chef rolls his eyes at his partner's ludicrous saving habits. 

“I’d still rather have the guy with all the sexy weapons.”

“No way, dude’s a creep and not in a funny way. Pretty sure our contestants would sue us, and they can’t even do that without probable cause we didn’t list in the contract.”

“You mean creepy in your way?” Chef grins. Chris is not amused.

“I am not creepy. I am sexy. Anyways, she’s in for the commercials we could make alone and that’s final.”

“Whatever, man. Next.”

Lindsay

A long haired blonde girl wearing tight, purposely ripped jeans that hugged her figure like a bear on a cub and a red tank top without a bra spoke through gloss covered lips, smacking every word that came out of her mouth as her cliché bulgy eyed chihuahua stared at the camera from under her breasts.

“Hi, my name’s Lindsay! The audition sheet says to list my best qualities, but I have so many.” She flutters her butterfly lashes, smiling adorably. She let’s go of her dog, who immediately sprints away upon being freed. She leans forward in criss cross position, showing off her cleavage. “I’m pretty, and smart and I get along with everyone, even ugly girls and dorky boys.” She nods with her eyes closed as if she’s somehow all knowing.

“Somehow, I was able to get offered twelve summer jobs just by walking down the street a mile from my house, but who has time to work all summer? If I’m gonna get money, I wanna do it by being me! Not Tina from behind the counter who has to watch other girls buy pretty clothes, although I’d totally love to help ugly girls get makeovers, or help pretty girls be prettier! If you couldn’t tell, I’m what my ex boyfriend calls a bimbo; really nice.” She rambles almost as long as her hips are wide.

“Oh, did I mention? For the American version, I’m bilangual: I speak fluent Canadian and American.” Her beautiful teeth shimmer as she smiles earnestly. Chris and Chef are floored.

“You know, I’m real happy there are no cameras in the room, otherwise uncle Chris might find himself on Twitter’s hitlist for saying this.”

“Saying what?” Chef cautiously asked.

“Man oh man I cannot wait to stare at that girl in 4k HD surround sound 1080p glory.” Sweat and drool coated Chris’s face as he spoke. Chef looked disturbed.

DJ

The audition opens with a stationary camera aiming at a tall Jamaican man with brick built arms and a picture of a middle aged black woman who looked a lot like him on display beside his bed. The setting was clearly his room, but the giant wasn’t just talking to his camera; he began to jump and flutter in the air, holding a pink ribbon as he paraded himself about his room wearing a white uniform for ribbon dancing. He finished his act with a split, never breaking eye contact or a smile away from the camera. Afterwards, the footage cut to him sitting on his bed.

“Yo! My name’s Devon Joseph, or DJ! I think I’d be a perfect fit for Total Drama, cause I’m kind, and strong, and sensitive, and most of all, I was raised right.” DJ lifts up the picture of his stern but proud mother folding her arms and points at it. “Thanks, mom! Without you, none of this would be possible.” He lets his smile fade.

“My Momma ain’t gonna be able to provide for herself forever. That’s why, if I win Total Drama, I’m gonna get her the best housing I can get her, make sure she never has to work again. I’d also love to join to diversify my skills and make more buddies! Thanks for your consideration.” He finishes it all off with a wholesome smile and wave.

Chef seems emotional. Chris is laughing almost gut bustling at the kid’s impassioned speech, but Chef is weeping. “W-woah, C-Chef, buddy it is not that funny.”

The brolic cook grabs Chris by the shirt violently. “It’s not funny at all! Kids got heart, man. Don’t you have a momma? HUH?”

The host looks away, no longer smiling. “Well.. I mean, yeah-”

“Well, do you?!” He shakes Chris.

“Yes! Yes, I do, okay? Why?”

“Ain’t it exactly like us starting out?” Chef whispers, sniffling.

“I dunno what you mean.” “I started in showbiz to provide for my momma, to make it big, to prove to her that I was more than a cook! I am a professional, and she raised me right! Do you understand?!” Chef wheezes, barely holding back tears. Now Chris is crying too.

“Yes, Chef! I understand!”  The odd pair begin weeping into each other's shirts, bawling their eyes out as the next audition plays.

Geoff

“What more do you need brah? Party central here. Beaches, babes, and some gnarly burgers being cooked up by my buddy Brody. Lifes a party and I’m always hostin’ dudes.” Geoff put his cowboy hat over his eyes and soon got hidden behind another surfer. “Geoff bro, Johnny got us hooked up with the other B!” “Brody! The other B…?” “Some beer bro! His cousin Tony was up working at the shop and he swung in!” “Oh heck yeah dude! Let’s go and do a buttchug or wait…” The two surfer dudes pointed at each other and nodded. “SHOTGUNNNNNN!” The two dude bros clapped a high five as they ran off to go find their fellow surfers. At this point Chris and Chef had to do some fast forwarding, Geoff had left the camera rolling for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the surfer wandered back to the beach chair and plopped down as if he didn’t leave the camera on for nearly an hour. “Yup, average life of a party horse. Stressful? Not at all my dudes. Times like these are what we live for.” As his cowboy hat covered his eyes a final time, Geoff was finally asleep… But once again forgot to turn off the camera. “He knew he was still talking to the camera and yet he still didn’t turn it off?” Geoff screamed frat boy city to Chef. That wasn’t a one hundred percent negative thing though, Chef used to hangout with a party monster named Party Pete. He’d always wondered what happened to ol’ Pete, everyone figured he’d just partied too hard.

“Correct. Chef, I know you’re not invited to too many parties and the ones you are invited to you usually aren’t the life of. Please note there are some unspoken rules of partying. Rule one? Nothing but the party matters. Geoff lives to party! You can’t hate the guy.” Chef wanted to hit Chris with a sassy remark back but.. Yeah, he couldn’t hate Geoff. The guy seemed actually cool, unlike an actual fraternity “party animal”. He was in.

LeShawna

“Yo, yo, queen LeShawna coming to y’all ready for anything. Loud n’ proud, large and in charge, anything your TDI crew can throw at me, I can handle.” LeShawna then began to bust a move or two shaking her arms, head, and her… You can guess what else. “Let me promise y'all this too, there ain’t no party like a LeShawna victory party. Figuring I’ll be the one throwing it at the end and all if you pick me consider yourselves invited.” Continuing her spa-dancing she bumped towards the camera doing a call me sign and cutting the tape short. “Short, sweet, and to the point. What do you think, Chef?” “I think it’s prolly the opposite of her. A sister like that? Haha big, mean, and crazy, don’t let that party nonsense fool you. Woo-weeee.” “He said it, not me. Easy to misinterpret quotes aside, is she fit for the show?” “Her? Heh, she might be one tough nut to crack but that’ll just make it all the more fun when she does.”

Duncan

The visual quality of this one is grainy and barely comprehensible. The audio is very clear, thankfully. It almost looks like security camera footage. And, made out by the grainy footage, is a green mowhawked teenager scaling a large building while the full moon provides mood lighting. Obviously, a criminal.

He’s scaling the building downward with a rope, cocky grin glued to his face as he glances between the ground below and the camera.

“Hey, Duncan here! Though I’m sure you know me considering I’m somewhat of a local celebrity around these parts.” He remarks with gusto.

“Yeah, photographers are taking my picture all the time. It’s because of my charm and good looks, which is also why I banged half of Davis High. That and because I live in a big house with tons of security cameras, guards and guard dogs to watch over me. Not to mention: no parents!”

“My best quality? Let’s just say, I’m stealthy, a real thinker. Tough, too. Yup, the whole cake package.”

He hops down, finally free from the wall. The rope drops and an alarm blares. A spotlight highlights him and the sound of ravenous guard dogs catches his attention. He breaks character for a second, eyes widening as he realizes what he has to do. He starts running, still looking into the camera. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat but I really gotta run. My parole officer will be in touch!”

The recording ends with static and muffled yelling. Chris and Chef nod at each other, raising their brows with interest.

“A convict? Very cool!” Chris exclaims, writing his name down.

“Finally, someone I can relate to.” Chef says, arms behind his head.

His co-host places a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t push it, man. You’re way better than some bratty delinquent.”

He smiles. “Thanks, man.”

Chris smiles back. “You’re welcome. Next!”

Heather

We hear the sound of a shower turning off and see a hand reaching for a towel sitting on the shower curtain. Walking into frame for the first time was Heather, she was easily identifiable by her sly ‘better than you’ grin. “Will I be nervous if I get picked to be on the show? As if. I’m incredibly comfortable being on television, it wouldn’t be my first rodeo you know.” Heather reached for another towel to put over her hair, rolling her eyes at just the thought of even being embarrassed on tv. “What would I have to be ashamed of? I’m PRETTY. While I’m sure the standards won’t be anything to brag about being higher than, I’m going to be a 12 entering an average of 4. If you get me on the show I’ll sell it myself if I have to.” She waved bye to the camera and walked off screen, the last thing seen in this tape is two towels being thrown in front of the camera signifying that Heather was a bare naked lady for just a mere moment. “Well Chef, I think I’ve seen all I need to see here. Ratings? Check.” “Yeah, RATINGS huh? Face it Chris, you got a thing for trust fund white girls!” “Actually, Chef it says here that she’s ASIAN. So maybe take your racial assumptions back to 1970?” Chef raised his brow in annoyance towards Chris’ antics. Damn fool was going to make him sound like some good old boy from down south! 

Gwen

Sitting cross armed in a computer chair is a goth girl in midnight blue who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here. “Soooo… Am I supposed to sit here and do a talent or something? Why? So my tape can be shown off to the world and I can get laughed at? Not a chance I’d humiliate myself before I even get onto the show.” She rolled her eyes thinking about all the times she saw other people’s audition tapes make it onto the internet and they became laughing stocks for the world. She’d never leave herself vulnerable like that! “I’m Gwen. That’s all you trolls really need to know. I live with my mom and brother after my dear dad decided to leave us in the dirt for some floozy in Vermont. Yeah, Vermont , how desperate and deprived do you have to be?!” Just talking about her situation infuriated her. Was it too hard to just keep it in your pants?! “So look… I want to be on the show so I can try and win the prize money. If I ever want to go to college and help support my family I’m going to make more money than eight dollars an hour working my butt off in a kitchen.” Gwen wasn’t really sure how to sell herself without just trying to get pity from whoever was watching this. She wasn’t super talented or popular, she was just a down on her luck girl trying to provide for her family and future. “If you want someone there looking to win and not make friends, I’m your girl. If not… Whatever I guess.” That’s the last we see of the goth girl as the camera fades to black, leaving Chris and Chef to decide her fate. “Sounds like girl’s got it rough. First person I’ve seen other than DJ a while back who wants to spend the money on family.” “And you know what Chef? What’s more important than family? Sitting here with you, going through all these auditions… I think WE’RE family Chef. You get me, I get you. Same wavelength.” Tears started welling up in Chef’s eyes, did Chris really mean that? “Maybe I judged you too harshly, McLean. You ain’t a corporate puppet… You’re my BROTHER!” Chef leaned in and gave Chris a hug, embracing his co-host as if he truly was his own brother. 

“And you know what Chef? Family really sells!” The hug immediately ended and Chef pulled away disgusted. “Forget everything I just said, you ain’t my brother!” “What?! Don’t be jealous dude, I’ve got to think about the family business first ‘bro’!” “Don’t call me bro McLean! Just get on with the next tape!” Chef was beyond offended! Just when he thought maybe he’d touched Chris’ icy heart.

Owen

A choir of church boys and girls are seen singing on a particular busy night. The camera recording all of this is clearly a smart phone propped up awkwardly where it won’t be seen, particularly zoomed in on a large blonde kid. The choir, including him, sing Hallelujah, with the blonde looking more and more red, anxious and suspicious by the second. At the finale of the song, when the kid slowly draws out the “Halleluuuujah..”, applaus erupts and the choir bows. The fat boy tries to, but ends up hitting himself on his stomach instead. He then runs towards his phone, picks it up and speed walks into what looks like a lounge.

The camera is positioned under his swollen chin until he places it against the counter wall, showing himself off as he opens the fridge and eats as much as he can, from donuts to fruits to an entire pie. Between bites he speaks.

“Hi.. I’m Owen! And I’m so psyched to be joining TD! Woohoo.” He whisper-yells the woohoo, continuing to eat as someone knocks on the door to the lounge.

“Owen, sweetie, you were amazing! Can we see you?” A sweet voice beckons.

“In a second, mom, hehe!” He smiles forcefully, though his chuckle is very cute, almost mascot worthy. “What? I eat when I’m stressed.. I wanna be on TD to party, but most importantly to find new, less judgemental people to be friends with. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my folks here at home, but they’re really not always so open to new concepts, if you get my meaning. Anyways, my best qualities are my iron stomach and endless sense of humor! I promise we’ll have a blast, bro’s! Catch you later!” He downs an entire peach cobbler, covering himself in crumbs, jam, chocolate and sugar.

“Owen? Who are you talking to?” A mature voice demands.

Owen bites his lip, leaving his phone to answer the door. “Sorry, dad, here I come!” The door opens and the choir, as well as their families collectively gasp. “...What?”

“You know, the final piece of this puzzle is a mascot. This kid’s got likability, the cute factor and he seems two dimensional at least.”

“He better appreciate my damn food…” Chef snarls.

“A starving raccoon couldn’t appreciate your damn food, Chef. It’s alright, man.” Chris offers a hand to Chef’s shoulder. He slaps it, paining him greatly before digging a kitchen knife out of his pocket and brandishing it.

“I’ll kill you, Mclean!”

Chris stands up as Chef bolts forward to chase him around their office. “H-hey, wait! Producers! Chef is fighting me again!” Chris knocks on the door desperately. “O-oh, and we got our cast! So get those signed copies of signatures and contracts ready!”

“You ain’t gonna have a head to host with, you bastard!”

“You wouldn’t dare touch a hair on my head- Chef, no!”

Oh, Mclean will have a head to host with. Stay tuned: Total Drama Island premieres soon.

[brooklyn-1918]

On A Farm

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: On a farm in Western Pennsylvania, You and Steve grew up. When his mother passed, he took off for Brooklyn. When he returns, you both have some patching up to do. 

Warnings: Some mild swearing (like one word, I think), uuuuh, Steve is a bit of a dumb ass? There’s not much to this story. 

A/N: I know I said I was going to work on the next part of Desert Rose, but I got sidetracked. What a surprise. So this is for @just-one-ordinary-fangirl​ ‘s 1000 follower challenge. The farm that I used for inspiration is here. Prompts are in bold. 

At five years old, Steve’s mother brought him to Pennsylvania, where she settled them on a run down old farm. The paint peeled, the windows rattled. It was scorchingly hot in the summer, and bitterly cold in the winter.

He desperately missed the streets of Brooklyn where he was born, however little he might remember it. He missed the cobble streets as he walked down the long dirt drive, he missed the tattered walls as he helped his mother scrape paint. 

The only thing that helped him keep his head straight was you. Little you, who would run back and forth with him in the fields… That is, until he had to stop and sit to catch his breath. You, who would climb the tall pines that grew around the old barn with him. You, who would hide in the woods and jump out to scare him. 

The years progressed, you both grew. When you were both 17, you planted a kiss to his cheek, pushing yourself up on your toes to reach him, as you had both grown exponentially from when you first met. 

Then, that winter, his mother was struck with tuberculosis. 

You tried to console him, to lure him away from his mother’s side, to eat something and get some rest. But to your dismay, nothing you said or did made him move. 

After she was gone, he packed his bag with a weak apology and left back for Brooklyn. 

You stood in the middle of the dirt road, a tear rolling down your cheek as he climbed into the back of a truck, bag slung over his shoulder. He looked up just enough to see you, but dropped his head quickly. 

The truck started and you stared after him as he got smaller and smaller. And all you could do was stand there, broken hearted, as he left. 

__________

It had been close to a decade by the time you saw him again. The depression was over, and a war had been fought and won. 

The sun broke through the branches of the pine trees leading up the drive to the Rogers farm, the dirt and gravel crunching under your feet as you progressed forward. Toolbox swinging from your hand, you stopped under the windowsill to the large bay window in the living room. 

Dropping the metal container to the grass, you gripped the wooden shutter with both hands and gave it a twist, positioning it back into its original spot. 

You had noticed the broken shutter from your own window. It had been blown sideways in the windstorm the week prior. Nodding to yourself, you grabbed your tools and moved to the front door. 

For nine and a half years, you had taken care of this farm. Fixing it in just the way that Sarah Rogers would have, once upon a time. There was no evidence that Steve had ever decided to sell it, and certainly no one had shown up to claim it. 

So you took it upon yourself to keep the place in order. 

Climbing the stairs, you stopped in the upstairs hall, carpet sending up puffs of dust with each step you took. Grabbing the broom that you left there, you jabbed once at the ceiling, and knocked open the panel that concealed the ladder to the attic. 

“Alright, let’s see the damage,” You murmur to yourself, before clamping the handle of your toolbox between your teeth, and climbing the rickety old ladder. It shook violently with your weight, but held as you hoisted yourself into the musty space. 

“Ah, there you are!” You exclaim, moving over to the drip of water coming from the hole in the ceiling, about the size of a baseball. 

It took an hour to fix, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck, staining your shirt collar. When you were done, you slid down the ladder, shut the trap door, and descended the stairs, swinging left as you stepped off the last stair into the kitchen. 

The tap squeaked as you turned on the water, as did the floorboards behind you, but you didn’t notice. You set down your box on the counter, the metal clatter covering the clicks behind you. 

“Hands up, and turn around,” A voice commanded behind you, deep and gruff. Startled, you let out a yelp, and threw your hands up. A shudder ran through your spine, and you turned slowly on your heel to face down the barrel of a rifle, pointed directly at your nose. 

Your sight shifted to the man holding the gun. His face set into a scowl, blond hair dirty and falling into his eyes. His jaw was set with stubble, muscle twitching as he ground his teeth together. 

He wore a military uniform. Not a dress uniform, but nothing casual. A duffel bag was laying on the floor by the side door, a rank insignia stitched onto the side. 

“Who are you, and why the hell are you in my house?” He growled, refusing to drop the rifle. You blinked once, twice, then three times. “Your house? Who are you?” You fire back. Your question seemed silly as you continued to examine him. It seemed silly as you looked into the eyes of the boy that you spent your childhood with. 

“I--”

“Steve?” You interrupted. The man faltered, lifting his head and letting the muzzle of the gun drop down. His jaw hung open, and he watched you for a moment. 

“Y/N? Steve dropped the gun fully, and with a few quick hand motions, rendered it ineffective. Before he had a chance to set it on the worn table, you rushed him, pushing yourself up onto your toes to wrap your arms tightly around his neck. 

You laughed brightly as he leaned back, lifting you off the floor. His chest vibrated warmly as he laughed as well, then settled you back on the floor. “What are you doing here?” He asked, stepping away from you. Placing his hands, warm and calloused, over your shoulders, he pushed himself back so he could examine you for a fleeting moment. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing!” You exclaim, running your fingers over the top of your head in astonishment. He flicked his gaze to the duffle, but turned back swiftly to you. 

“Well, I-- It’s hard to explain,” He started, “But really, what are you doing in my house?” 

You froze, momentarily bashful as you glanced at the dirty floor. You were gonna clean that today, too. Looking back up to him, you gave a wobbly smile and a shrug. 

“You’ve been gone for a while. And someone needed to take care of this place,” You remark. Now it was Steve’s turn to flush. That Irish blush that worked its way from the tips of his ears, tinting down his neck, and disappearing below the collar of his shirt. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, huh?” He noted, nodding his head and slipping a hand to rest at the back of his neck. You bobbed your head in agreement, glancing down again. 

Silence settles between the two of you. A strained tension filled the room, settling deep in your bones. You hated the feeling. It made you want to run. You could be out of the kitchen, and through the creaky screen door in seconds. Out of the house, and away from him. 

Because god damn it he broke your heart when he left all those years ago. And you never wanted to feel that pain again. 

You didn’t want to run. But that’s exactly what you did. 

“Well, I should leave you to get settled,” You said softly, turning on your heel to grab your tools. 

You could hear shifting behind you, and as you faced him once more, he was standing straight, stiff. “Right. It’s good to see you again, Y/N. Really good.” He smiled, a twinge of sadness criss crossing his features. You force a smile, and walk past him, pausing briefly to gently squeeze his shoulder. 

You continued to the door, but stopped next to the green duffle. Nudging it with the toe of your boot, you could see the insignia better. Captain. 

“If you enlisted, you just proved yourself to be the reckless idiot that I always said you were,” You chuckle, slipping into the old banter that you both had, so long ago. It seemed strangely familiar, a long dormant part of you that suddenly was awake. 

Steve laughed behind you, softly. 

“Well, I proved it,” He confirmed. You looked up to him, and pursed your lips in a frown. He gave you a tired grin, and you shook your head in exasperation. 

Another moment of silence, and you turned and left.

__________

You aren't sure what woke you. But you were decidedly awake at a time when you really didn’t want to be. You dropped your head back to your pillow with a groan when it happened again. This is what you were sure had woken you up. 

A shout, muffled by walls and a few hundred feet, drifted through the window you had left popped open. You sat bolt upright, the blankets falling down around your hips, and turned your body so you could see Steve’s house. A light blinked on across the way, cutting through the darkness, and you swung your legs out of your warm spot. 

Grabbing your slippers, and flashlight, you bounded out your front door, and across the dirt road. 

“Steve!” You called as you made it to the screen door you had left out of only a few hours ago. You could see the yellow glow of the kitchen light through the glass panels of the side door, so you quickly transgressed the screened in porch to open it. 

“Steve,” You tried again, softly this time. The only acknowledgement that he gave was the slight inclination of his head, which dipped down towards the table as he sat there. 

Shirtless.

In the freezing kitchen. 

Because of course that made sense. You inched forward, hand hovering over his back. You sucked in a breath, and placed your fingers down, rubbing in soft circles. 

A sheen of sweat coated him, the roots of his hair darkened with it. He shook, just a small tremor, but it was there. 

Pulling a chair over, you noticed the pair of dog tags laying in the middle of the table, framed by the flaking green paint. His own, and another set of an unfamiliar man. 

“James B Barnes,” You mouth to yourself. Dropping into the creaking chair, you swing around so your knees point to him, and lean toward him. “Steve, what’s going on?” You wait a moment without him speaking. “Steve, c’mon, you’re scaring me. Please talk to me?” 

He still doesn't speak, so you take your fingers, and place them under his chin, his stubble prickleing at them. You maneuvered Steve’s jaw so he looked at you. 

His eyes were watery and so insanely blue. It almost made you gasp, if you weren't so concerned. 

Dread gripped your belly, an iron grasp that refused to let go. 

So neither did you. You stroked your thumb over the prickles, and leaned forward to wrap your arm around his broad shoulders. Closing your eyes, forehead leaning against the bare bulk of his shoulder, you nearly jumped when you felt his warm hand wrap around yours. Another shudder ran through him, jostling you, prompting you to pick your head back up. 

“Steve, I need you to tell me what's wrong.”

He remained silent. With a sigh, you stand, then pause momentarily, watching as his head falls back down. Once again scooping the flashlight up, you turned to go. 

A gasp ripped its way from your throat as Steve locked his hand around your wrist again. He still hasn't picked up his head, but his arm, stronger than the last time you saw him, was reached out to you. Your gaze drops to his fingers, decorated in scars, then up to his face, where you can see tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

You dropped back into the seat. 

__________

For weeks, the two of you did a sort of dance. He would say nothing of the nine years that he was gone. You tiptoed your way around your heart. 

It just wasn’t the same as how it had been for so long. You had both changed. A sigh, probably the thousandth that week, escaped you. Steve looked over to you, brow raised. With one final shove, he pushed the new board into place, patching the hole in the side of the dilapidated barn. 

“I think I’ve heard you sigh more than I’ve heard you actually speak. What’s goin’ on?” He questions. You turn your head, then push yourself off of the barn wall, clutching the toolbox tightly. 

“Nothing,” You lie. A clap of thunder in the distance sounds, and it seems as though mother nature is calling you out on your lie. Steve stands to his full height, a doubtful look on his face. 

“Really?” He chuckles. Another crash of thunder sounds. Closer. Followed by a flash of lightning. 

“Yes, really. I’m fine,” You reinforce. 

He nods, takes the box of tools from you, and places his hand over your shoulder to guide you gently back to the house, just as the rain begins to fall. 

“It took me a long time to figure out when you lie,” Steve raises his voice to be heard over the near downpour. “And right now, you’re doing a real bad job of trying to fool me.” 

You huff, and cover your head with your arms to keep the cold drops from landing in your eyes. Failing at your makeshift umbrella, you huff and drop your arms as you both splash through the mud puddles. 

“Well, Steve, that was a long time ago,” You say, somewhat harshly. Behind you, you can hear his steps falter slightly, to your slight satisfaction. “Right,” He mutters, just as you both reach the screen porch door. You yank it open, harder than you hoped. It squeals in protest, nearly coming off its hinges. 

Dropping into one of the kitchen chairs, you peel your boots off, then move to the sink to strip your jacket off, sopping wet and clinging to you. You drop it in, and turn to face Steve. 

“What happened?” You ask, shaking your head and throwing your hands out to the side. 

Steve freezes, halfway between placing the tools down, and with a look of shocked confusion on his face. 

“What do you mean? Am I missing something?” He asks, a slight waiver in his voice. Slowly, he places the metal box down, and snags the dish towel. 

“Yes! I mean no! I don’t know! Maybe we're both missing something, because damn it Steve, something happened!” You burst out. Steve freezes, confusion washing over him in waves. 

You growl in frustration, and snatch your jacket back, twisting it to wring the water from it. It splashed down into the iron bowl, a crescendo of taps. 

Whipping it out, you glare at him. 

“You have been gone for almost ten years! And you come back like nothing has happened. Like no time has passed at all!” You march up to him, and jab a finger at his chest. He takes a step back, eyes wide and brow raised. 

“Y/N, I know that--”

“No, I don’t think you do! You come back, and you won't even tell me anything! You not only keep yourself up at night, but you keep me up! I’m sick with worry every time I hear you yell, and you won’t let me help!” You yell, hot tears pooling in your eyes. Steve falls silent, just staring at you, waiting to see what you would say next. 

You don’t continue, however, as you wait for his explanation. Or excuse. Or something. 

Nothing. 

You almost growl, and let the first of a cascade of tears race down your cheeks. 

“You left! You left me standing in the middle of the street! I was there and my heart was breaking. I realize that you had just lost your mother, but you could have stayed!” 

The man in front of you takes a step back. His features steel and he moves forward again. 

“How would I have been able to stay here? Huh? How could I stay here when I failed her?” He asks, pain radiating from his voice. 

“Failed her?” You fire back. “Steve, she got tuberculosis, there was nothing you could have done and you know it!” 

He visibly deflates. More salty tears make their way down your cheeks and you poke his shoulder again. 

He shakes his head, his own eyes welling in sorrow. 

“You had people here that loved you. I loved you, Steve Rogers. And you walked away to a place where you had no one in your corner,” You finish your tirade, voice dropping lower and lower as you take a step back.

Waiting for a minute for his answer, you nod. Turning, you grab your shoes, and march out the door, and into the storm, not caring that your socks were now wet and mud stained. You cry openly. Sobs muffled by the crash of the thunder. 

Another crash, and it might be thunder, but it also might be the screen door, so you glance over your shoulder. You walk faster as you see Steve running through the rain towards you. His fingers brush against your elbow, and you jerk away. He tries again, and this time is able to twist you around. “I love you! I love you, okay? There, you got me to say it. Happy?” Steve shouts over the rain. You glare at him, but soften as you realize the sincerity in his words. You can see it written all across his face. In the way that he cries too. 

“No,” Your voice waivers. “I’m not.” 

“Then give me a chance to prove it to you.”

__________

Months crawl by. Fast, but still slow. 

All that built up trust and friendship, the hidden love, comes crawling back to the both of you. 

You sit under the pine tree that grows along the drive, the autumn sun shining down, fingers twined together. You rest your head on Steve’s shoulder, staring at one of the feral kittens that have come to inhabit his farm over the last few weeks. 

Soft breathing, in and out, jostling your head slightly. 

“Thank you.” You hear Steve, and pick your head up to look at him. You furrow your brow, and lift your hand to brush the hair from his eyes. 

“For what?” 

“For giving me a chance,” He replies. You smile at him, and drop a kiss onto his shoulder. He presses one to the top of your head. 

When you look up again, he grins. Wide and toothy, just like the ones he would show you as you climbed the pine tree you now both sat under some fifteen years ago. 

“What?” You laugh. “I really want to kiss you right now. May I?” 

“I’m going to be mad if you don’t.” With his own laugh, he moves to cup your cheek. With a glint in his eye, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. Pulling back, he presses down another, and another. 

And as the light of dusk slips behind the far hills on the other side of the field of hay, turning the sky purple, you both remain curled together. Lips locked, hearts swollen with love. 

The sky darkens, and as the stars appear, everything is calm.

Permanent Tag List:  @wildefire​

[eldritch-araneae]

Bumblebee Week, Day 2: On Duty

As the night grows darker, the two Special Operations agents watching the newly constructed Decepticon outpost from afar.

“So, Jazz’s orders are simple: get in, get the intel, get out and cause mayhem along the way so ‘cons will think twice next time before building their bases close to us.” Bumblebee says as he watches closely the guards. There aren’t many of them for now, as the outpost was built a few hours earlier according to diurnal patrol.

Then he looks up to his partner, a large beastformer named Nyx. “Ready for chaos?”

Nyx grins, revealing her sharps fangs. “You know me, Bee ~ May the night be our witness.”

“Let’s go then!” he smiles and jumps over the edge, switching into the quadrupedal mode. Nyx transforms into her swift gliding bat alt-from, spreads her long wings, and takes off into the sky.

She gracefully glides through the air and lets out her trademark roar as she gets closer to the base. Bumblebee, who is running in the shadows, can feel how the spark of his enemies squeezed in terror.

A few seconds later, Nyx dives into a group of guards that only just realized what is happening. Yells of panic fill the air and shooting starts, all this mixed the terrifying shrieks of the huge and scary-looking bat. 

Nyx dodges all the shoots, then lunges onto the nearest Decepticon, grabbing their leg with her jaws. She shakes them like a ragdoll, the tosses them at a Decepticon who decided to attack her in close combat. Bad mistake.

Another Decepticon transformed into a tank alt-form, but Nyx doesn’t care. Before the tank could fire, she bites him by the barrel and starts swinging him like a hammer, throwing her enemies left and right.

While Nyx is tearing the outpost apart, Bumblebee easily gets into a small building, that had the intel he’s looking for. Nyx’s destruction cut the power for the rest of the base, shrouding it in darkness. 

He can sense two more guards...and Lockdown? Interesting, they usually never assign him for important guard duty. Nonetheless, it’s quite fortunate for Bumblebee as Lockdown is easy to manipulate.

First, he throws a tiny pebble he picked up earlier at the opposite wall to make a sound. That was enough to catch one of the guards’ attention.

Then Bumblebee throws another pebble to lure his target farther from the door. Soundlessly, he climbs nearby crates, positioning himself in the way so he would be above and behind the guard. He switches his left hand to the stinger, an electric blade, and sets it to the lowest setting.

Bumblebee waits for few seconds until his target is below him. Wasting no time, he drops from the crate, landing onto the guard’s back. He shoves the tip of the stinger right under his target’s helm at the base of the neck and shoots.

Even the weakest electric shot was enough to knock a big guy out before he could scream. The action still made a bit of noise and it was just enough to draw out another guard, allowing Bumblebee to do the same thing with her. 

Now the passage is free and only Lockdown is left to deal with.

Bumblebee opens a door and walks inside like he was on his own base. Lockdown shrieks from seeing an unexpected visitor. “Back off, Ghost!” he yells while pointing the gun at the minibot.

Lockdown may sound brave, but Bumblebee knows better. His spark is trembling as the infamous “Shadowlurker” is standing in front of him.

Bumblebee calmly walks forward to the paralyzed Decepticon, then simply takes the gun out of his hand. The minibot grins, his expression is barely visible in the dark, only illuminated by the optics of two cybertronians. He drops the gun onto the floor and before he could say anything, something shakes the small building, accompanied by Nyx’s roars outside.

Lockdown jumps at the sudden loud noises, looking to the side where it came from. Bumblebee decided to use this opportunity to climb on the nearby crates again, this time to level himself with the taller mech.

When Lockdown turns back where Bumblbebee just was, the minibot grabs his face, forcing him to look into minibot’s icy blue optics.

“Now, be a good guard and hand over the intel you have.” the minibot speaks softly, while the tips of his fingers are practically digging into taller’s mech’s face.

Lockdown’s spark jumps in his chamber, he knows why Bumblebee is here.

“I-I have nothing!” he protests with a trembling voice.

“Lies.” Bumblebee moves closer to his enemy’s face. “You don’t wanna upset Clobber, do you? She will be so sad if she finds your lifeless grayed corpse, am I right?” 

Lockdown’s optics widens at the threat. “Okay, okay! It’s in the crate next to you!”

Bumblebee transforms his right hand into a stinger, which makes Lockdown yelp. Then he uses it as a knife to open a crate next to him. He looks inside and finds a smaller black box. He opens the box to see the contents. He hums in delights, this is exactly what he came for.

Another loud noise shakes the building, distracting Lockdown. This is his cue to leave, so Bumblebee grabs the black box and quickly leaves the room, disappearing as fast as he came.

Outside he puts the box into his subspace and jumps into shadows. Together with Nyx, he disappeared into the night.

[rockthistowninsideout]

DigiWeek 2021

Day 7 - Home (Free Day)

The Story

   “Uh-oh as much as you want! Now the time is over for Digimon and all those supporting them!”, the blonde girl shouted and finally rounded the ledge. She wore a red-and-blue checked school uniform and a devilish grin on her face.

   “Why would you want to end the Digimon?”, Kamemon cried out.

   “Because they are destructive and cannot be trusted!”

   “Then why do you have a Digimon partner?”, Ryudamon asked.

   The girl, who still hadn’t introduced herself, laughed menacingly. _“_There’s no such thing as Digimon partner. Humans can never live in peace with them. Grizzlymon is merely a tool because it was stupid enough to think the same as you. Wanted to become my partner – Instead I made it my slave. It’s what Digimon deserve to be so mindlessly wrecking.”

   “You tested your black spikes on it, didn’t you?” I asked as I caught a glimpse of a sharp tip protruding from its fur.

   She eyed me with a gaze that swung between annoyance and approval. “Oh yes! It was really eager to be my guinea pig and I have to admit it’s doing an excellent job as my assassin. But then again Digimon are nothing but war machines.”

   “That’s not true!”, Kamemon cried out. It seemed to feel deeply offended by the girl’s sermon.

   And I understood that. Kamemon and Ryudamon had been nothing but kind and helpful, and Frezamon had only attacked us because the black spike had corrupted it. Something truly dire had probably happened in her life. To buy time, I asked “What’s your name?”

   Her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. She positioned herself straddle-legged before us, hands on her hips, and declared “I am Tamina and you will soon praise me as the Extinguisher of Digimon!”

   Taki leaned into me “She’s got a serious screw loose. White people and their megalomaniac ideas.”

   While I wholeheartedly agreed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that some serious trauma bubbled close beneath the surface. Before I could elaborate on that note, she cried “Grizzlymon, attack!”

   Her Digimon, or better say, her brainwashed minion, unleashed a Heavy Attack. We could duck down and escape to the right, but the attack was so strong that it shattered the stony ledge we’d been hiding under. The shards were blown in all directions and we only stayed safe because Ryudamon threw itself before us and blocked the shrapnel with its armour.

   I looked to Kamemon. “Are you ready?” It nodded. I gripped my DigiVice tightly and as Kamemon started to glow, it vibrated in my hand. When the evolution was done, it identified the new Digimon in our ranks as Gwappamon. Gwappamon was roughly a head or two shorter than what I remembered DexDorugamon to be. Instead of Kamemon’s helmet it had brown dreadlock-like hair that was crowned by a CD. Around its neck a pair of headphones was slung and its belly was stitched and patched up. It parried Grizzlymon’s attack with a Gwappa Punch.

   “See, you’re also only using the Digimon as fighters”, Tamina yelled in triumph.

   “Well, we don’t want to get ourselves killed by you poor Digimon!”, Taki shouted. “I can only pity it, both of you, actually.”

   “Why do you pity me? Pity yourself for being led to believe that Digimon are good!”

   We jumped apart when Grizzlymon launched its next attack. I ran towards the rocks where the ice sheet was wedged when an idea struck me. We were four and they were only a pair. We should have an advantage here.

   Tamina was concentrated on directing Grizzlymon against Gwappamon who was sparring exceptionally. So I had the chance to communicate with Taki and Ryudamon, at least non-verbally. Taki agreed with my plan: I wanted to lure Grizzlymon away by letting myself be reflected in the ice mirror. That was suppposed to irritate Grizzlymon enough to let its focus slip. Hopefully that gave Ryudamon enough time to jump on Grizzlymon’s back. Then Gwappamon could join forces with Ryudamon and we could pin down Tamina.

   I bent down and started forming snow balls. When I had a small battery of them at my feet, I threw them at Grizzlymon with force. After the third, it turned around annoyed. To be on the safe side, I threw a couple more, one hit it straight between the eyes. With a roar, it charged at me. Well, what it supposed was me, but it actually was my reflection it ran towards. Before Tamina could order it to stop it had hit the ice with a sickening crash, the impact was enough to let the ice splitter into a million pieces.

   Immediately, Ryudamon was on its back, clawing into its think fur. Grizzlymon roared in agony but before it could shake Ryudamon off, Gwappamon had thrown it into the snow. Tamina was shouting, she tore at her hair, until we were at her sides and gripped her arms tightly. “Let. Me. Go!” she yelled repeatedly, though her voice grew smaller and smaller until she was mere wax in our hands. Uncontrolled sobs were shaking her body. Taki and I looked at each other, we both simply felt sympathy now. We led Tamina towards the yurt where she collapsed in front of the entrance.

   I wanted to enter but the darkness that had risen from the chimney had now filled the entire hut so I quickly drew the curtain back and told Taki and Tamina that we had to evacuate right now. Tamina was unable to walk, it seemed that only her rage and misguided mission had been holding her up, so I scooped her up bridal-style and hurried down the mountain as fast as I could.

   In passing Taki shouted towards the Digimon to destroy the yurt – Grizzlymon had now been freed from the spike and was looking around confused. Gwappamon sent the CD on its head spinning which tore open a slit in the fabric of the yurt and Ryudamon set the hut ablaze with its Tera Burst. The yurt exploded and the shockwave pushed me several metres down the slope.

   We took shelter behind a particularly sturdy looking ledge. I sat Tamina down who was sobbing. “Shh” I said. “You are okay now.”

   “Yeah, it’s alright”, Taki seconded. After a brief pause she said “And whenever you’re ready, you can tell us why you hate Digimon so much.”

   Tamina was quiet for a few moments, only furiously wiping away the tears from her eyes. I gave her a handkerchief from my school bag. She took it with a grateful expression but she wasn’t smiling yet. Finally she whispered “My mom.” She hiccuped before she could continue “My mom died when Parrotmon and Greymon fought in Hikarigaoka. She was the only victim when she got hit by fallen debris that’s been, well, I don’t know if it came from a bridge, or an apartment building, of it it was a car. It also doesn’t really matter. I wasn’t afraid to see these two creatures fight when I watched them but when I learned that they were responsible for Mommy’s death, I swore revenge. And over the years, my anger only grew whenever I saw Digimon running rampant in the city and all across the globe. They caused malfunctions and destroyed everything. But as far as I know my mom was the only fatality in all those year. I always felt that the government wasn’t doing enough so I itched for a chance to right it myself.”

   She paused to inhale deeply. “And some time ago, I don’t if it’s been hours, or days, or weeks – time works different in the Digital World – I walked home from school when someone called me down a stairwell between two streets. The voice came from behind a gate between two houses, and when I stepped through it, I was in the Digital World, right in front of the yurt, with Bearmon waiting beside it. The voice told me that it understood my sorrow and wanted to help me with my revenge.”

   A few minutes ago, the girl had wanted to dominate the world but now I could feel nothing but sorry for her. Out of an instinct, I hugged her tightly, and Taki on the other side did the same. Our Digimon came back from their battle, they had evolved to their previous levels.

   When Tamina spotted her former slave she called “Oh Bearmon, I’m so sorry!”, and teared up again.

   Bearmon came towards her to hug her, saying “It’s alright now.”

   Kamemon walked over to me and said “We told Bearmon what happened. It was very understanding.”

   “Thank you for tel-”. Before I could finish the sentence, there was a blast that shook the earth. We flinched, then I peaked over the ledge to discover a huge crater where the hut used to be.

   “That wasn’t us!” Kamemon declared.

   From the crater rose smoke that transformed into tentacles halfway through. “Ah shucks!”, I muttered.

   “Did you really think it was over? What you defeated was merely a puppet, a disposable I would have gotten rid of anytime if the time had come. And the time has come!”

   “That’s it! That’s the voice that called me here. Oh my God!” Tamina wailed, shaking vigorously.

  “Stop it!”, I said firmly. “We need your help now. If we want to win against – well, whatever that is, we need to stand united.”

   Tamina looked frightened at me. “I don’t think I can.”

   I lifted her head gently at the chin to look directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. I’m really sorry what happened to your mom. But the Digimon are not to blame for her death. And neither your vendetta nor your indecision will bring her back. What we need to focus on right now is to save the Digital World, and probably our human world too. I don’t know who’s behind the voice but I’m pretty sure they don’t want to spare us. What Ryudamon over there told me was that the Dark Forces had always aimed for the human world too. It’s the rest of your family who’s in danger now. This is your chance to save them!”

   She stared at me like a hare. Her shaking stopped, she swallowed hard before she nodded. “Okay.”

   “Wonderful.” I briefly hugged her, then pulled her up on her feet.

   We gathered together, back to back, gazing up to the sky. It darkened by the second, the clouds spun faster and faster until some sort of vent had formed. “Prepare for doom!”, the voice thundered.

   Taki grabbed my hand on the left side, Kamemon on the right. “Ready?”, she asked.

   I nodded. “Let’s do this

Gwappamon

Also:

HAPPY ODAIBA DAY!!

Thank you so much for organizing the event @earlgreymon​ and @tangledupblue! It was wonderful to see us Digimon fans reunited again and to share our love for an anime that’s been with us for more than 20 years. 

[alittlebitgoofy]

it’s so easy to leave me  (taywhora)

i keep watching the memory lipsync then i had the idea for this fic, it took me a sec to finish it but i like it, just some good ol angst with a nice ending cause i don't want them to be too sad <3

ao3 link

Tayce was used to waking up to a cold bedside. The sinking feeling of realising nothing would come from another night of picking up a girl, taking her home only to never see her face again. It wasn’t like she was helping herself, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try and go on dates or reach out to people she gave her number to.

It was a vicious cycle, feeling alone seeking comfort in a stranger then they left her. It hurt every time but the feeling of being wanted in the moment outweighed the emptiness it left. Chasing brief highs wasn’t a way to live but it was what was comfortable.

Why change something that was working?

Even though it wasn’t.

It wasn’t working, not when Tayce was feeling another person slip away from her in the dead of night. She felt the warmth of another person fade and it made her want to cry. Tayce tried not to make any noise, only curling in on herself to try and savour any warmth that may be in her body.

Why did this one hurt more than usual? Maybe it was because they clicked. In another life they’d be on a path to something, spending time together, maybe going on dates. Instead, it was another girl who’d leave her in the dead of night to avoid the confrontation of the reality of what was happening.

The girl’s eye’s flickered between Tayce and her discarded clothes. It would be easier to leave. They had a good night, nothing was making her stay. But one look at Tayce was enough to draw her in. she just wanted to hold onto her, she looked like she needed it as she shuffled herself deeper into the duvet.

She couldn’t leave, her body refused to let her out of the room. Why would she leave, do a walk of shame back to her flat when she could stay in the warmth of another person. One who was inhumanly pretty, that she’d gotten damn lucky just to hook up with.

“Tayce?” The girl murmured, poking Tayce to see if she was still awake. The brunette let out a small grunt, turning her head around to stare at the blonde sitting on the other side of her bed.

“You can stay if you want, if not just be sure to close the door on your way out,” Tayce responded plainly, the tiredness creeping into her voice to make it a lot less stoic than she intended. There was an undertone of something, almost a plea with the first part before shrugging off any feelings with an unbothered tone.

“I wanna stay.”

Tayce froze. She wasn’t expecting that response. Aurora wasn’t like her usual hookups, she was a lot softer. She’d been a lot more affectionate than the brunette was used to, though it didn’t feel bad like she worried. She let out a soft hum, laying her head back down to not face her. Aurora made a brave decision, creeping closer to Tayce before tentatively moving the duvet from over her to slip in next to her. She snuck an arm around her waist, only to feel her relax into the affection.

Tayce let out a hum, lightly grabbing Aurora's hand to squeeze before returning to her prior spot. The blonde nestled her head against her shoulder, letting out a content sigh as she got comfortable.

The warmth slowly growing in her stomach was terrifying to Tayce. How did this girl she just met have such an impact on her? How was she so soft, warm, and sweet like a chocolate fudge cake. Tayce never had the biggest sweet tooth but maybe she could be swayed if just an arm around her body could make her feel this much.

She settled into it eventually, getting used to the warmth and basking into it as she slipped into unconsciousness. Her last thought was sickly sweet, wishing she could feel like this night after night. Ignoring the loneliness that had previously been there, only feeling the warmth of another person. Not just any person, someone who lit her up like few rarely could.

Her mind cast back to early that night, their stares had been magnetic, unable to help the attraction they had to each other. The feeling when Aurora leant into her was electrifying, Tayce would have swooned at the fluttering of her lashes had she not had so much self-control. She was used to being the one taking the lead but this girl kept her on her toes. She’d stare at her with dreamy eyes murmuring about how charming her accent was, luring Tayce in with her softness before she was putty in this little blondie’s hands.

They’d had something different, the kisses felt softer but that wasn’t a bad thing. Aurora had so much love to give, it made Tayce feel like a princess. She focused all her attention on the brunette, melting away the feelings of incompetence with one look.

If anyone was going to take her guard down with ease, at least it was the cute girl who made her feel like she was truly admired and appreciated. That she could pretend, if even just for a brief while, that she was loved.

They woke up in a similar position, Tayce still held by the smaller woman. She turned her head to see her sleeping peacefully, her leg having migrated to being thrown atop Tayce’s.

For once the bed didn’t feel cold, Tayce wasn’t in a rush to move. She wanted to soak up the cozy feeling before it was gone, when the day took over and the night would fade into a pleasant memory she’d think about in her darker moments. The one time someone made her feel good, made her believe she was loveable.

The smaller girl stirred next to her, letting out some sort of sleepy grunt before moving closer to Tayce with a grumble. She opened her eyes to meet the green ones that had been sneaking glances at her.

“G’morning,” Aurora spoke with a smile, her eyes hooded as she blinked herself awake.

“Hey you, was wondering when you’d wake up.”

“I’ve finally decided to bless you with my presence,” Aurora grinned, moving her hand in emphasis in a way that made Tayce barely manage to stifle a laugh. She soon stopped trying to hide it as the blonde kept up her theatrics, feigning offence when she was being laughed at before joining it.

Her laugh was something special, Tayce would compare it to a seal. It was goofy, a bit stupid but somehow fit her all the same. It made something in Tayce’s stomach flutter. Something about the way she clapped when she found something especially funny and the laughter that was more akin to a honk or a bark of an aquatic creature. It was adorable. She was adorable and Tayce couldn’t stop staring at her to just take it all in.

“Well as comfortable as I am, I slept in my makeup so I need to go clean that off. You too you hound, don’t leave it on your face.”

The girl next to her let out another grumble, rolling over to swing her legs over the bed but still looking at Tayce with a pout on her face. She quickly staggered to get up as Tayce walked off with a raised eyebrow. She tailed the taller woman like a lost puppy, leaning into her as she stood at the bathroom mirror.

The makeup wipes were out, though it didn’t stop Tayce from passing some to Aurora, the girl still seemed half asleep, slowly blinking trying to manage to get her makeup off. She stifled a yawn into her hand, trying to shake herself awake.

“You’re so pretty.”

Tayce jolted at the sudden sound, realising she’d been spoken too, the complete warmth in Aurora’s voice, staring at her with big doe eyes that made her heart melt. She tried to laugh it off, shrugging and moving back to get the last few bits of makeup off her face.

“You’re cute, not doing a great job at this though.”

Aurora pouted in response, huffing as she felt the wipe be taken from her hand something tilting her face up. Tayce got to work on her face, the softness of it all melting the blonde right into her hands. She looked cute, so relaxed in her hands. Aurora blinked, staring at Tayce as she finished the job with a sleepy smile.

Tayce knew she’d be without her makeup but she didn’t expect how much it would affect her. The way she was being looked at made her want to squeeze the girl tight, pepper her with soft kisses and make her feel as warm and fuzzy inside as looking at her did for Tayce.

If things were this easy, maybe she wouldn’t have to say goodbye. She could see her again, if she could ask for it.

They moved on, Tayce pushing some coffee in front of Aurora still trying to pull her out of her half-asleep state. It was pleasant, a rare domesticity Tayce seldom felt. Though she suspected she’d be chasing the feeling soon if Aurora stuck around. She didn’t know what to make of the little blonde anymore, she’d shown a lot of care over the last night that Tayce wished she would stay longer, though the fact they still didn’t know each other very well made her wonder if she’d run, spooked by the lonely woman who wanted nothing more than to sit with her and learn every little thing she was willing to divulge.

After some prodding, Aurora let out an affirmative hum at the suggestion of beans on toast, she seemed content, sipping her coffee watching Tayce faff with the toaster. The brunette heard a light laugh from behind her as she jolted at the sudden springing up of the toast.

“Don't laugh at me, you little hound”

Aurora laughed harder, leading Tayce to whip around to face her with a huff. She couldn’t hide the way her lips curled up at the sight, turning her attention back to the toaster to hide it.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off the blonde. They sat there, eating while Tayce mulled over what she could say to try and explain her thoughts and feelings. It was a terrifying thought but she couldn’t let this opportunity slide.

She didn’t want to be alone.

So she mustered up any scrap of courage inside herself to ask something, still not sure how to word it but knowing she had to before the woman left. There was something about her, she idly wondered if Aurora would make the move, quelling the slight tension left hanging as neither spoke about the obvious.

“Hey, Tayce?”

Of course, she picked the worst possible time to get her attention, Tayce perked up at hearing her name, hastily trying to swallow a mouth full of beans.

“Are you free this Saturday? If you’re open to it I’d like to see you again.”

Oh, thank god.

Tayce didn’t trust her ability to speak, letting out a few incoherent noises before just nodding, hesitantly making eye contact with Aurora, something blossoming in her chest at the way her face lit up at the agreement.

“It’s a date.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 VII

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The pieces are moved further across the board.

Note: It’s a slightly shorter chapter but I’m hoping the next chapter turns out how I envision it. I work close so I’ll get a little longer before work to figure that out but thank you all for reading and following this series.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋 You guys rock!

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

You tucked the necklace away and didn’t touch it; couldn’t even look at it. Joan and Sybil ignored you as Marion sent you sympathetic looks. You felt terribly. Rose hadn’t been the nicest but she had been just as humiliated as the queen. And perhaps Eleanor had her own machinations but she didn’t deserve that shame. First a bastard followed by a public betrayal. 

You barely slept. You couldn’t stop thinking of the scene in the queen’s receiving chamber. The king was growing desperate, you assured yourself, impatient, and he was only trying to lure you into his arms. His promises of adoration, honours, and even marriage were empty. You knew that by the treatment of the other women. 

How easily would he be done with you should you succumb to him?

The morning brought a headache and a knot in your chest. You readied and went with the other women to morning prayers. Your meal was taken without the queen. She was supping with her husband, it was reported, although many whispered at the veracity of the excuse. As they did, they looked to you and you stared at your plate. Rose was absent as well.

Marion sat with you. She was your only steadfast companion and only passively so. Her tolerance was kindness compared to the distaste of the other women. You wondered how Rose had bore it with a smile but you never recalled her facing such hostility. In fact, her giggling accounts of her and the king’s trysts were favoured tales.

You didn’t eat much. You were silent and walked with the other ladies back to your chambers. As you came upon them, a woman with hair the colour of straw and pock scars upon her cheeks stood at the door. A loud sobbing was muffled from behind the next. Rose’s despair was rampant and outright.

Again, several glares, each cut you deep. The yellow-haired woman stepped forward and curtsied. Her brown dress and white apron denoted her servitude. Her eyes searched among the ladies though she couldn’t choose where to keep them. Your name slipped from her lips; a question.

The ladies parted as they sneered at you. You stepped forward and kept your head high. “It is me you seek.”

“My lady,” She gave a crooked smile. “I am Marge. The king has sent me to serve you. To help you ready for your things.”

“My things?” You asked. “What do you mean?”

“Your chambers have been arranged. The king has seen to them and I am to be your chambermaid.”

“Chambers? Why, I am a lady without title or marriage, I should remain as I am.” You protested. “I’d rather you return to the king and seek reassignment.”

“My lady, I have strict orders to see you to your new chambers.” She insisted and her eyes flicked along the line of ladies. “And to attend whatever needs you should have.”

You sighed and resisted the urge to glance at the other ladies. You could feel them watching you. “I haven’t much,” You relented. “It shouldn’t take very long.”

“My lady,” She dipped her head. “There will be men soon to help carry your trunks.”

“It is just the one.” You assured her. “Not very much at all.”

Marion opened the door and you followed her within. Marge waited for the other ladies to enter before she followed. She trailed you to your bed and you opened your trunk. You packed away the book and the handkerchief you had left on your pillow. She helped you buckle it shut.

“Good riddance,” You heard Joan’s whispered as she sat on her bed and watched. You looked up at her . You were tiring of the poorly-hidden scorn. The cowardice snipes beneath one’s breath.

“Yes, good riddance,” You said. She flinched as if you’d struck her. 

Two men in servant’s garb appeared in the open door. One knocked on the frame and they bowed as you looked to them. 

“My lady.” They nodded to you. “Marge, we’ve come to help.”

“Just this one,” Marge pointed to the large chest. 

“Might I…” Marion’s voice distracted you as the men entered and stood on either end of the trunk. “Might I come along and help you settle in?”

Your lips parted. You looked at the other ladies again. Joan avoided your gaze and Sybil watched the servants. “You would do that?”

“If you’d have me,” She offered. “It will be...different without you here.”

“Yes, I would love it if you came along, Marion,” You smiled. “Though I suspect I needn’t very much help.”

“Even so,” She replied. “I think I will miss you.”

👑

The chambers were much larger than those you shared with the other ladies. There was a spacious receiving chamber with a tall fireplace and a round table painted with vined fruit. There was a sofa just on the other side of it and ornaments lined the mantle and a small table near the window. There were velvet chairs sat before the hearth and tapestries kept the room from growing frigid.

The bedroom was just as luxurious. The bed was draped in deep red linens and a screen separated the vanity and the armoire. Tall windows lined the wall on the other side of the bed and a smaller hearth faced the bed. Another door opened into a privy. Your father would be envious.

You felt out of place as Marge began to unpack your gowns into the wardrobe. You only had half a dozen and a few sleeping gowns. Your father couldn’t afford much more and you altered them often to keep them fashionable. You fidgeted with your sleeve as you retreated back to the receiving chamber where Marion marveled at the painting of the king just above the fire.

“I think the king is in love with you,” She mused as she turned around. “Do you think so?”

“Is that what you think?” You crossed the room and sat lightly on the sofa. “When he disdains his queen and has disposed of Rose so swiftly.”

Her brows drew together. She neared and sat on the other end of the sofa. “Do you not think him genuine?”

“I think he is a man who is rarely deprived. I think it is more about the pursuit than the prize.” You wrung your hands as you kept your voice low. “I have not encouraged him, I have not done anything but refuse him.”

“But… every lady at court longs to be in your place.” She insisted.

“I have seen his habit and I believe myself no better than my predecessors. If...when he gets what he wants he will be done with me just as quickly.” You frowned. “I am not a fool. But my father is. He is intent upon my snaring the king.”

Marion blinked in surprise.

“Oh, I should not have said that. You will tell the others, won’t you?”

“Why would I do that?” She asked. “They are jealous, that is all. I mean, they all fawned over Rose and she made certain we all knew of her relations with the king. So far as we know, you’ve barely even smiled in his direction.”

“Yes, but in a place like this, imagination means more than reality.” You bemoaned. “Do you really not hate me as they do?”

“They do not hate you, they hate that they are not you.” She assured you. “If anything, they hate the king for how he has treated Rose. And the queen, to some extent. It reminds us all of our position as women. Of how tenuous it is.”

“Why, Marion, I thought you said you weren’t one for such bleak thoughts.”

“I wasn’t.” She gave a soft smile; behind it, pity. “You’ve not heard what happened with Rose?”

“The child?” You wondered. 

“Half the court knows of the child.” She waved her fingers lightly, “My brother was among the men with the king the day after the scene with Queen Eleanor. Rose’s father marched her into the king’s receiving chamber, he was livid. Not with his daughter even, but the king. Can you fathom that?”

“Sadly,” You replied. “If she truly carries a bastard, she has no hope of a marriage.”

“Well, that’s it. Her father accused the king of defiling Rose but the king would not stand for it. He said, in front of all his men, ‘When your daughter came to my bed, she was no maiden, and I doubt my bed strengthened her chastity.’” Marion was almost whispering as she leaned close. “My brother said he could barely breathe. It was completely silent. No one knew what to say and Rose just ran out in tears.”

“Oh, poor thing,” You touched your throat. 

“You pity her?”

“How can I not? One day, I might find myself in the same circumstance, if not worse.”

Marion nodded and glanced around the chamber. Shadows struck her face sharply as she looked to you grimly. “I suppose you are envious of us then? How funny it is to think.”

“More than you know,” You leaned back. Your sleeve was fraying from your endless picking at the delicate cuff. “I am trapped. The more I say no, the more persistent the king grows, but if I say yes then I am surely doomed.”

👑

Your first night in your new chambers was the most lonely you’d ever known. You wished you had accepted Marge’s offer for her to stay, but you’d sent the servant away out of paranoia. You weren’t completely convinced she was not sent to report your every word back to the king. 

You were as wakeful as you had been of late. The dark was desolate and the morning held little promise. The walls around you were the embodiment of those which had risen between you and the court. 

You eventually dozed in spurts. When the dawn bloomed through the curtains and the ache of your head kept you awake, you rose. Marge arrived as if she sensed your consciousness. She helped you wash and dress and pulled the moss green hood over your hair as you sat before the mirror.

You wondered at your reflection. How could you have driven the king to such madness? Perhaps you were not so plain as you thought. Or perhaps you were. 

You were reluctant to leave and so you paced your receiving chamber. The queen would only find so many excuses for her absence and besides, she was not the type to hide for long. And neither were you. 

And Rose? Would she ever appear again? Well, if she did, you expected she would not be any nicer than before.

You had almost found your courage when the knock came. When you were brought to a sudden halt to look at Marge. She diligently went to the door. She didn’t notice the fearful look you sent her way. You didn’t have time to wonder who would visit. You suspected the king as the hinges whined.

The queen stood in the doorway. She was accompanied by a guard as she always was when she traversed the castle. She did not await an invitation but swept inside with a wish of her skirts. The beaded azure silk flowed like an ocean around her slender figure. Her eyes were discerning as she took account of your chambers.

“So it is true.” She began. “He has lodged you for his pleasure.”

“Your highness, I tried to re--”

“You have done very well for someone who has tried to resist.” She neared the mantle over the hearth and looked up at the portrait of her husband. He had been younger when he posed for it. “He was prince then. This was the painting they sent when they offered the contract between us. I thought he was so handsome I accepted and insisted on bring the portrait with me.”

She paused as she reached up to trace her fingers along the frame.

“At first, it was a comfort. I thought, when he was kept away from me, too busy with his court and kingly duties, that he’d still be there. I could look over and see him. I was young, like you, and just as naive ” 

She laughed sourly. “Then I could bear to look at it no longer. The first mistress I forgave, even the second, but when there are too many to keep count, your worth becomes apparent. And so you take down the painting and store it away to be shrouded in dust...along with your heart.”

“I didn’t ask for it--”

“You should’ve played along. I would’ve seen you retired away from court in a nice country house. A castle on the moors. But now, when he tires of you, I shall let him cast you out.” She turned to face you. “For you have shamed me worse than any.”

“I did not--”

“I did not come to converse. I came for you to listen.” She hissed. “For you may act coy with my husband, play with him as you do, and he may prop you up until he can get what he wants, but I am still his queen. I have the crown, the throne, and by rite, I have him.”

You stared at her. You inhaled and nodded. You realized, there was nothing you could say. There was nothing you could think of to say. And so you were silent as you were so many times before, only this time, you were more than the girl along the wall.

“I can drag you down further than the king can lift you higher. Understand that. You are an earl’s daughter, a second daughter at that. I was born a princess, raised to be a queen. You will never be me. You can never.” 

In her anger she looked so unlike herself that she was monstrous. Her words were more so and cut you deep. You reeled and caught the chair beside you. You closed your eyes and breathed. Again the anger rose; so unfamiliar. Years of being unheard boiled within.

“I never wanted this.” You opened your eyes. “I told you I didn’t but you persisted because you thought to topple Lady Rose. You thought to play your hand and drew the low card. You’ve done this to both of us and it cannot be undone.”

She shook her head and scoffed. “You are just the same as all the rest, my lady.” She neared the table and ran her fingertips along the painted top. “You must enjoy these chambers while you remain here,” She rescinded her hand and retreated. “For you will never know any so fine when you are through.”

“I understand why you blame me but know that I do not blame you. Not even for your hate, for your scorn. For you have a right to it. You should be angry; you should hate him, hate me even, but you can content yourself in knowing that you have already ravaged my life completely.” You stood straight and crossed your arms. “But you may just have doomed yourself along with me.”

Her lips parted as if to retort. Her green eyes held yours for a moment before she turned away. She motioned to her guard and Marge opened the door. She stopped as she reached the door frame and her long fingers rested on the wood. 

“Good. So you will know the same pain I have.” Those were her last words before she swept out into the corridor.

The jingle of her guards mail and the padding of her slippers were muffled as Marge shut the door. The servant’s face was beet red as she avoided your gaze. You dropped your arms and stepped around the chair to sit.

“You needn’t remain, Marge. I shall not bind you to me and I have lived many years without a maid.” You said softly. “You have my leave, should you want it.”

“I should not.” Her tone was firm. “For I agreed to tend to you in whatever you need and right now, you would seem to need a friend.”

[pettyprocrastination]

Rip Out Our Seams and Stitch Us Together

Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Reader

Chapter Four

Word Count:

Warnings: Angst, Val is a bit of a bitch, also poorly written smut. Oral sex (fem receiving) be gentle with me I went lite on the smut because i’ve NEVER WRITTEN THIS BEFORE.

Summary: After a long day at work you get a visit from your richest customer and learn more about the ruthless trophy wife than you’d expect. 

Tag List: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ @captainsamwlsn​ @readsalot73​ @zeldasayer​ @cinewhore​

Chapters: 1/2/3/4

“So what are they like?”

You raised a brow at Cassie, who you were currently walking to her car. It was something you did each night after the shop closed, you would usually stay for another hour or so but you wanted to make sure she got home safe before late. Mostly to make sure she wouldn’t wake up late for school the next day. 

Cassandra was a good kid. Smart as a whip and dedicated as hell, she was saving up for college so she worked any time she was free, which was right after school every single day. You knew that eventually, you'd have to bring more people on board for the shop, but right now you had a comfortable level of close knit customers that the pair of you could handle with ease. 

“Who?”

She snorted and bumped her shoulder against your arm. “You know, the Lords.”

“You tell me, you see them every time they come into the shop.” Which was true, but each time she seemed to freeze up and lose the ability to speak. Upon learning what they were actually like, the glitz and glam wore off pretty damn quickly in your opinion. 

“But you get to talk to them!” She unlocked her car before clamoring in and poking her head out of the window. “Seriously though, how are they?”

You pondered for a moment before giving her a dignified response. “Dickish. Goodnight Cass!” The teenager laughed before pulling out of the parking lot and driving home, you watched until her car was out of sight before turning around and walking back to the store. The only light you had was the streetlamps passing the corner and the flickering neon signs of the twenty four hour restaurant across from you. 

Until the bright headlights of a car driving right up to the sidewalk in front of your store. 

There’s a brief moment of panic in your heart before you steady yourself. It’s late, you're alone, a black woman in D.C with nobody at her side, you've been in this position before and will continue to be as such. The door is only a few paces behind you, if you had to, you could turn and sprint to make it in time. 

Your planning process melts away when the engine of the car turns off, the driver side door opens and a long leg wearing a red stiletto heel steps out, followed by another. 

“Mrs.Lord?”

Sure enough, Valerie Lord walked up to you at ten thirty at night, heels clicking with authority against the asphalt and a smile. 

She looked...off-put. 

“Hello Stitches.” Maybe it was the lights of the lamps above playing tricks on you, or just your lack of sleep, but you could’ve sworn you saw a little tremble in her painted lips. “Mind if I come in?”

-----

“I just figured I’d pop in.” She set her purse on the counter, looking around the store before her eyes settled on you again. It seemed like she was trying very hard to be nonchalant with you and it made the entire situation seem even more off. “See how much you’ve gotten done.”

“How much I’ve gotten done?” You quirked a brow at her. Last time you saw them they spent more time arguing with each other than actually giving you feedback. “Well I’ve got a few ideas but-”

“Lovely!” She clapped her hands together and you fought the urge to cringe at her voice. It sounded too shrill, too high pitched and forced, all the other times it has been smooth, an almost husky lure, but tonight, it seemed tense. 

In fact, all of her did.

Her smile was a touch too wide, you could see the strain in her cheeks, her hair mussed and face slightly raw, as if she had rubbed all her makeup off just to put it all back on. Her blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were glassy, as if she was fighting back tears. 

You knew the feeling a little too well. 

“Why don’t you bring those out for me and I can have a look.” She sniffled and turned her nose at you, most likely to hide the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “To make sure I’d actually wear them of course.”

“Oh, uh, yeah sure.” You turned on your heel to go into the backroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Right before the door you froze, pondering for a moment before an idea, albeit one that could easily blow up in your face, formed. 

“Is something the matter?” Her voice quivered as she spoke, but she covered it with a sharp hissing tone. 

“Uh, no.” You turned around and let out an awkward chuckle. “I uh, just forgot where I put the book is all, don’t worry. I remember now!” You spun on your heel to the door across from it, opening it quickly and clamoring up the stairs. 

Valerie watched your form disappear up the stairs and scoffed. “I hope your sewing skills are better than your organization skills!” She heard a series of clinking and frantic footsteps coming from whatever was above your store that you were sifting through to find the design book. She took a deep breath, taking a moment to dab at the corner of her eyes. 

Keep it together goddamnit. You didn’t lose it in front of Maxwell's business partners, or your own fucking son, so you certainly wouldn’t lose it in front of a seamstress with a shop smaller than your kitchen. You're Valerie fucking Lord. Act like it. 

The last words rang through her head like the church bells on her wedding day, the same day they were first spoken to her by her new and oh so charming mother-in-law. 

“You're about to become Valerie fucking lord.” The elder woman hissed, gripping the tearful bride’s wrist so hard Valerie feared it would break. “Act like it! Quit sniveling, smile happy for the photographers and say ‘I Do.’! It’s not that hard, my son that has to do all the heavy lifting!” The woman who somehow only came to Valerie’s shoulder but still made the psychiatrist feel two feet tall. She sneered at Valerie, with her hair perfectly done, makeup immaculate, and a designer wedding gown made to fit her body like a glove. 

“If your sorry excuse of a mother was still alive she’d be appalled by what you became.”

She laid a hand on the counter to ground herself in the situation. She was here, at your shop. She’s fine, she’s fine.

Her hand came down on the smooth cover of a notebook, her plucked brows scrunched up when she realized this was the same one you had during their consultation. Another loud thunk from above her. 

So what the hell were you looking for?

The stairs creaked as you walked down them, arms out and your focus solely on not dropping or spilling anything on the tray in your hands. Valerie felt her heart clench, you carried the tray over to the counter, gently setting it down. It held two cups of what seemed to be steaming hot cocoa, along with bags of marshmallows, big, small, and colored. 

“What-” Her voice came out watery and weak, she cleared her throat before she spoke again. “What, the fuck is this?”

You looked up at her with a sympathetic smile. “I uh, had a rough day today.” One hand came up to hold the back of your neck. “Hot chocolate usually helps me feel better, would you like some?”

She knew you were lying. She wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself. She didn’t need your help, the useless pity of a woman who couldn’t even dream of owning half of the things she did. She was Valerie Fucking Lord. 

But when she looked at the tray that you had put together, all for her, she couldn’t find the strength to say the words. 

You had already begun to set a cup in front of her. “Big marshmallows or little ones?”

Valerie finally let her voice crack as she spoke. 

“The little ones.”

-----

The pair of you drank in silence for the first few minutes. Valerie was thankful for that. Every time she tried to find her voice it would die in the back of her throat. You didn’t seem to notice, or at least you pretended not to. 

“It’s got to be hard.” You answered a question she didn’t ask. Why did you do this? “Living the way you do.”

Valerie scoffed. “Oh yes it’s very hard living with a walk in closet, endless funds and a staff that waits on me hand and foot. It’s a struggle but I do survive.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course it isn’t. You wouldn't know how I live. Because you live like this.” Valerie waved a hand around the store. “Meanwhile I live in a house so big my husband and I can live on separate sides and not even see each other for a month! I look like this-” She gestured to the designer red dress that fit her body and had a slit up the leg before pointing to you. “Meanwhile you look like-”

Her voice vanished in her throat when she looked at you, a woman who worked for her, a black woman living on her own and making it her way in a world that didn't want her to, a woman that owed her nothing besides the service of sewing, that had extended an olive branch to her when she came to you late at night because she didn’t have anywhere else to go and she repaid you in the classic Lord way. 

By being a class A bitch. 

“A chick who shops at thrift stores?” You finished for her. She looked down at the mug in her hands, her thumb trailing over the cartoon hearts that danced along the brim. 

“Like somebody who doesn’t have to hide.”

You laid your hand on the cool surface of the counter top instead. 

Your hand released the handle of your mug to reach across the counter, so close to holding her hand in yours, feeling her smooth skin and the way it would flush under you. But you worried you would instead feel the way she would rip it from your grasp, shouting obscenities and those words at you, before promising you that her husband would hear about this. 

“Just because we have different struggles doesn’t mean we don’t still go through them.” Your voice was gentle, like a wrap being laid over her shoulders that took away her tremors and shakes. It made her feel warm all over in a way she wished it didn’t. “We all get days where everything feels like it’s too much. It’s nice to have somebody in our corner when we do.”

She looked up from the mug to finally meet your gaze with a watery smile. “And here I thought I was the one with the degree in mental wellness.”

The corner of your lips tilted up and Valerie pretended not to notice the way her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m afraid I don’t know as many big words as you do Mrs.Lord, but I do know that a good cup of hot cocoa and a friend to talk to can help on a bad day.”

“Valerie.”

“What?”

Her watery smile was replaced with a confident grin. She leaned over, plucking a marshmallow from your cup and plopping it into her mouth with a wink. “My friends call me Valerie.”

There was a split second where you were frozen, simply staring at her and she wondered if she had overstepped, if she had gone too far but then a big grin grew on your face and she felt her heart pick up again. 

“Valerie it is.”

“And for what it’s worth-” Her eyes ran over the rings on your fingers, to the chain on your chest with an impish smile. “-I think you look pretty good in thrift store clothes.”

“Do I now?” You settled your head in your hands and grinned at her. Valerie squeezed her thighs together at the way you smiled, preening like a prize animal under her attention. 

“Good enough to eat.” She purred, you dipped your head back and laughed at her words. The moment was interrupted when another heavy noise came from above them. 

“Okay, this is driving me insane.” She pointed to the door you had come through. “What in God’s name is up there!”

“Oh!” You waved a hand in the air before answering. “It’s my apartment.”

“You live above your shop?” Her eyes looked ready to shoot out of her head and you snorted. 

“Well not all of us can afford a giant mansion Mrs.Lord, besides, the shop was my pop’s and when he died I took it over.” You smiled wistfully at all the memories you had in the shop growing up, as well as the tiny two room apartment you and your father lived in above it. “It just didn’t seem right to leave it.” You waved a hand through the air dismissively.

“The noises are probably from my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Valerie’s voice was a combination of fear and awe. You puffed your chest out and smiled wide. 

“Sure do! Cujo is my pride and joy. He was a rescue but he’s got a heart of gold.”

Valerie stared at you for a moment. 

“Cujo?”

“Yeah! You know, from Stephen King?”

She shook her head at your reference. 

“Seriously!? The movie came out last year, it was phenomenal!”

Valerie scoffed. “I'm afraid I have more important things to do rather than see a movie about some dog.”

You tsked, shaking your head solemnly. “That’s a sad way to live.”

She knew you meant it as a joke but the words weighed heavy on her heart. It really was.

“Do you want to meet him?”

As you asked the question she was already slipping out of her chair and making her way to the door. 

“I’ll take that as a yes then!”

Valerie never had the chance to own a dog. Her parents were always out on sets, filming movies and going from place to place for photo shoots, interviews, and premieres. A dog would fit into that life just as well as a child would. 

Even though she never had a pet, she absolutely loved dogs. 

Every time she went on the street and saw somebody walking a dog, there was an internal battle within her to stop herself from crouching down and petting whatever canine her eyes landed on.

“Uh fair warning though.” You unlocked the door and looked behind you at her. “He’s very big, and very affectionate. But he doesn’t bite! People just see him and get scared at first but-”

“I’m not some little girl stitches.” Valerie huffed. “I know not to run screaming from a puppy.”

You shook your head. “Whatever you say Val.”

Valerie was so struck by the nickname you gave her, she didn't even have the time to register the positively massive dog that jumped at you the moment the door opened. 

“Oh hello my handsome boy!” Your voices was at least three octaves higher than she was used to. “Did you miss me! I missed you!”

The dog in question was a pit bull, a large black mass with eyes that could almost be described as gold, that jumped and butted it’s head against you. 

You gripped the dog’s collar in one hand while setting the other on his rear with a little tap. “Alright settle boy, settle.” The dog plonked it’s bum onto the hardwood floor, tail wagging from side to side and it’s tongue lolled out in a happy grin. “Valerie, this is Cujo.”

Cujo looked up at her, panting and practically vibrating with energy. She looked over to you, who held such adoration in your eyes for the dog it made her own heart hurt. 

“It’s okay.” Your voice was soft, gentling coaxing her forward. “You can pet him if you’d like.”

She reached out with one hand, slowly setting it atop his head and bringing it down in one smooth motion, when she pulled it back the dog turned his snout down and lurched forward, presenting his head to her in search of more pets. 

“Looks like he’s got a favorite Lord.” Valerie ran her hands over his smooth fur, and even let him lick her! Oh if Max could see her now. 

“That’s not a hard contest.” Valerie scoffed. “Maxwell is petrified of nearly every animal and bug in existence.” 

The image alone of Cujo bounding after Maxwell in search of tummy rubs, only to see the multi-billionaire run away while shouting for help was enough to make you cackle. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“Maybe next time you all come down to get your measurements down I’ll let Cujo come say hi.” You turned to the pitbull and began talking in a baby voice again. “Hear that buddy? If you scare the funny looking business man, mama will give you a treat!”

As you spoke, Valerie flicked her eyes over the hallway that welcomed her into your home. It was lined with posters of bands she didn’t know, small mugs and souvenirs lined the bookshelf and window sills, a small quilt laid folded up on a table. The colors clashed, the theme was overbearing and cluttered, but it felt more like a home than her own house did. 

But it was a home that she didn’t belong in. 

“I think it’s time I head home.” Valerie turned to you and swore she saw a frown flash over your features before you nodded. 

“That’s probably a good idea, it’s getting late.” You turned and pat Cujo on the head once more. “I’ll be right back buddy, will you be good for me?” 

The dog let out a deep ‘boof’ as a response and you grinned. 

“Atta boy!”

Maybe it was the fact that you asked her what marshmallows she wanted, or that you took the time to reach out to her instead of using that moment of weakness as leverage like anybody else would have, or the way you smiled at her when she pet your dog, or the way you preened at her compliments, but Valerie couldn’t get out of your house fast enough to escape how you made her feel. 

Her heart didn’t stop beating frantically until your shop was nothing but a dot growing smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror of her car.

It was almost midnight, Alastair was no doubt asleep and Maxwell would be soon enough. Whether it be in his office passed out on a stack of papers or in his bedroom on the other side of the house, neither one would worry where she is. 

She turned into the parking lot of a hotel before turning it off. She didn’t bother trying to sneak in through a back exit or pay the front desk employee off, she simply waltzed in with her head held high straight to the elevator ahead. The employee didn’t bother to welcome her, or even ask if she needed a room, they knew if they asked her anything they’d be fired the next day. 

Any hotel employee in D.C knew if they saw a Lord at their establishment, they kept their mouths shut about it or else they’d end up penniless within a week. 

The moment the silver doors shut behind her, Valerie fluffed her hair, wiped away any tears and adjudged any smudges on her makeup. She stared at her reflection in the compact mirror 

You may have been allowed to see her moment of weakness, but nobody else would.

The elevator stopped and she snapped the compact in her hand shut. 

This was her deal with Max after all. They didn’t meet their side pieces at home or in public, for the good of their name and simple respect for one another. Late night rendezvous became normal for Valerie just like quick fucks before a meeting became mundane for Maxwell.

She only knocked on the door once before it was opened wide, revealing a grinning shirtless man who was built like Adonis. 

“You're late.” The man answered, the moment the door shut behind her his hands were on her, roaming her body and yanking up her skirt while his lips attached to her neck with a needy groan. “I’ve missed you so much baby.”

Robert was a model, a handsome man from the deep south who came for a fresh city start. He quickly found a job in flexing his farm-bred body and smiling pretty for the cameras. Valerie found his voice, deep grit with a southern lilt, alluring at first. But tonight it just annoyed her. 

It wasn’t the voice she wanted to hear. 

She pushed her way out of his grip with a scoff. “I’m a busy woman Robert, don’t expect me to come running every time you need to get your dick wet.”

The man began to unbutton his pants with a smile. “But I’m not the one who called for this little meet-up, am I honey?”

Her eyes, cold as ever narrowed into slits. Valerie laid down on the bed, not even bothering to take off her heels before pulling up the skirt of her dress and spreading her legs. “Why don’t you put that fucking mouth to use for once,-” She shot him a venomous look, plump lips bent in a frown. 

“-And quit it with the fucking pet-names Robert, I’m not your high school sweetheart.”

The man shook his head. Valerie was never sweet during their trysts, but she seemed especially bitchy tonight. He didn’t make an effort to ask why, instead he simply pulled her lace panties to the side and ran his tongue along the seam of her cunt. 

He looked up, already opening his mouth to make a comment on just how fucking wet she is for him, when her hands tangled in his air and shoved his face back between her legs. 

“Not tonight.” She breathed out, her eyes shut and head dipped back. She gripped his hair hard enough for him to feel a sting in his scalp, but he said nothing. “Just..not tonight.”

Valerie didn’t have the time nor the patience for Robert’s frat boy peacocking tonight, to hear him boast on how ready she is for him and how she takes him so well when all his voice would do is pull her away from the images in her mind. 

Instead of the short, gelled hair of a model between her fingers, it was yours. Long, soft, curls threaded in her hands as you sucked on her clit. The gentle husk of your voice coaxing praise and sweet words against her thigh, pulling away from her core to tease her legs with feather-light kisses. She’d want to complain, order you back on her, but with the sweet smile and look of adoration in your eyes it would vanish. 

Would your eyes flutter shut as you slide your fingers inside her pussy while you sucked on that beloved little bundle of nerves, curling just right so that she’d cry out for you, or would you watch? Eyes open and focused solely on her as she fell from ecstasy. 

It wasn’t the heavy hands of a farm boy turned coke-snorting model that gripped her plush thighs, but the slender palms of a seamstress, so used to creating beauty but now working on unraveling it. Would the cool metal of your rings bite against her flushed skin? Would you moan against her dripping core, breathe fanning out against her as you groaned out just how sweet she was?

Her hips bucked up against your mouth, thighs tightening around your head as you pulled her closer and closer to her climax. Your fingers setting an unforgiving pace inside her that she didn’t even know she needed so goddamn bad from you until you gave it to her. 

“Fuck!” Her back arched like a woman possessed, toes curling as you pulled away only for a moment to coo out her name. 

“That’s it Val-” You nuzzled between her thighs, the tip of your nose just brushing against her clit in a way that pushed her over the edge. “-cum for me, baby.”

The great Valerie Lord bit down on her lip as she came, so desperate to keep your name from falling off her lips that she felt her own blood on her tongue. 

She laid there in a haze, tremors of the after shock slowly subsiding, a small smile grazed her lips when she felt your lips press to the inside of her thighs. But the bliss was broken when the sound of a zipper met her ears along with a cocky voice crooning out. 

“I got you good, didn’t I baby?”

Her eyes shot open and sure enough, the fantasy was gone. She wasn’t finding ecstasy in the cluttered home with you between her legs, but instead laid spread open on silk sheets in a five star hotel while a dazzling super model with washboard abs in front of her. 

The bottom of her Louboutin heel pressed against his bare chest, pushing him back and back until he nearly slipped off the edge of the bed. 

“Not tonight.” She said simply, getting up and ignoring the slight shake in her knees as she did. 

The man furrowed his brows, before turning his head and scoffing. “You know if you were anybody else I’d be offended, but I guess it’s expected from a Lord. Ain’t it?”

Valerie looked at her reflection in the mirror, swiping away the smudge of lipstick against her cheek and setting each stray hair back into place until she looked just as flawless as she did when she walked in. She didn’t bother looking at Robert as she spoke. 

“If the way I fuck is so tiresome, go find somebody else cowboy, I assure you I’ll have no trouble doing the same.” 

She grabbed her purse from the night stand, opening the door before freezing in the doorway. She turned to Robert with a sultry smile. “One more thing Robert baby.”

At her sweet coo, the man puffed out his chest and grinned. “What is it sugar?”

Her face fell as she plucked a cigarette from her purse and set it between her teeth as she spoke with disdain. 

“Call me Val one more time and I’ll fucking ruin you.”

[realityhelixcreates]

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel) 

Additional Tags:  Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary:   Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

   *****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

                ****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

                                                                         *****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that?  Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?��

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Minghao: Find Our Way (Part Eight)

Characters: Minghao x (blind) female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, murder

Word count: 3,035

Summary: You already knew who you were meant to be with and how your life was supposed to go. The only thing keeping you and the life you were destined to lead apart was the fact you were blind. At least, for now, you could meet him in your dreams.

Tag list: @choiminjae0325​ @heolykpop​ @fullsun-donghyuck​ @yoonbabe-d​ @exuwu​ @lets-get-1t​ @vintageot5​ @sehunnies-hunnie96​ @childfmoonn​ @wobwobkpop​ @henloimawierdobye​ @dirinast​ @joshwoah​ @wreckedbytae​@sakura-uji​ (if you wanna be added please send an ask or a dm!!)

Unable to tag: @birthday-prinxess @sooooofrench

Previous | Next | Find Our Way Masterlist

All eyes went to Joshua. He was the only other person who had experienced what Minghao was. He had lost his pull to his mate before -- not counting when she had died -- but it was under very odd circumstances that he never really spoke to anybody about.

“Okay, but even if it was like what happened with Lilly,” Joshua began when the pack began bombarding him with questions, “why would _____ suddenly up and leave? And without her cane? She wouldn’t have gotten to the front door without bumping into everything or falling down the stairs, and that would’ve woken up the pack!”

“Nothing here is adding up,” Jihoon agreed.

While the pack went back and forth on what could’ve happened, Minghao was racking his brain as he tried to figure out what could’ve happened to you. You running away from him was completely out of the question for multiple reasons -- the top two being that you would need your cane to do so anyway, and he was positive you loved him as much as he loved you. Kidnapping was an option, but he was positive that the pack would’ve not only heard it happen, but he knew he would’ve sensed danger. Not only that, but your scent would’ve led somewhere other than just the middle of the woods before going cold like you disappeared out of thin air.

He gasped, looking up from the floor, “The witch!”

“The what?” Seungkwan asked.

“Sh-she said she met a witch at the market yesterday!” Minghao was babbling so quickly that his words were jumbling together. “She offered to fix _____’s eyes but she wanted to consult with me first.”

“Witches are very sneaky,” Seungcheol nodded. “The witch might’ve tracked _____ down and lured her out.”

“But what reason would a witch have to kidnap _____?” Jooyeon wondered.

“They don’t need a reason,” Soomin spoke up, already knowing a lot about witches. “They cause trouble for the hell of it. They’ll strike up an offer and keep up the offer, but there’s always a price.”

“The price being that Minghao can’t find her now,” Soonyoung guessed.

Seungcheol turned to look between Junhui and Jeonghan, “Did you see _____ talking to anybody yesterday at the market?”

Jooyeon raised her hand before either boy could reply, “She was looking at this one booth with some bag of bones running it. I went over to um...purchase a new knife or two...or five.”

“Do you remember where it was located?” Jun asked.

-

You explored the cottage a bit. There really wasn’t much to it. There was the den, which was the biggest room in the house. Then there was a small kitchen, and even smaller bedroom, and a bathroom. So you got pretty bored easily, figuring it would be rude to start sifting through the owner’s belongings like their books and whatnot.

The cat followed you around, occasionally chirping at you. You did find that there was a collar on the little cat’s neck that had a bell on it and a small circular tag that read Yeji. So you at least had a name to call the cat, but that was all the information you’d gathered while at the cottage.

Despite the situation, you were happy you could see. It was like a whole new world to you since you hadn’t been able to see since you were a child. The colors were so much more vivid than you remembered. You couldn’t wait for Minghao to come find you so you could finally look at him in person.

Meow.

You looked down to see Yeji looking up at you with her tail swishing again. You bent down, holding a hand out to her.

“What is it?” you asked as if she would answer.

Yeji only chirped before turning and running toward the kitchen. She leaped up onto the counter and put her two front paws on the windowsill before she turned back to look at you. You locked eyes for only a second before she slid out through the slightly open window and jumped down onto the ground.

“Yeji!” you called in almost a whine, not wanting to lose the only thing you had to keep you company.

You went over to the window and peered out to see if you could find the black cat, but she was nowhere to be found. You sighed, a pout forming on your face as you realized you were now alone. Part of you wished you’d closed the window, but you also didn’t want to trap the cat in here, too.

There was suddenly soft scratching on the front door, followed by little meows. You turned your head and walked over to the front door, unsure if you should open it or not.

“Yeji...?” you called before pressing your ear to the door.

Meow.

‘This cat is a little odd...’

You unlocked the door and opened it to see Yeji sitting and staring at you like always. She meowed once more before she got up and began trotting down the small grassy hill that led to the woods.

‘Why would a cottage be out here?’

‘Well, Soomin’s was in the woods, too.’

Yeji paused to look behind her, seeing that you were still standing in the doorway as you looked off into the woods.

Meow.

This one was a little sharper, bringing you from your thoughts. She took a few more steps before turning back and meowing at you again. All you could assume was that the little cat wanted to be followed, though you weren’t sure why. Still, you began following after the cat, who then stopped meowing at you.

You only got to walk halfway to where the trees started when you were abruptly stopped. It was almost like you ran into a wall except it didn’t quite feel solid and it didn’t hurt. You put your hands up and pressed, feeling some sort of force holding your hands at the invisible line that you couldn’t seem to cross.

However, Yeji had walked over toward the forest just fine.

She turned around and saw you standing there, fighting against the invisible barrier. 

Meow!

This one seemed almost urgent or afraid. She trotted back over to you, meowing up at you like she was telling you to push harder. But no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t cross over. You even started walking around the area and trying other places, but it was like there was a circle around the cottage keeping you in.

But what if it didn’t just effect you? What if it effected people trying to come in, too?

What if Minghao couldn’t find you?

Yeji seemed to tell you were panicking because you felt her butting her soft head against your leg. She purred and let out soft chirps. She looked up at you with her green eyes and meowed quietly before she turned and took off toward the forest until she disappeared into the greenery.

“Yeji!” you called, hoping maybe she would come back.

But she didn’t.

“Hello?” you called, eyes scanning the forest for anybody to come help you; to get you out of here even if you’d never know what happened to bring you here. “A-anybody...?”

But there was nobody there to hear you.

-

The pack essentially had to split up. Jooyeon led the first group through the market, trying to keep her head down as she looked for the knife vendor she stole from the day prior. If she could find that booth, she could find the witch. 

The second group was waiting out in the forest, waiting for them to find the witch. Assuming she was dumb enough to return to the market, which they were betting on. Otherwise, they had nothing to go off of.

“There,” Jooyeon pointed over to a booth run by a burly-looking blacksmith with dirty hands and face. “I got the knives there, so...”

Their eyes traveled across the little path to...an empty booth.

Jeonghan let out a sigh, his eyes closing, “Fuck... What are we gonna do?”

“What are we going to tell Minghao?” Seungkwan frowned, looking around the group for answers.

Meow.

Jeonghan’s eyes snapped back to the booth, seeing a long-haired black cat perched on the table that he assumed would normally hold the witch’s products she sold. The cat’s piercing green eyes stared back at him, its tail swishing softly off the table.

“Can witches turn into cats?” Jeonghan wondered quietly.

The rest of the group looked over to see why he was asking, and they were a little surprised to see the cat suddenly sitting there. 

Jun slowly cocked his head to one side, “I’m not...sure...”

“Soomin might know,” Hansol suggested.

“Yeah, and that’s perfect to know when she’s not here,” Josh nodded.

Meow.

“Hi, kitty,” Junhui cooed as he walked slowly toward the cat as to not spook it. He always loved animals -- especially the strays in town that would wonder into the woods and he would always pet and play with -- so of course he was the first to try to approach the cat. “What’re you doing here so suddenly?”

The cat didn’t move from its spot, meowing again.

“It’s a loud little thing, huh?” Jeonghan murmured.

Jun approached the cat until he could reach out a hand and touch it. So he put his hand out for the cat to sniff, but it only stood up and walked to the other end of the table, glancing at the boy over its shoulder. It meowed again before jumping down onto the ground and beginning to walk to the outskirts of the market.

“You scared it off,” Joshua frowned, whacking Jun in the shoulder.

However, they watched as the cat stopped and looked behind itself to see if they were following. It meowed louder and kept standing there, watching.

Jun took a step forward.

The cat took a step forward and meowed.

“Weird thing, too,” Jeonghan noted.

“No, I think it wants to be followed,” Junhui said before he began walking after the cat.

“That’s still weird,” Jooyeon stated.

“Seungkwan, go tell the others that the witch wasn’t here, but we might’ve found a lead. If we find her, we’ll bring her back,” Jeonghan instructed before going to tag up with those following the cat.

“Wait, but I wanna see what happens!” Seungkwan whined.

“Tough,” the older wolf spat before catching up with the group.

-

All Minghao could do was pace. Danbi even offered Jiwoo for him to hold as a distraction, and that was the first ever time any of the wolves declined an opportunity to hold the baby. How could he sit still when he knew they had no leads? They were just following a cat! What would that do? They’d never find you now, and he’d never know what happened to you. His whole world was crumbling.

“While some witches can shapeshift,” Soomin began explaining when the question was brought up, “some also have familiars that assist them -- whether it be to help them be good or bad. Though, most familiars are able to shift between their human form and their animal form.”

“Like werewolves,” Chan shrugged.

“Essentially, yes.”

“So that cat might be the witch or the witch’s familiar?” Seungkwan asked.

“But if it’s the witch, why would it lead the pack elsewhere?” Seungcheol wondered. “Unless it’s something bad.”

“But one witch versus all of them?” Mingyu reminded him. “They’ll be fine.”

“Can familiars do anything?” Soonyoung asked Wonwoo’s mate.

“Some have very limited and weak powers, but just one familiar would be nothing against the others.”

“So it’s either the witch or the familiar,” Jihoon decided with a solid nod.

“Or,” Wonwoo spoke up, “they’re just following around some cat. It wouldn’t be the first time Junhui’s done that, anyway.”

Minghao didn’t want to believe that. He wanted to believe they had a lead on where you were. He hoped it was the witch herself, but he wasn’t sure why the witch would want their attention. Actually, he wasn’t sure why the witch’s familiar would help them, either. Oh god, what if it was just a cat?

All of the wolves stopped, eyes looking toward the door as their ears picked up on noise. There was an unfamiliar voice that sounded much older and like it had smoked too much tobacco. It sounded like it was struggling, too, grunting and demanding to be let go of.

Then they recognized the scent of their pack, and Minghao was rushing toward the door before anybody else could move. He threw the backdoor open and saw the group of wolves -- and Jooyeon -- walking out of the forest. Joshua and Jeonghan had a strong grip on an elderly woman in a dark red cloak as she kicked and fought against them. Her hair was white and stringy and long, and she had crooked and missing teeth that showed whenever she spoke.

“Is that...?”

“Unfortunately,” Joshua grunted. “She tried to bite me three times on the way here.”

“Told you I could just knock the rest of her teeth out,” Jooyeon shrugged.

“How did you find her?” Seungcheol asked, appearing behind the Chinese wolf.

But, of course, his eyes found his mate and he had to rush right over to her and look her over instead of wait for any answers. But the rest of the pack was waiting to hear how they tracked down the old hag.

“That cat led us to her,” Hansol shrugged. “The lady set up shop in the next town over.”

The two boys managed to get the witch into the house before they dug out some rope and tied her down to a chair in the kitchen. The pack gathered around, ready to interrogate. Seungcheol insisted the mates stay upstairs -- including Jooyeon, who protested very loudly -- so Mingyu and Wonwoo both went to stay with them since the alpha’s mate would be a handful to keep there.

“Alright, lady,” Soonyoung began with a disgusted look on his face as he scanned the old witch, “what did you do with _____?”

“I’ve never heard that name in my life,” she stated simply.

“You look like you’ve been alive for millenniums so I don’t think you would remember if you have anyway,” Jihoon muttered under his breath.

“We know you kidnapped a girl from here last night,” Seungcheol stated, using his ‘alpha voice’. “Tell us where you brought her. Why can’t her mate feel the pull to her?”

The woman smirked, showing off her mostly-toothless grin that made a few of them cringe away from her, “Looks like lover boy will just have to suffer without her then if he can’t find her.”

“If you don’t tell us where she is, we’ll kill you,” Jihoon stated in a growl, golden eyes turning red as they narrowed.

“I’d sooner die than help a werewolf,” she spat before literally spitting in the direction of the shorter wolf.

The three alphas looked between each other, considering their options. They weren’t sure how to get answers out of her. They could try torturing her, but they didn’t want to do that. Even if it was to find a mate, they weren’t sure they could go through with that.

Well, maybe a little bit.

Jihoon lifted his hand, his eyes faintly glowing to life as he curled his hand out like he were holding the witch by the throat. As he began to bend his fingers, pressure was applied to her neck, closing her airways.

“Tell us where she is,” Seungcheol demanded. “What did you do with her?”

The witch only laughed more, choking out, “You’ll never...find her.”

“This is your last chance, hag!” Soonyoung barked. “Tell us or we’ll kill you.”

Minghao watched silently from the sidelines, unsure if he could take part in this. But knowing that he wasn’t getting any answers, something in him snapped. He shoved his way to the front of the crowd, even pushing Jihoon away and losing his concentration with his power. Minghao gripped the witch by her collar and pulled her so close that their noses almost touched.

“Tell me where my mate is!” he demanded in a snarl that ripped through his chest and even frightened a few of his brothers. “I want her back now!”

“I’m a powerful witch, dog,” she chuckled. “I know how to make it so you’ll never find her.”

“Tell me!” Minghao was yelling in her face, his face turning so red that his brothers thought he might explode. 

She only laughed in his face, finding amusement in his anger.

Without even thinking, Minghao’s eyes glowed as his power kicked in. And since the last special werewolf he touched was Jihoon, it was his power. Minghao stepped back and raised his palm to the witch like the older wolf had, except he was curling his fingers at a much faster rate, choking the witch much quicker.

The whole time, she smiled and laughed until she didn’t have the air in her to laugh anymore. The light faded from her eyes, Minghao staring her down with a glare and a clenched jaw, his glowing eyes filled with hot tears.

“Hao...?” Soonyoung spoke up softly.

Minghao let out a sigh, dropping his hand as his gaze fell to the floor. His eyes turned back to their normal yellow as tears began to slip down his cheeks. They may have gotten rid of the person who caused the problem -- and would no doubt cause more for them if they didn’t get rid of her -- but they were no closer to finding you. He was no closer to having you in his arms again.

While the pack was consoling Minghao inside, the cat from earlier was sitting outside. Her ears twitched as she heard the witch she was supposed to ‘work for’ being choked to death before finally dying. Satisfied with that, she turned and began running through the forest back to you, the poor girl waiting alone at the cottage.

She would fix this. She wasn’t sure how yet, but she would reunite you with your mate.

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 3 - reverie

waking up was never this different.

Sounds of water trailing down the pool waterfall echoed as drinks poured and barbecue was served.

Everything felt so good, so normal, almost mundane. It had been a cheerful, sunny day of summer, warmth seeping into your bones, making your skin shine as you lounged by the pool. Droplets of cool water splashed on your face, a crisp interlude to your reverie. Fingertips loosely wrapped around the ice cold drink, taking occasional sips from it. Kids laughed and cheered as they played, splashing you with water in the meantime. You did not mind. You had always been fond of them.

“Think she’ll walk again?”

“Hell, I’d be surprised if she lived.”

Children lured you to play with them in the pool. You could not be anywhere near bothered from your comfortable spot with the mango-flavored drink in your hand, cooling you. Their squeaky voices had been so excited that you gave it a second thought. Playing in the pool sounded like a lot of fun, certainly more fun you had in a while at your stressful job. You wanted to go back, at least for a little while, to the peaceful times when you were a little girl, how you would jump from floaties and giggle and spread happiness. Oh, how you loved summer, spent at the shore, without a single care in the world, enjoying everything the beautiful weather offered you.

"I'm jumping in!"

Drops of water from the cool rag placed on your forehead woke you up, in more ways than one. The dried blood and bruises on your face appreciated the feeling, sending a relaxing tingle over your skin. Your could feel, feel your fingertips, the humid air engulfing them against their dried texture. Consciously breathing, your lungs getting filled up with air once more. Your eyes took their sweet time in fluttering open, a blurred vision welcoming you into reality.

It would have been the epitome of a peaceful resurrection if it was not for the two strangers staring you dead in the eye from above.

It was ironic, really. A gruff, dark-haired guy and a much smaller, green-eyed, young little girl staring you down like you were the odd bunch in this scenario. You dealt with much worse, held captive by far more terrible, dark souls.

Were you at the mercy of this odd little survival gig now?

“Where -” your lips moved, with the pathetic excuse of a voice you have left. Your vocal cords didn’t want to co-operate either, apparently, as you spoke in a low, raspy tone. All of the limbs in your frail, undernourished body screamed at you not to move, as you laid on an old, dirtied mattress. “…where am I?” you managed to ask. Your lungs fought for air in a desperate inhale as you gasped uncontrollably, taking in the stuffiness mixed in with the linger of mold in the room. As your vision cleared out gradually, you find yourself trying to look around where you were holed up in.

Just how long had you been out?

Sweat was forming on your battered skin and the room felt stuffy, so your instincts told you it was late summer still. Another question to add to the growing list to ask these...hunters? Fireflies?

No, you would have recognized them if they were. There were not many left flying around.

Your conscience was beginning to come back into you, slowly but steadily with every single heartbeat and breath taken, like waves in a lazy ocean. You almost didn't want to be conscious - wanted to be left alone, just sleeping in a safe place, without a care in the world.

Yet, it looked like this cruel, relentless leftover of the universe had more in store for you.

It took a couple of moments of steadying your breathing - then it hit you. Pain, lots of it, invading your mid-thigh like a swarm of ants all over your skin. It was the kind of pain that almost-healed, sore wounds created, nevertheless, you hadn't been able to feel any sort of sense during the time you were asleep - God knows how long - and it was making itself known alright. You let out a hiss, your eyebrows furrowing as your gaze directed itself to your bandaged wound.

The lower half of your pants were missing, cut-off right below the bandages... how the hell? Last you remembered, you had a bullet in your thigh, almost dying of blood loss in a tenement high-rise on your way out of the state, and your pants covered your lower leg.

Why, on the damned scorched earth, would anyone help out someone like you?

"You're in safety," the gruff man spoke, a vague answer to your question, his voice sounding low and threatening beneath that peppered beard. "for now."

The two little words he added at the end with such a tone that you just knew  he would shoot you on the spot if you tried to do anything stupid by his books. You could not do anything but nod, and gulp. Even that hurt.

Your worried expression seemed to go unnoticed as an exasperated voice intruded your thoughts. "Yeah, Joel, this is a terrible idea," the girl who was looking down on you earlier with bright, green eyes scoffed, shaking her head, her hand flying out to gesture at you. "The hell were you thinkin'? She cannot even walk - what are we gonna do with her?"

Just what was this little girl talking about? You could not help but look in between the two survivors, the man supposedly named Joel shooting the girl a side glance, his flannel-covered arms folded in front of him as he kept his gaze on you. He looked strong, very strong - the type of hardened survivor that could snap your dainty little neck in half if he wanted to. There had been just something about him, something that you could not quite place a finger on. It took you another look in his green eyes combined with the familiar crimson patterns of the flannel that stretched on his chest to finally come to your senses. Was this...

"Wait," you called out, trying to lean yourself on your forearms with a hiss. "You're the guy who saved me from the hunters," you continued, as if trying to make yourself believe rather than ask the guy, couple strands of hair falling onto your damp face as you propped yourself up. The scoffs and the little murmurs of you gotta be kidding me coming from the teen, ringing in your ears.

"Thank you. Not a whole lot showin' mercy these days."

"Damn right, y'hear that Joel? We've heard that before," the kid started talking again, this time in a little mocking tone as she crossed her arms and walked over to your figure, her eyebrows furrowed and her fiery green gaze focused on the gruff man.

If anything, this had to be a rather unusual dynamic between a father and a daughter you had ever seen - made you think that he had taught her well, not to trust strangers and all. Oh, she surely had to be his daughter, judging by your first impressions of her - fiery, headstrong. But what the hell was your fault? The man had helped you himself, carried you to safety and she sure as hell wasn't there when those damned hunters ambushed you in that high-rise right when you was about to escape Pittsburgh.

What were they going to do with you? You were surprised when the man had left you some supplies back in the city, you supposed he had cleared out the damned infected scraping at your door but compared to the level of surprise that you had looking at the little girl and her father, arguing about what they were to do about you - the former had been nothing. Even in your weakened state, it did not make sense in the survival mindset that you all had grown so accustomed to over the past twenty years, to take in a damsel in distress simply because you wanted to play the hero for a while.

It was a hard-learned truth that there had been no heroes left in this empty shell of the world - it was the survival of the most cruel, most resourceful and the most violent.

Hell, if you had been in his position when he found you, you would be quick to put a bullet into your head - without glancing at the dead look in your eyes.

You had done it many times before. You were damn sure he had as well, else he would not be surviving this far into the outbreak. Why was this one time different?

The man in front of you, standing all tall and broad, had a contrasting troubled expression in that rogue face of his. Just one look at him could tell you he had seen the worst of the outbreak, killed and tortured. That strength he seemingly possessed and that recluse surrounding his aura did not come from simple blind luck. His eyes assessed you, every single movement you made - almost as if he was judging whether to spare you or kill you right there on that ugly mattress based on what your next moves entailed.

It was not like you could even raise your hand to throw a punch - the strange pair knew you could not harm them even if you so wanted to. You had been down the road of recovery before, getting shot many times in the course of a pandemic, a couple days of rest would get you back on your feet. Before, you had always been alone or with people you somewhat trusted. Not with complete strangers who acted out of their sheer leftover notion of mercy to save you.

You were vulnerable, in such a state that you depended on them, on someone if you wanted to continue the little survival gig you had been on for two decades. Over at the corner of the room, you could spot your familiar backpack with your supplies staying intact in it, your trusted guns resting on the floor beside. Unarmed and weak, you slowly rose yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed, dragging your injured thigh along as your feet touched the ground, your jaw clenched all the while to avoid screaming out of pain. It was not the time to show weakness, to emit even the slightest grunt of misery - even a small sound, a little indication of you not being able to tolerate pain would decide whether they left you abandoned there or not if you were deemed useless in their eyes.

"Look," your voice would echo across the wooden panels of the room, making the little girl in front of you move her hand to the pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Your hand rose up in defense, indicating that you meant no harm, your tired orbs moving back and forth between the pair as the stuffy air in the room felt even more stale with the added tension of the unknown.

"I don't know who you both are but I know you saved me from that mess," you would speak slowly, your tone softening ever so slightly as your gaze rested on the man. "If it wasn't for you, hell, I'd be long dead from blood loss. I'd like to repay you in some way."

To your surprise, the little girl's expression grew even more grim as her eyebrows furrowed in doubt and distrust, however, her hand left the revolver she had been holding onto earlier only for them to be placed on her hips as her green orbs bore daggers into you. If only you could look in the mirror then, you would see the helpless expression your delicate features harbored, an unusual feat by itself.

With the girl's watchful eyes over him, the gruff man crouched in front of you, couple feet away to match your gaze due to his towering height. Your eyes immediately focused into his amber green ones, with glints of doubt and fear in them, as well as determination. One of his large hands would stroke his peppered beard slightly, lost in thought yet his gaze never faltering from your orbs, his elbows resting on his bent knees.

"Think you can handle a gun once you're walkin'?" he asked, though he already had an inkling of an idea that you had been a decent marksman based on the body he had found on the first floor of the high-rise with a bullet lodged in his skull.

To which, you could only nod with a strong look in your eyes, making it clear you were not playing around.

Much to the little girl's dismay, Joel would nod pensively before getting up and breaking your gaze.

"We leave in a couple of days, and you're comin' along. If you want to pay what you owe me, you're gonna have to protect us. "

next

[schnees-and-schnugs]

head empty baby schneebling ficlet ??? (just so yall know i had no idea what this was going to be about until i started typing so im gonna be surprised by what i write too). if it seems that winter has chronic ADHD brain in this fic its bc i have chronic ADHD brain and that’s just how i roll.

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  Winter tried to ignore the meowing as long as she could. After all, there was not a single feline creature to be found in the manor, so either she’s dreaming or hallucinating. Or maybe her ears are ringing from her father’s latest tantrum. 

  Being held hostage at the dinner table and forced to listen to his incessant barking voice ought to have caused me permanent brain damage. She smirked under her covers. Now if I can close my eyes and go back to sleep-

  “MEEEEROOOWOOW”

  What the fuck is that?

  Winter knew she ought to get up but she really did not want to. Her thighs ached from horse riding lessons earlier in the day. Her head ached from her business studies her father forced down her throat. Her soul ached from the pain of existence. She was beginning to think she was being punished for some transgression- if being unbelievably charming and sexy deserved- actually, I don’t think I’m going to finish that train of thought. 

  Winter could only tolerate her own sense of humor in small doses, but giver her situation- her entire life up to this point- she didn’t think having an unbecoming jocularity was high up on her list of Current Problems and Tragedies. In fact, it’s quite low given that her father makes up the better part of the first half. 

  She rolled onto her side, one ear muffled by her pillow, and the other under the soft thick layer of her cotton blanket. The noise seemed to have disappeared, and Winter was quite okay with that. She wondered briefly of the possibility of a mountain lion finding its way into the Schnee Estate. She wasn’t even sure if wild animals such as that existed in Solitas, much less bright and pristine Atlas. Winter wasn’t even sure if mountain lions meowed. 

  If a beast made it’s way into the manor, what would I even do? No doubt she would try to locate the animal, gather Weiss and Whitley in her arms and stow them somewhere safe. Maybe even use a piece of meat to lure the lion into father’s bedroom, she mused. Winter tried lull herself back to sleep with the thought of her father begging her for mercy as she unleashes her new pet-

  “MREEEEEEEEEEEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOW”

  Her eyes snapped open. Gods-

  A soft muffled voice followed the feline yell. A familiar voice. A voice exactly suited for one little boy she new very well. 

  Winter narrowed her eyes and listening closely. She could tell it was Whitley from the general childish sound of his tone, but due to her very comfortable position in bed, she couldn’t quite her the specifics. Huffing, she sat up and pricked up her ears.

  “... quiet....please kitty... you’re going to wake up....”

  Winter sputtered. Kitty?

  Did Whitley somehow bring a cat into the manor? She didn’t doubt that given the chance he would- he was overly fond of animals in a way that Winter never understood. Not that she hated animals per se, but the idea of the added responsibility of a pet on top of her already ever-growing responsibilities of being heir to the SDC did not sit well with her. Whitley on the other hand, being the third child, and well, and actual child, didn’t really have much to care about beyond his normal tutoring sessions. Which means that, of course he can have a tiny bird feeders outside his window to feed the little birdies and cry at the sight of a roasted chicken because how could they kill and cook and innocent little animal?

  Winter didn’t understand how a child under 10 years of age could be taken by vegan persuasions- even Father was shocked to silence at that outburst at the dinner table.

  The sound of Whitley’s voice faded out as Winter strained her ears. If he did bring a cat into the manor, she needed to fix that immediately. Father would be furious at not only being woken up in the middle of the night but Whitley breaking the strict rule of no animals whatsoever allowed indoors.

  Father is allergic.

  (What animal he’s allergic to is unknown, but Winter suspects he’s just afraid of them).

  Sliding off the bed, Winter winced at the feeling of cold tile on her bare feet. She simultaneously thought of giving Whitley a good scolding for making her roll off of bed at such an ungodly hour and thanking the Gods that Whitley’s room was right next to hers on the other side of the wall. And the farthest away from Father’s room.

  Sliding her feet into a pair of pale blue fluffy slippers, she cautiously stepped out of her room and into the hallway. The moment the clock strikes 12 the hallway lamps usually shut off on their own, leaving at least this portion of the manor pitch black until the sun rises and lights up through the windows. If Father was working late he would manually change the lights to turn off at a later time- only to suite himself, of course. Everyone else who had the misfortune of living in the manor had to finish up and be back in their rooms by midnight or suffer having to find their room in the dark among the endless doors that lined the hallway. Winter had mastered the art of blindly walking down this hall- but not without multiple mishaps and embarrassments at first, unfortunately. 

  Arms outstretched, Winter felt her way from her doorway to Whitley’s room. She kept close to the wall and tiptoed, feeling for the doorknob before pressing her ear against the room door.

  “Are you hungry little kitty?” There was an affirmative purr and Whitley hummed. “I’m going to have to find you some treats...”

  Winter could practically hear the cogs turning in his little adolescent mind. She knew for sure that Whitley was formulating a plan to break into the food storage for the animals in Mom’s garden- would they even have any cat food in there? He surely is going to be disappointed. 

  Winter sighed. She almost wished she had stayed in bed. She turned the knob and nudged open the door, prompting Whitley to softly gasp. 

  “Winnie!” She heard him quickly shift on his bed. Winter stepped fully into the space before gently closing the door behind her. She turned towards him and assessed the scene before her. Whitley, in his white nightgown, sat in the middle of the bed. He was cradling a suspicious lump wrapped up with his blanket while his round face was contorted by a small frown as he stared back at his oldest sister.

  “Father says that we shouldn’t leave out room after midnight”, the lump shifted and Whitley clutched it tighter.

  “Father also says we aren’t allowed to bring animals into the manor...” Winter crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s that on your lap?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Are you sure?” Whatever annoyance Winter felt melted away at the sight of Whitley pouting. She sauntered playfully to the edge of his bed and wiggled and finger in his face. “Are you lying to me? Your older sister Winnie? You’re lying to me?”

  Whitley broke eye contact. “Well...” The lump mewed and a furry white paw extended from out of the cover of the blanket. Winter raised a brow.

  “That looks suspiciously like a cat.” Winter crawled into his bed and uncovered the little creature. The cat loafed on Whitley’s lap, grooming the pristine white fur on around its pink paw beans. It looked to be a few years old. 

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Whitley caressed the cat’s back, having already moved on from the earlier argument. Winter tried to pat its head but the little critter swiftly dodged her palm and scampered to the edge of the bed and curled up, seemingly to sleep. Rude.

  There’s a more present matter at hand anyways.

  “Where did you find it?” Winter turned her attention back to her little brother.

  “Her”

  “What?”

  “It’s a she, Winnie! Look at her butt!” Winter politely declined the suggestion. She had no interest in inspecting the cat’s backside- she didn’t seem to like Winter anyways.

  “Well, where did you find her?” 

  “I didn’t find her! Mr. Hartley gave her to me”

  “The grounds keeper?”  Winter scoffed. “Why would he give you a cat?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why don’t you don’t believe me?” His eyes started to brim with tears and he grabbed Winters right hand with his own two smaller ones. “Father said we’re not allowed to bring animals in here but I didn’t know what to do! Mr. Hartley said he’s leaving but he can’t take her with him. I said I would keep her. But Father is going to yell at me if he finds out- I’m scared...” 

  Winter’s chest ached at the desperation in Whitley’s voice. This isn’t normal is it? For a child to be so terrified of their parent like this. When she was his age, she felt the same way- so scared and vulnerable. It was the end of the world to get negative attention from Father, and most of the time it seemed to be the only type of attention he gave. It almost seemed par for the course all those years ago. She didn’t know any better- it was just the norm.

  Looking at Whitley, petrified like she was- she could see the abuse from the outside. Almost as if she’s watching her own experiences and she’s chained to a front row seat. Except she didn’t have an older sibling to hold her hand and to share the pain with. To protect her. To defend her. Isn’t that what she always wanted in the worst days of the past? Couldn’t she be that now?

  Whitley couldn’t keep the cat. There was no amount of convincing that could make Father give in- it’s always been about his own ego, more than anything. But that doesn’t mean that Father has to know this cat was ever here in the first place. Atlas has plenty of animal shelters, and having a pet cat was in vogue now. She would convince Whitley to let Klein take the cat to the nearest one in the morning. Father would never know if they were discrete. 

  “Winnie...” Whitley’s bright blue eyes searched her face.

  Winter grabbed him under his arms, and with little struggle, sat him between her stretched out legs. She hugged him around the waist from behind and softly told him her plan. 

  “... do you want to do this with me?”

  Whitley sniffed. “I can’t keep her?”

  “Father won’t allow you to. We can make sure the kitty is safe and taken care of though... Klein will do this for us, I know it. You won’t get yelled at and you can tell her goodbye in the morning. Father will be none the wiser.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that he’ll never know.”

  Whitley was quiet for a few seconds before Winter felt him nod softly beneath her chin. “Can I sleep with her tonight?”

  Winter blinked. She forgot it was currently hours past Whitley’s bedtime. He must be half asleep.

  “Yes. Just make sure to keep her in your room, okay? I’ll leave a message for Klein to see in the morning. Don’t...” She paused. She noticed Whitley breath start to even out as he fell asleep against her.

  I suppose I’m going to be sleeping her tonight also. She needed to make sure that this all goes well. However, Winter couldn’t ignore the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. Was she just getting Whitley used to this? Hiding secrets out of fear? Was she allowing Father to have his way in Whitley’s eyes? Getting Whitley accustomed to living under Father’s thumb? She was just trying to protect him. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of selfishness, that she was denying Whitley happiness for the sake of peace with their Father.

  Mom always told her to choose her battles carefully. 

  She couldn’t help but feel that if she chose all the wrong ones, she’ll end up hurting Whitley beyond repair.

[frogocado]

Tension Intervention (Shayne Topp x Reader)

anonymous asked: Could you do a Shayne x reader where maybe they’re dating or fwb and they don’t tell their friends at the office yet cause they want to keep it lowkey, and the next day after they have hook up the games crew which you’re a part of is doing a video with the squad and while setting up they notice little things about both of you separately (like reader can’t sit properly, Shayne has scratches on his back, hickies) and they all slowly put it together? Sorry if that’s too specific xxx

I’ve been having a really rough couple of weeks and here’s some good old chaos office fluff that all of you have learned to expect from me because I need it so I don’t fall apart. This is a little over 2k words and has mentions of nsfw. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Shayne sighed against your shoulder, your hips finally falling away. You untangled from his arms, rolling your eyes as he looked at you in the dull light of the parking garage. He looked so damn smug in the warm yellow.

“This was your idea, dummy.” He laughed at your jest and you cut him off with a kiss, much preferring other noises come out of his mouth than that insane cackle in an echoing chamber of concrete. He dissolved from giggles into teasing kisses, pulling away each time so his breath could mix with yours. He called it “the in between-er” one day at your apartment, saying that it was a way for him to feel close to you without the true physical touch. It was nearly routine now, but each time, heat fluttered from your chest and into your stomach and you wondered if he knew how much you loved him.

Your watch buzzed and you glanced at the LED screen. “Shit,” you mumbled, collecting Shayne’s hands in yours to pull them away from your ass. “My call time is in fifteen minutes.”

You saw a glint of disappointment line his features and you smiled, thumb ghosting over his jaw. “Don’t look so sad, it makes you look like a kicked puppy.”

“Maybe I feel like one.” He grinned devilishly, pushing you back against the wall again. “C’mon, five more minutes and then I’ll walk you there.”

Although there was nothing you wanted more than to let your hips melt back against his, you shook your head, biting your lip. “We have to go, Shayne,” you encouraged gently. “If we don’t want to answer any questions about this, then it needs to be business as usual at work. You’ve already pushed it enough today,” you mumbled shyly as you recalled Chef Josh’s look of amusement upon seeing the two of you this morning.

Shayne was sitting on top of the counter as he playfully berated you about not making coffee fast enough. While there was nothing sexual about the encounter, the two of you knew the grumble and breathy whine you had gave him in return was far beyond anything coworker friends would execute. He had cleared his throat and a silence fell in the room, as if someone had ripped down a curtain. You and Shayne were frozen, stiff in place, like maybe Josh wouldn’t see you if you held your breath and didn’t blink. His features were calm as he hummed, getting his own cup of coffee and a bit of creamer from the fridge. As he put things away, he looked directly at Shayne. “Mythical has an early shoot this morning. You might not have as much time as you thought.” Without waiting for a response, he left.

“You’re right, I know,” Shayne sighed in response, hands falling away from you. “But I do love to push things in you.” He attempted to sneak another devilish look before you pushed his face away, heading back towards the office.

Matt was waiting as soon as you opened the door to the lobby. “I know you have something scheduled today, but Keith came down with a stomach virus and we really need someone else for a Try Not to Laugh.”

“I think it’s okay, but let me see if there’s any writer’s meetings or anything that I’m forgetting...” You stopped walking, pausing to check your schedule. The door behind you opened and closed a second time. Matt greeted Shayne with a note of confusion in his voice. “I thought you were upstairs already?” He asked. 

Your eyes glanced toward the blonde without lifting up your head. His eyes shifted from you and then back to Matt. “Yeah, I needed to uh... get my charger from my car,” Shayne said before rigidly entering the elevator.

Matt was still for a moment before he followed you to the stairwell. “He’s been so weird lately, have you noticed?” Matt asked you as the two of you took the stairs together.

“Nope,” you responded, pocketing your phone. The sooner you could get out of the conversation and play things off like normal the better. “I hadn’t noticed. My schedule is clear this afternoon, by the way.”

“Alright, good. I’ll let Ryan and Garrett know.” Matt held the door open for you and as you entered the office space, you heard him wonder to himself, “maybe Shayne’s on drugs.”

Your steps hesitated for a moment and wondered if anyone else had noticed the change before Ian called your name and you were whisked back into the working fray.

 Later, you found yourself perched on top of a stool, about to participate in your first Try not to Laugh session with Noah, Courtney, Olivia, and Shayne.

You winced as you adjusted on the stool. “You okay?” Garrett asked off camera as you involuntarily spit out your water.

“Yeah, I just… sat weird,” you replied. “I’m good.” From the monitor, you could see Shayne peeking at you from around the screen.

He nodded before prompting, “Alright, are we all set now?”

“Yes!” Courtney and Noah both called from behind the screened divider.

“Shayne, you go!”

You filled your mouth with water again and tried not to wiggle your position out of comfortable territory. You could hear your friends and coworkers trying to be quiet as they got their bits ready until--

“What the hell is that?” You heard Noah first, his voice edging the way it did when he was surprised and about to shriek.

“What?” Shayne returned the question, his voice moving to a coy innocence that you knew far too well.

Then, just as quickly, Courtney was yelling. “He’s got a hickey on his tummy!”

The water burst from your mouth before you could even think of a reaction. Your eyes went wide as the chiding continued behind the screen. All of the crew was laughing and your blush began to creep across your features as Garrett spoke up. “Y/N already lost. Who’s got somethin’ ready?”

Olivia’s small hand reached out and gave a thumbs up. All of the crew reset and, feeling like you were on the edge of passing out from panic, you filled your mouth with water once again. Silently, Olivia stepped into frame. She stood next to you and made eye contact with the camera for a long minute. Then, she turned to meet your eyes. The seriousness of the moment had lured you into a trance, following all of her movements precisely. She never broke into a smile, her eyes even and her mouth a straight line. Then, she spoke.

“Okay, I just wanna know. Was that the first time Shayne’s ever made you spit?”

Your eyes went wide and you made a small noise, the water once again escaping your lips. “Olivia, no!” Shayne was shouting behind the screen.

The entire set had dissolved into uncontrollable giggles as Olivia turned back to the camera, raising her arms. “No further questions, your honor.” She gave a pose as if she were a confident lawyer and then sauntered behind the screen once again.

“All of you are so unprofessional!” You gasped, holding your burning chest. Your eyebrows were pressed so high against your forehead you were scared that the next comment would have you keeled over and dead. You weren’t sure if it was the water, your sheer panic and embarrassment, or a deadly combination.

“Okay, okay, wait, please,” Shayne’s voice was loud and airing on manic. He walked out, staggering at first as the rest of the squad pushed him out from behind the screen. His face was as red as it was the first time you had told him you thought he looked beautiful naked.

To your horror, he was still shirtless and now that his collar bones were under the fluorescents and set lights, the devilish purple marks from the day before looked especially dark against his skin. You were used to seeing him in all sorts of light, but never so exposed while so well lit. Older bruises were visible as well, smaller patches of yellow on his throat and hips. He began to open his mouth to speak when Olivia and Courtney were shrieking. Neither of you had noticed your friends now inspecting the two of you. “Your back is so scratched dude!” Noah exclaimed.

Shayne closed his mouth before opening it again. No sound came out. Noah continued, “okay, I have two theories and both are very reasonable. Either Y/N and Shayne are fucking or Shayne has a demonic attachment.”

Even though everyone on set was damn near shrieking, there was somehow a perfect breach to pause for breath, as if the room was having its own in-betweener. “Both are correct, sir,” Shayne answered. All of your coworkers and friends were now shouting and, instinctively, you turned your head away from the sound to curl against Shayne’s chest.

“I literally don’t know if I’m more upset that this entire twenty-ish minute shoot is unusable or that you just dumbly exposed both of us to all of our coworkers,” you mumbled against his skin as his arms wrapped around you.

Olivia stepped in front of everyone, pointing towards a camera, carrying on her lawyer bit once again. “The jury finds these two guilty of being the two grossest people ever!”

“Alright, alright, it’s scrapped!” Matt rumbled, his voice carrying like a thunder cloud. As if it were a classroom listening to a teacher, everyone fell into softer and quieter giggles. “We’ll do a different shoot and the writers can go brainstorm somethin’ else!”

The squad and crew began to slowly leave the set, heading in separate directions. You, Shayne, Matt, and Garrett remained. Shayne began to open his mouth to speak, but Garrett’s voice found the air first. He spoke quietly and his eyes glinted like a proud parent. “We’re glad you two are happy but we also think it’s time to tell you that the parking garage downstairs has cameras and security wrote us a report.” Matt held up three sheets of paper, waving them in your direction.

Shayne made a noise that sounded like a sob and your hand smashed over your mouth as you gasped. “Oh my god,” your boyfriend whispered as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Isn’t this the kind of thing an HR department should handle?”

“Probably, yes, but how else were we going to have a Tension Intervention?” Matt asked.

“Excuse me?” You asked. “A what?”

Garrett and Matt were both giggling now and Shayne was wandering to behind the screen to retrieve his shirt. He was mumbling as he went. “This is it, I guess. This is how I die. I’m going to have a fucking heart attack in this office and then I’ll be stuck here as a ghost forever.”

Matt was talking over him, “That’s what the Squad started to call it. We all sort of put it together. You guys disappear for lengths of time and when Shayne returns, his hair is somehow neater than before, as if someone were fixing it to not be so suspicious. Not to mention you always eye fuck each other whenever you think no one is looking. That was the biggest thing, really. And since we don’t have access to the court house anymore, we thought this would be the best way.” He and Garrett began to collect their things as you sat in stunned silence. “We’ll give you two a minute and then we’ll meet you at HR.”

They left and you sat still on the stool, staring into the cameras as if they were remaining eyes. You turned toward the screened divider and found Shayne, lying flat on his back, his t-shirt covering his face. His hands were pressed over his features, as if he were attempting to suffocate himself. “Hey, Shayne?” You offered gently.

“Yeah.”

“I really love you, dummy. Even though you called me a demon.”

His fingers collected the fabric and pulled it down. He sat up, giving you a soft smile in return. “I know. I really love you too.”

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (158/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[24 December, Age 762.   Planet Namek.]

The mission was simple enough on paper.    The demon Towa had traveled through time and used her magic influence on various fighters throughout history, in order to gather energy from their battles.   This time, the villainous Frieza had been enchanted, making him stronger and more belligerent.  Luffa's job was to join the small band of fighters on Planet Namek who had fought Frieza on that day.    It was up to her to make sure that the enemy’s intervention would not alter the outcome of the fight.  

In practice, the mission had become a debacle.   Once, long ago, Luffa had been the Legendary Super Saiyan, capable of destroying a menace like Frieza with ease.   But now, her powers had been drastically reduced under mysterious circumstances.   Luffa had gambled on the faint hope that her body was recovering from this.   Each mission she performed for the Time Patrol seemed to restore a portion of her former strength.   At times, it seemed like every punch and kick she took from an enemy would bring her a step closer to where she needed to be.    She had expected this curious phenomenon to carry her past the finish line against Frieza in the same way.  

But this time, it wasn't working.   Frieza nearly defeated Luffa with a single blow, and even though the young Namekian Dende had healed her, even though she did see an increase in power, it wasn't nearly enough for her to keep up with this battle.   The one saving grace was that another Namekian, one Dende called "Nail," had arrived to join the fight.    But Luffa knew this wouldn't be enough.    

As she approached the site of the battle, she caught sight of Nail and recognized him as Piccolo, the Namekian she had seen on her first Time Patrol mission.    Piccolo had died in battle on her second mission, and the Earthling's expedition to Namek was intended to wish him back to life, among others.   Luffa wasn't sure if this was Piccolo resurrected, or if Nail was actually someone else who happened to look and dress the same way.  In either case, she had no idea how any Namekian had managed to get so powerful in such a short time.   It would have been reassuring, except Frieza was in the middle of transforming himself into an even more powerful form, one that would surely be too much for any of them to handle.  

In the original course of events, the day was won, however improbably.   But the dark purple aura that swirled around Frieza was a sign that things would not go the way they should.    It was Luffa's job to force destiny back into frame.   Everything ultimately depended upon her, and she was no longer sure that her power would be enough.  

But it would have to be.   Luffa had contacted the Time Vault for extraction, only to find that it couldn't be done.   "Chronal interference" was the term used by the Supreme Kai of Time in her last transmission.   The rest of her message was garbled, but Luffa got the general idea, someone had trapped Luffa on Namek, and Luffa had a fair idea who was responsible.  

"Towa..." she muttered under her breath.    Luffa had brazenly challenged the demon on the last mission, and fought her creation, Mira, to a standstill.   Towa had elected to withdraw, which seemed like a moral victory at the time, but now it was clear what Towa had in mind.   Having taken Luffa's measure, Towa had lured Luffa into a no-win scenario.   Sooner or later, Chronoa would find a way to retrieve Luffa from the past, but Towa was counting on Frieza to kill Luffa long before that happened.  

Or, perhaps,  Luffa considered, Towa wasn't expecting Luffa to die here.   Maybe this was just a receipt for interfering in Towa's business, or a test to further gauge Luffa's abilities.    If that was the best-case scenario, things were truly grim indeed.    

Concerning Frieza himself, his third form looked positively revolting.   The first transformation simply made him bigger and taller, but this one hunched his posture, and expanded the white carapace that surrounded his chest, shoulders and cranium.    The growths on his shoulders now resembled enormous pauldrons, similar to the armored uniforms worn by his henchmen.   Spiky protrusions jutted out from his back.    His head had expanded to an oblong shape, with horns jutting out from the sides.  His face was distorted to the point where his nose was completely gone, and his mouth now resembled the muzzle of a reptilian animal.   Part of his tail was missing, and Luffa could only guess that this had been damaged during the fight while Luffa had been hurt.    Judging by Frieza's smug expression, he didn't seem to think the injury affected his chances.  

Frieza renewed his attack on Piccolo, who wisely kept his distance.   He had done well against Frieza's second form, but the third was simply too powerful to attack head-on.   Luffa chased after them, though she quickly found that she wasn't able to keep up.    Piccolo was moving at top speed, and she reasoned that this was his final card to play.    She didn't know how he had increased his power so dramatically, but Frieza had neutralized any strength advantage he once had.    All Piccolo could do now was to hope he had a speed advantage.  

He did not.   Frieza intercepted him no matter which way Piccolo turned.   With no other option, Piccolo tried to attack, and Frieza dodged his punch with ease, then began battering the Namekian at will.   Then, Frieza fired a ki blast from his fingertip into Piccolo's knee.    The blast didn't leave much of a wound, and from the ki she sensed, Luffa reasoned that it was intended to inflict pain more than injury.    

Then he fired another blast from his other hand.    And another.    And another, until he was bombarding Piccolo's entire body with ki blasts.   Piccolo was helpless against this assault, as he lacked the speed to even attempt to dodge.   He simply flailed in midair, like a flag being buffeted by heavy rainfall.

Luffa knew she had to step in.    Currently, Piccolo was the strongest one on their side, and no one else could help him.    The problem was that she lacked the power to do any good.   She decided the best bet would be to approach Frieza from behind and force him to turn away from Piccolo to deal with her, but as she got closer, she realized that he hadn't noticed her at all.  

This had been a recurring theme with her previous Time Patrol missions.    The Saiyans she had fought on Earth had been unable to sense ki, and while Vegeta seemed to acquire this skill by the time he reached Namek, none of the Ginyu Force had it, and now it seemed that Frieza had the same weakness.    It was a reminder that, for all his power, Frieza lacked any genuine talent for martial arts.    All of Frieza's precise movements and uncanny reflexes were simply a function of his incredible speed and strength.    

It suddenly occurred to her that this was probably why Piccolo and the others had lasted this long in the first place.    Frieza was a spiteful sadist, and was happy to drag out a fight to prolong his enemies' suffering, but he probably also had trouble gauging how hard to hit a powerful opponent without killing them immediately.   It also explained how he lost the end of his tail.    Someone must have managed to sneak up on him and get off a lucky shot.  

She imagined that it must have been a razor-thin application of ki energy, since this would produce intense damage over a narrow range.   She looked at her own hand and began to concentrate her own power to try to replicate that idea.   But as she prepared to strike, Gohan suddenly broke away from the others and flew towards Frieza.    

It was remarkable how much energy Gohan was putting out.    Luffa wasn't sure what to make of the boy, but her main observation was that he was too inexperienced to use his power to its fullest.   As he charged after Frieza, he let out a defiant battle cry, which alerted Frieza to his approach.   Frieza turned to see the boy, then, after firing one more shot to dispatch Piccolo, flew higher into the air to avoid Gohan's kick.  

Undeterred, Gohan turned around and flew at Frieza again.    Only this time, he flew past Frieza instead of barreling right into him.    Luffa couldn't help but smile.   The boy lacked experience, but he was sharp enough to learn quickly.    Frieza was too fast for a direct assault, but confusing him would slow him down just enough to make things easier.   And as Frieza turned to await Gohan's next move, Luffa took the opportunity to make her next move.  

Maneuvering to Frieza's blind spot, Luffa drove her fingers into Frieza's back and dug as hard as she could into his flesh.   He cried out and swatted her away with his tail, but she was prepared for this and wrapped her legs around the base of his tail, and grabbed one of the bony protrusions on his back.   In this way, she could cling to Frieza's backside and he wouldn't be able to reach her.    With her free hand, she slashed at any exposed skin she could find.    

The tips of her fingers glowed with five tiny blades of ki.   She doubted that she could do any serious damage, but it would be enough to buy the others time.    And, with any luck, she could hurt him enough to neutralize the effects of Towa's magic.  

"You should have stayed the way you were, Frieza!" Luffa growled as she struggled to stay on his back.    "Your other forms were smaller, and I never could have hung on like this.   But now, your upper body's so big and bulky that I could stay here for days!"    

His tail whipped around her head, and she finally started slashing her hand at it to keep it at bay.    Frieza reached for her with his hands, but it was useless.    

"Get off me you, damn dirty Saiyan!" Frieza screamed.    

"That's just what your father said!" Luffa lied.   "Right before I killed him!"

She knew her attack wouldn't work for much longer, so it was important for her to push ahead with her earlier plan.    Towa's magic had made Frieza so aggressive that there was a danger that he might kill the others too quickly, and alter the course of history.    Luffa had gotten him to slow down by inventing a tale of secret conspirators and assassins dedicated to dismantling his empire.    By arousing his curiosity, she hoped to keep his mind off of destroying Namek with a single stroke.   So far, it had worked, but she wanted to keep up the pressure.  

"You're dead, you hear me?" Luffa shouted.    "Even if you survive, your life won't be worth a hill of beans.    And the best part of it is that if you knew who I was working for, you'd know just how doomed you really are!"

At last Frieza managed to shake Luffa off his back.   It was only a glancing blow from his tail, but it was enough to knock her senseless and send her tumbling to the ground below.    But Luffa was satisfied with her efforts, and she managed to stay conscious this time, which let her see what happened next.    As Frieza turned his attention to Gohan, he found the boy high above, readying an enormous ki blast.  

Luffa hit the ground with a loud thud, and while she couldn't get up very quickly, she didn't feel too badly hurt.    As she rose to one knee, she saw Frieza brazenly charge into Gohan's attack, only to find that it wasn't as easy to power through as he had expected.    And then, impossibly, Gohan began to drive him back.

It was an awe-inspiring sight.    Luffa's thoughts raced back to her first Time Patrol mission, when she first saw Gohan display a similar radical increase in power.   He seemed to do this whenever he was especially upset, but he could never maintain the power boost for very long.    But this time he was operating at a much higher level, greater than any normal Saiyan she had ever seen, and now he was doing it for the second time in the same battle!  

As Frieza struggled to hold back Gohan's ki, he looked like an oversized tick clinging to a giant light bulb.    And Gohan responded to Frieza's resistance by turning up the pressure.    He was actually getting even stronger, and Luffa was forced to revise her estimation of the boy.    He was not only stronger than any normal Saiyans she had known, but he was also beginning to surpass some of the ones who had enhanced themselves through artificial means.   What was his secret?  

She suddenly remembered the others, and looked around to find Krillin and Vegeta hovering nearby.   Luffa was reminded of Krillin's earlier heroism, selflessly sacrificing himself to save the Namekian child, Dende.   Frieza had run him through with his horn, and Krillin still struggled to put up a fight, even past the point of certain death.    He was an Earthling, like Gohan's mother.    Was there a connection?

Gathering her strength, Luffa flew over to join them, anxious to prepare a new offensive.    

"We can blindside him!" Luffa said.    "If Piccolo or Gohan can hold his attention for a second, the three of us might be able to--!"  

"It won't work!" Vegeta snapped.   "Frieza's too strong for that.    That's why I need one of you to attack me!"

"Attack you?" Luffa asked.   "What the hell are you talking about?"

"He wants me to hurt him so badly that he almost dies!" Krillin explained.   From the look on his face, it was plain that he wanted no part of the idea, but he continued to explain further.   "Then he expects Dende down there to heal him, and then...!"

"And then," Vegeta said, "My power will increase dramatically.   You're a Saiyan yourself.   Surely you're familiar with the concept."

"The zenkai?" Luffa said with a gasp.   "That's your plan?!   It doesn't work when you injure yourself!"

"You think I don't already know that?" Vegeta seethed as he pointed to Krillin. "That's why I need Baldy here to help me!   He's weaker than me, but if I lower my guard, he should be able to deliver a critical wound."

"I already told him it was nuts!" Krillin said.    "If I'm not careful, I might kill him, and then where would we be?!"

"It's the only way!" Vegeta insisted.   "I'm so close, and once that brat heals me, I can finally become a Super Saiyan, and destroy Frieza in an instant!"

Luffa was horrified.    Despite the danger posed by Frieza, It was Vegeta's words that made a chill run down her spine.   "A Super--?!    You think that would make you...?" she asked, unable to finish the question.  "Vegeta, listen to me!  It doesn't work that way!"

"And what would you know about it, woman?" Vegeta scoffed.  

Her eyes went wide as she grabbed him by the shoulders.    "You fool!" she screamed.   "You can't turn into a Super Saiyan just by raising your power level!   If it was that easy, every Saiyan would do it!    And besides, the zenkai is a reward for valor on the battlefield!    You're talking about mutilating yourself to exploit it like some... like some faulty line of computer programming!"  

Vegeta shook loose from her grip and made a contemptuous snort.    "Hmmph!   Exactly the sort of defeatist gibber I'd expect from a low class warrior.    Know this, woman: I am on the cusp of becoming a Super Saiyan, and I would brave hell itself to achieve it.   If it doesn't work on the first try, then I'll just have Baldy hit me again until it does.   If that bothers you so much, then I suggest you look away."    

The determined smile on his face shook Luffa to the core.  She wanted to scream at him, to tell him this wasn't worth it, and that it would never work.    And then, she had to wonder.   What if it could work?

One thousand years ago, Luffa's powers had begun to increase, only for her father to betray her to the insectoid hordes of the Tikosi.   They had struck a bargain with her father.   He would give them Luffa as a subject for their experiments, and in return they would share the fruits of their research with him.    

For months, they tortured her to the brink of death, always healing her injuries before she could actually die.   There had been no glorious battlefields to provide the wounds, but the zenkai effect worked all the same.    And the Tikosi studied this, and reverse-engineered it.    Luffa had grown stronger during that ordeal, but she was kept drugged and restrained so that she could never turn that strength upon her captors.   And so it had gone, until at last, on one fateful day...

And now, a millennium later, Vegeta had stumbled upon the same idea.     What the Tikosi had done accidentally, he was trying to achieve deliberately.    He was willing to stoop to anything, even risking his own life, to attain the power to destroy his enemy.  

Luffa didn't know whether to admire the man or pity him.   At least she was able to avenge herself against the Tikosi, but Vegeta could have no such satisfaction.

He was his own tormentor.  

Nappa was right, it seemed.   It was fitting that the Prince was named for their planet, but not in the way Nappa thought.  Both were doomed.

Suddenly, Gohan's attack on Frieza had failed.   Luffa had expected something like this to happen.   As incredible as Gohan's rally had been, she figured it was only a momentary respite at best.    She sensed his power being driven back, and turned to find Frieza had shoved the ki blast back on Gohan.    It was then deflected again, as Piccolo drove it off course, and safely away from the boy.   Instead, the enormous globe of power soared higher into the air, before finally exploding.    Frieza stood still for a moment, glaring at Gohan, as though contemplating what had just happened.  

"That's it!  Vegeta shouted at Krillin.   "The kid's had it!   That attack was impressive, but he won't have any power left after a stunt like that!  If I'm going to defeat him, I need to become a Super Saiyan right now!"

"But... I can't just--"

Luffa ignored them and focused on Frieza.   He would probably attack Gohan again to pay him back, then go after Piccolo to pick up where he had left off.   In the meantime, Luffa would need to come up with another hit-and-run offensive, only this time, she knew Frieza would be on-guard for such a thing.  She considered targeting his eyes.   Without any ki senses, he relied heavily on sight and sound, but it was a small target, and she would have to come straight at him to hit it.   Then again, she thought, he wouldn't be expecting something so audacious, and it would make things much easier going forward.  

"Pardon me."

A bead of sweat rolled down Luffa's face.   She had hoped that Frieza would take a moment to fight Piccolo and Gohan, but instead he turned his attention to the rest of them.    Suddenly, it didn't seem to matter what plans she and Vegeta had in mind.   They wouldn't get a spare moment to execute them.

"I do hate to interrupt such a spirited conversation," Frieza continued, "but I am running on a bit of a tight schedule.   So, to be fair, I'll let you decide which one of you gets to be my next victim.   Feel free to take a vote, or draw straws, or one of you can think of a number and the one with the closest guess can do the honors.   It's entirely up to you.    But while the rest of you sort that matter out..."

Faster than Luffa could react, Frieza left the ground and suddenly appeared right in front of her.   She managed to raise her arms but not high enough or fast enough to stop Frieza from grabbing her by the throat.  

"... I need a moment alone with your charming friend."

The others were too stunned to intervene, both by Frieza's quick recovery, and the fact that he was completely unharmed by Gohan's efforts.    Frieza threw Luffa into the distance, and then flew after her, catching her before she could crash into the ground.    This was no act of mercy, as Frieza then drove her face-first into the dirt, with far more punishing force than the throw.    

"You're different from the others," Frieza said.   "They're all appropriately terrified, but you seem to want my attention for some reason.   Well, you'll be delighted to know that you finally have it.   I wanted to ask you a question.   I do hope you'll be kind enough to answer it for me.   It would be a shame if our first encounter should end in a disagreement."

Luffa tried to spit in his face, but Frieza planted his foot on her head before she could manage it.    "It's about that boy.   You see, I finally realized that he must be a Saiyan, like you and Vegeta."    

Luffa grabbed at Frieza's leg.   Against a different foe, she might have transitioned into an ankle lock, or some other hold.    She knew this was unlikely at best, but still held out some faint hope.   Frieza crushed that hope by applying more force, driving her head into the earth below.    

"I destroyed Planet Vegeta decades ago," Frieza explained.    "I thought I had wiped out all of the Saiyans, except for Vegeta, Nappa, and Raditz.  There might be a few others I missed, but hardly worth mentioning.    Those infiltration babies probably grew up not even knowing what a Saiyan is, and even if they ever learned, they have no homeworld to reconnect with."

Luffa released Frieza's leg and tried to shoot a ki blast at him, but he reached down and grabbed her arm to spoil her shot.    He did not let go.    

"But now I find a Saiyan child working alongside Vegeta, of all people.   And more, the boy is far stronger than any Saiyan I've ever met, including the dear Prince himself.    I must admit, it's made me a bit curious.    And here you are, a Saiyan woman, threatening me with all sorts of tall tales and revenge fantasies."  

He pulled on her arm, and Luffa began to wonder if he was going to rip it off of her shoulder.  

"I despise legends, you see.   As you might have noticed, I have a reputation for being the most powerful being in the universe.   It's the truth.  A cold, hard, irrefutable fact, my dear.   My reputation precedes me, but it's only because it's simple reality, like the speed of light in a vacuum, or the half-life of astatine.   But some people can't handle the truth, and when they can't find a way around it, they retreat into fantasy.    They look for legends to give them false hopes.    Look at Vegeta.   I was so kind to him, and yet he threw away a promising career as my underling, all to chase after the Dragon Balls for a chance at immortality.    And then, as soon as the Dragon Balls were lost, he starts nattering on about this Super Saiyan."

Luffa had been trying not to scream, but that was before Frieza had dislocated her shoulder.    He heard the muffled cries from beneath his foot, and smiled warmly.    "Ah, then you can still speak.   I was beginning to think you had lost your voice somewhere along the way."

He removed his foot and lifted her up by her arm, letting her dangle at just the right height so he could speak with her face to face.    

"I think the boy might be Raditz' son," Frieza said.   "Ironic, since Raditz himself was so pathetic, even by Saiyan standards, but there are only so many candidates, and I just can't see any resemblance to Nappa or Vegeta.   Then again, you Saiyans have always been so fixated on bloodlines.    Pairing off in some futile attempt to breed a better warrior.   It all seemed rather pointless to me.    But maybe Raditz finally hit paydirt.    I wonder who the boy's mother could be.    You, perhaps?"

He slammed Luffa into the ground before she could respond.   This time he planted his foot on her back.  

"I had kept a few Saiyans alive for my own personal use," Frieza said.   "And I made sure not to leave any females alive, but you and the boy have shown me that I missed a few.   Perhaps I might have tolerated this, except the boy shows exceptional strength.   Who can say?    Within a few generations, a genuine threat might arise, purely by chance.   Is that the truth behind the Super Saiyan legend?   Maybe once every few centuries one of you filthy monkeys manages to win the genetic lottery?    Was King Vegeta trying to rig the game by mating all of his 'elite' warriors with each other?    Why, it's positively revolting.   Just the thought of it reminds me of why I segregate my crews by gender.   It's not an ideal solution, but it cuts down on the fraternization, at least.

"Oh wait!  What was I thinking!   I no longer have any ships left, nor the crews to maintain them, because you destroyed them all, didn't you?   That's what you told me before, wasn't it?   You and some elaborate band of conspirators.   Such a fanciful story.    And I could almost believe it.   The Dragon Balls seemed like a fairy tale, but they turned out to be real enough.   This is why I despise legends.   Once in a great while, one of them happens to have a hint of truth to it, and it requires me to investigate.    I find it easier to destroy the storytellers.   For example, I planned to annihilate Planet Namek whether the Dragon Balls were real or not.   Immortality would have been nice, but the important thing is to make certain that no one else is lulled into thinking they can have it.

"As for the Super Saiyan, I give that tale no credence at all.   But it has led so many into ruin.   Look no further than poor Vegeta, desperately awaiting a hero that will never arrive.   My father believed you Saiyans were the perfect slave species.    All you ever do is fight, and he believed he could control you forever, but I knew better.   Your own dreams conspire against you, tempting you to rise above your station.   And now, I finally see that even a handful of Saiyans is too many.   I must eradicate every trace of your misbegotten bloodline.   So I shall ask again: Are you the boy's mother?   I don't really need to know, but it would make it more enjoyable when I kill you in front of him."

Luffa was not Gohan's mother, but the very suggestion brought back painful memories of her own son, and the tragic ruin of his short life.    Ignoring the time travel, the strange things King Rehval did to accelerate his growth, her son would have been roughly Gohan's age.    Her entire body suddenly erupted with power, enough to knock even Frieza off his footing.    

And then, just as she had planned before, Luffa went straight for his eyes.    

If her fingers couldn't reach him, her own eyes would unleash a powerful ki blast into his, and she longed to hear his agonized screams.    But it was not to be.    

Once again, Frieza was too fast for her, and he swatted her aside like a bug.    

"I expected as much," Frieza said after clicking his tongue.   "You won't even answer a simple question.   There really is no reasoning with you Saiyans.   You're a blight on creation.    Perhaps it's time I stopped indulging myself by prolonging your agony.   Feast your eyes then, on my true self.   My final form!"

He stooped down and lowered his head, and Luffa could sense his power increasing.   It felt as though some other creature was struggling to escape, and the gutteral sounds coming from Frieza's throat only made the process even more grotesque.   The power he was generating was strong enough that Luffa would have backed away to a safe distance, but it was all she could do to roll onto her back and scoot a few meters away.  

The ground beneath Frieza began to tremble, and streams of sand and silt erupted through small fissures in the topsoil.   Occasionally, he would pause and look at his hands, then laugh with a triumphant satisfaction.  Mostly, he just screamed, and his skin began to pulse with a crimson glow.

As Luffa watched, she could only wonder if this meant she had failed the mission.   Her job was to prevent Frieza from using his final form right off the bat.   She had delayed him, but she had no way of knowing if she had kept him occupied long enough.   Desperate for answers, she cast about with her ki senses, searching for the others.   A faint energy signature in the distance was the Saiyan Goku, who was recovering in Frieza's ship.    Piccolo's ki was also weak, but it steadily rose, as she could sense Dende healing him, just as he had healed the others before.   Gohan and Krillin were there, but she couldn't pick up Vegeta...

And then she finally found him.    His power level was so low that she had nearly missed it entirely.    It didn't take her long to guess how that had happened.    One way or another, he had convinced Krillin to help him.   The question was: Would his plan work?   Even if he could recover from his wounds, would it be enough to make a difference?   Was this how history was supposed to play out?

Watching Frieza, it certainly didn't feel like things were going well.   As he continued to laugh, every surface on his body began to crack and blister.   With a brutish smile, he raised up his hands and cried out one more time, and then his body seemed to shatter apart to reveal the true Frieza underneath.  Luffa covered her face with her good arm, and the world around her went bright white.   Then she found herself surrounded by a cloud of dust.    She could sense Frieza standing still in the center of it all, but he seemed to be waiting for the air to clear before taking any action.   Luffa used the momentary respite to shove her dislocated shoulder back into place.   Despite the pain, she kept her eyes trained on Frieza's position.  

She had seen this version of Frieza before, when viewing the altered history of this battle.   Unlike the previous forms, this Frieza had a sleek, muscular body that reminded Luffa of a dancer she had seen in a performance on Carber IX.   Gone were the ribbed sections of pink skin and bony carapaces.   In their place was a form of chalky white with purple sections on his shoulders, chest, head and shins.  He looked a great deal like Dewar, the Time Patrol historian she had recently met.   Dewar's people considered Frieza a shame on the honor of their species, and Luffa was beginning to understand how deep that shame ran.    It was one thing to know about his evil deeds.   Facing him in person was an entirely different experience, one that revealed entirely new reasons to despise this monster.   As he glanced around in search of his foes, Luffa could tell from his blank expression that he didn't care at all what his people thought of him.    Like so many other Luffa had fought, Frieza considered himself the only being in the universe that mattered.   Luffa's only regret was that she lacked the power to give him the same treatment as the others she had faced.    

For a moment, his eyes met hers, and she wondered if he planned to attack her next, but then she sensed something, a rising power coming from where she had sensed Vegeta's dying energy.    Dende had healed him after all, it seemed.  And he had gotten stronger.   The only question was, would it be enough?

And if it wasn't enough, would Luffa be able to make up the balance?

NEXT: Unfulfilled.

[wordsablaze]

4~ i’ll stand there so brave

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: so this took me a while to update but you can blame the sun for being too warm for me to function... yay summer (!)

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @booboomuffin

previous chapter

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They reach the next town a few hours before nightfall.

Jaskier perks up as soon as they see an inn, all but jumping to the ground and almost toppling over entirely in his haste. He manages to carefully take down his lute before Eskel has even brought Scorpion to a stop.

“I’ll get us a room!” he declares before promptly freezing on the spot, looking up at Eskel as if waiting for permission.

Eskel sighs inwardly but smiles as softly as he can make himself. “Sounds good.”

It’s obvious Jaskier was wondering if Eskel would even want to share a room with him and somehow, that thought stings more than most injuries he’s faced on the path. Because of course he does, there’s no reason for him not to.

He’s glad it’s almost dark because it means the stableboy doesn’t have a chance to be scared off by his scars, simply promising to ensure Scorpion is taken care of properly.

“Go find a corner, darling,” Jaskier whispers to him as soon as he enters the inn, gently pushing him towards one of the walls.

Before he can even think to ask if there’s a room available, Jaskier has started performing, his voice carrying perfectly across the rather large room and causing most people to at least turn to look at him, if not start smiling or singing along.

Eskel doesn’t recognise the song but it seems plenty of people do because there are soon enough drinks going round for one of the barmaids to place on in front of him with a smile. “Free of charge, as promised.”

“Promised?” Eskel echoes, frowning.

She frowns back for a split second before nodding her head at Jaskier, who’s currently moving around the room to take requests. “You’re with him, right?”

Eskel nods.

“Well then, as we promised him: food and drink with no charge if he can liven the place up.”

She disappears to serve someone else before Eskel can thank her so he just accepts the ale and sits back, tracking Jaskier as he switches songs after stopping by two young women who look like they’re on the verge of tears.

They’re laughing by the time the song - something about a princess slaying the beast instead of being rescued from it - has finished, as much to Jaskier’s credit as it is to Eskel’s amazement.

“Play the one about coins!” someone shouts.

“Yeah, let’s hear about the devil!”

“Go on, bard!”

Eskel bristles as Jaskier pauses, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin that had barely healed from before; apparently, it’s some kind of nervous habit of his.

For a moment, Eskel thinks Jaskier will refuse. But then Jaskier exhales slowly and grins. “Why, of course! A great choice to end the evening!”

His ale - both the first and second mugs - long since finished, Eskel focuses entirely on Jaskier.

“When a humble bard…”

Focuses on the way he’s the perfect picture of professional.

Focuses on how his fingers play the right tune but his heart so clearly isn’t in it, not that anyone seems to pick up on that as they laugh or sing along, a few of them even tossing coins Jaskier’s way as he passes them.

Focuses on how there's something so brave in Jaskier singing about someone who'd hurt him so deeply. And not only that, but he's doing it to support witchers despite everything - it seems only logical to be impressed.

“A friend of humanity… ” Jaskier finishes, bowing ceremoniously as he grabs his lute case from he’d propped it up to keep it safe.

Moments later, he rather unceremoniously collapses into the seat opposite Eskel.

“You okay there, bardling?” Eskel asks softly, once he’s sure there are no prying eyes left.

Jaskier nods, but the way he lets his head fall onto the table between them says otherwise.

He stays in that position until two plates of food are placed on their table, at which point he sits up straight and positively beams at the woman who’d brought them. “Our most sincere gratitude for keeping your promise.”

She laughs, glancing between the two of them. “The gratitude is mutual.”

Eskel smiles at her. “Thank you.”

“Is that basil?” Jaskier asks incredulously, surprising both Eskel and the woman, who nods slowly, as if expecting a complaint.

But Jaskier only grins cheekily. “I shall have to write a ballad in my gratitude to your hospitality and whoever is in charge of your skilled kitchens.”

The woman blushes before grabbing Eskel’s empty mug, muttering something about it being their pleasure before leaving them to their food. And as soon as she’s gone, Jaskier lets his head fall back onto the table.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks, briefly worrying if there’s a hidden injury he should know about.

Jaskier groans softly but sits back up again with a small and oddly insincere smirk. “I believe that’s what most people call me, yes.”

This time, Eskel can tell exactly how much Jaskier is affected by having to relive Posada, even if he doesn’t always show it. But he doesn’t want to address it, knowing that it might mean Jaskier shuts himself off again. Or worse, decides not to travel with him after all.

Instead, he gestures to their plates. “Aren’t you going to try the basil?”

Jaskier blinks slowly before laughing, the shadows in his expression halfway replaced with amusement. “Only if we both do, darling,” he agrees.

And so they do.

It seems neither of them are used to taking their time, though, because the inn is still relatively buzzing by the time they’ve both finished their very satisfying meals.

“There’s someone with a siren problem that wants to meet you tomorrow,” Jaskier tells him as they make their way upstairs.

“What?” Eskel tilts his head to the right, confused.

Jaskier is immediately surrounded by waves of panic. “Oh, gods, I didn’t mean to assume you’d want to take the contract or anything. I was just- I mean, she’s the one that came to me and I thought you- But we can just, uh, decline if you already had plans or-”

“It’s okay, Jaskier, I’m not mad,” Eskel interrupts, placing a hand on Jaskier’s arm.

He doesn’t know what he’d expected but he hadn’t predicted that Jaskier would melt the same way his panic does, letting out a soft sigh as he leans into the touch.

“Which room is ours?” Eskel asks, not really wanting to continue this conversation, or any other one for that matter, where they could be overhead.

Jaskier instantly snaps out of his guilty daze and leads them to the room he’d gotten them, a smaller one with only a bed and a window. But it’s still better than nothing at such late notice and Eskel is grateful for it.

“Did she tell you it was a siren?” Eskel asks eventually, not liking the uneasy silence between them.

Jaskier looks almost startled to be addressed but then shakes his head. “Not exactly, but there aren’t exactly a lot of creatures that specialise in luring handsome men away with songs in the middle of the night, are there?”

Taking a risk, Eskel smirks. “You would know better than I, bardling.”

“What? I wouldn’t know more than you witchers even if- hey!” Jaskier’s confusion transforms into an affronted pout as he folds his arms. “I do not lure anyone anywhere. It’s hardly my fault if they offer me their company, is it?”

Eskel is just glad Jaskier hadn’t taken offence. He’s also pretty surprised that his idea of a joke had matched someone else’s idea of a joke but he’s aware it might just be Jaskier and his rather unique personality.

“If you say so,” Eskel settles for.

Jaskier grumbles and throws his doublet at Eskel, who barely manages to catch it despite his enhanced reflexes.

But as soon as he does, Jaskier’s eyes widen and he steps closer to Eskel. “Wait no, don’t crumple it!”

“You’re the one who threw it,” Eskel points out, bemused.

Jaskier pouts again, and Eskel swears that no other man would be capable of looking so childish in such a surprisingly dignified way.

But he throws it back anyway. Or rather, hands it back, since Jaskier is close enough to do so. He’s also close enough for Eskel to feel the surprised relief that radiates from him as he carefully folds the doublet and places it atop his lute case.

It hadn’t struck Eskel until now that Jaskier doesn’t have any other belongings with him. But now he feels self-conscious at having two bags worth of possessions where Jaskier only has a lute, even though he knows that he needs the potions and the spare clothes and the extra room for rations.

And Jaskier must have pulled the shirt he’d given to Eskel from somewhere , right? Eskel figures he’d stashed his belongings somewhere before they’d set off and resolves to ask him about them later.

“Are you going to keep your armour on all night?” Jaskier asks after a minute or so of Eskel being rooted in the same spot.

Truth be told, he was just wondering whether they’d share the bed again.

“You know, I’ve heard that sleeping is far more comfortable when you’re not covered in spikes,” Jaskier continues, smirking again.

Eskel makes a face at that but Jaskier only takes it as an invitation, helping him out of his armour before pulling him to the bed and flopping down onto it, raising an eyebrow up at him. “Care to join me?”

“No,” Eskel replies just for the sake of it, “move over.”

Jaskier laughs before doing exactly that, folding his arms under his head as he shifts his gaze to the ceiling and Eskel settles besides him.

“You don’t mind, do you? That I arranged a potential contract on your behalf?” Jaskier asks softly, still staring at the ceiling.

Eskel shakes his head, wondering how Jaskier doesn’t know that it makes life so much easier to have a middle man in the equation. But then he remembers that Geralt is probably responsible for Jaskier not knowing how valuable his social skills are.

Honestly, he’s never wanted to hit someone so badly.

“Of course not,” Eskel replies, wishing he could explain better but still not quite used to the whole talking-for-so-long thing.

Jaskier smiles regardless and turns so he’s facing Eskel, already curling closer to him. “And you won’t leave before I wake up?”

Eskel suspects Jaskier is either a little more tired or a little more drunk than he’d intended to be so he just humours him and shakes his head. “No, I won’t. I’ll be here,” he promises.

Almost like a child, Jaskier nods, shuffling even closer. “Thank you, Eskel.”

The warmth that spreads through Eskel is most likely due to Jaskier’s presence rather than his words because why would someone using his name be powerful enough to change his body temperature?

Jaskier is filled with so much trust, Eskel notes, that he falls asleep within a few minutes. And it amazes him as much as it saddens him for he can’t imagine why Geralt would give up someone so awfully kind at heart.

But he doesn’t want to think of his brother’s idiocy unless he absolutely has to, which he currently doesn’t, so he just wraps an arm around Jaskier and closes his eyes.

It’s definitely strange to have someone choose to be as close to him as possible, especially when they’re both at their most vulnerable, but he can’t deny the smile on his face that only the darkness will ever see.

He also can’t deny one of the best nights of sleep he’s ever had.

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i lowkey feel they get more ooc every time i write them, oops. sorry about that...

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