#so smooth to control and the potential for chaos is a beautiful thing

[loth-wolffe]

Ocean eyes

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi x reader (no y/n).

Warnings: nOne, this is just a mix of a tiny bit of sprinkled angst, a trashy ending, and timeline inconsistency for the sake of this fic

Word count: 1,4k

A/N: it's late and my head hurts but I finally finished editing this. I thought it was going to be quick but apparently it wasn't, hah. hope you like it! send me your thoughts, love to know what you're all thinking!

It's quiet, tranquil, your steps making no sound as you walk through the wide halls of the Temple, just like you have always done since you were a padawan and had trouble sleeping. You'd pass some guards and they would look your way, and it's been years since they stopped spooking you out, sometimes you'd just nod at them, or wave your hand, your thoughts slipping for a moment for your mind to ask if they ever got lonely, or tired, standing ever so motionless outside the doors, guarding, silent and discreet, always searching for potential threats, even if there wasn't much happening inside the Temple, much less at night, but it's always good to be cautious, you remember your master having told you once.

You salute them as you pass, and go to the meditation gardens as usual, you never went to meditate, though, but they did help you to calm down and relax, letting you have a moment to breath without having to worry about the chaos that reigns the galaxy.

The sky is still dark, glinting with the infinite stars from outer space, looking so distant and yet like if you could touch them by lifting your hand. There weren't any lights around but the ones from the distant buildings, the garden looking asleep along with its flowers, their colors being drained by the darkness and waiting for the sun to let them glow again in all their beauty.

Sitting somewhere you could appreciate the view that Coruscant offered you, you let out a tired sigh, taking a deep breath as you lay down.

You feel him before you hear him, his force signature giving him away, the warmth that emanated from him curling with yours as soon as he steps into the room, always finding its way to mix with your own.

"Find yourself another place to meditate, Kenobi, this place's taken."

"I see. Well," he graciously sat beside you and looked his surroundings, "I wasn't aware the meditation gardens were yours."

You grin and close your eyes, feeling him laying down beside you, shoulders an inch away from touching, your heart skipping a beat.

"Can't sleep?" You ask.

"Can't seem to do it properly these days, the war seems to be taking a toll on us all, I suppose. I've never seen master Plo so worried, not since you and I used to do our little escapades to the lower levers." You snort at the memory and shake your head.

"Well, he did lost his entire fleet."

He hums in response.

"I suppose you're right."

There's a silence, and you let the knowledge that he's feeling affected by the war enough to leave him restless sink in your heart. And you don't know if your heart aches more for him or for the fact that master Plo, your master, just lost all of his men.

You wish you could just... end the stupid war. A war that wasn't your job to lead to begin with and that somehow all of you found yourselves so caught up with, sometimes even loosing yourselves in the process, along with the meaning of what being a Jedi truly was.

War was taking a toll on you, too.

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet tonight, is there something on your mind?"

You let another silence settle between you, it's not uncomfortable, but Obi-Wan knows better.

He always did, with you, because he grew to know you like the back of his hand, just like you grew to know him better than he probably knew himself, too.

So he lets you have it, and respond when you feel like responding. He never pushed you to tell him anything, always knowing when to ask and when to not, and when to insist and when to stand down.

A skill of a negotiator, you assume.

"No." You answer and he gives you a look.

"Really now? I think I don't believe you, dove."

You shiver at the pet name, and you hate him because he knows it makes you weak and lower your guard, he knows that is the button he needs to push for you to do whatever he wants you to.

But how can you?

How can you tell him there are so many things on your mind you feel like it'll explode at any second? How tell him he's the only constant thing in your mind?

The last mission you had left you in a constant state of doubting if everything was truly worth fighting for, your heart feeling like it had a missing piece that Obi-Wan could only fill.

You didn't know anymore, if the Jedi code was one you should follow.

"That's just how I am." He snorts at that, and moves closer until your knuckles are touching, but only for a moment, since he goes to sit, looking down at you, making you know he was in a serious mode, you groan, covering your eyes with your forearm. "Don't start."

"Start what? I'm not doing anything."

"You're being annoying." He laughs, a nice, rich sound that warms your insides and make your heart flutter.

Obi-Wan tugs your shirt and you raise your arm just slightly to look at him.

"You're being impossible." He says matter-o-factly and you scoff, covering your eyes once again.

"It's nothing, Obi."

"It is perceived as something if it bothers you, you know." You hold back the urge of rolling your eyes, but you eventually uncover them just to take a look at him.

"Right, thanks, smart guy."

He smiles, eyes falling down to watch his fingers playing with the fabric of his robes, and you suddenly are transported to the times were you where still padawans, when shyness still floated around you sometimes, cheeks burning with awkwardness and embarrassment.

"I'm just stating mere facts."

"Is that what you use against Anakin, too?" He laughs again, and you feel a bubbly feeling in your stomach, knowing the sound come as rare as it gets, mostly now in these hard times.

"You're just being mean, now."

And you beam at him, and he just shakes his head. From your position, you could see his profile just perfectly, from where you were laying, but his eyes were what make you keep looking, the iris shining bright, seeming a shade paler than its usual blue, one that reminds you of your younger days with him dancing to the sound of the rain, his eyes looking like a calm storm that holds back a hurricane of emotions, controlled feelings that had grown with him and shaped him into what he had become.

But now, with the darkness of the night being only brightened by the stars and the artificial lights of the never-sleeping city, his eyes seemed the same shade of blue the ocean carried with it. A serene and peaceful color, just like Obi-Wan, that reminds you of a tranquil place you wished to call home.

You could cry, really, when he looks at you with those eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" He stares right at your soul when he asks, and you're too caught up in the blue that you suddenly feel so surrounded with, that you're not embarrassed that he caught you staring.

But it isn't like it's the first, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time he caught you looking.

He doesn't say anything about it, though, but you can see the beginning of a smirk wanting to break into his face, and an amused glint passing through his eyes.

His ocean eyes.

A shiver bolts down your spine and he gives you a weird look.

"I know."

"So what is it?" When you open your mouth to reply after scoffing at him, he quickly adds, "and don't say it's nothing."

Sometimes you hate how much he knows you, or how he could easily sense what you're going to say or do, and most of those times you wished you could just, punch him in his pretty face and kiss him afterwards.

"Nothing I can't solve," he says your name as a warning and you smile, waving a hand in hopes to rest it importance, "really, fluffkin," he scrunches his nose ever so adorably at the silly name and your fingers itch to trace his jawline all the way up to his nose just so you could smooth the skin there, instead, you push those thoughts away and continue, "don't worry about it."

He hums.

"It's too late, I'm afraid. I'm already worried." You chuckle, and his smile slowly dies, as his eyes search for something in your own, a hand comes to tuck away a string of hair from your face. "I'm always worried about you." He admits, more quietly, as if he was afraid someone might hear you, as if he still thought that by such confession, Qui-Gon would suddenly materialize only to tell him to push away his feelings.

Attachments are forbidden, after all.

But what was the relationship he had made with his master or with his padawan, too, if not attachments? What was the bond he had formed with you, if not an attachment?

His fingers brush some of your hair away from your face and they linger a second longer, and your heart starts beating faster.

It might have been the touch, or maybe the way he was looking at you, as if you had taken yourself the task to hang every star in the sky. The adoration shines within his eyes, a feeling that was fighting its way out of them, breaking the walls he had build so high in an attempt to keep his feelings from spilling.

It was all, you think, that ends up making you do nothing but vomit your next words.

"It's you." With your admission, he crooks an eyebrow, thumb stopping it's slow caresses on your cheek, and you look away, to the sky because it's easier to say it without looking at his face, because it's scary having to see his immediate response, and even more if it shows the rejection that has held you captive for so many years.

His hand goes back to his chest, and you curse yourself for making him back away, but you can't back down, now.

It was too late, indeed.

Because once you push out a feeling, you can't control it afterwards. So you just let it flow, like the water that rolls in the current, all the way down, falling, hard and quickly, and becoming a cascade, beautiful and majestic.

You hope you look like that in his eyes.

Because now you can see your walls crumbling down at your feet, too, and all those things you kept away for both yours and Obi-Wan sakes start to float with you, and you're afraid that you come down with them, and end up crushed and alone in the aftermath of it all. Yet the adrenaline that runs through you, gives you the push you needed to say your next words.

"It's you," you repeat, and the words echos on your mind, vibrations rumbling in your chest and you feel your heart on your throat, a minute away from coming out of your mouth and into his hands. He has always held your heart, you suppose, but tonight you were ready to give it to him willingly. A shaky breath leaves your lips, and you feel a mix of something that could translate to being afraid of rejection and having the hope he might reciprocate. "You are what is on my mind."

[chnqin]

Guess who wrote 1,500 words of a Star Trek AU I don’t know if I’ll ever write any more of °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

info: AU, pre-wangxian, rated T, minor character death

Here is a link to the masterpost of sorts explaining the AU, the character backgrounds and everyone’s position on the ship.

Chief Engineer’s Log: Stardate 1704.2 A Bad Beginning

As away missions go, the Shuoyue had seen worse. Once. One time was worse. And it was only half Wei Wuxian’s fault.

This time wasn’t any percentage his fault, so honestly in the grand scheme of things he was counting this as a win. Only one person was dead and literally nobody was sad about it. Not even his son! Wait, both his sons? Either of his sons? Jin Zixun might have been upset, but he didn’t have a soul so he didn’t count. The point was that no one was sad and the surprise murder was only a problem because it was causing a minor diplomatic incident involving four separate interstellar organisations and factions, and the fact that their Second Officer was currently being accused of the murder in question.  

It had all started when the Shuoyue had been asked to ferry a group of diplomats to an important peace talk occurring between the Federation and a new planet. It was important because the first Starfleet team to make contact had completely ballsed the whole thing up, and the denizens of the planet - the Xua-Nwu, a semi-aquatic species with sophisticated technology and a warrior society - had not taken well to the Federation’s overtures of friendship. Why anyone would send Jin Guangshan as a representative of the merits of the Federation and the human species in general Wei Wuxian was uncertain. It seemed to him that he and his slimy team were only likely to exacerbate the situation, but Wei Wuxian was not in any circumstances to be placed on a diplomatic team for any mission (that was left solely up to the Captain, Meng Yao, and his own beautiful and talented sister Jiang Yanli), so he supposed there must be something they knew that he didn’t. Perhaps the Xua-Nwu valued backstabbing and being a generally terrible person.

What did, unfortunately, concern him was the ferrying to and fro of the diplomatic team on what was supposed to be his day off. Normally Wei Wuxian left operations such as the transporter to his second in command or one of his many competent underlings. However, as the diplomatic group was filled with fancy peacocks in their flouncy feathery diplomat garb and their delicate terror of all things involving space travel, Wei Wuxian was required to be the one to personally beam them down to the planet (because god forbid one of his baby juniors got their dirty little hands on the apparatus they worked with on a daily basis and accidentally caused the first case of splinching-via-transporter to ever have occurred). As a rule, Wei Wuxian wanted to spend as little time in a room with Jin Guangshan as physically possible. But then, his second in command was a woman and he wasn’t going to subject her to the awful man, so he had little choice but to show up to the transporter and try to block out the oily quality that oozed from the man’s mind like puss from an boil. Ah, the joys of being psionic.

As Wei Wuxian was also expected to beam the landing team back from the planet, he stayed in the transporter room, terrorising his minions by pulling out the wiring on the consoles and trying to “break it, sir, you are trying to break it” improve the functionality of the thing. Eventually Lan Wangji turned up and towed him away by the arm, no doubt alerted by one of Wei Wuxian’s traitorous underlings. They always told the First Officer on him, knowing that he, Jiang Yanli, and Wen Qing were the only ones who could get Wei Wuxian to stop when he was in the middle of something (the crew never bothered Jiang Yanli because they liked her too much, and they never bothered Wen Qing because you went to the Chief Medical Officer if you were injured or dying and for no other reason - she was a doctor, dammit, not a babysitter). Jiang Cheng could also get him to stop, but not voluntarily, and usually while resorting to violence. After the third time one of them had shoved the other in a Jeffries tube and blocked the entrance, the crew was banned from asking either of them to involve the other in anything. 

Anyway, the point was that Wei Wuxian was very busy and so had absolutely no idea what was occurring on the planet until the ship was put under a yellow alert and he was asked to beam the landing party up as quickly as was physically possible (which, Wei Wuxian would like to point out, could have been considerably faster had he been allowed to finish tinkering with the control panel).

The group which had arrived back bore little resemblance to the well-dressed and put together team which had left not three hours previous. The most notable difference was Jin Guangshan, who had been alive upon departure and who was now dead.

“Oh no.” said Wei Wuxian in a very convincing tone of concern. “Whatever could have happened?” “Not now, Wei Wuxian.” snapped Jiang Cheng, who for some reason had been included on this mission, as he helped Jiang Yanli support a clearly shaken Jin Zixuan out of the room. “Such a tragedy.” Wei Wuxian said sadly, shaking his head, and could have sworn he heard a quiet snort from his left, but when he turned to the First Officer beside him, Lan Wangji’s face was as expressionless as ever. “I have prepared the briefing room as you asked, Captain.” he said in that unmodulated tone of his.  “Thank you, Wangji.” said Lan Xichen with a strained smile. “Let us proceed there immediately.”

It had been decided, Lan Xichen explained, that the away crew would beam back up to the ship along with the surviving diplomats for the time being as a matter of safety and precaution. Meng Yao, Lan Xichen had insisted, was a valued member of their crew, and would be questioned, but not held without any evidence. Meng Yao himself seemed remarkably unbothered by the whole situation, but in that way which meant you were merely holding the threads of your being together until you could arrive at a solitary location and completely lose your shit in peace. Wei Wuxian could tell, because the waves Meng Yao’s mind were pushing out were not his normal calm ripples. Meng Yao was another one of those few people Wei Wuxian actively found hard to read (which was, honestly, a bit of a blessing - even if he found it difficult to connect with the man as a result, at least he got some peace). He thought Meng Yao might spend a lot of time actively shielding his mind from psionic interference - it seemed like the kind of thing the paranoid bastard would do, but it might also have something to do with his mixed Human and Orion heritage. Just now, however, Wei Wuxian could tell that he was genuinely perturbed by the situation, despite what his calm mask indicated to the rest of the world.

When they arrived at the briefing room the rest of the away team had already assembled, along with the other heads of departments excluding Wen Qing, who Wei Wuxian knew would have gone to see to any potential injuries amongst the diplomats. Lan Xichen first ushered Meng Yao into the small auxiliary room used by the Captain for discussions which were better not heard by multiple ears, and Lan Wangji followed. As neither seemed to notice (or have a problem with) Wei Wuxian following them, he decided to take that as a tacit invitation to be present for the conversation. And what an enjoyable conversation to witness it was, where Lan Xichen had to sit Meng Yao down and be like “Did you murder your father”, to which Meng Yao replied “No, I would never jeopardise my position at Starfleet by murdering my father, he’s not worth it”, which was not quite the “No, I’d never murder someone in cold blood or generally hold designs of patricide” Lan Xichen was looking for. But then he did have a surprisingly pacifist and optimistic outlook on life, particularly considering he was raised by the same man who helped form Lan Wangji - pacifist and optimistic were not words one would use to describe the First Officer.

However, it was enough to look into other avenues. There were, after all, plenty of people who had wanted Jin Guangshan dead, and as far as Wei Wuxian could tell Meng Yao wasn’t lying. Lying, or even bending the truth, often produced a very specific mind-taste which was rather unpleasant. Another reason to be glad Jin Guangshan was no longer among them, considering the frequency with which the man did it. 

The four officers joined those waiting in the briefing room to hear a full account of the events. Many of the assembled crew members seemed energised or on edge or both. Nie Huaisang seemed particularly concerned, although what Wei Wuxian was sensing from him was more low-level enjoyment of the chaos. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, had just wanted a prolonged 12 hour nap on what should have been his day off. The briefing went on for a full two hours before they broke up to attend to other tasks arising from the situation - luckily for Wei Wuxian, this did not involve anything to do with smoothing the ruffled feathers of the diplomatic party.

By the time the day ended, Wei Wuxian was firmly of the opinion that he really should have just hid in a Jeffries tube till the ostentation of Jins had left. Maybe he could go goad Jiang Cheng...

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 6: PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT! LEAVE ME IN! LEAVE ME IN! LEAVE ME IN! LEAVE ME IN!

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: The big confrontation.

Chapter Warnings: Attempted Murder by and towards main characters, Neurotoxin, Not-Really-Unsympathetic Sides

The Control Chamber is large and dimly lit, cylindrical with a high ceiling. Hanging from the walls and in a circle from the ceiling are a collection of large screens, like you would see in a stadium. They flash through a series of images almost too quickly to follow: red theater curtains, a black hat, a courtroom, a two-headed snake, a lock with no key…

What really draws your eye, though, is the figure hanging from the ceiling, right in the center of the screens. It’s a massive form constructed of plastic, metal and hanging cables, gathered into a long body that moves with a sinuous grace as it turns to peer at you. At the end of the body is what you recognize as a Core, but one that differs significantly from the designs you’re used to. Where the others are formed of intricately interlocking metal pieces, this Core is one piece of sleek, jet black plastic, an unlidded yellow eye staring out at you with an alien gaze.

“So,” the AI says, “you’ve made it here at last.” His voice has changed, all pretenses of a robotic monotone dropped in favor of a smooth, sonorous drawl that sends shivers down your spine.

“No thanks to you,” Virgil spits.

“And you brought the whole group with you! Now what could I have possibly done to deserve such an honor?”

“Tried to kill me, for one,” you say, placing a hand on your hip and trying to seem casual and self-assured. Hurry up, Logan…

The AI gives a scandalized gasp. “Kill you? Now why would I ever do something like that?”

“Drop the act, villain!” Roman yells. “We know what you really are!”

The AI hums, sounding unconcerned. “I can’t help but notice that one of your number is missing. You wouldn’t happen be planning something, now would you?”

You laugh nervously. “What? No, we’re just here to talk.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Subject One,” the AI says. “Let’s stop with the stalling, shall we?”

There’s a hissing sound as vents open up in the walls, some sort of gas coming out.

“Don’t breathe that in!” Virgil hisses, and you back away from the steadily encroaching cloud, before your back hits the opposite wall. The gas keeps advancing, and your next breath tastes sickly sweet with it, making your head spin.

“Enjoying the neurotoxin?” the AI taunts. “It’s my own special recipe. I’m sure dear Patton is familiar.”

“Don’t do this, Ja-” Patton starts, before cutting off into static.

The AI lets out a deep, villainous chuckle. “Be sure to take in a nice, deep breath now, I’ve heard the toxin has lots of nice vitamins in it. If you live long enough to breathe it in, that is.”

That statement and the sound of machine parts clicking are your only warnings before a torpedo launches out of the AI’s mainframe, directly at you.

You throw yourself sideways, landing painfully on your side on the floor as the torpedo hits the wall and explodes behind you, showering you with bits of concrete or whatever substance this building is made of.

“What was that?” you yelp, scrambling to your feet. “What kind of science facility gives their AIs freaking torpedoes?!”

Your only response is another torpedo. This one you sidestep, watching as it again hits the wall behind you. That gives you an idea…

You shoot the blue portal behind yourself and the orange higher in the wall, then move to stand in front of the blue portal as the torpedo system targets you again, jumping out of the way of the ensuing missile.

Instead of flying through the portal, however, the torpedo runs straight into Remus, who apparently decided that it would be fun to follow you as you dodged the explosives.

“Remus!” Roman screams as his brother’s robotic body-frame explodes into scrap metal. For a moment your heart is in your throat as you search for telltale rounded parts in the scattered pieces, then you slump in relief as you see the Core himself rolling away from the carnage, giggling.

“Let’s do that again!” he cheers. “Can you build me a bigger body and then blow it up with an even bigger rocket?”

“Absolutely not,” the AI says. “Giving you arms and legs was a bad idea in the first place- too much opportunity for chaos.”

“Well whaddya know, he’s actually right about something for once,” Virgil snarks.

Another torpedo comes shooting out at you, and this time when you dodge it flies unhindered into the blue portal. You watch as the torpedo shoots back out of the orange portal, straight towards the AI. It connects with his long, sinuous body near the top, making the entire thing shake, and he falls limp.

“Did… did you just kill him?” Roman says in an awed whisper. Beside him, Patton whimpers. You swallow, staring at the motionless form of the AI in front of you, not knowing which outcome to hope for.

After what subjectively seems like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds, the AI twitches back to life and straightens up.

“That was unpleasant,” he says. “But not as unpleasant as being hit by one would be for you, I expect. Shall we see who gives in first?”

You jump out of the way of another torpedo, which deploys harmlessly into the wall since you didn’t have time to set up another portal. You land awkwardly, and bite back a curse as your elbow smashes into the ground and sends a wave of pain up your arm. You just barely roll out of the way as a second torpedo follows almost on the tails of the first, the AI taking advantage of your momentary distraction from the pain.

You stumble as you roll to your feet, the combination of pain and neurotoxin making you unsteady. The AI was right; you don’t know how long you can keep this up.

Warning, Central Core is 80% corrupt, an automated voice announces, and your heart leaps in your chest with sudden hope.

“That’s funny, I don’t feel corrupt,” the AI says nonchalantly.

Alternate core detected, the voice says. To initiate a core transfer, please deposit substitute core in receptacle. A metal socket folds up out of the ground, clearly intended for the placement of said substitute Core.

Logan’s voice fills the room. The replacement process has been initiated and should be autonomous going forward. Follow the instructions carefully.

“Logan, you beautiful nerd!” Roman cries. You couldn’t agree more.

“So that’s your plan,” the AI hisses. “You little-”

I’m placing a timer on the screens for when the neurotoxin will reach potentially lethal levels, Logan says, and the screens surrounding the AI turn a light blue with a red timer counting down to the millisecond. It looks like you have around two minutes left.

I’m afraid I can’t do much more, Logan continues. Just follow the steps, and- He cuts off into static.

“Did you hear anything?” the AI says. “Such an echo in here, I swear.”

Two more torpedoes shoot out of his mainframe, and you dodge to the left, letting them be redirected through the portal behind you. They both hit, and as the AI once again goes limp you use the window of opportunity to cast a look around you for the nearest Core.

“Patton!” you say, spying the Core nearby. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Patton says with a forced cheer. Not having time for more confirmation than that, you run up and take him by the handles, pulling him off his rail, then run over to the receptacle thingy and carefully slot him in place.

Substitute Core accepted, the automated voice says. Substitute Core, are you ready to start the procedure?

“Oh, is that me?” Patton says nervously. “Uh, yes!”

Corrupted Core, are you ready to start the procedure?

Almost before the voice is done talking, the AI yells out, “No!”

Stalemate detected. Transfer procedure cannot continue...

“Are you kidding me?” Virgil shrieks. “What kind of crappy replacement system asks for permission from the Core it’s replacing?”

...unless a stalemate associate is present to press the stalemate resolution button.

“Oh dear,” the AI says, “you’re not a trained stalemate associate, are you? That’s too bad, it looks like this whole thing will just have to be cancelled.”

Another torpedo comes whizzing towards you. You don’t have time to shoot a portal behind you this time, so you just dart out of the way. Out of the corner of your eye you see a red button pop out of the ground- a small one, meant to be activated by hand rather than by cube- and you dart towards it.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast,” the AI admonishes, and several panels fold up from the ground, blocking your path. You try to dart around them, but more fold up as you go.

“Remember your portals!” Roman shouts.

Right. Portals. That’s a thing you have. You shoot one portal onto the wall on the other side of the button, then another directly below your feet. As soon as your feet hit ground again you’re running, too fast for the panels to react to your sudden relocation, and then the button is giving way beneath your hand.

Stalemate resolved, the automated voice says. Please stand clear of the transfer bay.

The others cheer and you turn with a grin, only to be interrupted by a chilling scream.

“Thomas!”

You look just in time to see a long, flexible metal tendril with a pincer claw at the end seize Patton and forcibly rip him out of the socket. Quicker than you can react, it retracts back down into the floor with Patton still wiggling in its clutches, and then it and Patton both are gone.

The mechanical voice announces, Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in sixty seconds.

You stare for a moment, frozen in shock as you try to process what just happened. The AI was holding that in reserve, you realize. If you’d known he had the ability to grab the others, you could have accounted for it, redirected torpedoes into the pincer arms or had Logan try to interfere remotely. But instead, he waited until you were distracted with the stalemate button- until your back was literally turned- and then made his move. And now your friend is gone.

Another voice shrieks your name, and you turn to see a torpedo streaking towards you, the AI once again having taken advantage of your distraction. You shift your weight and prepare to make a last-ditch dodge, but before you can, Roman comes flying in from the side.

“Roman, no!” you scream, but it’s too late. The torpedo glances off his round surface, veering off from you and exploding on the nearby wall. Roman goes flying, wrenched off his track, then bounces once and rolls into one of the holes in the floor created by the raised panels. You go sprinting over and stare down the hole, but all you can see is blackness. Wherever Roman fell, it’s too far for you to see.

A whistling in the air alerts you to another torpedo, and you frantically roll to the side. The torpedo hits where you just were, widening the hole Roman just fell through and littering you with shrapnel.

“You bastard!” you hear Virgil shout. You pull yourself up to a standing position, feel a sudden rush of dizziness at the motion and briefly sway on your feet.

“Feeling a bit poorly there?” the AI says faux-sympathetically. “That definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the neurotoxin you’ve been breathing this whole time. I’d keep up the exertion if I were you- it makes the toxin take effect even faster.”

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in forty seconds.

You glance up at Logan’s timer and see that it has just under a minute left. You won’t have time to go through the stalemate process again if the transfer halts here, not before the neurotoxin kills you. You need to find someone else to replace the AI with, and you need to do it fast.

You spin in a circle, fighting down the dizziness as you do, looking for- there!

“Virgil!” you yell. “Virgil, I need you!”

Virgil’s eye widens as your gaze falls on him. “What?”

You run towards the Core, panting with exertion. “I need to put you at the head of the facility, come on!”

“No!” Virgil shouts, floating backwards and out of your reach. “Thomas, you can’t, you can’t put me in there, please!”

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in thirty seconds.

You reach out, trying to outwardly project calm despite the panic racing through your body.

“Virgil, I know it’s scary, but there’s no one else!”

Virgil floats even further backwards, his parts audibly clattering as he shudders. “I- I’m sorry, maybe if I can find Roman fast enough...”

“Virgil, wait!” you scream as the Core flies down the hole Roman fell into and disappears.

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in twenty seconds.

“Well,” the AI says, “I think this foolishness is just about finished. Honestly, did you really think your little half-baked plan was actually going to work?”

You can barely hear it over the pounding in your own ears. This can’t be it! You can’t have fought your way through all the trials, can’t have had your friends believe in you for so long, only to die here. There has to be some way-

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in ten seconds.

A high-pitched cackle follows the announcement. You and see Remus muttering gleefully, his green eye spinning in circles within his battered frame.

“How do you think he’s gonna kill us, huh? Will he smash us flat, blood and guts and jagged metal all strewn across the floor? Will he drop us? How long do you think we’ll fall for, how will it feel when we hit the ground? Clatter-squish!”

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in five seconds.

You don’t have time to think. You seize Remus by both handles and with a gutteral cry slam him down into the receptacle.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The AI says, distorting with volume. “Thomas, don’t-”

Substitute core accepted. Substitute core, are you ready to start the procedure?

“What?” Remus shrieks, sounding genuinely rattled for the first time since you’ve met him.

“Say yes!” you yell desperately. “I’ll help you figure it out, Remus, just say yes!”

“Uh, yes!” Remus says.

Acceptance verified. Resuming transfer.

“You idiots!” the AI yells. “You absolute, blithering idiots! What have you- wait, no! No no no n-aAAaAaaAaAah-”

The bot’s screams turn distorted and desperate as metal appendages seize the core at the end of his robotic body and begin pulling it down towards a circular hole in the floor as walls come up and shield it from view. A similar scream sounds behind you, and you turn to see the receptacle that holds Remus also sinking into the floor.

Your heart pounds. Is that supposed to happen? Logan said the process wouldn’t hurt them, right?

Both cores disappear below the floor. For one heart-pounding second, it is silent. Then, the walls around the hanging robotic form retract back into the ground, and-

“WOOOOOOO!” Remus shrieks, the snake-like body rearing up to reveal his familiar round, green-eyed form where the black-and-yellow Core once was. “Boy, that’s a rush!”

“Remus?” you say, heart still pounding so loudly you can hear it. “You- you’re good? You’ve got it?”

“Fuck yes I do!” Remus crows, spinning around like a top in his perch. “Check it out!”

As you watch, the wall panels around you begin to flip and move, forming abstract patterns. It’s strangely mesmerizing, and your heart finally starts to slow from its adrenaline-fueled patter.

“You idiots,” a familiar voice says, and you look down to see the black core lying on the ground, its yellow eye glaring straight at you. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“Aww, lighten up, Jan-Jan!” Remus says, bending down to peer at him. “It’s about time we switched things up around here, it was getting booooooooooooring. Ooh, I’m gonna make some mashy-spike-plates! Can’t go wrong with mashy-spike-plates!”

“Uh,” you say, “Maybe before you do that, we should, y’know, find the others?”

“Oh come on, Thomas, at least give me some time to have fun!” Remus says as the wall and ceiling continue to shift, smooth walls now being replaced with ones that have disconcertingly sharp points.

“Remus,” the AI snaps, “stop playing around where you don’t belong and put me back!”

All the activity in the room halts, wall tiles freezing in place.

“Playing around where I don’t belong?” Remus says lightly. “Right, because a corrupted core can’t be trusted to run this place, right? Gotta get Roman and his dull white-bread ideas up in here, cause that’s so much better.”

The AI huffs. “You know that’s not-”

“Nuh-uh,” Remus says, “My talking time.”

Several metal appendages rise from the floor- long, flexible metal tubes with grabby claws at the end, like the one the AI used to grab Patton. One of them reaches down and plucks the black and yellow Core off the ground, holding him in front of Remus and tilting him side to side, as if Remus were inspecting a bug.

“Y’know, Janny, I feel like you need a change. That old plastic thing is so last decade, know what I mean? Hey, remember when you said I had the processing power of a potato battery? That was funny! And it gives me an idea.”

The AI only has time to get out a final, “Remus-” before a metal tendril comes out of the circular opening below Remus and drags the Core back in.

“And Thomas,” Remus says, turning his green gaze on you, “Don’t think I didn’t notice how I was your dead last choice.”

Your stomach tightens in sudden fear. “I didn’t mean-”

Remus cackles, the sound reverberating off the walls and assaulting your eardrums.

“Naw, I’m not too torn up about it, I know me. But once you find the others it’s only a matter of time before you decide I’m just too dangerous and unpredictable to stay. So I think I’ll have some fun, while it lasts.”

The circular opening below Remus makes a little ding, and the metal appendage that had pulled in the black and yellow Core pops back out, holding- is that a potato?

“Voila!” Remus says with a flourish of one of his grabby-arms. “One potato battery. I dunno Janny-poo, I think it’s an upgrade!”

A yellow light flashes from the potato battery’s circuits.

“Are you done?” It’s the AI’s voice, sounding tinny because of the potato’s speaker quality, and sounding sardonic because of the potato’s occupant.

“Not quite!” Remus says cheerily. “Hey Tommy-boy, catch!”,

The metal hand tosses the potato at you, and you fumble with the portal gun, trying to get one hand up to catch it, before the potato smacks you in the face with a thump and falls to the ground.

“Ow,” the potato says.

You duck as more metal appendages pop out of the ground and start slamming the top of the elevator, making it shudder. You look below you, through the clear bottom of the elevator, and see only blackness. You don’t know what’s at the bottom of this shaft, and you don’t particularly want to find out.

“I’ll see you in the testing chambers!” Remus says cheerfully as another metal arm slams down onto the elevator.

“Remus, wait-” you yell, then lurch and catch yourself on the side of the elevator another big bang makes the whole thing tilt. Spider web cracks form on the glass floor below you, making your heart rise into your throat.

“Ta-ta, Thomas!” Remus calls. “If you survive this, we’re going to have so much fun together!”

There’s one more big, jarring impact, and then the glass elevator floor gives out from under you, sending you careening down into the dark.

[outroshooky]

whatever in heaven | knj

⇢ genre: series; part three (mafia!au) (angst, fluff, smut)

⇢ pairing: kim namjoon x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢ warnings: smut (soft d/s dynamics. grinding, oral [m receiving], brief use of the word daddy, marking, gentler dirty talk [praise]) angst (implied usage and mention of knives, nightmare), some fluff. this fic is a bit of a mind-fuck; there are darker themes here, so please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: i’m so excited for you guys to read the next installment of verses & vibes! a huge, huge thank you to my beta readers @sunkoos​ (go check out nas’s work!) and @hobiswitch​; an even bigger thank you to @guksheart​ for not only beta reading this fic but posting this for me because of laptop difficulties!

...which leads me into, unfortunately, some bad news. my laptop crashed permanently over the weekend and i may have lost all of my files. i’m working to get them back, but this also means i have to buy a new laptop. thus, verses and vibes (and my writing in general) may go on hiatus until i can figure out a way to keep writing and posting new content. more updates forthcoming— for now, enjoy whatever in heaven!

“i know not if i could have borne

 to see thy beauties fade;

 the night that follow’d such a morn

 had worn a deeper shade:

 thy day without a cloud hath pass’d,

 and thou wert lovely to the last,

 extinguish’d, not decay’d;

 as stars that shoot along the sky

 shine brightest as they fall from high.”

⤷ and thou art dead, as young and fair; lord byron (george gordon)

It is always the same in the beginning.

He is kneeling on a concrete floor that goes on as far as he can see, cold and callous against the skin that peeks from the stringy rips in his pajama pants. A single light flickers above his head, murky cream, faded with age. His arms are bound behind his back with braided rope, biting vengeance into his tender wrists. His exhalations wisp pale smoke, rushing from his lips to touch the folded legs of a woman sitting just out of the ring of wired lamplight.

The supports of the chair are metal; he momentarily ponders how her skin isn’t dotted with gooseflesh through the thin fabric of her dress, but her cherry-red heels catch the light in a way that has his breath hitching. Something in him presses to reach out to her but he can’t, straining against his bonds like a feral cat caged. He snarls, a gritting sound in the silence of the warehouse, and she hums something seductive in return.

It is a dark heat that kindles in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach when he realizes he is staring at temptation herself, clothed in cherry pumps and scarlet lipstick. She is the antithesis of everything he should have and yet, yet—

He craves her more and more with every second that goes past. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that she is hauntingly beautiful, a devil crafted from memory, sent from hell to tempt him in all the ways she knew how. The blooming lust in his veins climbs with viney fingers straight to his brain, his head spinning, flying high; he barely knows what to believe. Somehow, she’s pulling on the strings of his thoughts, a marionette and his master dancing on the brink. One wrong string and the puppet collapses in a heap of cloth and kindling.

He groans, the sound of frustration and need echoing on and on in the dim room. She laughs velvet rich, sickeningly sweet. He wishes he could rend the binds from his arms, crawl to her, worship her the way she deserves; he shuffles forward an inch, two—

A plain black combat knife skitters to a stop in front of him, twirling once before coming to rest, just grazing his left kneecap. Resting potential against the crook of his leg, and he sucks in a breath when he feels the chilled edge level against the puckered scar on his knee.

She doesn’t speak, but Namjoon knows exactly what she means to say.

Thoughts clamor at the base of his skull, hissing seduction like a writhing mass of coiled snakes snapping for attention. They strike at one another, seeking dominion, and he’s nearly consumed by the din. A choice, cut out for him by the hands of fate, burned in the ashes of every decision he’s ever made. It boils down to this, to him and her and everything in between.

At one pellucid flicker of insanity, his hands are freed.

The ropes fall frayed to the floor and he straightens, rubbing at the burn in his forearms, rolling his neck to loosen the strain. His eyes flicker to her mass in the darkness, the shape of her just touched by the faintest tendrils of light. She is just out of reach, but so close, so far when her head tilts, a hint of fascination. He is mortal, she is eternal— a man reduced at the end of the day, stripped of money and power and the demons that lick at his heels. Greed is his master, but she is his, coveted in the secrecy of this cushioned nightmare.

He knows though, in the deepest reaches of his twisted soul, that only one of them will leave the warehouse alive.

In this horrible, shattered husk of reality, only one of them is destined to live.

And somehow, the choice has fallen to him.

Pick up the knife. Pick it up, feel it in your hands, smooth and weighted, perfectly balanced. Everything you’ve ever wanted is in the palm of your hands. Make the right choice. Do it for me, baby. For me.

Namjoon is pitted against his own self-preservation, warped desires clamoring for attention, needy yet sick. Needy, he is so fucking needy, but for what? Anticipation itches the back of his neck; he can barely think when the handle melds into the curve of his palm with such a sinful fit. The metal glints promise of things yet to come, but when he tilts the blade towards himself, he sees only the industrial struts that crosshatch the ceiling, the dust that hovers thick in the clogged, choking air. Emptiness and fulfillment, hand in hand, only a breath away.

You know what the answer is, Kim Namjoon. Do it. Do it for me.

Does he know? He must know, deep in the recesses of his bones. Deep inside the fucked-up mind of his, playing tricks on him; a trickster, what trickster? The last of his sanity is threatening to drip, melting like liquid wax onto the cool, callous cement. It’s bubbling in his hands, pouring through the gaps between his fingers, but when he shakes his head, a mad dog, it solidifies molten silver, black titanium.

Do it for me.

Do it for her.

He must.

Namjoon’s eyes flicker to her calf, following the silk of her skin to the hem of her saccharine dress; it flutters scarlet just out of reach. He’s on his knees now; there’s something pulling at him, some indeterminable force dragging him through the floor. The blade slips; the knife twists in his hands as he falls forward, and—

The air rushes out of Namjoon’s lungs as he writhes himself awake, mouth agape in an silent scream. He’s wheezing with the first rush of oxygen into his lungs, his lips swollen with gnashing of teeth as he twists away from the warmth settled next to him in the sea of rippling sheets, curling in on himself.

“Namjoon, are you alright?”

The broken man lifts his head, taking in the naked form upright in bed beside him, hair awry, concern bleeding every word.

It’s you.

He’s safe.

Indeed, Namjoon has had many dreams, but none quite like this one.

It is as if the very breath was sucked from Namjoon’s lungs when he first wrested himself awake in a cold sweat. Control is something he craves, something he owns save the late night hours when it is ripped from his hands by the sick desires of his own brain, playing tricks on him. He exercises his grip on every minutiae of his life, but when his eyes flutter shut and his conscience takes hold, it wraps a silken tie around his thoughts and begs him to pay attention.

You’re calling his name in a voice burdened by drowsiness. He knows you were awoken because of him but he can’t seem to think, to do anything else but sit here in this bed, in these rippling creamy sheets, and feel his lungs fill, empty. Fill, empty.

“Namjoon, love, breathe with me, okay?”

Breathing. Breathing is all he has been reduced to, a creature of the night with oxygen in his lungs and demons in his head.

You take his hand in your own, feels the slim digits trembling against your skin. You rub gentle circles into his knuckles and it somehow grounds him in the midst of the chaos, the overwhelming flood conjured from his worst nightmares. He watches as you carefully trace every crooked angle of his fingers with your own.

It is this simple motion that produces new thoughts, a mental clamor not of his own demise but for his own safety, the protection that he seeks. You are so much more than the sum of your parts: you are safety in the midst of a den of ruby-eyed cobras simply begging for a chance to strike. He’s never thought of anybody the way he thinks of you; there is no one else who comes close to you, and that’s saying a lot when it comes to his line of work.

“Namjoon, you’re safe, okay? You’re safe with me. We’re in our bedroom. You’re still the head of the most feared crime ring in the country. Nothing has changed. Yoongi is just outside the door; I’m right here. Nothing has changed, baby. You’re safe.”

Your words are warm against his skin, dotted with the press of lips to his temple, his cheek. You’re burning up against him, sweat beading at the roots of his hair, the silver strands falling low into his eyes. Somehow, the heat only serves to make him cooler, and he’s nestling into your arms before his mind catches up to his body. He’s safe. Somehow, in the roaring din of his mind, he is safe. His demons won’t follow him here, locked outside the door, palms scrabbling at the windows. The windows. Namjoon’s eyes flick to the glass and find the shades drawn, blocking out the ambient light that hovers thick on the other side. Bulletproof, he insisted, and for good reason. But Yoongi would have called if there was a problem, and he’s got Seokjin at the front gate, and it begins to seep in, sweet relief, that he truly is safe.

He is cradled to you like a child, a position compromising for a man of his stature, but he knows you won’t judge. Your hand trails from his thigh to his hip, his ribs to his shoulders, and your fingers nest in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. Lord knows he won’t be able to close his eyes until daylight breaks over the dark oak floor of your shared bedroom, but he hums and noses at your neck. You smell like sage and lavender with a touch of his own cologne, a memory of last night, and he inhales deeply, tries to savor the muskiness.

“You’re okay baby, I promise.” A kiss to his temple, another grounding touch. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you; you’re safe right here with me. Just let me love you, okay baby?”

Love. Love, a concept Namjoon knew better by verbal parry than by any real, tangible memory. It was wielded by a father he barely knew, an absent mother who preferred the company of socialites to the company of her own son. It was really a wonder he found it in him to love at all, really; he’d assumed he’d leave such an emotion to those who built a life out of a 9-5 day and mediocre sex. He’d been proven wrong, however, when you came along— you, once a high-profile escort in the dirty underworld he’d built for himself, proved yourself a worthy companion when you stayed beyond his guttural moans and dirty secrets. It was in fact, a moment like this when he realized he quite enjoyed your company, and there was something more to it than just a good fuck, an easy pussy.

You were the closest thing to real love he’d ever experienced, a home to come back to that wasn’t a prowling security team and a clean gun barrel. He’d exposed the grittiest parts of himself to you, the most private secrets and still you came back for more. You were just as fucked up as he was, really, and that was his favorite thing about you. You’d killed for him and he knew you’d kill again, and that was, very plainly, the matter of things.

Plus, that mouth made him see the stars more times than he’d willingly brag about at the poker table.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, exposed through the lip of your shirt (his shirt, actually). It’s a careful kiss, chaste for him. Your fingers rub comfort into the base of his skull and he swears he could purr, an alley cat sleek and pleasured.

“You doing okay, Joonie?” Your eyes tell him everything he needs to know and he nods, unsure if he trusts himself to speak. Fear still gnaws at his bones, muted terror of a red-heeled succubus and a silver blade that gleams in the lamplight. Somehow though, you know, scraping the blunt of your fingernails against his roots. “You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. I’m here regardless of that, you know me.”

Namjoon noses the column of your neck in reply, folding his sizeable frame until it molds against yours. Some things he’d never let the boys know about, but some things, he thinks, they knew about already. He is hard and cold and calculated yet soft and warm and comforting, a living contradiction unto himself; you’d never believe it if you hadn’t seen it yourself. A complexity of men who prefers to live by the simplest of rules, but you’d learned long ago not to try to understand something that was fucked-up from the start. Some things in this world were just fucked up, and that was the way they were meant to be.

Neither of you know how long you sit there, adrift in messy sheets, dry eyes gritty with the lateness of the hour. Your hand weaves through Namjoon’s hair as the vines around his heart flex, their thorny stems unraveling. He stopped shaking minutes before, but if you know anything about him, the internal tremors never cease, not outside of the safety of this bedroom, impossible with the life he lives.

He stirs a little, murmurs your name against your neck, his lips brushing bare skin and the small freckle that dots just above your collarbone. There’s something so intimate, so human about it, screaming vulnerability that hangs open and aching in the silence. His hands slide smooth across the breadth of your back, your waist, palms settling atop your thighs as he draws back slowly, slowly.

There’s a question in his eyes, one you meet with your own.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He hesitates.

“Namjoon…”

He swallows, tilts his head, steals a kiss. “I’m sorry.” Then another.

With the third you’re pulling away, chest steady, finger to his lips. “Namjoon, you’re not thinking clearly. We can’t do this right now—”

“Says who?” He is breathless with the thought. “I wanna make you feel good, baby. You deserve that.”

The sweetest words wrap themselves around the breadth of your bones, melting between the gaps. He’s always been so good with his tongue.

“Namjoon, I wanna make you feel good too, but not when you’re like this.” You shake your head. “Not when you’re waking up screaming about death and knives and all sorts of horrible things.”

His hands brush your curves. “If this bed is an ocean, I wanna drown in you.”

“Joonie…”

It’s so easy to work at you, the sharper edges that he can dissect piece by piece. He knows exactly how far to push, what little to say to reel you in hook, line, and sinker. “Just go with it baby, alright? Just trust me.”

It’s easy to fall into Namjoon, collapsing every time as he folds around you. His head tilts to the side as he leans in, his nose brushing your own. He tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely him, an element you can never place but when he’s exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself to you like this. His mouth moves easy against yours, just tender lips, warm kisses. His hand smoothes up your spine to cradle your neck, thumb brushing at the nape, the soft hairs that tickle the back of his hand. “Just relax baby, relax.”

Once more. “Joonie, are you sure you’re okay with this?”

He nods. “I want this.”

He’s never been one for kissing but tonight he craves it, the simplicity of two mouths and hands that fit themselves perfectly against the curves and the edges. Musk curls under your nose as your eyelids flutter shut, dusting the apples of your cheeks a pinkish hue. Your hands meet his chest, burning with heat through the oversized Grateful Dead shirt he wears to bed with you, and they slide to his shoulders when he slips an arm underneath you to tug you closer.

You settle atop the apexes of his thighs, legs folding around him as he gazes up at you. The utmost adoration he has for you, written in the stars and in two hearts that beat as one, rattling against their cages with a need for closer, closer, closer. Fear melts underneath practiced fingertips and patience; he’ll be damned if he doesn’t return the favor. His eyes, usually tawny and mellow, burn blacker than charcoal but sweeter than syrup, running with emotion. It’s evident in every brush of his hands against your bare skin when his fingertips edge under the hem of your shorts, the gleam in his eye that warns of everything that is about to come. One hand supports your back as the other squeezes your thigh, and you can’t help but smirk down at him with the easy smile that tugs at his own kiss-bitten lips.

You aren’t smirking, however, when he leans in and nips a bite at your neck, teasing with his teeth, making you whimper and whine atop him. His tongue pokes between his lips, assuaging the pain, and your own mouth falls open as your fingers clench at his shoulders, nails sliding a lazy path along his spine. He licks once at the bite, then once more until he’s satisfied with the petaled violet that blossoms across the breadth of your throat. He nibbles a matching purple rose on the other side; you can feel the smile on his lips when your mouth shamelessly tips open and you stutter out his name.

“Hm, what is it?” When he draws back, you moan a singular complaint. “What do you want, love? I’ll give you anything you want.”

“W-Wanna make you feel good,” you pant, eyes fluttering. “Wanna make you feel so good.”

“I wanna make you feel good too, baby. Let’s just focus on the now, yeah?” Namjoon’s hand squeezes your thigh but you’re already pressing your body flush to his, kneeling over him. You cup his face and he strokes your wrist lightly, the most tentative of touches, thanking god that somehow, in the midst of the lion’s den, you’d found him. He had you and he knew he could trust you, trust the smell of your shampoo and the heat of your skin. “Focus on me.”

You lean down to kiss him, brushing his cheekbones, tangling your hands in his hair, but apparently, Namjoon had other plans. His lips graze your own, trailing the edge of your jaw to pepper the lightest kisses at your ear and move lower, lower. When his mouth lavishes the column of your neck with the utmost pleasure, you can’t help but feel your core ache, the purest whines permeating the thick air as you beg. He’s definitely hard now, weight against the inside of your thigh, and the temptation— no, the need to grind down on him sparked the fuzziest pleasures in your mind, the most sinful ideas.

“Please Joonie, please feels so good, please, w-wanna—”

When Namjoon mouths wet at the shell of your ear you writhe, losing control with each second that slips between your fingers like sand. His lips burn fire against your already heated skin, sizzling and crackling like a live wire under his touch. You hiss and he growls deep in the back of his throat, continues his ministrations.

“I forgot how much you liked that,” he breathes shakily.

“You’re so fucking hot,” you gasp, releasing your iron grasp on his roots. Luckily he’s unfazed; damn lucky you to be with someone who actually enjoyed their fair share of kinkiness. “So fucking hot and you’re so thick, I can feel it—”

When you grind down on him, pressing yourself onto the growing bulge in his slacks and swiveling your hips with practiced ease, he groans feverishly. With every brush of the head of his cock, he’s harder than before, memory weighty in the palm of his hand. He chokes on the breath in his lungs, his nails blunt on your back, and he moans once in content. Feels so fucking good.

“God, baby, you’re gonna ruin me like this,” Namjoon chuckles.

“Maybe that’s the intention,” you trill.

“Fuck.” The word lies heavy in the air, heavy on his bated breath.

You smirk, sinful seduction in his ear. “And what if I did this?”

As his eyebrows furrow, you ease yourself onto his thighs, so strong and sinewy. Your fingertips slip down his shoulders, trace every muscle that strains under his loose sleep shirt. Beneath the fabric is the coiled power of a lethal creature, a tiger poised to devour his prey. And he is utterly wrapped around your finger, letting his head tip back against the headboard with a  sigh. He’s lost in your touches, an angel fallen from heaven, no idea which way is up or down.

You rub circles into his hip bones; he twists under you. Practically begging with his gasps, knowing what awaits him. Your fingers toy with the hem of his boxers and he’s hissing between his teeth. “Baby…”

You hum a response, press a kiss to the shell of his ear.

“Please…”

“Oh Namjoon,” you coo. “You’re a mess, baby.”

He is. Hair sticking to his forehead, sweat gleaming at his temple; he’s a model for destruction, the dirtiest of kinds. Hips arching underneath you, and there’s a wet spot that stains the fabric. He smiles somehow, teeth flashing in the low light. “All for you.”

You withdraw, spit into your palm. “Then you get all of me.”

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers, finds his cock, thick and hard. At the first stroke, lazy and full, he can’t stop the raspy grunt that leaves his throat. “Shit, baby. Feels so good.” When you lower your head to mouth at him over his sweats he practically writhes, begging, needy. So unlike him, but a welcome change to see him falling apart, falling apart over you. The fabric is soaked with saliva and dotted with a pearl of cum, a carnal work of art.

You rub slowly down his length, thumbing the swollen head leaking his seed. It’s messy and wet and he’s moaning and it’s all worth it, worth it to see him wrecked like this. His balls are heavy in your palm; when your eyes flutter up to meet his, wide and expectant, Namjoon hisses. That sound enough jolts burning heat between your thighs, twisting devilishly in your stomach. “B-Babygirl?”

There’s question in the word, question that makes you pause. You moan against his clothed cock; he chokes on his words.

“Can I make you feel good too?”

A sloppy kiss pressed to his member. “Later, okay? I wanna focus on you right now, Joonie.”

His hand strokes through your hair, flyaway, disheveled. “You’re so good to me. So fucking good—” He chokes on the downstroke, fingers tightening out of reflex. “Want you so bad.”

You press. “How bad? Bad enough to want my mouth?”

“Shit, your mouth,” he whines. “Want your mouth, want you—”

“Joonie,” you murmur.

His heartbeat resounds like gunfire in the ringing silence.

“Lift.”

He lifts his hips as you tug, pulling his sweats down to his thighs, the fabric ridged underneath your perch. His cock falls free, standing slightly crooked against his still-clothed abdomen, rippling with tension. It twitches under the heat of your gaze, steadily seeping liquid bliss, and your mouth waters at the thought. It’s been so long since you took him like this; when it’ll happen again, who’s to say.

You pepper kisses along his thighs just to hear him whimper, feel the predator writhe in his own constraints. His hands burn their own trails along the curves of your body, spreading heat in their wake as you cave to your own desire, slipping a hand between your thighs when you take him in your mouth with practiced ease. He’s firm under your fingertips, lithe and sleek and powerful in all the right ways, but he falls apart when it comes to you, crumbles like rock under the breath of the tidal wave. He grunts sin from between gritted teeth but whines complaint when you pull back to tease, to draw things out. He’s gentle in his touches but firm in his demands, even through the cottony billows of his neediness.

“I-I’m close,” Namjoon stutters, skin crimson from lavished attention. There’s saliva smeared down your chin and tears twinkle liquid starlight on your lashes, but you’ve never felt more electrified, burning up at the seams for him. From the heated confines of your throat you withdraw his cock with a firm touch at the base, his fingers running through your mussed locks.

“Where do you want to cum, baby?”

He squirms. “Fuck. Wherever you’ll take m-me—” He shudders, ribs heaving. Your fallen angel, shattering under your touch. “Oh shit, I’m gonna cum for you, babygirl.”

“Cum for me, angel. Cum for me...” you murmur, gaze level with his own as you wrap your lips around his member.

“Gonna cum for you, fuck—”

“Daddy.”

The cavernous heat of your mouth is a slick warmth, so wet and warm and utterly divine. He loses himself in it, lets himself go, pushing towards that edge of no return, riding the crest of the wave as it rolls faster, harder, heavier. “‘M gonna fucking cum. Oh god, fuck, shit, babygirl, I’m cumming, I’m—”

A drawn out groan fills the air, raspy and thick and throaty as he thrusts into your mouth once, twice, spills over. He’s bitter on your tongue, acrid but you take it, swallow it all. It’s worth it to see the pleasure overtake him, to see him let go of every capacity and capability to fall drowning, dizzy. Whatever in heaven, above or below, he’s tumbling headlong into it, collapsing into himself like a burning star falling from the cosmos.

He’s the first to break the silence that falls, withdrawing himself and tucking his softening cock back in his sweats with a remarkable amount of composition for a man who’d just seen the very sparks of the universe behind closed eyelids. He chuckles breathless, bated. “Fucking hell, angel.”

You try to speak but merely croak at first, throat grating dry. He hushes you soothingly, easing you back on the pillows now soaked with sweat. “Let me get you some water, yeah? Just stay here for now.”

You whine a complaint— shouldn’t you be taking care of him?— but he’s insistent and already on his feet, legs shaky as he heads towards the bathroom. There’s a pang in your chest watching him go, the reality of the situation settling in, and vulnerability flowers in your heart.

The tap squeaks; the faucet runs. Room temperature water, not too hot but not too cold to soothe the burn in your esophagus. He knows you better than anyone, knows how to take care of you when you fail to take care of yourself, life spent always on the run. You’re the one holding him when his nightmares consume him, the steel that he draws from his belt to wield before him, the ultimate weapon. Yin and yang, black and white, blooming nebula and neutron star. The water turns off, a grating complaint.

It’s been too long; you’ve delayed too much. Play to his fantasy; he has no idea what’s coming.

“If the water’s not enough, I can send Yoongi for some tea— oh.”

Oh.

You are no longer prostrate, the limp rag doll exhausted from her play. No, you are stretched out on the bed, ass up on your hands and knees, silver glinting between your teeth as a pair of handcuffs dangles in the air. You are looking at him with fire smouldering deep in your eyes, blazing a burning glare straight through him.

The predator has become the prey.

“Daddy,” you purr, right on cue. “Come here.”

It’s automatic, the way Namjoon moves towards you, glass forgotten on the nearby dresser. He’s completely transfixed, fascinated by the possibilities, and when he reaches the end of the bed, you stop him with one outstretched foot, bare with the lateness of the hour. “Turn around.”

He’s so submissive, so compliant simply by the force of his own surprise. It’s hard to keep going, hard to push through the adrenaline thrumming through your blood, the underlying current that threatens to sweep you away, too. But you mustn’t listen, mustn’t feel.

“Hands behind your back, Joonie, baby.”

He’s perfect, perfectly whole in the way he follows each command that falls from your lips like silk spun thread. He surrenders himself so willingly to you, it stings raw.

You rise to your feet, level with the back of him. Your fingers make quick work of the cuffs and with a firm click, the deed is done.

With a tender motion that surprises even you considering the brevity of the situation, you wrap your arms around your torso, bury your face in his skin, inhale his scent. Amber and citrus. Musk and spice. Whole contradictions that somehow manage to summarize him perfectly. You whisper against his spine like it’s a secret. “I’m so sorry.”

“What, baby?”

You can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, thudding rapid with excitement, wonder at what lies ahead of him. Guilt roars its ugly head and you beat it back with double the force.

You stiffen, step away from him. Four years you’d waited to formulate these words, to hear them drop from your lips, plummeting on high. Four years and now the moment is here, and you swallow past the lump in your sore throat.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for charges of extortion, murder, murder-for-hire, drug possession, and arms trafficking. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you…”

“...Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

You’re sitting in the open door of a police cruiser, more specifically a SWAT cruiser, an aluminum blanket wrapped around your bare shoulders. The air is warm, but you can’t stop shivering.

Seokjin paces fifteen feet away from you, ever more handsome in his suit and tie. Hoseok is finishing his interview of the conclusion, anticlimactic for the better. Yoongi’s legs dangle from the open doors of one of the ambulances called when your colleagues expected the worst. Thankfully, no casualties had occurred but a sprained ankle, a fight between one of your fellow law enforcement officers and that guy that manned the back gate. Everyone can go home, rest easy.

After Seokjin’s interview is yours, and you realize by the time Hoseok is asking the last question that you don’t remember a single word of what you’ve said. Elite agents taking down the biggest crime boss in the country are not supposed to feel so empathetic, so broken. Guilty. Regretful.

Four years, the longest and most dramatic chase of your career. Justice fell, a swift hammer; you’d saved the day once again, added another face to the chalkboard in your sterile office a thousand miles away. You’d won. Hadn’t you?

There’s a faraway look in your eyes that Hoseok somehow understands, a glimmer of something more than success. He straddles the age gap between the members of the team, incorporating Jeongguk’s youthfulness with his elders’ experience, the glue of it all handed the most important task. He calls your name. “You’ve been out of it the entire time I’ve been interviewing you. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

But there’s no bite to the words, no whet of passion. They fall flat below the crackle of radios, the mist that reflects red and blue through the evergreen trees scraping the stars winking high above.

Hoseok puts his pen and clipboard aside. “Hey,” he says. The kindness in his tone pierces daggers through your heart. You somehow would’ve been more comfortable if he had yelled at you. “You did the right thing. He hurt a lot of people. Killed many more, and did so without remorse.”

That’s what you think, you want to scream. Because to you, he is some foreign criminal, far removed from any last dregs of humanity. He is a monster and a crook and a fiend, twisted into something unrecognizable, but you didn’t see what I saw. Did you see the warmth in his eyes when he rolled over and buried himself in my arms all those mornings in bed? Did you see the way he saved those dogs about to be euthanized in a shelter, because those pups reminded him of how he used to feel, staring death in the eyes every day? Did you see the way he loved me?

Hoseok pats your shoulder. “I’ll put in a month and a half of vacation time for you when we get home. Lord knows you’ve earned it. And we can rest tonight, rest for the first time in a while. We’ve got a nice hotel an hour away from here, top floor. We’re not done flushing out the rest of his boys, but that can wait for now. We can handle that on our own; they’re scattered all over the continent anyways. It’ll take time.” He picks up his supplies, turns to move on to Yoongi. The look in the elder man’s eyes, the special ops agent thinks, is exactly the same as your own. What had you two seen in that hellhole?

You tuck the blanket tighter around yourself and nod once. It’s the most you can do.

Hoseok smiles, but it’s not quite the beaming, sunshine-filled glow he usually carries about himself. “You did good work and I’m proud of you. Get some sleep, agent.”

Sleep does not come for a long, long time.

When it does, it eats away behind your eyelids, filling your mind with visions of a man adrift in an ocean of bedsheets, rocking on the waves of an endless concrete floor that goes for miles and miles, whispering promises of things to come that never would be.

Kim Namjoon is sentenced to life in prison for six counts of murder, fifteen counts of extortion, three counts of murder-for-hire, six counts of drug trafficking, three counts of arms trafficking, and two counts of drug possession.

He never makes it to see his twenty-sixth birthday.

[claudiablanche]

✧ ━━ the courts of switzerland present CLAUDIA BLANCHE VON SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN of GERMANY, the FIRST PROTECTOR of the TEUTONIC ORDER. the TWENTY-FIVE year old has been GUILEFUL and ABSOLUTE before the break of war but has now become HAUGHTY and POWER-HUNGRY. SHE is often remembered by her likeness to ELIZABETH DEBICKI and THE THRUM OF FARAWAY DESTRIER STALLIONS IN WARS BYGONE ; CALLOUSED PALMS SLIDING BENEATH A TORN SILK BODICE ; THE INVIGORATING WEIGHT OF A JEWELED CROWN RIGHTFULLY CLAIMED. the rumour mills of europe claim that her allegiance lies with HERSELF and that she is for WAR.

FATAL FLAW.

what retributive, wrathful seeds you have sown in your gardens of dark / how cruelly you have seduced your child to bite the fruits they yield.

tw: physical abuse

Before she was Prinzessin Claudia, announced for the first time in twenty-five years to an awestruck court that had believed her dead, she was Ritter Helena of the Teutonic Order, an iron-clad maiden who, on an ivory steed, single-handedly blooded and seized masses of territory for the Holy Roman Empire. There were other names, too, given to her for this particularly glorious era—War-Monger, Sun-Bringer, First Protector of the Empire, Prophet of the Father—but it was Helena by which Konrad called her. And where Claudia would have happily pierced his gut clean with her Christened blade, a younger, blinder Helena answered to no other name but the one he gave her. 

After all, before she would conquer men and kingdoms in his name, she would conquer needlework and morning mass first as young Freiin Lena: knees rubbed raw from praying at an altar she’d rather spit on, mouth twisted permanently in rebuke, knuckles bruised purple and red by thin-lipped teachers who’d have subjected her to worse if it weren’t for the Emperor’s enduring favor. This is where she learned obedience—eventually, anyway. Before Konrad dragged her out to the battlefield for play, he taught her control and composure: the rhythmic precision of embroidery, the patience needed to recite page after page of Latin scripture, the necessity of being able to sit at a table without upending it in a fit; staining her gown in shades of spilt wine; cutting herself on the shattered glass. The maids who cleaned up Lena’s messes would whisper amongst themselves derisively: Now what kind of lady is this? What feral little thing has the Emperor plucked so lovingly from the filthy loins of war? Why does he continue to spoil her, when she presents nothing but unbridled fury, but monstrous rage? 

And all the while, Konrad himself would watch Lena struggle, and cry, and snarl, with nothing but absolution in his eyes. Her wilderness, her chaos, her hurt—where did it all come from? Ah. He knew. 

For before she was a Freiin, she was nothing at all. They said he’d found her tucked away in the rubble of a ravaged land, a weak babe fussing and keening for survival. They said merciful, pious Konrad had sensed something in her: a greatness, a divine calling, an affection that compelled him to rescue and take her under his wing. She was less than a daughter, but greater than a subject. She was given her own land and title, but denied the luxurious spoils other children of imperial favor enjoyed. In fact, she remained shrouded from the public eye for years to come: locked away in some undisclosed tower, unheard from and unspoken to. 

It was harsh of him, perhaps, to begin at such a young age. Some would say cruel; others insisted it was a stern kindness needed to lift her into glory. To the little girl in the tower, it was simply how the world worked: in endless jabs and cuts, in broken bones and shorn hair—fighting tooth and nail, slammed to the ground over and over until it no longer frightened her to fall. Before she ever wore a gown, she wore armor; before she ever held a needle, she held a blade. Konrad’s best generals taught her, then would bring squires and older boys to drive the lessons home: in barracks, in stables, in dead black fields—

Day after laborious day, year after unrelenting year; he was teaching her, slowly, how to fight—but more than that, he was teaching her wrath. It was important to the Emperor that his weaponry was not only functional, but doused in a rich, dark fury that would ensure her success. He sowed these seeds of rage deep, deep within her: every split lip, cracked rib, denied privilege, clear prejudice a means to cultivate something truly, truly dangerous. 

And he did. Perhaps, more than he has anticipated.

For now, Claudia is a woman truly worth fearing. The years have aged her like honey wine: she is a valkyrie on the field, a vixen in the courts—and carries with her at all times an inaccessible air of perfect, stoic control. Those who see her now, the poised princess returned to a joyous Germany, seated calmly at a table with nothing but a pair of cold blue eyes for accessory—they would not believe she is, deep down, made of molten ire. They would not believe the havoc she wrecked in the wake of the discovery of her birthright: the broken jewelry and splintered bed frames and torn shirts—and Konrad’s blood, caked beneath her nails from the one good swipe she got in before they finally subdued her. Since then, her anger appears to have dissipated, smothered out as she’s matured into a regal womanhood; but in fact, it sits like a fire in the pit of her stomach, both an engine and hazard. 

She has grievances, an appetite for vengeance, an inability to forgive—and with all of that, an increasingly volatile, out-of-control temper to match.

TASTES.

what blood i cannot spill on fields of war, i lick from a lover’s lips / what violence i abstain from in daylight, i pursue beneath exotic moons.

tw: sex, unequal power dynamics, internalized misogyny

The Princess of Germany is, by unanimous agreement of anyone who is asked, an unconventional one. She is a knight, and a war hero, and stands at a height so great she—quite literally—towers over any suitor who would dare court her. Indeed, princess, for as short an expanse of time she has occupied the title, is one Claudia has decisively outgrown. Her most curious, and scandalous, point of unconventionality, however, has to do with her choice of companionship; or lack thereof. 

At twenty-five years of age, Claudia is young for a knight, but old for an unmarried maiden. Predictably, she has refused any offers both prior and after her return as princess—and given her intentions to continue serving on the battlefield, has made it clear that marriage is and likely never will be a serious consideration. A declaration so bold would fare worse for someone positioned less uniquely than she, but such is Claudia’s stance on the matter—and so it has been respected. 

Of course, being unwed does not mean the young woman is without an appetite. In fact, Claudia is an extremely sexual being: she is austere, unromantic, and wholly uninvested in anything but her own future—but possesses an energetic carnality and sophisticated sense of eroticism all the same. Men, however, do not interest her: in youth, they were her foul tormentors and fixed enemies; in war, her brothers in arms and family; and in womanhood, they have proven themselves to be her cunning keepers, her foolish kings, and her negligent gods. Men have consistently wounded her, betrayed her, or simply failed to measure up. No, Claudia finds them entirely unappealing, and more importantly, untrustworthy. If she had once harbored affections for any man at all, the feeling has been cleanly discarded of; at the very least, she refuses to acknowledge it. 

Which leaves women. Women, with their soft voices, smooth skin, long hair—graced with an anatomy Claudia is familiar with, knows how to work with ruthlessness. They are not loud and brutish as men are—but rather, speak with their eyes and hands. Many are intelligent, and know the same truth as Claudia: that this world was not meant to carry them safely into and out of the world. So we must carry each other, and ourselves instead. Claudia even loved one such woman, a long time ago. But just as there are beautiful, precious women in the world, there are even more worthless ones. Conniving women who would see her ruined; desperate women who plead with her in the mornings to be saved and loved and lavished; unmemorable, meek, resigned women who have lost any agency of their own to better their luck. Women who take it like whores and don’t complain.

Then again, it’s oddly thrilling, isn’t it? To bruise her up, to hold her down until she shakes, to push her legs apart and tear her to pieces until she looks at you the way women look at men: helplessly, adoringly, fearfully. It feels briefly powerful to be wanted like that, to know you can hurt, and hurt, and hurt—and she won’t hurt you back.

REFINEMENT.

joan’s downfall: not knowing when to stop kissing God’s wrist, and start biting it. / who needs martyrdom? this is my empire. i strike the flint. i set the torches.

Claudia is a study in duology: she carries herself with both the graceful severity of a knight, and the coy entitlement of an imperial heir. Perhaps she is an unconventional one, but Claudia, in many ways, is a princess. She wasn’t ever pampered or swaddled in opulence, but raised all the same to believe she was deserving of it: every strike against her cheek, every bitter night spent shivering in the dark an unspoken promise of her worthiness. At some point, she understood why things were made so difficult for her: it was because Konrad believed she could do more, be better, rise to extraordinary heights. If an Emperor saw as much radiant potential in her—why oughtn’t she see the same in herself? Besides, few can say with Claudia’s same self-assuredness that they have worked hard enough to deserve anything they please.

Claudia, therefore, is not shy about her desires and standards of quality. She is neither spoiled nor overindulgent, unlikely to splurge on useless merriments, but is unabashedly particular with what she does feel is necessary and proper for a woman of her standing to possess. The few material goods she holds dear have each been carefully curated and adjusted to her exact liking. Her stallion is a white destrier, purebred and an unparallelled companion in warfare; her diadem a halo of luminescent gold, embellished with tasteful sets of Chinese jades, Portuguese sapphires, Russian alexandrites, each piece of jewelry imported from a different corner of her someday-empire. Her selection of gowns remain remarkably slim and extravagant for royalty, but each dress is tailored to immaculate perfection, cut from fine silks and dyed in rich shades royal purple, deep cerulean, vivid crimson. The same quality of care, if not more, is given to her armory and weaponry—each piece of iron casted and crafted under her watchful eye.

Some may call it vanity, but Claudia answers to dignity. She has always believed in excellent living: holding oneself in high regard the same way one is held to high expectations. When all is said and done, it would be unfitting to adorn a future Empress in anything less than the very best her Empire can offer.

[the--sad--hatter]

Frozen Heart (3)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, DEADPOOL & X-MEN

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -  

When Nick Fury finally catches the Ex-Shield Agent knowns Black Ice, The Thief with a Frozen Heart he puts her where she belongs. With The Avengers.

You’re not happy about that decision but you’re the only one who’s kicking up a fuss.

Natasha and Clint are happy to have you back in their lives, Sam Wilson is a big fan, Tony Stark just wants you to keep your hands off his stuff and Steve finds out that not only do you have a connection but you were there for him when nobody else was.

Bucky Barnes is one of the few people who doesn’t have a connection with you but he’d really really like one.

** Everything in Italics is being signed, not said out loud.**

Chapter Three - Comrades in Ice 

Bucky did end up on the roof, figuring the cool, fresh air would help him calm down. He couldn’t understand why he was getting so flustered around you, he barely knew you. Yes, you were beautiful, more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen. You carried yourself with quiet confidence, meek and powerful at the same time. Your eyes held so much mischief and history and when you laughed, god when you laughed his heart would flutter in his chest wildly.

He was infatuated. Completely, ridiculously infatuated.

He needed to stop being such a moronic idiot and figure out a way to woo you. If wooing was still a thing. Whatever it was called these days, he was going to do it. He was going to dig out the old charm and show you he was more than a blundering idiot.

Tomorrow was a new day and it would be the day he started his quest for your affections.

When you slipped into the kitchen the next morning, stretching your arms above your head as you yawned, you resisted the urge to run for your life. Clint was cooking.

He glanced up at you and your rumpled appearance and tired eyes.

“I’ll put coffee on.” He gestured at you and turned around without waiting for a response.

Your jaw clenched automatically as Stark sauntered into the kitchen.

"Elsa, Anna. Morning." He greeted in fake cheeriness.

"Good morning Sven." You nodded to him with a smirk.

Sam swung his bedroom door open and padded out into the open plan kitchen living area to see what the clattering and banging was. He stopped dead in the middle of the room with an almost comical look of confusion on his face.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

Clint looked up from the pan he was currently manning, coffee pot at his mouth as he slurped from it.

“M’cooking.” He muttered, passing the coffee pot to you.

You practically drained the pot, unable to help herself. You passed the empty pot back to Clint and looked around the room sheepishly.

“I needed that.” You said, shrugging your shoulders,

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation as Tony glared daggers at you.

"Two things, that's your coffee pot now because ew, germs. And since when do you cook?" He asked Clint.

A memory brought the ghost of a smile to your face. You had been 14 at the time and both you and Tasha had been highly entertained by the chaos and string of curse words coming out of Clint's mouth as he hopped around the kitchen, his arm on fire.

He had never been domestic, bless him. But he had tried and that was what mattered. He was still trying now even though you were all grown up.

You'd never be anything less than his baby sister in his eyes though.

He stayed silent, choosing to focus instead on pushing the bacon around the pan. The sounds of it sizzling were the only sounds in the kitchen as Sam sighed heavily and started setting the table.

"I'm not hungry." Tony announced.

“More for us then.” You muttered.

“I’m starving.” Sam said enthusiastically, a little too enthusiastically if the withering look Tony shot at him was any indication.

“Morning.” Steve said as he came in, frowning at Clint but choosing wisely not to comment.

“Morning Cap.” You said, brightening up at his appearance.

He had clearly been up for a while and looked like he’d just come back from a run. Your heart pitter patted a bit as Bucky came in the room behind him and before you could look away fixed you with a heartwarming, panty dropping grin.

“Morning doll.” He said, internally jumping up and down for joy at having got the words out.

“Mirnong... I mean morning,” You said, blushing and tripping over the words for god knows what reason.

“Eat your breakfast, I’ll get you more coffee.” Clint sniggered at you.

As soon as the two super soldiers sat down he started.

“What was that? Which one of them are you crushing on?”

“Neither, shut up.” you hurried to sign back, the blush spreading down your neck.

Clint slid a cup of coffee to you with a look that said he clearly didn’t believe you and he chewed around the smirk breaking out on his face. Maybe you wouldn’t take the news headed your way too badly. Who was he kidding, you were going to throw a fit when you found out.

“So, Ice. I’ll be doing your physical evaluation today. Is in a couple hours ok?” Steve asked you.

You frowned and looked between him and Clint before very very calmly putting your fork down and standing up.

“Where is she?” You asked Clint in a calm, controlled tone.

“No idea.” He sniggered.

“Hmm, well then. I’ll just go and find her.” You said with a saccharine sweet smile.

Tasha had tortured you for nothing, straight after you woke up from a mini coma and you were furious as you stormed out of the kitchen and went searching for her, deep down knowing you wouldn’t find the tricky Russian fox.

Eventually, you had to abandon the fruitless search and headed towards the gym for the real evaluation, praying Steve would be kinder than Tasha.

“Hey, you going to the gym?” Someone asked and you turned your head to see Bucky Barnes stalking towards you.

Ignoring the stupid butterflies in your stomach you nodded.

He reached out, flicking your ID badge and chortled.

“Level One Clearance huh? Poor you.” He smirked at you.

You frowned and looked at the badge, you hadn’t actually paid any attention to what it said when Stark had flung it at your face about twenty minutes ago and told you that you needed to keep it on you.

“That bad?” You asked.

“Level One means you’re not even cleared to get a pencil from supplies without a higher level agent signing off on it.” He told you.

“Fantastic. What level are you?” You groaned.

“Six. I’m an Avenger doll, only Cap and Stark have higher clearance.” He told you smugly.

“Well, I’ll come to find you if I need a pencil then, seeing as you’ve taken me under your metaphorical wing.” You said laughing.  

Bucky preened, silently congratulating himself for this smooth conversation.

“You can come to me for anything you like, I’d be happy to lend you a helping hand.” He said lowly, laying on the charm.

You started to smile back at him and forced yourself to stop. For someone who didn’t want to be here, you were making an awful lot of friends. You never made friends in the army, in fact you could count the number of friends you had on two fingers and one of those was your brother.

You’d known these people for five minutes, why were you letting your defenses slip down around them?

Your shoulders tensed up and he read the change in your body language and thought he had offended or annoyed you.

“I should get going, won’t make a good impression if I’m late.” You said shortly and jogged away.

He’d come on too strong and he was regretting it. He must have seemed like any other creep trying his luck with you and you had bolted. He sighed and realized he’d have to rethink his approach.

You practically ran into the gym and Steve turned around to look at you curiously.

“Everything ok?” He asked you, frowning.

“What? Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips and trying to act like you weren’t winded.

“Are you sure you were a spy? You’re a terrible liar.” He said, smirking at you and waiting patiently for you to tell the truth.

“I was worried you’d reprimand me if I was late. And I didn’t really do espionage, I was more on the breaking and entering side of things.” You admitted.

“I’m not Nat, and I watched the footage of her evaluation of you. I was impressed. She’s right about you needed to train more, you clearly have a lot of untapped potential but your marksmanship was really impressive. I haven’t seen anyone that good since Bucky.” He complimented you.

“Oh. Does that mean I can go?” You asked hopefully.

“Nope.” He replied, tossing a pair of boxing gloves at you.

“We’re going to work on your stamina.” He explained.

You resisted the urge to wiggle your eyebrows at him and tried to put the gloves on. He watched you struggle for a minute and when you started trying to use your teeth he barked out a laugh and came over to help.

“We should also talk about your um... ice issues.” He said.

“You mean that little issue where I keep trying to turn people into human popsicles?” You asked.

“Yeah, that one. Been there and done that so I don’t really want to go through it again.” He joked.

“Are my powers an issue for you?” You asked nervously.

“Unless you plan on freezing me for another seven decades then no.” He answered as you got into a hitting stance and started tapping the bag.

“I can’t get my powers under control. I’m really out of practice.” You admitted as he kicked your back leg into the correct stance.

“You left an ice replica of an Iron Suit and Nat showed me the photos. It was perfect. How do you go from being able to achieve that level of detail to not being able to use your powers at all?”He asked. 

You paused your hits and grabbed the swinging bag while you thought about how to answer. You didn’t see Bucky at the door, you thought it was just you and Steve.

“There was a mission in Moscow. Shield never sent me on Missions with Tasha and Clint usually. But this time they did, they sent me and Elijah to back them up.”

“Elijah, he was your...”

“Fiancée.”You confirmed. 

Bucky nearly bit his own tongue at the mention of a fiancée. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping but he couldn’t walk in and interrupt you now and he was too rooted to the spot to walk away.

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“Bad intel. They were more prepared than we’d been led to believe and they were waiting for us. The leader, the guy we were after wanted to make me suffer. He locked me in a room with Tasha, Clint, and Elijah. They were chained up but I wasn’t and there was a gun on the floor with one bullet. He told me I had to kill one of them or he would kill us all.”

You heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath as he put the pieces together.

“You didn’t have a choice.” He stated.

“Actually I did, I had a choice between the three people I loved most in the world. And I killed the man I was supposed to marry. Natasha never quite forgave me for not killing her. She thought it should have been her.”

“Why, why did you choose him?” He asked softly.

“I couldn’t make the choice as a sister or a fiancée. So I made it as a Shield agent. I killed the lowest level agent, the one we could afford to lose.” You said coldly.

Steve was shaken as he silently regarded you.

“Shield arrived to rescue us, too late. They took the mark in, they were going to lock him up.  I lost control, completely. I tried to kill him, and I did. But I couldn’t switch it off, I had to let it out and kill everyone there or blast it skyward.. Do you know what happens if you shoot ice into the sky, rapidly cooling the atmosphere?”

“No.” Steve admitted with a frown, he was betting it wasn’t good.

“Superstorm. I would have killed thousands of people if it wasn’t for Agent Hill. She shot me. When I woke up I told Fury to tell everyone I was dead and I disappeared. I made the hard choice for Shield, made it without hesitating. But I couldn’t live with it. I loved him, I was going to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him and instead I shot him in the head.” You said, punching the bag as hard as you could.

“I can’t imagine having to make that kind of choice.” Steve admitted.

You were expecting a different reaction, deep down that’s why you’d told him. He was Captain America, a paragon of justness and righteousness. He should have been disgusted by you but all you saw in his eyes was sympathy. You couldn’t look at him anymore and turned your back, taking your self-loathing out on the bag.

“That’s why you’re out of practice? You don’t want to use it after what happened?”

“I locked my abilities away and with them my heart. I decided I didn’t want to use them ever again and I know that this kind of life means I can’t ever love someone again.”

“I used to want love and a family but when I went into the ice all those notions went with me. I guess both our hearts are frozen. They have to be.” Steve said.

You huffed out a sad, unamused laugh.

“Comrades in ice?” You asked and he chuckled and fist bumped your proffered boxing glove.

You had no idea Bucky Barnes had heard the whole thing and was walking away, his own heart far from frozen but instead heavy. He knew his silly little crush could never come to anything. No wonder you’d been so spooked by his flirting.

But what he’d heard hadn’t changed his admiration for you, it just added a desire to see you happier.

He’d have to be your friend. You needed a friend and this way he could be a part of your life and get over his infatuation.

Steve left the gym before you, letting you finish up your stretches when Stark came wandering in, whistling casually. You rolled your eyes and ignored him, walking over to the large doors and frowned when they wouldn’t open. You pushed them again and they didn’t budge. You whirled round to face Tony who was smirking at you.

“Why are the doors locked?” You demanded.

“Because I’m not finished with you yet. You don’t get out of this room unless I say so and until you tell me who you really are and why you’re here, you aren’t getting out.” Tony threatened.

A whimper ripped out of your throat and your eyes began darting around the room, looking for an escape.

Tony could see the sweat beading across your brow from where he stood, could see the tremors running through your body. You were scared, he realized with a start of surprise.

You had one of the worst cases of Claustrophobia he’d ever seen since they were standing in a huge room with floor to ceiling windows and he could tell from your body language that you were on the brink of having a massive freak out. He could practically smell the fear on you.

“Let me out.” You demanded, your voice hard and angry.

He met your eyes and noted the sheer desperation and fear in them.

He had no idea you would react like this to being locked in a room, he just wanted to confront you. He genuinely felt guilty and was about to open his mouth and order Friday to let you out when he felt a physical change in the air.  

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees and a noise behind him had him turning around to watch the windows as frost crawled across the floor, creeping up the windows and branching out across them before they shattered, dropping shards of glass bigger than a person onto the floor with an ear-splitting crash.

Barely five minutes later Tony picked up your ID badge, the one you’d dropped by the shattered windows before you ran across the broken glass. Clearly you had realized it could be used to locate you and ditched it before you ditched the compound.

Glass crunched underfoot as Natasha approached, Clint a few paces behind. The two of them regarded the damage with exasperation.

“Could have told you locking my sister up wasn’t going to go well for you Stark, might have saved you a few thousand dollars.” Clint remarked.

“Alright, I didn’t know it was an issue. I didn’t mean to spook her.” Tony admitted with a heavy sigh.

“She’s had claustrophobia since she was a kid, she still has nightmares about it. Something you might have known if you talked to her instead of accusing her of being a spy for Fury. I did know about it, do you know how? Because she is who she says she is, she’s Clint’s sister and as far as I’m concerned, mine as well.” Natasha snapped.

“Doesn’t matter right now, we need to find her. She’s unstable. Any idea where she might have run off to?” Tony asked wearily.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a knowing glance.

You didn't turn around as you felt your brother approach and sit in the barstool next to you.

“We need to talk about what happened with Braxton and with Fury taking me in.”You admitted.

“You think?”

“I knew who he was. Someone gave me a lead to hunt down the rest of the organization responsible for Elijah’s death.”

Clint ground his teeth together at your admittance.

“I couldn’t let it go Clint, I just couldn't.”

“Cut the Bullshit Ice.” He interrupted.

You flinched in surprise at his anger and he took advantage of your silence.

"You fucked up by going after Braxton, two years off the grid, getting close to him and ignoring everyone. Me. And for what? To lose control and end up being forced to join the Avengers?"

“I don’t need your help with my abilities.” You said before he could go down that route.

“Here we go..” He sighed.

“I know how they work, I know how to control them. I’m just a little out of practice.”You insisted.

“You killed a lot of people. I know you like to act tough but that isn’t something you’re ok with, what you did wasn’t a blip because you’re out of practice. Despite your warm and cuddly exterior, you’re a good person and you don’t want to be slaughtering people. You can handle it in the moment but you can't live with yourself afterwards.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past four years? You really think I’ve been serving in the US Army and not killed anybody? There’s so much blood on my hands that it’ll never wash off, those bastards I froze in the desert are barely a dent in my kill count.”

He knew that you weren’t an innocent, but to hear you say it so casually was a different thing. You had become more like him in the time you’d been gone and that wasn’t what he had wanted for you.

“You’ve killed, to protect people. You’ve done bad things for good reasons so don’t you dare judge me for doing the same thing.” You told him.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me and Tasha what you were doing?” He demanded.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson about protecting me?”

“I don’t care that you’re still mad about that, I know you’ll never forgive me for it but you’re hurt feelings ain’t my main concern. I was trying to keep you alive.” You said and threw back your drink and slammed the glass down angrily.

You shook your head.

“I don’t want to relive the same old argument, what’s done is done and neither of us can change it.”

“Don’t I know it.” He said.

“I don’t need to you teach me how to use my abilities, I can figure it out on my own. I do need your help though.” You told him.

He paused, waiting for you to continue.

“We thought The Scorpion was a weapons dealer and human trafficker. We were wrong. The Scorpion was dealing in human weapons, he’s trafficking mutants. And Braxton wasn't The Scorpion, The Scorpion doesn't exist. It's a front, a cover. The whole thing goes deeper than any of us realized,” You revealed.

“Why not tell Fury?” He asked.

“Because he can’t be trusted. Braxton had information he shouldn’t have, he knew what I was. He knows about the school. He has double agents everywhere… I can't tell anyone without putting them in danger.”

“So who’s behind it? Who has you so spooked?”

“I overheard Braxton using on the phone before he drugged me. He said a name.”

“What was the name?”

“Magneto.”

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

And here we are my loves. I hope this was worth the wait, personally I struggled with this chapter but I'm really hoping the effort I put in paid off.

@shirukitsune @thelostallycat @jsmith509@buckitybarnes @aw-shit-nuggets @pleasefollowmeuwu @nerdy-bookworm-1998@boxofteenageideas @jaynnanadrews @psychoredpanda@marbleowl @l0kisbitch @brownlee-22 @fluffeh-kitty @mywinterwolf @poppunkassbitch @angieptt @muggleborngirl @markusstraya @tarastudiesalot @pinkisokay @buckitybarnes @firefly-in-darkness @chipilerendi @psychoredpanda @littledeadrottinghood @boxofteenageideas @pleasefollowmeuwu @aw-shit-nuggets @brownlee-22

[blackberrywidow]

Suffocating

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Langauge. Mild violence. 

Prompt: “That took my breath away.” “Good. I aim to suffocate.” 

Summary: Agent James Barnes has dedicated his life to tracking down psychopaths and serial killers and putting them behind bars, but when a possibly psychopathic, definitely beautiful assassin asks for his help, how can he say no?

A/N: This prompt was requested by @blackwidws several months ago (and was based on an actual conversation we had), but I just now managed to finish it. It is also loosely based on Killing Eve, so there’s that. Enjoy!

Bucky had been through… well, several tough situations during his career as CIA agent.

He had been captured by the Russians two years ago—tortured and maimed, ending with the acquisition of a shiny, state of the art prosthetic arm, courtesy of Tony Stark.

Then there was the issue with Zemo’s attack on the CIA itself, which hinged greatly upon his framing of Bucky as the bomber that was targeting CIA operatives and their families.

And of course, there were countless other instances where Steve dragged him into trouble, both during their adolescence, during their time in Afghanistan, and even now, when Steve was in the FBI.

But never before had Bucky felt this monumentally screwed.

He wasn’t letting that show though. For all she could tell, he got kidnapped by beautiful, potentially psychopathic assassins every day.

He was suave, he was cool, he was in control. And he could only hope that it bothered her—how unbothered he was.

Not that he could tell either way. She was just as cold and unaffected as she stared out the windshield, one hand held firmly on the steering wheel, the other pressing a gun into his side.

Bucky decided that just wouldn’t do. So, he did what he does best: annoy.

“Are we there yet?”

And finally, the mask cracked, though the slight twitching of her cheek would have gone unnoticed by anyone who hadn’t spent the last three hours analyzing her face.

“Does it look like we’re there?” she bites out through gritted teeth, eyes never once leaving the road, despite them being the only car around for miles.

Bucky shrugs, noting how the motion did nothing to dislodge the gun she held to him. Her grip was tight, unyielding; he would be more concerned about that if he thought he would have a chance of escaping even if he could get control of the gun. As it was, they were going down the highway at 70 mph, heading in an undisclosed direction for an unknown amount of time.

“I’d have a better idea if you would tell me where exactly it is we’re going, ma’am.”

There, again. A tick in her jaw so minuscule any normal person would miss it. From someone so controlled, he couldn’t help but wonder if she were doing it consciously.

“One, don’t call me that. Two, I’ll explain everything once we get there. Not a moment sooner.” She spoke clearly, evenly, her Russian accent only serving to make the words seem more authoritative.

If he didn’t have a dominance kink before, he definitely did now.

Which was really inconvenient, considering all of the afore mentioned issues.

“Okay,” Bucky sighs, resting his head back against the headrest in a practiced sign of disinterest. “Fine. I’ll play your game since, clearly, I have no choice. But what am I supposed to call you, considering I don’t even know your name? Or should I just call you The Widow?”

“Don’t call me anything,” she answers easily. “In fact, don’t feel that you have to speak at all.”

Bucky’s lip twitches at that, and he decides that maybe it would be best to heed her warning. He was already fairly fucked as it is. The only thing to do now is play it out and wait for his opening.

.

…

.

It had been a long day, to say the least.

The CIA had been working in tandem with the FBI, which was always a nightmare, even if it did mean he got to work with Steve. But it meant something was wrong, that they were chasing something dangerous.

That something was called The Widow, or at least that’s what the reports said.

A cold-blooded assassin intent on taking out key political figures in a bid to destabilize. To create chaos.

It was unclear who exactly she was working for, though some signs were pointing to Russian intelligence.

Bucky knew it didn’t really matter though; they were all the same in the end. Just another psychopath wreaking havoc on the world.

What he did know was that it was his job to stop her.

It was always his job, tracking down the serial killers and assassins that threatened the country. They all posed their own challenges, but this one involved more late nights and stressful meetings with assholes who didn’t have the slightest clue what they were talking about.

So, as previously mentioned, it had been a long day, and Bucky was ready to go home and sleep for a record-setting 4 hours before dragging his ass back here tomorrow.

At least, that wasthe plan, until he reached his car, only to find a woman with beautiful red hair and sharp green eyes waiting for him.

Bucky’s first thought was, woah, both because he was exhausted, and she really was incredibly attractive. But his second thought was a much more rational, what the fuck does this woman want from me?

His pace slowed, though he didn’t let any other outward signs of caution show. They were in the parking garage of one of the most secure facilities in the world, after all. Though a stranger waiting by his car certainly warranted some hesitation, it was nothing to worry about.

He was, as it would turn out, mistaken.

“Something I can help you with, ma’am?” he asked, taking a page out of Steve’s book and shooting for polite interest.

Her mouth curved up at the corner, forming what Bucky would consider a smile on others, but seemed too… menacing to be called that on her. Her voice was a soft rasp, the accent and grate of it catching him so off guard he almost missed her words.

“No, but there is something I can help you with, James Barnes.”

And maybe it was because there was a spike of adrenaline as he finally realized how monumentally badthis was, or maybe the universe just had an exceptional sense of timing, but that was when he felt it.

He stumbled, catching himself on the trunk of his car, wide eyes staring accusingly up at the woman who had yet to move from the passenger door. “You—did you drug me? When?”

She shrugged, looking wholly unconcerned by the whole thing. “Just a minor sedative slipped into your coffee. It seemed like the safest option. For both of us. Now, I suggest you relax, Agent Barnes. You’ll be more comfortable if you don’t fight it.”

“Oh fuck you,” Bucky managed to growl out before the pavement rushed up to meet him.

.

…

.

“We’re here,” is the only things she says to him before she opens the door, removing the weapon from his side and stepping out of the vehicle.

Bucky blinks once, watches her stride up to a cabin that looks mostly-intact and enter it without looking back, and he blinks again.

It seems like maybe this is some sort of test, or a trap. To leave him unguarded out here, just expecting that he would follow her in.

His options are admittedly limited. He can only guess at their general location based on the signs they passed on the highway, but they had been traveling on back roads for some time now. This cabin is the only notable thing that they had passed in what felt like hours. He could tryto hotwire the car—his own fucking car—but… well, if there was one thing Bucky was good at, it was making terrible decisions.

He follows her in.

He enters cautiously, taking in the rustic wood paneling and the single couch and table that served as furniture for the entire one-room cabin. There are no pictures on the wall, no TV, no phone, nothing but The Widow, sitting silently at the table as she waits for him.

Bucky whistles lowly, and because he’s an idiot, he opens his mouth. “I thought a high-profile assassin such as yourself would be able to afford a nicer place. Maybe even one with a window, or a one of those vacuums that follows you around. This place really looks like it could use a good cleaning,” he noted, only half-joking as he surveyed the dust covered floor and moth-eaten couch.

Her expression doesn’t change. “I don’t live here.”

He waits for her to elaborate, but after another thirty seconds pass by in complete silence, he clears his throat. “Well then, Miss Widow, why are we here?”

She narrows her eyes but doesn’t bother correcting him again. Instead, she reaches into the pocket of her coat—cream-colored, long, elegant, and likely worth more than his car—and pulls out a flash drive, smacking it down on the table and sliding it forward, not once breaking eye contact.

He hesitates only a moment before striding to the table and taking the seat in front of the flash drive. It seems that he made the right choice, because as soon as he picks up the device to examine it, she finally speaks.

“You’ve been looking into an assassin, one that’s been targeting politicians and world leaders across the globe.”

She’s still watching him, and it’s unsettling, but he ignores it and takes the opportunity to watch herthis time. Her face is smooth, expressionless in a way that is clearly practiced. She speaks about the assassin in a way that leads him to believe he was wrong in his assumption that it was her, but… there’s a familiarity there. A connection that goes beyond this flash drive that he holds in his hand. And her eyes, green and hard as stone as they may be, tell him he’s right.

“So you’re not her?” Bucky clarifies, because it really is the most pressing question at the moment. If he’s sitting in a cabin in the woods with the assassin he’s been chasing, it would be nice to know. “You’re not The Widow?”

She hesitates, and her teeth graze her lip, as though she were about to bite it before she caught herself. Not that he was looking at her lips, of course. “I was, once,” she says reluctantly, almost wistfully. “But not anymore. Never again.”

There’s steel in her voice now, and Bucky is having a hard time processing what all of this means, but if he were hard pressed, he’d say he believes her.

“Okay, so I’m gonna need you to tell me where I fit into all of this?” he said, all pretenses of nonchalance dropped as he waved the flash drive at her. “If you’re not the assassin—but used to be one—why am I here? What are you giving me?”

“Everything you want,” the woman says, still betraying nothing. “Information on the organization she works for. Information on her. Enough to bring them all down.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow, because he’s been a soldier and he’s been a spy and he knows when something is too good to be true. And he knows when he’s being used. “All of that, huh? And I’m just supposed to trust you?”

“Of course you don’t have to trust me,” she shoots back, exasperation creeping into her tone for the first time. “All you have to do is look at the files, and—”

“With what computer?” Bucky cuts her off, looking around with wide eyes, taking in the complete lack of any sort of technology. “And why me? I know you want me to think this is just some gift that’s been dropped in my lap, but I know better than accept it without question. So tell me, sweetheart, why the whole show? Why drag me all the way out here just to give me a flash drive containing information on people you used to work for? ”

Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare and it’s the largest reaction he’s managed to get out of her, and it doesn’t surprise him at all that it’s anger he’s inspired in her. “Do not call me that,” she seethed, venom lacing her tone in a way that made it clear he had struck a nerve.

Bucky would have felt bad, were it not for the previously stated factors.

So he scoffed, shaking his head. “Oh yeah, be angry about that. It’s not as though you’ve been kind enough to give me your name, even a fake one. Though that seems par for the course, as you haven’t given me any information.”

The apparently-former assassin seemed to be considering that, a glint of something like admiration sparking in her eyes before she nodded, resolute. “You may call me Natasha.”

The name sounded false on her lips, but he didn’t question it, knowing he had larger concerns. “Natasha it is then. Mind telling me the whole story then, as you’ve dragged me all the way out here and we seem to be lacking in any other entertainment?”

And he couldn’t be sure if it were a trick of the light or if it was genuine, but he could have sworn the corner of her mouth twitched up into the semblance of a smile.

But then she started talking, and neither of them felt like smiling any more.

.

…

.

Bucky learned a lot in the following three hours, enough that he felt like he had to reevaluate everything he thought he knew before he had met Natasha.

She had been taken from her family when she was young, sold off to some Russian intelligence organization called The Red Room. It was an experimental endeavor at first—take 28 young girls and train them to be killers. Simple, and apparently very easy if you got to them young enough. If you were cruel enough, manipulative enough.

But perhaps not perfect, because here was Natasha, telling him everything in a bid to ruin their plans.

“We were bought and traded, once we were old enough,” she was explaining, all cool detachment once again. Describing traumatizing events as though they had happened to someone else. “Kill a mob boss who took more than his fair share here. A politician who asked a few too many questions there. But then a different organization, one I’m sure your familiar with, got involved. And things changed.”

“Hydra,” Bucky says, mind flashing back to a winter spent in Russia not that long ago, one that ended with him losing an arm.

She nods, lips thinning almost imperceptibly, and he can tell she’s making a point not to look at the shining metal of his left arm. He doesn’t comment on it, and she continues. “Yes. They wanted to think bigger. They wanted to create chaos where there was peace, completely destabilize countries where there wasn’t. And they had a plan to do it: a list of fifty people that would completely change the world, so long as they were killed in the right way, at the right time.”

“And The Widow, she’s the one they have carrying this mission out?”

“It’s not just one girl,” Natasha corrects, still watching him carefully for a reaction. “We were all called that—it’s the name of the operation that called for our capture. ‘The Black Widow Program.’ This—this murder spree is just the culmination of their life’s work.”

“So why leave?” Bucky asked, leaning forward with narrowed eyes, suddenly too curious to resist any longer. “Why now? Why turn your back on them and sell them out after all this time? We’ve been chasing these women for almost a year now, thinking it was just one assassin, and now you waltz in, kidnap me, and tell me we’ve got it all wrong? I’m gonna need some sort of reasoning before I believe you.”

He tried to sound apologetic—as apologetic as one can sound after having been abducted and forced to hold conversation with woman who grew up murderingpeople anyway—but she didn’t seem to buy it. She did, however, nod in acceptance.

“Alright Agent Barnes, fine. Here’s the truth: I chose to come forward now because I have officially exhausted all my other options. As soon as I realized what they were doing—how far they were taking this—I knew that I couldn’t be a part of the end of the world. So I waited, and I bid my time, until finally I was able to make it out. And you were there.”

As surprising as everything Natasha had said in the past hour was, this was the only sentence that elicited a visible reaction from him.

His head snapped as if struck without his permission, and he blinked at her several times before he managed to ask, “Me? Where?”

This time he knew she was smiling, though there was no kindness in the gesture, when she said, “It was D.C. You were following a lead on the investigation and were looking into Senator Cortez as a potential target. You were right, of course, and you managed to mess it up just enough to give me my opening.”

Bucky was quiet as he tried to recall every detail about the week he had spent in D.C., from the meetings with the Senator to the extra security he ordered. And finally, after he thought about the staff he interviewed, he remembered her.

“You were blonde then.”

The smile was wider this time and gave Bucky the impression of a wolf looking at its dinner. “You do remember.”

“He died a week later,” Bucky responds, thinly vailed accusation in his voice.

She had the decency to look contrite, but he knew it was only for his benefit. “It wasn’t me. I left that night—my handlers were panicking, trying to find a new way to circumvent your new security protocols. I was supposed to be seducing you.” She says it with such casualness that Bucky just knows she’s toying with him.

“Wasn’t interested?” he asks dryly, wondering if it would have worked if she had. He remembered her for a reason, after all, and it wasn’t the carefully meek American accent she had used then or her tentative answers to his questions. It was her eyes, intelligent and watchful in a way that gave him pause, and a beauty that made everything else around her seem even more dull than usual.

She smirks then, and he knows she had guessed his train of thought. She is at least kind enough not to comment on it.

“I saw the opportunity for what it was: my out. I followed you to your room, just as I was asked, but instead of knocking on your door and fucking you for answers, I cut back to the staff entrance in the basement and made my way out with everyone else who was leaving for the night. No one suspected anything since I was already on the list of staff members investigated, and my handlers thought I was handlingyou. By the time they realized I had escaped, it was too late.”

“But not too late to kill Senator Cortez?”

Her face hardens, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she looked genuinely guilty. “I thought that I could get back there, have some sort of plan in time to stop them from killing him, or anyone else for that matter. I didn’t expect to be replaced so quickly.”

“Bitter?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask, picking up on the sour note in her voice.

She doesn’t respond with words, only narrows her eyes at him in a way that makes him regret having asked. “I’ve spent the last six months trying to gain enough intelligence to turn over to your government, so that it can be your problem now. So that I can live my life the way I want, without The Red Room or Hydra following me wherever I go, looking to collect on their investment. I want out,” she says decisively, and he can’t help but believe her. “I just need you to help me end this so that I can be free of them.”

Bucky nods, thinking on her reasoning and actually finding that it makes sense, at least from her perspective. But he still had one more question. “So, is that why you chose me to be your messenger? Because you knew my name from the investigation?”

Natasha tilts her head from side to side, looking contemplative. “I suppose that was one reason. But I looked into you after that, found out your own history with Hydra, and assumed you were my best bet.” Bucky raised a brow in question. “Best bet for what?”

“To help me,” she says, clearly hating that she has to say it out loud. “I brought you here because it’s a safe place that neither your bosses nor mine can find us. Because I want to give you this information, and I want to walk out of here of my own free will. And I can’t do that if you take me in.” She leans then, her keen eyes catching him off guard as they practically beg for him to understand. “If I give myself up to your government, even if it is to bring Hydra down, I’ll never have that freedom. You understand that, don’t you?”

Bucky understands a lot of things. He knows what it’s like to be tortured and abused by Hydra. Knows what it is like to have control and free will stripped from you. He had experienced it for nearly five months—he couldn’t imagine enduring it for decades.

He nods. “Alright then. I believe that’s all I need then, Miss Natasha.”

Her smile when she stands is the first genuine one she’s worn in a very long time.

.

…

.

Because they have just the one car—his car—they agree to drive back to the nearest city together. From there, Natasha will board a bus to a destination unknown to him, and Bucky will head back home to give the information to his boss, effectively single-handedly ending this war before it even begins.

At least that was the plan, but then there’s a blockade in the middle of the highway, still miles away from civilization, from any backup that he could call, and the plan is forced to change.

Bucky, behind the wheel this time, slows, thinking over his options as they approach the three armored cars and small army of men that block his path.

Natasha, who is used to thinking on her feet, does not entertain any thoughts of stopping as she stretches her foot over the center console and slams it down onto Bucky’s, pressing the gas pedal down as far as she can.

And Bucky isn’t sure who’s more surprised, him or the Hydra agents he’s suddenly plowing into, but he doesn’t have time to really consider it before his car crashes into two of the SUVs and his face hits the air bag.

After he’s able to gain his bearings enough to move and confirm that he’s alive and mostly unharmed, he sees that Natasha is already out of the car and that there are shots being fired all around him.

He curses, fumbling for his seatbelt and reaching for his gun. He takes cover as soon as he gets his door open, and he raises his gun, ready to start returning fire when suddenly it stops entirely.

He chances a look, ready to duck back down once they start firing again, only to see thirteen bodies lying scattered on the group, and Natasha squaring off against the last man standing. He was large-built, though not quite as bulky as Steve. He was grinning as he advanced upon her slowly, a knife with a blade the size of Bucky’s forearm held threateningly, and though the words were too quiet for him to hear, he was clearly taunting her.

Bucky raises his weapon, ready and willing to contribute even though Natasha had managed to take care of most of it within three minutes, but that turned out to be unnecessary as well.

Natasha flashes a smile that is all teeth and threat before taking a running leap, neatly vaulting over the slash of her target’s knife, and landing on his shoulders. He only has a second to look stunned before she gives a sudden twist of her thighs and snaps his neck with a sharp crack that Bucky can hear from ten feet away.

The man lands in a heap on the ground, but Natasha rolls gracefully off of him before rising to her feet once again. As she takes in the carnage—a car on fire to his left, his car with its crushed front right next to him, a scattering of bodies in various position, all of them dead—he can only watch her with wide, awe-struck eyes.

When she turned her striking green eyes back on him, looking him over for any injury, he can only think of one thing to say.

“That took my breath away.”

“Good. I aim to suffocate.” Her tone was dry, but her lips curved up into an amused smile before she jerked her chin in the direction of the only car that had survived the attack. “Come on, Agent Barnes. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us if I’m going to take you all the way back to New York.”

“Bucky,” he corrects as she climbs up into the driver’s seat and he takes the passenger without protest. She clearly had a better handle on this than him anyhow.

Her eyes flash to him for only a second as she pulls away from the scene, and he can’t help but be happy that he finally managed to tell her something about himself that she didn’t already know.

She, of course, is not one to be outdone. “My real name is Natalia.”

“Well Natalia,” Bucky says, rolling her name across his tongue like it’s something to be savored, not spoken, “let’s get this thing to my boss so you can finally get a taste of that freedom you want.”

When she smiles at him this time, it actually reaches her eyes.

.

…

.

Natasha surprises him when she does exactly what she said she would and takes him all the way to his office in New York.

He supposes it shouldn’t though: if there’s one thing he’s learned about Natasha—Natalia—it is that she has her own sort of code that she follows. And apparently it includes being honest with him.

The moment she pulls the stolen car into the same parking spot she had abducted him from not even 24 hours ago, she disappears without a word.

Bucky rolls with it, of course, because though she has been an assassin and a killer, she deserves the chance to be better. She had never been given a choice before, and he’d make sure she wasn’t robbed of one now.

So he takes the flash drive with the information into his boss with an abridged version of the events that led to its procurement, and hopes to be allowed to head home for a solid 8 hours of sleep before sitting through the debriefing.

His request is denied, which doesn’t come as a surprise, and he sits through another four hours of mindlessly repetitive questions and answers. They ask him to go over every detail, from his capture to the mess he left on some highway in New Jersey, and he recites the details again and again. They ask for information on Natalia, and he refuses every time.

He’s detached, just going through the motions of this bureaucratic shitshow while the CIA sort through the treasure trove of information that Natalia handed them. Steve notices, catching his eye and giving him a look that’s meant to be reassuring, and he’s not the only one.

Bucky’s boss finally sends him home with an exasperated sigh and an order to report in at 0600 tomorrow, and Bucky barely catches himself before sighing in relief.

It’s short lived.

Steve catches him in the hallway, concern clear in his eyes, and Bucky loves him like a brother, but he just wants to go homegoddammit. Seemingly sensing his irritation, Steve holds up a hand in surrender. “I won’t hold you up, God knows you could use a full night’s rest right about now. But I do just have one question.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow, exhausted but willing to play along for his best friend’s sake. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“Why are you protecting her?”

Bucky blinks in surprise, both at the simplicity of the question and his inability to verbalize his answer.

Because she didn’t deserve this. Because she was a weapon in the hands of murderers, but the courts will never see it that way. Because she deserves a chance to be free and learn what it’s like to make decisions yourself. Because the thought of her behind bars for the rest of her life makes me sick.

So he doesn’t answer, and Steve doesn’t appear to expect him to as he steps to the side and allows Bucky to pass him on his way to the garage.

.

…

.

For the third time in a row, Bucky’s attempt to find a moment of peace to just fucking sleep is thwarted. But the moment his eyes lock on the beautiful red head sitting on his couch, looking as though she belonged there, he knew he wasn’t going to complain.

“Nat,” Bucky blurts out, dropping his keys onto his side table in surprise. “I—What are you doing here?”

Her lips twitch up into a smile, and she doesn’t chastise him for the nickname, only waves a hand in greeting. “Bucky.  I’m waiting for you, of course. What else would I be doing?”

“Oh I don’t know.” Bucky rolls his eyes and leans against his wall, still just watching her watch him. “I thought you’d be half-way to Mexico by now.”

Natalia wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Mexico is a bit too sunny for my taste. I was thinking we should head north, maybe hit Canada and figure out where we go from there.”

It took him an embarrassingly long time to process what she was saying. “We?”

“Well, yes,” she says, looking unsure for the first time since he had met her, and the sight made his heart jump. “I thought—well, I thought maybe you’d like to find out what freedom tastes like too.”

And the second the words left her lips, he knew he did. Because she understood him better than anyone after just a handful of hours spent together. She knew what it was like to feel like you were suffocating under the thumb of another, and she knew what it was like to break free of its hold.

She saw something of her past and her struggles in him, and he finally realized what it was that he saw when he looked into her eyes: his future.

When he takes too long to respond, she shrugs and says, “Besides, I might get bored if you weren’t around to annoy the shit out of me.”

He scoffs, but thinks, I’ll follow you anywhere, and he knows it’s true.

What he says is, “We’ll have to steal a new car.”

Bu she just smiles, all teeth and wicked intent, and he knows she understands anyway.

[ysalamiri-queen]

Star Wars Rare Pair Exchange Letter

Hello and thank you for selecting one of my ships to write for! I am super excited to see what you come up with. Below I have listed my DNW’s and some prompts for each ship I have requested in the exchange. Please heed the DNW’s, there are not many, but the prompts I have written are more a suggestion and jumping off point than an absolute must-do. If you have an idea you would rather pursue for the pair please do so, I am sure it will be fantastic! 

DNW: Underage, incest, a fic focusing on procreation(sex is fine with protection!)/babies/taking care of children, or a fic that could pass as gen. We are here for rare PAIRS! Not rare friends, lol. Angsty themes/set up is also fine but please have a positive ending, and at least 1/2 of the fic as the comfort aspect. 

Write whatever rating you are comfortable with, however T and up is preferred. NSFW and Xenobiology type things are welcome as is just cute date night and other romantic fluff! AUs are totally fine by me, but I’d prefer them to be sort of generic (like a modern/city AU or pirate AU, that sort of thing) rather than franchise specific (such as a Lord of the Rings AU) since I’ve not delved into many fandoms and would like to know what is going on. Also high fantasy and regency type AU is not a preference of mine, so I would also appreciate that whole genre just not be written for my requests. Thanks! 

I’ve separated everything out by the categories in the exchange below. 

Canon Crossovers: 

Armitage Hux/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo

It’s Thrux! I find the dynamic potential between these two to be fascinating. Feel free to use some Star Wars sillies to bridge the age gap (hyperspace stasis from the end of Rebels to the sequel trilogy, for instance.) The fic does not need to focus on Thrawn sweeping in to ‘save’ the First Order because frankly I think Hux is very competent. Just explore the relationship between Hux and Thrawn however you see fit I suppose is what I mean, be it via their first meeting or 100th night together!

Ezra Bridger/Luke Skywalker

Two beautiful sunbeams! This one can be a bit of a free-for-all, seeing there is so much for them to bond over be it the force/looking at Kanan’s holocron, piloting, or even their status as orphans. To write feels or not to write feels, now that is the question. Some potential prompts can be exploring the force and realizing they can sense the feelings (and crush) that they have on each other, or sitting around after a battle and finding comfort in each other due to the shared experiences they have. Ok perhaps I’m leaning to feels… 

Canon EU

Brierly Ronan/Eli Vanto 

(Treason spoilers ahoy! Skip down to Wyl to not see these…) 

So, these two morons (who we love dearly) got themselves ‘stranded’ in the Chiss Ascendancy. If the Chiss gave Eli a frigid welcome, I can only imagine how they treat Ronan. Not well is my best guess. Eli isn’t exactly Ronan’s best friend at first, but realizes that this transition is difficult and lends a hand when he can and treats him kindly. Things slowly escalate from there… 

Orson Krennic/Brierly Ronan

If you read the book you know exactly what it implies… Orson has Brierly by the heart, and frankly I think that Orson is bound to fall for anyone who praises him as much as Brierly does. This ship can lead to office shenanigans, a night on the town judging architecture, or other simple things made Extra as Heck by this duo. 

Wyl Lark/Nath Tensent

Wyl brings out the best in Nath, and I think the same can be said to be going in reverse. I love the potential in this ship. Just some really great pilot beans. At the end of the novel, at the party, Nath and Wyl wander off and are really enjoying themselves, that could be a good jumping off point. I’m also totally down for plopping these beans in an AU. 

Originals 

Wedge Antilles/Luke Skywalker 

The best pilots in the Rebellion! In love! How can you go wrong with that? Comfort fic has a lot of potential here, but so does just them sharing in something they love, like a hobby or book. AUs welcome if you would like! 

Clone Wars

Obi-Wan Kenobi/Hondo Ohnaka

Or as I like to call it, chaos shipping. I’d greatly appreciate this one tackled in a post-order 66 timeline rather than during the Clone Wars series, or in an AU. I just think it opens up a whole lot of potential seeing there is less guilt in breaking the Jedi Code for our friend Obi-Wan. Plus, I think that's about when he needs the bottle of never ending positivity that is older no-longer-a-pirate-king Hondo. 

Rebels

Alexsandr Kallus/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo

In a world where Thrawn chose to not break Alexsandr’s leg for the third time in his life… This ship has so many different ways it could go, but I think my favorite is Alexsandr choosing not to defect and becoming Thrawn’s right hand in the ISB. Think of all the problems that could have been avoided! And you can bet these two are up to shenanigans off duty… 

Ezra Bridger/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Purrgil King 

Its crack and I love it. Purgill King uniting these idiots. Probably playing with them like Barbie dolls! “Now Kiss!” Said the Purrgil King, smooshing faces together until they agreed to stop biting each other… 

Kanan Jarrus/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Kanan goes undercover in the Empire enough that eventually he was bound to be caught. An AU could also be fun here to make them slightly less ‘mortal enemies’. Kanan could also offer ‘goods’ to help free Hera if you catch my drift there wink wink. 

Hera Syndulla/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo 

Honestly just replace ‘Kanan’ with ‘Hera’ in the above. It’s an aesthetic ship with lots of ways that it could work. This is another one where an AU could help smooth things down, but it’s also a load of fun in the canon to think how it could work, perhaps Hera as the TIE Pilot at the helm of the Defender program. Something tells me it would go much differently with an expert at the controls. 

Resistance

Neeku Vozo/Kazuda Xiono 

Cute! Boys! Teamwork! Sparkles! Honestly these two are absolute fluff and I am here for it. Kaz and Neeku are also both oblivious as all heck, so maybe it will take someone like Tam pointing out that their emotions are mutual. Either way it's just cute and amazing! 

[armageddon-generation]

Fixing The Legend of Korra - Book 4

AGAIN THIS IS A SOLID SEASON, SO THIS IS MOSTLY JUST CHARACTER STUFF – I ALSO VEER INTO FULL-ON FANFIC AT A FEW POINTS, BUT FUCK IT

I also need to thank @threehoursfromtroy for being a huge inspiration, especially with the korrasami dynamic - you’ll notice I magpied a bunch of ideas from her amazing fics.

Book 1,  Book 2,  Book 3,

KUVIRA

FUCKING CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT – let’s fully explore her reasoning for leaving Zoafu (the White Lotus is pretty much done, the Dai Li have been disbanded but now they’re individual warlords ruling over Ba Sing Se as a city state, the airbenders are still rookies and she sees them getting injured)

Emphasise the familial connections between Kuvira and the Beifongs – playing sports with Wing and Wei, falling for Bataar Jr.

Besides Bataar, have her be closest to Opal. They were both outsiders – the non-bender and the unofficial adoptee, but Opal, as the only non-bender in a family of historically famous benders, was also jealous of Kuvira the metalbending prodigy, who appeared to be everything Su wanted in a daughter. Kuvira was similarly jealous of Opal, the biological daughter who was doted on despite not doing anything to ‘earn’ it. This complicated relationship evolved into their bitter hatred of each other

Have Kuvira’s isolation in Zoafu parallel Korra’s in the South from Book 1

Without Korra there to push them forwards, everyone has started backsliding – In Kuvira Bolin has found a Korra-surrogate to rely upon instead of taking responsibility for himself (this is the same reason, ironically enough, he was attracted to Eska – she controlled him and he could hide behind her – something a more mature Eska is able to see when they meet at the Corniation)

EARTH EMPIRE

Let’s see Bolin leading the charge clearing out Ba Sing Se, and Kuvira liberating the city and defeating the Dia Li (who are trying to establish their own control of Ba Sing Se as an independent city-state) for good

Explore the apparatus of the Empire a touch more – the propaganda recruitment system – how does fascism work?

Have Raiko supply troops to Su so he doesn’t look like a complete fool. That way when she defeats Zaofu and sees Raiko violated her terms, Kuvira has a legitimate reason to go after Republic City

Also, can we make the Battle of Zoafu a proper siege once they break the ceasefire? Avatar does Helm’s Deep? Pretty please? Kuvira knows all the city’s defences as former Head of the Gaurd, so let’s demonstrate her tactical prowess dissecting the domes’ weaknesses. And have some of Zaofu’s defenders start siding with Kuvira (people she used to command etc), fighting amongst themselves to give her an easier victory

When the Beifongs are captured they go through the camp system, so we get to explore it – take inspiration from true stories and films like Life is Beautiful –The other prisoners either hate them for giving up, hate them for creating Kuvira, or look up to them as their only hope. But in the end they’re just a family trying to hold together on the brink.

Bring in the Red Lotus members hiding across the world – they start trying to move against Kuvira from the shadows. They are the strongest chance the world has against Kuvira without Korra, and Raiko’s willingness to accept their help (as the shady politician) shows how desperate the situation is – Korra needs to step in

ASAMI (& KORRASAMI)

The best part about Korrasami is how opposite they are – The non-bender figurehead, The bender figurehead. Traddition vs innovation, spirituality vs technology, idealism vs realism, faith vs strategic calculation – Asami should by all means be a supervillain, but she’s just too good a person. Play into that divide and conflict in Book 4

Asami is keeping herself dangerously busy, between helping the Equalists and managing the spirits living in the city that are against her industrial company  

Without Korra, Asami felt lonely and vulnerable. To compensate for a world without Korra, (much like Kuvira) Asami secretly develops plans for super weapons inspired by a combination of her father’s old Equalist designs – these weapons are designed to artificially replicate bending attacks on the scale of the Avatar state – Seismic waves, artificial flooding, firebombing, weaponised wind machines etc. She has prototypes developed

This gives her attempts to re-connect with Hiroshi more weight – she’s lost, and reviewing his old work makes her feel closer to him than she has in years – she thinks she’s beginning to understand what he went through when her mom died.

When Korra returns the weapons cause major conflict between them – especially when undercover Red Lotus steal Asami’s plans (exploiting their new connection with Raiko) and attempt to use protypes to ambush Kuvira – causing an all-out battle

Because the protypes were so hastily assembled they don’t work particularly well and cause chaos – Team Avatar has to jump in and save as many from the crossfire as they can, and Korra has to ignore a chance to fight Kuvira – they then have to leave the people to be taken by Kuvira, because they can’t save all of them.

These weapons would be key to Korra’s arc, as she doesn’t yet trust or have full control over the Avatar State again – she’s fighting that power as recreated by the person she cares most about, compounding the themes of Korra confronting herself

Kuvira uses the weapons the same way Korra used to use the Avatar state – wantonly and without thought, causing mass destruction.

Kuvira defeats the Red Lotus and takes Asami’s weapons for herself (Asami is horrified – she has indirectly become what her Father was to the Equalists. Varrick is being more morally upstanding than her.)

Korrasami is not smooth sailing in this book – both of them are aware they love each other, but they also have to deal with their own shit first. Korra’s time away let them build up perfect, imaginary versions of each other. Asami needs to stop idolising Korra (the same mistake Hiroshi made with her mom) and Korra needs to stop idolising Asami (as I felt the original show tended to do)

In the finale, Korra is the one to get Hiroshi out of jail, because Asami needs to move past his shadow – the repentant Hiroshi comforts her and assures her she is better than him. So much like her mother. He also expresses gentle approval of Korra before he dies.

Asami is the woman in the chair in the finale, simultaneously helping with the hummingbird suits and coaching the United Republic Forces (Hi, General Iroh) through how to defeat the artificial bending weapons.

I don’t know if it’s feasible, but I think reuniting the OG Team Avatar (Toph, Katara and Zuko) as three of the most powerful benders in the world (plus Zuko has a dragon) against these things the same way the White Lotus took back Ba Sing Se in ATLA would be really cool

The series ends not with the culmination of a relationship a la ATLA, but the tentative beginning of one

MAKO

Mako has let himself become consumed by his work – the only one to visit him is Kai, who’s filling in Bolin’s spot as little brother. (“Stop breaking in to a police officer’s apartment!”). Their relationship has grown a lot stronger, but they both miss Bolin

Mako is caught between both sides of the Earth Empire debate – he works for Wu and knows that deep down he’s actually a decent guy, but he has an established professional relationship with Kuvira, and he really respects her. They joke about his new job together before the Corination.

Kuvira has become a surrogate Korra figure for all Team Avatar – Mako (who admits he’s still in love with Korra) sees the potential for Kuvira to compensate for the loss of Korra, and must learn to let go of this unhealthy dream.

Because he’s no longer a member of the Republic City Police. Mako and Lin finally get to work together as equal partners

AIRBENDERS (KAINORA)

Look, I just want some cute long-distance Kainora stuff, OK? Keeping in contact via astral projection

Kai has been unofficially adopted into the airbender family and acts as a big brother to Rohan and Meelo

(I also think it’d be fun if Rohan was an uncontrollable bending prodigy like Jack-Jack from The Incredibles, bouncing around the house like the Tasmanian Devil – Pema and Kai are the only ones who can control him

Jinora has become the day-to-day leader of the Air Nation, using astral projection t co-ordinate people across the globe, with Kai in support

They express frustration with Air Nomad tradition – they sneak out at night and run around the new Republic City, giving us a chance to explore – Jinora shows Kai the wonders of the Spirit Wilds, while he teaches her how to win at street gambling.

They flirt with breaking the law – practicing pickpocketing the rich to feed the poor, and dabble in vigilantism – until they get caught.

Mako gets them off charges, but this causes a big conflict between Tenzin and Jinora. My problem with Jinora’s characterisation the original Book 4 (she was previously one of my faves) was she seemed too perfect. In this version, that perfection is an act, and she needs a way to blow off steam. Tenzin argues (quite rightly) that by taking the law into her own hands Jinora is no better than Kuvira (or Korra, Jinora points out. “Jinora, you’re not the Avatar.” / “I’m as good as.”)

This is important because original book 4 Jinora felt super stuck-up and full of pride, not good traits for an airbending master. Here we’re emphasising then confronting that big-headedness. Kai helps her realise she’s still just a kid, and that’s OK. Her family (and Korra) help her realise she’s stronger when she embraces the strength of others

I also like the idea of air nomads roaming with herds of bison, like Bryke originally envisioned for Aang

ZUKO, IZUMI AND THE FIRE NATION (This part veers into full-on fanfic territory and doesn’t really contribute to the plot, but I need to get the idea out there so sorry)

Use flashbacks to explore how the unrest in the Earth Kingdom parallels the unrest in the Fire Nation after Ozai was defeated

These could adapt elements of the Smoke and Shadow comic, where Mai’s father leads a rebellion against Zuko. This would take place when Zuko is in his early thirties, just after Kya was born (her waterbending was a trigger for nationalists)

The opposition find Azula after she ran away at the end of The Search, and manipulate her mental state to use her as a figurehead against Zuko – an alternate legitimate heir

Zuko and Katara have to flee with the toddler Kya, and go underground in the Fire Nation as the Blue Spirit and the Painted Lady respectively, fighting the coup from the inside (with Mai and Ty Lee, allowing us to explore everyone’s interesting relationship history) while everyone else tries to fight from the outside

During her wanderings Azula found the Sun Warriors and the dragons Rin and Sha – she uses her new followers to storm the temple and capture the blue dragon (just like her great grandfather before her). Azula is now riding around on a huge blue dragon. You’re welcome.

This is how Zuko gets his dragon – he and the Gaang liberate the Sun Warriors and the red dragon partners with him in order to save its mate

In the final battle between the two factions Azula inevitably snaps and the coup leaders are unable to control her – she goes nuts and tries to lay waste to both forces.

Zuko and the red dragon save both the blue dragon and Azula from herself. He is able to reassert control over the nation and get Azula back to hospital. This explains Kya’s extreme guilt and Izumi’s extreme reluctance to get involved in the Earth Empire situation

TOPH, LIN AND SU

Kyalin are already a thing by the time Book 4 starts – Korra is flabbergasted, and they set an example she wants to follow with Asami – things are very casual and domestic, which is a new and weird experience for both of them

When Lin meets up with Toph to free the Beifongs and then they free Su, have the idea of motherhood come up a few times – Toph suggests Lin has waited this long to re-enter a relationship because she doesn’t want kids, because she’s scared she’ll end up treating them like Toph. Toph encourages Lin to make her own choice uninfluenced by her – Lin can learn from Toph’s mistakes, and Su has made a great mom

The subject of Lin and Su’s dads come up. In this version, Sokka is Su’s father – hence her darker skin – but the brief affair was secret because he was married and Toph was with Lin’s father – one of those regretful one-night stands you always knew was a bad idea

This is a bombshell for Su, who never realised – it completely recontextualises her relationship with both Sokka and the Red Lotus (she almost joined the people who killed her father) . It also forces her to reconsider both her political and personal responsibilities – she accepts responsibility for her part in creating Kuvira, and understands her abandonment issues a little better

Lin, however, the aspiring detective from a young age, figured it out a long time ago (she always assumed Su knew). This is why Lin resented Su so much when they were kids – her arrival caused Toph and Lin’s dad to end things, because she was proof Toph never got over Sokka

Now Su is the one angry at Toph, and Lin is there to apologise and comfort her. Opal recognises what Toph is trying to do; throw herself under the bus to get rid of any lingering resentment between her girls and strengthen their sisterly bond – she’s forcing them to move on

Through Opal’s intervention everyone manages to patch things up

DARK KORRA/KORRA’S TRAUMA

In the original series it was never explained what that creepy vision of Korra in chains actually was. Sometimes it was just in her head, other times it physically attacked her, and then it just disappeared.

My explanation links to the Book 2 finale – Jinora was able to bring Raava back because she still existed within Vaatu. By the same logic, though Vaatu was destroyed, he (and Unalaqq, now forever bonded with him) exist with Raava’s light. In Book 3 we established Raava was directly feeding off of/reliant on the light within Korra. Now that Korra has been through all this trauma, that light has been replaced by negative energy, which allowed Vaatu to grow within her.

The Dark Korra hallucination is a manifestation of Vaatu’s dark power growing within Korra, feeding off her trauma and attacking her from the inside-out. It is both psychological and spiritual. When she goes to the Tree of Time, she sees echoes of Vaatu are there. He has stolen Unalaqq’s voice and face, completely taken him over – the ghost of the family member Korra failed to save.

When she finally reconnects with Raava, Korra defeats the Dark Korra; she can’t destroy the darkness inside her, but she can move on

Korra has to find alternate energy source for the Avatar State now her past lives are gone. She learns to channel the energy of the spirit world through Raava (a spiritual extension of Toph’s root connections, possible thanks to the open portals)

During the finale Korra’s appeal to the spirits to protect the world is heard – as the spirits attack Kuvira’s weapon, simultaneously the swamp halfway across the globe demolishes the Earth Empire’s vine harvesters – all the spirits come out of the woodwork and attack, claiming the area as a new Spirit Wild, like in Wan’s time

[cessairhuxley]

                                                                    I N T R O

Hexxus:  Cessair Huxley [ Cessair Def: ‘sorrow’ or ‘affliction’, Huxley Def: ‘inhospitable place’ ]  Age, 35.  Birthday, 27th October, 1983.  Starsign Scorpio ( ascending virgo, moon in cancer ). 

Trope - Magnificent Bastard

Capturing the audience with their charisma, incredible intellect, mastery of manipulation, and boldness of action, this character is a show-stealer.  

They are brilliant and utterly devious, a smooth operator. They are also savvy and do not fall for obvious traps; bringing them down is no easy feat.

They are charismatic, often charming, their personality is like a physical force. While they exist on the darker end of the moral spectrum, they never take disgusting actions that undermine their magnificence, leaving them diabolical but in a way the audience can’t help but enjoy. And they are definitively not cowards. Ever.

                                                     P L A Y L I S T

Ultranumb - Blue Stahli Violated / So degraded / The show has just begun / Dominated / By all you hated / This will make you ULTRAnumb / Confession Is such / Perfection / Your sweet / Repression / Can’t hide  / Who you really are / Say you love it / Don’t pretend that you’re better than this / Malevolence goes both ways

Throne - Bring Me The Horizon So you can throw me to the wolves / Tomorrow I will come back / Leader of the whole pack / Beat me black and blue / Every wound will shape me / Every scar will build my throne

Blindfold - Sleeping Wolf Pull me in / No, I cannot resist / Every time your gravity has a hold on me / Shed your skin / You’re just a counterfeit / Dressing up an empty heart, I know who you are / So use your, use your / Use your, use your blindfold / Cover your hands on my eyes, closed / Do it again / Tie me up and show me what’s real / Hate your love, but love how you feel / Useless, trying to fight / And the truth is, I’d rather be blind

Stole The Show - Kygo No heroes, villains, one to blame / While wilted roses fill the stage / And the thrill, the thrill is gone / Our debut was a masterpiece / But in the end for you and me / Oh, the show, it can’t go onWe used to have it all, but now’s our curtain call / So hold for the applause, oh / And wave out to the crowd, and take our final bow / Oh, it’s our time to go, but at least we stole the show

                               I N  C H A R A C T E R  I N T E R V I E W 

How do you feel about the Exodus?

“Isn’t it wonderful???”

A slice of a grin, sharp as any blade cuts across those almost serpentine features.  It’s quite clear from the sadistic glee that taints those words that the so called ‘tragedy’ that had befallen the fables was, in this case at least - more of a boon.  It’s not the first world he’s found himself in.  It’s not the first place he’s been allowed to roam, to pick apart the corners of existence like the oil slick stain that dripped in his chest where most would expect a heart to be.  It’s not the first place The Nothing has been drawn to – and whether he was sent, or pulled, or tossed like the latest piece of garbage rolling along filthy asphalt, he is here.  And that’s all that matters.  When this place is gone… Crumbled, ash and dust, decaying and – d e a d.  There will be another.  There always is.

Meanwhile, he’s nestled in his booth at Wonderland.  Lounging deep in the plush seat - There’s something about the way he takes to a chair which makes him seem more like a liquid than a solid.  There was never any ‘perching’, no ‘sitting’, it couldn’t even be defined as ‘slouching’.  Just a way of going from standing to a casually recumbent state - looking as though he’d been occupying said piece of furniture for vastly longer than the fleeting moments he’s actually been there - the martini which is delivered to the table only a moment later testament to that fact.

“Limitless potential, rampant chaos, complicit corruption, spiralling self destruction… and here – ”

There’s a sinuous shrug, fingers trailing the cherry around the glass on it’s little stick, gleaming red, reflecting the lights of the club as though it were an ember ready to ignite.

“ – the bad guys can win.”

Was it hard adjusting to life in Fabletown? Do you miss the Homeworld?

“No, and, no.”

It’s a fairly straight forward, very direct answer.  Why would he miss the saccharine boredom of that place???  Where people smiled inanely all day ( surely a sign of some kind of deeper communal psychosis in his opinion ), where they sung happy little ditties which were nausea inducing at best, horribly revealing, over sharing and a big ole slice of ‘TMI’ at worst.  It makes his new found flesh creep at the mere thought something of a burgeoning migraine teasing into place between his eyes with the harshness of an ice pick driving through his skull.

Why would he miss the constant drudgery of eternal predictable ‘happy endings’.  Where traits like ambition, pride, deceit, manipulation and the like are all – undesirable.  

Here – oh, HERE, they’re keys.  Which unlock the aforementioned potential.  Things to be admired, wary of, respectful of – fearful of.  A place where it’s not the biggest sword, or brainless bravado, or the glimmer of light that stands victorious - but the sharpest mind, the patient darkness, the sweetest lie.

Where is your favorite place in Fabletown or New York?

“While Wonderland is so dearly – enchanting.  And the delights we have to offer are implicitly and uniquely spectacular, I do sometimes favour – other – kinds of amusement… And there are plenty of places in this city to be – entertained.”

While he says little else on the matter publicly - there are a few who frequent said establishments who would see him as something of a regular voyeur.  A foot into the Four Jacks isn’t unusual - a test of skill or luck in a gamble here and there.  But that’s not the main draw of the place.  While he can see tantamount supple bodies and exposed flesh in a myriad of forms at Wonderland, it’s all a little too – pristine – to sustain those darker desires for long.  The money he carries into the casino isn’t for a trite game of poker, or a clicking slot - it’s for the more visceral purveying of brutalism.  The Underdrome, with broken bones, shattered skulls, blood in fountains aplenty.  Those combatants pitched in delicious instinctive battle.  It’s human nature to – f i g h t.  To devolve to that primal brain where the only thing that matters is - survival.  

To hate, to hurt, to harm, to kill.  – Chaos unleashed.

It’s all rather good fun, really.

How do you feel about magic? Do you think it should be banned, regulated, or neither?

There’s something of a ‘tchh’ between his teeth, a click of a tongue like the rattle of bone dice.  The martini he’s been nursing finally lifted from the table so that he can sample a little of the sweet-sour flavour on his tongue.

“The only people who care about controlling or banning magic are the ones who either a) don’t understand it or - and the likeliest option - b) don’t have it.”

“Jealousy, perhaps.  Little green eyed monsters clamouring for something beyond their grasp.  Fear - of the unknown.”

Just another delightful little weakness to exploit.

Who do you think killed Little Red Riding Hood? Please also indicate here if you would like for your character to potentially be the killer and, if so, what their motive would be.

“I have no idea why my opinion would matter either way.  I’m sure the NYPDs finest are on the case and doing… whatever it is they do between their copious consumption of donuts.”

Does he care???  Not particularly.  

And macabre as it sounds, even the death of Red hadn’t particularly hurt business.  In fact - it’s booming.  As much of a highlight as she was, the morbid fascination of the populace drawing them to a place that might be connected to a grisly murder was stronger – they come for the freak show, like vultures snapping at the eyes of corpses – they stay for the entertainment.  The bodies beautiful.  The liquor which loosens tongues and wallets both.  

The real fun is the almost tangible tremble that ran along the spines of every other fable.  A suddenly looming mortality.  A copious and present paranoia.  A fearful herd, a flock, scurrying around and jumping at shadows – in which, someone of the right persuasion could see their way to taking advantage…

…To that end, I set my wolf among you sheep.

hello!  i’m g, older than dirt ( over 21... ) - GMT.  <3

[hermanwatts]

The Black Moon Chronicles: Beginnings

God might not play dice with the universe, but the devils do.

In The Black Moon Chronicles: The Sign of Darkness, written by François Marcela-Froideval and drawn by Olivier Ledroit, Lucifer grows tired of his generals throwing matches in their little games. So he engineers a game in the mortal world where none of the players can deliberately lose. A Chosen One prophecy and the fall of an empire would do nicely. But what man will be chosen?

He might be a nameless lancer out in the woods, little more than a highwayman in armor. Call him Wismerhill after his home town, or Wis for short. It’s as good a name as any. But this half elf has an unknown past and hints of more sinister gifts, as the rogue Heads-or-Tails discovers in their first meeting. Wis may be sheltered and naive, but he falls into bad company with the mercurial rogue, whose personality shifts based on which of two magical swords, good or evil, he currently wields. The two fast friends embark on a series of petty crimes and capers. But the eye of the half-ogre Gorghor Bey soon settles upon Heads-or-Tails’ swords.

The swords, however, are attached to Heads-or-Tails, and it is only by the whim of Gorghor Bey that the two highwaymen keep their heads. Now fighters for the half ogre warlord, Wismerhill and Heads-or-Tails join the Gorghor Bey’s invasion of the Empire. Caught up in a whirlwind of fighting, training, and loving, Wis quickly distinguishes himself as a valued aide, able to read the winds and save the horde from multiple ambushes as they raze the hinterlands of the Empire. But such a display of military power cannot go unchecked, so the Empire sends the Army of Light after Gorghor Bey. And other, more sinister forces have taken notice of the chaos for their own ends.

The Sign of Darkness serves as the ever-popular origin story for the twenty volume Black Moon Chronicles. This French dark fantasy series has given birth to two spin-off series and even a video game. The emphasis here is on dark fantasy, if the slight elven warrior with an evil magical sword was not a clue. Wis is fighting on the side of orcs, ogres, and barbarians against the setting’s version of Gondor, and there is no mistaking these invaders for the side of Good. At best, Wis and his companions act as anti-heroes who are a little too comfortable with the terrible acts they commit. But those acts are in the future. The Sign of Darkness is comics’ answer to The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, an extending training montage pushing Wis from a nameless tough to a champion on the run. He has yet to be swept up into the various gambits playing out for control over the Empire.

The setting is familiar, with a gleaming white Empire as the bastion of church and civilization standing against a tide of invading barbarism. This time, we see it from the invaders’ point of view, without the expected propaganda of imperial hypocrisies that a contemporary version of the story would demand. Some people just want to watch the world burn. Those willing to light the match fight for Gorghor Bey. The resulting chaotic, orkish invasion is so familiar, as are Wis’s winds of magic, that it would not be a surprise to discover that Games Workshop plundered the Black Moon Chronicles as they did The Lord of the Rings for their Warhammer Fantasy setting. As of yet, the Black Moon Chronicles does not revel in the destruction and cruelty to the same degree that a grim dark world where there is only war has, or with the exquisite artistry of a Melniboné. Instead, a strong dose of self-deprecating humor keeps the excesses away.

The Black Moon Chronicles uses an interesting design choice. Those characters and objects which are evil, or, in the case of Wis’s powers, chaotic, have rougher, dingier, uglier art. Clean lines and beauty are reserved for the good, whether that be the Army of Light or Feidreiva, Wis’s unlikely lover who spends less time clothed than French fanservice favorite Laureline. And as Gorghor Bey changes from Wis’s captor to mentor, his portrait smooths. But the real star of the artistic show are the big battle set pieces. Ledroit conveys in his art both the immense scale of massive armies as well as the immense chaos of battle. The only portrayal that comes close is The Return of the King‘s field battles.

I am intrigued by the potential in The Black Moon Chronicles: The Sign of Darkness. It is just the opening act, and the villains and main conflict of the story have yet to be revealed. Fortunately, the full 20 volume series is offered on Kindle Unlimited, making it easy and affordable to follow along Wismerhill’s journey under the Black Moon.

Of all the terrifying warlords to wreak destruction across the empire, few can match the savagery of Ghorghor Bey. His name alone can cause even the bravest of soldiers to tremble in their boots, and noble lords and ladies throughout the land pray that he never comes knocking at their castle doors in search of gold, booze, and maidens. But few know the tragic story behind this fearsome warrior’s rise to power. From his harrowing childhood to his first love(s), his devastating heartbreaks and crushing victories, read on and discover how a naïve young half-ogre would go on to become Ghorghor the Terrible.

I’ve been rather taken with the Black Moon Chronicles, the French dark fantasy comic from François Marcela-Froideval, Olivier Ledroit, and Cyril Pontet that uses humor to soften the horrors of a decadent Melniboné-style empire falling to the apocalypse. At turns aiding and resisting the fall into soul-devouring horror is the half-elf Wismerhill, the unwitting pawn of the evil Black Moon. But how did fate draw Wismerhill’s companions to him? And who better to start with than the jovial giant, the fearsome half-ogre warlord now know as Ghorghor Bey?

The first of The Black Moon Arcana serves as a direct prequel to The Black Moon Chronicles: The Sign of Darkness, detailing the rise of Ghorghor Bey from outcast to the scourge of the Empire as he is in the days before he meets Wismerhill. While the prequel sheds little new light into the twists and turns of the Black Moon’s world-dooming invasion or Ghorghor’s revolving-door relationship with death, it is a welcome insight into a beloved character who tends to get only a panel to two to mug in each new volume.

However, this prequel checks the boxes on the standard villain’s back story. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. A half-ogre child born from rape and unwanted pregnancy cruelly shunned by his adopted father and the rest of the village. When his mother dies, the half-ogre is expelled from the village and forced to live on his own–

Yes, I thought so too.

The boy, Ogur, falls in with the circus, where he finds acceptance and love among the freaks and performers. He learns the strongman routine and finds the loves of his life in a pair of Siamese twins. Here, he has the family he was denied.

Until a lord double-crosses the circus. The lord enslaves most of the circus, and drives Ogur and the rest of the freaks into the swamp. While there, a Divorak swamp kraken attacks, devouring Ogur’s loves. Ogur slays the monster, and swears a blood oath to avenge his friends and lovers. And when he slays the leader of a band of highwaymen, Ogur has the opportunity he has sought, as the highwaymen give him their allegiance. Now calling himself Ghorghor Bey, the half-ogre raises his standards, and rogues, orcs, and ogres rally to him. The new warlord scourges the local nobles, returning the brutality that the lords had visited upon him. Yet he never loses the whimsy that surrounds him, a brutal whimsy that never turns to cruelty. You may die in Ghorghor’s jests, but you will not die slow.

Finally, the warlord returns to the lands of the lord who wronged him. Ghorghor Bey single-handedly breaches the castle and, one by one, pitches the defenders over the walls. No quarter will be given until he frees his friends. After the lord is slain and the chains on the circus performers broken, Ghorghor Bey turns his fury against the nobility, scourging the Empire in the first of many apocalyptic invasions that will tear it apart. And, along the way, he runs into two bandits, the mad elf Heads-or-Tails and magic-touched Wismerhill…

As I said, standard villainy fare. But the Black Moon Chronicles tries to make a distinction between being bad and being evil, between falling and fallen. Ghorghor Bey is undoubtedly bad, driven to his own cruelty by the cruelty of others, but he never crosses into the demonically evil. That terror is saved for Wismerhill. And for unrepentant, soul-devouring evil? Wait until we meet Haazel Thorn.

There is a rough honor to the brutal and cunning Ghorghor Bey, who later becomes Wismerhill’s trusted lieutenant. There’s also the bit of the clown, of intelligence, whimsy, and the subversion of expectations, including a surprising gentleness. The performer never left the warlord, as he can be found mugging in the background of many a panel. But the one thing he is not is the dullard brute that many ogres are portrayed as in fantasy. That Ghorghor Bey is given a chance to shine once more outside Wismerhill’s shadow is welcome. I just wish there was more meat to these formulaic old bones.

So, at the start, The Black Moon Arcana is for the fans already invested in the signs and portents of the Black Moon. But maybe when we get to the true holy knight Parsifal, the story will pick up. In the meantime, please check out the more palatable Elric-type story that is the Black Moon Chronicles.

The Black Moon Chronicles: Beginnings published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

[zipperpouchforcoffee]

Need to-know Splendor Tips And Tricks Made Simple

http://nta1.info/threads/54993-Than-duoc-lam-trang-da-trong-khoang-cay-co-sua-la-nho-chua-ai-biet.html There are plenty of beauty items out there which may have gimmicks and simply usually do not work. You think that your look will never match up to the ideals? This is baloney! There is a lot of real information accessible that can help you appear better and keep a confident attitude. Keep reading for clever techniques to appear the best. Use hand protection if you are making use of tanning lotions and creams and maintain a soft towel near you. This will help you if you make a chaos and and also hardwearing . palms from converting orange or tan. You must also make sure you take your own hair back again so that your suntan is evenly utilized. Should your view are environmentally friendly or hazel, get hues that emphasize the golds and vegetables with your eye. These type of shades incorporate gold pewter, paler shimmery lavender, light-weight brown as well as strong crimson. As an alternative to purchasing a high priced facial moisturizing lotion, contemplating making use of coconut oil. Virgin coconut oils moisturizes your skin and smooths out facial lines. Additionally, it functions to ease the signs of acne, eczema and skin psoriasis since it capabilities numerous organic and natural medical qualities. Allow yourself a simple skin in your own home by satisfying a pan with hot water, and after that steaming the face more than it using a soft towel draped around your head. This may open up your skin pores and aid to eliminate dark heads. Comply with using a frosty drinking water wash to close the skin pores and proceed your cosmetics regimen. Tired with working with with a lot of frizzies and travel aways? Massage lotion in your fingers and then quite carefully manage over the frizzy a part of the hair. It will help all those irritating strands to lay level with all of your hair and turn into low-existent right through the time. If you consistently get pimples only on one aspect of your respective deal with, it can be a result of your mobile phone. Ensure you clean your mobile phone on a regular basis to take out grime and essential oil. You may even consider converting aspects every time you chat on the telephone to provide the pimples-predisposed area of your respective experience a rest. To give hair a lot more volume level, think about trying a brand new haircut with levels. Levels are probably the most effective ways to provide amount to fine limp your hair. Even if you love to use your own hair extended, you can still have your stylist reduce lengthy tiers into the top rated for any major volume level improve. Curry leaf chutney is a great thing to nibble on to prevent your own hair from moving grey. The leaf chutney by natural means helps to make the pigment tissue that shade hair. You only have to consume one particular tsp. To improve your lip colour software, constantly use lip balm initially. The lip balm will abandon your mouth delicate and moisturized, and may let your lip color to go on easily. Use an elementary, untinted lip balm so you don't outcome the colour in the lipstick or lip gloss you're using.

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[ststevanofdecani]

Will Our Children Keep the Faith?                                                                                                                                                

the catastrophe of modern education

I have already written on multiple occasions of the urgent necessity of creating Orthodox parish schools in America. Our nation’s public schools have degenerated into prison-like institutions which have outlawed all mention of Truth (the Second Person of the Trinity), which forbid any public prayer to the Lord God, which teach sexual propaganda and promote infanticide to kindergarteners, which lead students to believe that they will likely be brutally massacred by their own peers, and which on top of everything else no longer even educate our children in any meaningful sense of the word at all .

The situation gets no better when it comes to so-called “higher education.” Even half a century ago, Fr. Seraphim Rose wrote the following words with sorrow:

The academic world — and these words are neither lightly nor easily spoken — has become today, in large part, a source of corruption. It is corrupting to hear or read the words of men who do not believe in truth. It is yet more corrupting to receive, in place of truth, mere learning and scholarship which, if they are presented as ends in themselves, are no more than parodies of the truth they were meant to serve, no more than a facade behind which there is no substance. It is, tragically, corrupting even to be exposed to the primary virtue still left to the academic world, the integrity of the best of its representatives —if this integrity serves, not the truth, but skeptical scholarship, and so seduces men all the more effectively to the gospel of subjectivism and unbelief this scholarship conceals. It is corrupting, finally, simply to live and work in an atmosphere totally permeated by a false conception of truth, wherein Christian Truth is seen as irrelevant to the central academic concerns, wherein even those who still believe this Truth can only sporadically make their voices heard above the skepticism promoted by the academic system. The evil, of course, lies primarily in the system itself, which is founded upon untruth, and only incidentally in the many professors whom this system permits and encourages to preach it.

a toxic culture

With each passing year it grows harder and harder for our children to keep the faith. Indeed, such a thing is now scarcely possible for a young boy or girl, especially one who has not been given the foundation and protection of a true Christian education. America’s youth culture is spiritually toxic — and that is to put it mildly. If you don’t believe me, perhaps you didn’t hear about the Teen Vogue article which taught kids how to sodomize each other “the right way” (don’t worry, the link is not to the article itself). The same publication recently put up a slideshow on its website celebrating a nine-year-old drag queen, who has been pictured holding signs so lewd that I utterly refuse to include a link. Nine years old. This is a generation whose social media app of choice, Snapchat, has recently introduced a channel dedicated solely to pornography — with of course no way for parents to block access to it.

This is a culture which, thanks to the all-consuming reality of social media and smartphones, is with our children twenty-four hours a day. It travels with them everywhere, in their purse or in their pocket. It sleeps with them in the bed at night. Like one of the ancient Sirens, it constantly calls them back to itself with flashing notification lights, gentle vibrations and soft chimes.

Given all of this (and really, I have only begun to scratch the surface), it should be no surprise at all that the youth are deserting Christianity in droves. And with this situation in view, can we honestly believe that allowing our children to be raised by the public school systems is anything other than throwing them to the wolves? As Matt Walsh writes:

If your kid is thrown into a world of deviancy and moral chaos while he’s still wearing pull ups, he will conform to it. In fact, I have never in my life met a child who is totally “in the world” — that is, completely submerged in modern culture without any parental controls or barriers in the way — and yet not of it. I don’t think such a child exists, has ever existed, or can ever exist… whenever I am accused of keeping my kids in a Bubble, it is always because I have taken some step to preserve their innocence. That is the one thing we absolutely must not do, according to society. Let the TV and the school system decide when its time for your child to stop being a child. That time, by the way, is right around their second birthday and getting younger.

parish schools: our christian duty

Yet even if we leave aside the moral filth and unspeakable depravity which characterize modern life, consider the fact that Orthodox parish schools are the historically normative reality of the Orthodox world. According to Archimandrite Vasileios of Iveron:

The Church has always covered the people with her protection, and the people are the guardian of the truth of the Church. This was why, when our people found themselves in foreign parts, they would immediately build a church and next to it a Greek (Russian, Serbian, etc.) school. That was how we lived during the Turkish occupation; that is how we live today, even as far afield as Australia. The Church helps us in freedom and in servitude, in the village and throughout the world.

But how has it possibly come about that the only place in which the Church does not help her children is here in America, the richest and most privileged nation that the world has ever known? How is it that we have abandoned them at the one moment of history in which they unquestionably need such help the most? How have we allowed ourselves to fail so colossally? Archimandrite Vasileios thunders forth the truth:

Who gave us the right — or on what basis have we assumed the right — to condemn all children in one stroke to the darkness of ignorance?

Who says — or where have we found it written — that all children are so naive and insignificant that their expectations, their thirsts, their desires and demands fit into the narrow and dingy limits set by the education given to them?

Who says that their one ambition is to become mere technicians—accessories for the continued smooth functioning of this machine which sees man as it does, which so organizes his life, which builds his cities in this way? This machine which turns man to pulp and makes a prisoner of him—of the nobility, the crown of creation?

And who says that the potentialities, the flights and desires of the human soul reach only as far as the vision, the sentimentalism or the romantic humanism of any idealistic or materialistic theory?

The ecclesial life reveals to you hidden and unexplored areas of your being which it knows about. You yourself suspected their existence, but the upbringing you received discounted them.

Why not light the torch of the child’s life now? Why not give all children the possibility of approaching these fire-bearing and God-bearing people, our Saints, so that they too become living people, spontaneous, terrible to their adversaries, fearless in the face of every danger, every threat; terrible to death itself?

At the same time they can be delicate, sensitive, a comfort to everyone who is persecuted and wounded, to every creature, to the whole creation which groans with us in travail, also awaiting to receive its freedom from the liberated children of God.

Why can we not in this way give each person the possibility of following his own way, his calling, his love? To become craftsmen, scientists, manual workers, farmers, businessmen, artists. And to feel that everything is holy, dignified, full of light, grace, and eternity — even ephemeral, small, material things — when it is blessed by God. To do all these jobs, to practice these professions, arts, and sciences as sacred obediences, as their handiwork, as a form of prayer, a way of offering and showing love for the Other.

To these beautiful and God-inspired words I have nothing to add, except this: what are we waiting for?                                                                                                                                             

Hieromonk Gabriel

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Lost One

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: N/A, Leakee-centric.

Rating: Holy shit this is actually pretty tame tbh.

AN: Thirsty Crew, I have taken a step back from the thirst in the spirit of the season! This was written for the 31 Little Wrestling Fics Challenge, put forth by @fan-fiction-galore and @thewriterformerlytaggedas! Writing using actual prompts was a bit of a challenge, but I had a lot of fun and I hope that I've put forth something that will please the wrasslin' gods! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and @hardcorewwetrash (even if this is lacking in the thirst department and I don't know whether these tags will actually work because of my laptop so...an attempt was made).

The prompts I picked are as follows: “Are you afraid?” “No.” “Okay good.”, A lone house atop a quiet hill., The storm of the century and the power goes out., and Siren's song.  Enjoy!

(Oh also here's a moodboard for it because I felt like it.)

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For vivid descriptions of dangerous weather/hurricanes. I know that may be an issue for some folks due to recent tragedies. Stay safe!]

The weather was getting worse. He knew most people would be worried. But then again, most people weren’t like him.

Leakee gripped the lighthouse railing, staring out at the choppy sea far below. The wind plucked sharply at his clothes. Instead of alarming he found it comforting, like the caress of an old friend. He knew soon the bad weather would drive everyone else on the island inside. But he intended to remain where he was.

Leakee couldn’t put an exact date on when he’d come here. The older locals said he’d always been here, a few claimed that he guarded the island from greater harm. Leakee had to snort at that. If anything, his presence ensured more chaos in the water and skies.

Hardly anyone questioned his arrival, and no one contested his claim to the lighthouse lands. The long-dormant beacon had abruptly begun to spin again mere days after his appearance, when he had finally found the strength to claw his way up the cliff face to the plateau far above. The tiny shack beside the lighthouse had been structurally unsound and ravaged by the elements, but with time (years and years and years) and plenty of wreckage Leakee had turned it into his home. Now it sported a thick layer of bittersweet vines that masked his haphazard repair work.

All storms were good storms to him, and the bigger the better. He felt less like a failure and more like he was home when the lost winds sought him out, when the storms rose from the deep ocean to find him.

Leakee turned his face up, feeling the first raindrops start to land.

…

The summer had been dry, unnaturally so. Leakee started looking out for weather systems, his eyes peeled for just a few clouds. The island turned yellow with the need for water. At this point even if they did get rain, it might be too late. One spark was all it would take so he was careful, so careful.

Leakee took to pacing on the lighthouse scaffold for hours, constantly scanning the horizon. He wasn’t a protector or anything of the sort; he laughed at the idea. This island had no ties to anything or anyone. But they needed rain. Whether he cared or not was irrelevant, the information was there.

He’d had an ache behind his eyes and in his shoulder for most of the day, feeling the pressure systems changing in the air. Leakee knew a storm was coming, a large one. Earlier reports had said it might be a hurricane, but the air didn’t feel right for one. Wasn’t warm enough, the smell was wrong.

So just a supercell with delusions of grandeur.

His hair started to crackle with static as the sun was slowly engulfed in clouds. The windows rattled with cantankerous gusts. It knew he was here, had felt his presence and was seeking him out. So be it. He would wait it out, then.

Leakee sat silently at the rickety kitchen table, listening to the old radio hiccup from the distant lightning. He flexed his arm, hating the way the muscle refused to stop twitching and jumping nervously. He finally roused himself from his thoughts, pushing his chair back from the table. Static shot from his fingertips to the door handle when he reached for it and Leakee grimaced, deciding that he had stalled long enough. Obviously it was time to get ready.

Leakee wrapped his hair up into a bun at the nape of his neck. He didn’t really know why he bothered, odds were good that he’d be down another hair tie before the night was over. Oh well. He shook his head and closed the door behind him.

It was quiet at the top of the cliff, aside from when the winds whipped. The waves were nothing but a dull roar against the rocky beach far below, and the gulls circled with raspy cries that had become familiar, almost comforting.

There was a well-worn path over the stones of the nearly-sheer cliff face and it was on this path that Leakee carefully made his way down to the tiny patch of rocky beach at the base of the cliff. The wind continued to alternate between pulling at his shorts and playing through his hair, confirming his theory that this was no hurricane. Just a lost supercell.

The water was cold. Of course it was. Leakee grumbled to himself as he struck out towards the open ocean, cutting through the choppy waves easily. He felt the drag of the currents, the confusion in the water as the gale intensified around him.

Leakee rose out of the ocean and roared to the storm. Lightning greeted him like an old friend, crackling along his body and warming his limbs in the chilly water. Thunder rolled a reply as he lunged from the waves and Leakee found himself in the heart of the lost storm.

Clouds filled his hands with their messy embrace and Leakee carefully slowed them, easing them together so they didn’t crash. “You’re lost.” A distraught flash of lightning zapped through the air and he caught it, soothing it back into a trembling line that played over his fingers. “It’s alright. You'll scare them like this, though. I’ll lead you inland. There’s a lake where you're needed.”  Leakee had toyed with the idea of dragging clouds in on his own. But he was sure that might garner him some unwanted attention. This couldn't be the only place affected by the lack of rain. Lost storms were one thing, it might be an entirely different situation if he started outright collecting clouds to make his own weather.

The lightning continued to shiver in his grip, already so tired from its journey. Thunder rumbled a threat and Leakee pulled his own lightning forward, the fresh energy dancing and popping wildly across his arms. “Listen. You will go where I say or I’ll crush you into the water and drown you. Think of the wasted potential.” He growled. “You’re the stranger here. Don’t push your luck.” It wasn’t uncommon for him to have to coax a storm into being reasonable, and it seemed like tonight was no different.

…

The oceans were a place where the veil thinned. Where myth and reality melded, phenomena was explained by being left unexplained.

Leakee had hazy memories of being a force of nature. Needless to say, it was…humbling to not even be able to make a cloud on his own.

He used to be much bigger, easily creating storms, capsizing ships and wreaking havoc on the ocean to keep men’s greed in check. He had been known to wander inland and strike indiscriminately as well, but the open water always called him.

Something had happened, someone had happened and he’d woken up clinging to a piece of wreckage, terrifyingly small and feeble. His body (a real body!) shivered and struggled in the cold water but he doggedly made his way to the shallows. High, jagged boulders surrounded him, the waterlogged remains of a once-proud ship of men continuing to surface as he floundered to shore.

The rocks beneath his feet were smooth and slippery with seaweed. There was a confusion in the water, the loss of drive that his beautiful storm had possessed. Leakee collapsed onto his side, not used to this level of exhaustion from such a simple task. His shoulder started to ache and he looked over, watching dully as black lines slowly oozed into the skin in a crisscross pattern.

He’d been bound, then. Poorly, sloppily, but still.

He wondered who had done it, sometimes. His memory wasn’t the most...reliable. He could vaguely recall searing hordes of men to ashes when his lightning skipped over fields. Setting sails aflame and striking planes from the skies. It could have been anyone, really. The vengeful wife of a fisherman, a soldier who read too much.

A creature of turmoil by design, Leakee had always been drawn to battles. Give the writers something to write about, the roar of thunder and the howl of the wind and the flash! of his silent, devastating lightning cracking the sky while the tiny humans squabbled with one another.

Leakee shook his hair out of his eyes, crossing his arms on the railing. The binding mark only covered his shoulder, obviously amateur, human work, but he could still feel the hitch and drain of it when he overstretched his limits. It’s a pity, he thought as he flexed his fingers. Not because he believed he was more helpful at full strength, but it had certainly made things easier. He would always chuckle at the idea of being a protector. This island had ties to nothing and no one. Even its lighthouse had been abandoned, and the only people stubborn enough to stay surely needed no protection, especially not from a humbled failure like himself.

…

This was a hurricane. Leakee’s whole body practically itched with energy, the normally-black marking on his shoulder edged with a hazy, flickering glow as the lightning strained its bonds.

Hurricanes didn’t listen, and they were rarely controllable. Leakee recalled his previous attempt with a wince.

There was something else, though. A high note that kept reaching his ears, an odd, wavering sound in the uniform symphony of the building weather. Like a plea.

It stirred some deadened portion of him, caught his attention almost more than the storm had and Leakee found himself inexplicably restless, pacing on the scaffold of the lighthouse as he watched the storm approach. The rain was already coming down in sheets, wind strong enough to shift Leakee’s not-insubstantial body weight.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” The young-appearing man mused. “You’ve been spoiled in open water. This island isn’t so quick to lie down.” The storm paid him no mind and Leakee knew he had a true hurricane on his hands. He shook himself and glared outwards, watching the far-off lightning strike the water over and over. He squinted, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but no. There was a boat out there. Some fishermen hadn’t been paying attention to the weather and now they were right in the thick of it.

Leakee groaned, already turning to walk back down all those lighthouse steps. Of course. He raked his fingers through his hair as he descended, a little startled at how long it had gotten again. There was no end to the marvels of this body.

The water was cold, and angry. It seethed around him, frothing and dragging him carelessly where it wished. Leakee permitted it for the most part, knowing he would only wear himself out if he tried to battle the storm. Waves rolled over and over in an endless, punishing line, unfriendly lightning blasted the skies and the winds shrieked at him.

Who are you? Who are you? The hurricane demanded an answer and Leakee had none, just like before.

He tore himself from the roiling water, bellowing at the storm. “You don't belong here!” Lightning wound over and under his arms, illuminating the area around him.

Who are you?

Clouds smothered him, obscuring his vision. Leakee felt pain burn and shudder through his binding mark as he already fought the boundaries on his power. “You don't belong here!” He shouted again, digging his fingers into the clouds to slow them down. The madcap pace of the hurricane just dragged him along for the ride, rotating on a massive axis around the clear eye.

Who are you?

“I have no answer for you. Let me lead you away from here.” Leakee implored.

There is a boat. She called us to the boat. She called you to the boat.

“Who?” Leakee asked in confusion. The only answer he got was a deafening clap of thunder and he roared back in reply, his eyes crackling white-blue with pent-up energy. “Obey! Listen! You need to leave before you cause more damage!”

We go to the boat. The storm began altering its course, pulling him along like he was a leaf caught in a stiff breeze. We go to the boat, then leave.

“I said listen!” Leakee demanded, his voice booming in the abrupt silence as he tore and scraped at the hurricane, trying to create a gap in the perfect spiral of its clouds. If he could just slow it down that might be enough to cause less harm to the--

The clouds around him dissipated and he plummeted back to the ocean, the cold splash shocking him to his core. The mark on his shoulder hissed and bubbled in the water like a hot kettle as he fought his way to the surface.

He flung himself up out of the water again, coughing violently. He'd been rudely deposited within a short distance of the fishing boat he'd seen from the shore. That sound was more insistent now. Still almost outside the range of his hearing, it had a ringing, terrified pitch that set his skin crawling.

You listen, little fish. The hurricane lessened somewhat in ferocity, tossing the boat back and forth between two rollers like it was playing a game of catch. She called us. You must answer.

When the boat tipped far enough Leakee caught the deck railing, nearly getting his shoulder ripped from its socket as the vessel rolled back to an even keel. It was a miracle the rain alone hadn't drowned the boat, never mind the waves. Leakee shoved the wet hair out of his face and squinted through the torrential downpour.

There was a net attached to a lift at the stern of the craft. Not an uncommon sight, it was a fishing boat. What was uncommon was the fact that it seemed to still be full of their catch from what Leakee could tell. The cabin was ablaze with light and Leakee crouched to avoid being seen through the windows. He crept towards the net, freezing when there was a loud outburst of voices from the cabin beside him. He could hear a radio hissing with static, the sky overhead rumbling in threat before lightning illuminated the deck.

Leakee caught the barest glimpse of smooth navy scales and grasping pale fingers among the hundreds of fish. It was a mermaid, a siren, a mer trapped in the net.

Throwing caution to the wind, he slipped and skidded across the wet deck, nearly sliding past the net in his haste. He reached out and snagged the plastic fibers to keep himself from tumbling off the stern.

She called.

Her green-purple eyes went wide when they met his through her thick curtain of dark hair; she opened her mouth and unleashed a scream that was unnatural.

Leakee felt his eardrums buzz and his jaw shuddered at the frequency. It seemed to sear through his body, bone-deep. Like his thunder but high and sharp, a knife, a weapon, and he suddenly understood that sound was what he had been hearing the whole time the storm built. She had been calling to anything that could hear and the hurricane had answered.

He rumbled in reply, the clouds overhead lighting up. She stopped, cringing back away from him in the net. So she didn’t understand him. Leakee wondered with a touch of fear just how long he had been bound. He used to converse with ones like her easily. They would sing to him in the night, begging his protection, and he would oblige because it was no trouble, it was barely an effort back then to redirect the waves or drown a whaling ship. How long have I been on that island?

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He said slowly in human-speech, the words unfamiliar on his tongue. She hissed at him, baring her teeth. Leakee was hardly surprised. She was cornered right now, not someone to be trifled with by any means. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated, the cables of the net heavy in his hands. He focused his lightning, easing it forward and using his fingers as insulation so it couldn’t dance the way it so desperately wanted to.

The nylon glowed red-hot for a split second and then snapped. One down. She made a noise of fear and Leakee looked up. There was a man, in a rainsuit, staring at him through the pouring rain like he’d seen a ghost. “Are you fucking shitting me?” The guy growled, lurching as the ship rolled underneath him. Why did human-speech always have to sound so coarse?

Leakee roared, the seething sky overhead amplifying the sound tenfold with thunder. Lightning struck the deck, singing along the metal railings and sparking off the lift at the back. The mer in the net whimpered again, this time in panic as the lightning arced over the metal cable of the crane.

But it dissipated when it touched Leakee, the young-appearing man simply flexing his hand. “Are you afraid?” He asked, his voice barely audible over the confusion of the winds. “Do you want to die, son of man?”

“Who the hell are you?!” The man shouted, grabbing the net when the ship pitched violently. He stuck his hand into the net and the mer opened her mouth again. Leakee grimaced, another thunderclap half-drowning her frantic scream as the ship rolled and sent the man floundering to slam up against the cabin.

“They’re not keeping you here.” He tried to soothe her, tried to keep the screaming to a minimum.

“Hurt!” The single word zipped over him, feeling like it opened a raw line in its wake.

“Where?” Leakee asked, working on cutting through the cables a little quicker. She thrust her fingers through the net, making a frenzied noise. Red stained her fingertips. “I know you’re hurt, but where.” Leakee grunted when she shook her head. “Fine. Just hold still.” The last thing he wanted to do was give her the jolt of a lifetime.

This barbaric treatment of mer wasn’t something new, unfortunately. As far back as Leakee could recall in his shattered memory humans had always done this. Accidentally dragging them in with their catch, grubby little mortal hands pawing at the lithe bodies in confusion and delight.

He had become adept at sinking ships for a reason. The wailing cries of those who had lost their brothers and sisters rang out all too often on lonely shoals. He wasn’t really sure whether he had a soul, the wholeness of his being was not something he tended to dwell on, but the sadness of their keening touched some portion of him that refused to stir for even the most desperate of human pleas.

Leakee growled in frustration at the stubborn cables and wrapped his fist around them, gritting his teeth while he focused his lightning even tighter. Molten plastic finally poured over his hand like water as the netting gave way and he shook it off absently, the burning substance hissing where it landed on the wet deck. “Almost there. Hang on.”

She paid him no mind, already trying to wriggle through the small opening.

Leakee caught her wrist. “No.” He said firmly. “You will get hurt, understand?”

“Hurt.” She echoed, those odd green-purple eyes wide as she stared up at him. “H…Help.” She begged.

“I’m trying to, but you need to be still.” Leakee watched in confusion as she rubbed her face against his hand. “Pay attention to him. Tell me if he moves.” He said, pointing at the unconscious human slumped beside the cabin.

She turned back towards the human and Leakee thrust his arm into the hole in the net, ignoring the way the nylon cables sawed at his skin. He gripped the net, stretching it as taut as he could before sucking in a deep breath and tearing through the netting with a fist full of lightning.

She grabbed his hand and he flinched, electrical current still racing through his body. She didn’t seem to care though, tracing the lines in his palm while his muscles stuttered and jumped with energy.

“We need to get you out of here.” Leakee said finally, once he trusted himself to speak again instead of roar with the storm. He moved forward cautiously, wrapping his fingers around the curve of her hip. “Climb up on my back, alright? Put your arms around my neck.” He directed.

She tried to follow his instructions, shuffling closer. The delicate membrane of her fin had been sliced, which explained the blood. Also explained how she had been caught in the first place.

Her fingers dug into his binding mark and he grunted in pain, none-too-gently jerking her hand up higher. “Not there.”

“Hurt?” She asked curiously.

“Yeah. Hurt.”

“Okay.” She murmured, laying her cheek on his shoulder blade. Leakee didn’t reply, just got to his feet and pulled himself over the railing.

…

The swim was exhausting but he didn’t want to risk trying to use the storm’s momentum. The mer was probably a little more conductive than he was.

He felt almost as weak as he had the first time he’d washed up on shore when they finally arrived back at the island. He laid there on the rocky sand while the storm howled over him, feeling the ebb and confusion of it throbbing in his binding mark. The only difference was the weight on his back.

Her stillness worried him after a few minutes and Leakee reached over his shoulder, clumsily patting her hair. “You alright?”

She just clung tighter to him, her face buried in his unmarked shoulder. Leakee shoved himself up onto his knees, glaring at the cliffs in front of him. With how strong the wind was he didn’t dare to risk the climb right now. This area was relatively sheltered, but further up he would definitely be swept away.

The waves beat against the shore mercilessly, taking up even more of the limited space that wasn’t choked with water-carved boulders. He wrapped the mer in his arms, feeling her start to shiver as he hunkered down in the protective hollow of one such boulder. Her tail twitched limply, curling around his legs. “It’s alright.” Leakee murmured, easing his hand down to keep the wounded portion of her tail elevated off the sand. His fragile body had gotten more than a fair share of sand ground into wounds.

Her eyes kept drifting shut while she studied his face, exhaustion obviously dragging at her. Leakee avoided eye contact for the most part, focusing instead on the crashing surf in front of them. It seemed like the storm was lessening but his whole body still felt twitchy, and he was sure if he wasn’t soaked through his hair would have been standing on end from the static lurking under his skin.

A cold hand touched his chest, over where the heart would beat in a regular human. She just continued staring up at him like she was waiting for him to do something. Leakee cleared his throat, settling her more securely against his body. “It’s alright.” He said again. “We have to wait for this to calm down. Once it does, I can help.”

“Help?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” She was trying the words out, probably already working on turning the innocent human-speech sounds into weapons. Leakee shook his head ruefully, digging his feet in to the sand and closing his eyes.

When he stirred hours later she was no longer in his arms. Leakee bolted upright and almost instantly spotted her in the shallows, her slender form draped in the seaweed that the storm had washed ashore. She was wrapping her tail in it while singing quietly to herself. He assumed that must have been what woke him, running a hand through his hair as the odd panic he’d felt receded.

“Hey.” He called, unsure of how he ought to approach her. He wasn't exactly a monolithic entity anymore, she probably thought he was some strange mortal. Some freak.

She rolled over onto her stomach in the shallows, her smile weak. “Help?”

“I can now, yes. I have to climb.” Leakee gestured upwards and her eyes followed, growing wider and wider as she took in the path to the top of the cliffs. “I'll be back.”

She struggled out of the water and onto the beach, reaching out an imploring hand to him. “Help?”

“I need to go up there.” Leakee said, taking her hand after a second. Her skin was chilly to the touch. “Stay here.”

She refused to release his hand though. “Help.” Then, “I can. Help.”

Leakee crouched down. “You don't have any legs.” He pointed out, doing his best to make sure his voice was calm. “You're hurt. You need to stay here.”

“Please.” She shook her head. “Not alone.”

Oh.

“Where's your pod?” Leakee asked gently. Her eyes filled with tears and she rubbed her cheek against his hand, sniffling. “You're lost, were you calling for them?” She nodded silently.

Leakee dragged his free hand through his hair. Lost storms, he could manage. Ease them inland, ring out a few hundred gallons of water and send them on their way. He'd never dealt with a lost mer.

“Look. They won't be able to get to you if you're all the way up there.” He said finally. “I promise I'll come back. Give me an hour, alright?”

She released his hand after a few more minutes of cajoling, her eyes wet with tears as she stared mournfully up at him. “Careful.” She mumbled, folding her arms.

“Don't worry. I'll be back.”

…

It became a daily routine. Shortly after sunrise he would head down to the beach and find her sound asleep in one of the shallow tide pools. A quick touch on the shoulder or head would rouse her from her slumber and she would yawn, then smile up at him. She always seemed happy to see him, which was confusing to Leakee.

She usually caught her own breakfast while Leakee scanned the horizon, only intervening if she tugged on his hand for help with a troublesome crustacean or a too-quick fish. Leakee felt the need to keep a lookout, not just for another storm or her pod, but for the fishing boat as well. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally turn his quiet retreat into some kind of trap for her pod. The thought alone made his lightning crackle and spark fretfully. It was easing in to autumn, storm season, and the waters would only get less hospitable from here on, so he could hope that whoever those men were, they had abandoned hope of reclaiming their netted prize.

She wasn't afraid of his lightning, even when it strained and made his mark glow. She had a habit of just taking his hand because it was the part closest to her and he had been terrified of what might happen if he touched her accidentally when his power fought the binding. So far nothing had happened, but that didn't stop him from worrying.

She also didn't speak much, and Leakee eventually discovered it was out of courtesy towards him that she stayed quiet. “Don't want to hurt.” She had murmured late one evening when he outright asked, running her fingers meditatively over the slowly-healing membrane of her tail. “Too much will hurt.”

She sang every night once he'd climbed the cliff, and Leakee found himself spending his evenings leaning on the railing of the lighthouse, watching the beam play over the water and listening to her plead for the ocean to find her family. It made him ache, no longer in his shoulder but in his chest as she cried out to the moon, the stars and the open water, “help them find me, tell them where I am”. He understood now what she meant when she had said 'too much will hurt'. Listening to her song was the sweetest agony he could imagine.

Even on the stormy nights she sang, as the waves lashed the sand and Leakee tried his hardest to keep the squalls from razing the island. More than once he woke up on the beach to her fingers combing his hair or touching his mark while the sun came up, his feeble body exhausted to the point of dropping right where he was.

She seemed to worry about his mark more than he did. Whenever he sat beside her, her fingers eventually found their way to his shoulder. The area was always a little achy, a little stiff. Like he needed to be reminded that something wasn’t right. Occasionally there was an odd echo from her touch, but he chalked that up as some other strange thing that this fragile body did.

Her tail had healed weeks ago and yet she still stayed, lingering in the pools far below the lighthouse. Leakee couldn't fathom why, but he felt like asking might be rude. He didn't really mind the company anyways.

…

One day he came down and the beach was empty.

He didn't understand. He wasn't sure if he couldn't or if he didn't want to. Leakee ran a hand through his hair, confused. She had just left and for some reason that hurt?

He didn't understand.

That night it was so incredibly, devastatingly quiet. He had almost forgotten what it was like to hear nothing but the surf far, far below the lighthouse. He was still pacing the lighthouse walk as the sun rose again and the gulls started to chatter. The beacon slowly ground to a halt, light fading while he headed back down the stairs, but it went unnoticed in Leakee’s distracted state.

When he went to turn on the radio for some noise, it exploded at his touch. Leakee dropped himself into his chair and put his head in his hands, his shoulder twitching and shuddering. Flickers of lightning sparked between his fingers and lanced into his scalp, making his muscles spasm.

He didn't understand.

Creature of turmoil that he was, drawn by nature to conflict, he didn't understand.

The sun was high in the sky when he finally got to his feet and left the house again. Leakee made the climb down to the beach and sat there on the sand, staring out at the water until his eyes hurt from the reflections of light on the water. He closed them for a second, just a minute or two...

The headache was what woke him, an intense pain in his skull. Something had happened. The lighthouse was dark and motionless overhead, no spinning beam to illuminate the storm in front of him. The winds screamed and growled with a mind of their own, lightning blinding and thunder so loud it felt like his ears would ring forever. Further down the coast, the lights of the tiny island town were nowhere to be seen.

Power's out. Leakee realized with a touch of confusion. The lighthouse shouldn't be affected by that, it was powered endlessly by his excess. That was how he kept himself under control for the most part. Something was wrong though, his lightning seared at the mark on his shoulder and the lighthouse was still dead. Thunder bubbled from his throat and the skies echoed his roar, frantic now at the build up of energy in his body. This fragile form he was bound into may not be able to contain him if the lighthouse couldn't absorb the overflow.

The word was on his lips almost before he thought about it and he screamed it into the intensifying weather, “help!”

He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out as lightning danced over every inch of his skin. There was no worry for safety or drawing attention now while he struggled to discharge the power quickly enough to keep from being turned to ash. The storm grew even worse, possibly due to his involvement. Leakee slammed his fists into the water, spent energy skipping wildly over the crashing waves.

The song was what tore him out of his frenzied motions, forcing him to pause as the noise reached his ears. He dropped to his knees, legs giving out underneath him. The music was beautiful and he was dimly aware of the fact that he recognized the voice. He didn't know why he was smiling and gritting his teeth at the same time.

A hand touched his chin, pulling it upwards. The mer was back, her eyes full of concern as she sang to him. Leakee finally wept when her fingers slid down over his mark because this was it, this was the end of him. The storm of the century, come to rid the island of its small town and lighthouse once and for all. Maybe he was the protector. And maybe he had just failed again.

The pain was unbearable. He could barely move but he tried to keep curled in on himself, tried to contain the imminent explosion. “Are you afraid?” He gritted out in the voice of storms and skies, thunder slamming in his chest like a heart should.

She stared at him for what felt like an eternity, her song still hanging in the crackling air between them. “No.” She whispered, pressing her forehead to his own.

“Okay. Good.” Leakee replied brokenly in human-speech. “I...missed you.” Her fingers cupped the mark on his shoulder. “Thank you for being here.” He tried to smile again while she wiped the tears off his face. What a strangely human thing for him to do, ignore his own suffering to ease her worries.

“I'm here to help.” She gestured over her shoulder and Leakee struggled to focus, to raise his eyes enough to take in the small pod of other mer watching him warily. “We can help.”

“It's too late for me.” He dug his hands into the sand, his whole body screaming with the pulses of thunder and lightning. “It's too late. Something's gone wrong and I can't...I can't keep up.” He felt like he should apologize, his eyes closing. “I’m…sorry.”

A multitude of cold fingers were abruptly on him, touching the binding mark on his shoulder. Leakee felt an odd twist, a snap! that reverberated through his shoulder as their song rushed over him, into him, flooding him and clearing his head.

“I was coming back. I needed more help.” She said, not in human-speech. Her forehead pressed to his again. “I was coming back for you. I wasn't the lost one.”

The mark on his shoulder shattered like glass when she kissed him.

“You were.”

He was vapor, he was cloud, he was wind and sky and free. Leakee roared and the hurricane quailed, he was one with the tempest after years and years and years of piecemeal, of the binding sapping his true strength. Lightning struck the lighthouse and the windows exploded from the overload, the lantern blazing to life as it rotated once again. His prison, his home. Leakee didn't know whether he should destroy it or leave it be as a reminder of his humbling experience.

The song of the mer reached him, lofty though he was now, and Leakee coasted the pod closer to him on the waves. “What do you want? If it's within my reach, it's yours.” He spoke in the flash of lightning and the growl of thunder and they keened to him, telling him how their numbers dwindled.

Leakee was no protector. Leakee was chaos and storm and as always, he did as he wished. But for the mer who had freed him of his binding, for the one who had moved him with her song...he tossed his head, eyes flashing blue-white with his lightning. “I will keep you safe.”

Her own form glowed with the runoff of his power. She had never feared him, seeming instead to frolic in the deadly radiance of the lightning that struck the water again and again.

His smile was a brief split in the hurricane clouds that the moon shone through.

...

The island was barely missed by the massive autumn storm, meteorologists commenting on how odd it was that two hurricanes within weeks of each other had abruptly about-faced before making landfall on the tiny island. The superstitious muttered that the island's protector must have intervened; the lighthouse was much brighter after that storm on Halloween that had knocked out the power. A few brave eyewitnesses even claimed that the lighthouse had regained power hours before the town, which should have been impossible as the lighthouse had no active power supply and (according to maintenance records) had been out of commission for decades.

Yet it continued to turn, despite the extensive damage an errant bolt of lightning had done to the roof. Never flickering, never faltering, it lit the way home for many a wayward vessel.

And then stories began to circulate. Strange squalls, singing in the night, fishing boats with destroyed nets.

A protector, Leakee was not. He cared very little for being subtle, whipping storms into existence out of clear skies and raging with the voice of a thousand hurricanes at the unjust treatment of his charges. When he was in time, when a mer was released from the nets back into the waters, Leakee’s lightning was fit to split the sky in delight.

But when he was too late, the punishment would not cease until the ship lay in splinters, scattered over the surface of the water. The mer would keen at the loss of their loved one and he would calm the waves around them, guiding them together into the comfort of gentle water and sheltered coves that they might mourn in peace. Leakee grieved with them, his mist and tempests concealing their location until they had safely sung their lost one to eternal rest.

He was a creature of turmoil, drawn by nature to conflict. For the time being, though, for the time of the one who had come back for him...he could play the role.

[circe-poetica]

My transits 9/7/2020

Stepping out

Valid during many months: This influence represents an opportunity for vigorous activity and self-assertion.  Even if you are naturally a somewhat shy and retiring person, this influence will enable you to make your mark on the world around you.  Others will stand up and take notice when they see that you are able to break out of your old habits and ways of acting.  You will show new sides of yourself and attempt to do things that you wouldn't usually try.  Quite likely you will succeed.  It is not that you couldn't have done these things before but that you didn't believe you could.

You may choose to work at new activities with others, but only if they allow you to be yourself.  You are not in the mood to compromise, because you do not see any need to, and you are probably right.  At the same time you don't feel any particular need to make other people go along with you either.  You are quite content to go your own way and work by yourself.  You will set out to accomplish tasks and begin new projects of your own that are expressions of who and what you are.

Under this influence you may become interested in other people's freedom, because you understand from your own efforts that it may be difficult for them to gain their freedom.  For this reason you may become involved in organizations that work for the rights of others and help them to become liberated in some way.  You will help those who are engaged in the same kinds of fights that you have had to wage in your life.

If you feel that you have never had the opportunity to show everyone who you are and that you have been limited by other people or by circumstances beyond your control, this influence gives you the opportunity to take control of your own life and make it what you want.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Uranus trine Mars,    

,    

activity period end of June 2020 until beginning of March 2022

A chance for change

Valid during many months: During this time you have the opportunity to make creative changes through a system.  It can be any kind of system, such as your work, the government or other aspects of the social system, or it can be the "systems" you have created in your personal world with your friends, family and loved ones.  At other times you may feel that the system you are involved with gets in the way of your individual freedom and self-expression.  But now the rules of the game afford you the chance to make whatever changes are necessary for your own personal growth.

In your work, this is an extremely favorable time because your superiors will be impressed by your innovative ideas.  You may be rewarded with a higher position in that particular system. Both at work and in your life generally you are unusually willing to learn new techniques, and you have the discipline to master them.

You will work for change in the organizations you deal with, but you will not be satisfied with airy schemes that have little practical value.  Instead you will try to achieve a carefully thought-out, rigorously planned course of action.  Others will have no doubt about how your plans are to work.  Consequently there is potential for much solid achievement under this influence.

All structures in your life serve two purposes.  First, they eliminate chaos from your perception of the world so that you can deal with it more easily.  But these structures also present a constant challenge to grow and change within them.  If you do not accept the challenge, the structures in your life can become extremely limiting and deadening.  Eventually this results in a crisis situation in which you must either strike out or die psychologically, if not literally.  But this influence gives you the chance to make creative changes under relatively favorable conditions so that structures in your life do not become stifling.  You should use this opportunity to ensure that you can always work within the structures of your life.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Uranus sextile Saturn,    

,    

activity period end of June 2020 until beginning of March 2022

Sowing time

Valid during many months: This influence is a chance to examine your life and to see within it the seeds for something greater than you have imagined.  This greatness is not in the material realm, nor will it give you power over others.  Instead your opportunity is to see your life in a spiritual dimension that you have never before perceived.  This can manifest itself in a number of ways.

First of all, you may discover an increased empathy for the people in your everyday life.  You can put yourself into another's place in a way that you have never been able to do before; you can see and, more importantly, feel what someone else feels.   Consequently you will have more sympathy and compassion for other people's problems.

Your compassion springs from a realization of the essential unity of yourself and all being.  For most people, this is not an entirely conscious realization.  You may feel an increased involvement with others, but you don't quite know where it has come from.  On the other hand, this can be a conscious feeling, in which case you may become more attracted to mystical philosophies and metaphysics, which try to verbalize what you are beginning to experience.  You may experience a reawakened interest in religion, even if this has long been dormant in your life.  Possibly you may even have a profound psychic or mystical experience.

Even if by temperament you are not inclined to mysticism, you will experience its effects as increased idealism and an increased willingness to work for the kind of world you want to see.

Whatever else may happen, you will feel more capable of selfless actions in your relationships with others.  You will be willing to help, seeking little or nothing in return because your own ego seems less important to you now.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Neptune trine Neptune,    

,    

activity period beginning of April 2020 until end of January 2022

Act quickly

Valid during many months: This influence can help you to reconcile your personal needs with those of others.  If you now have the courage and single-mindedness to stick up for your own interests you can expect support from others.  Having experienced that acting in your own interests does not have to mean being inconsiderate or reckless will help you greatly in the future.  You won't encounter any resistance or rivalry if you stand up for things which correspond to your inner nature.

You may now have to deal with past events which undermined your self-confidence, leaving you feeling weak and inadequate.  Such experiences can be extremely painful.  In order to avoid similar rejections in the future many people withdraw into themselves, being prepared to go to great lengths to conceal their true feelings.   Although this might help them to avoid further pain, it also prevents them from fulfilling their dreams, and decreases their vitality.  You might now receive an offer at work or in your personal life which is both tempting and challenging, but also a certain amount of apprehension and trepidation. Do not hesitate! Do not miss this opportunity to finally do something that you have only dreamed of doing up until now.  This could be revitalizing, helping you to place more trust in your own instincts.  These will take you to the right places at the right times, helping you to express your true self, while enabling you to use your abilities in a way which is beneficial to others.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Chiron trine Ascendant,    

,    

activity period mid-May 2020 until mid-February 2022

Elegance and taste

Valid during many months: This influence helps to smooth over all difficulties in your relationships, as well as to promote friendship and give you a strong desire for happy and peaceful times.  You enjoy being with and talking with friends and will probably attend or hold several social gatherings during this time.  You may also be the center of attention for some reason, and you will enjoy basking in the limelight.

This influence occasionally will bring a new love interest into your life.  If it does, and other factors are equal, the relationship should prove to be an unusually successful one in which you both grow a great deal and in which there is an excellent balance between love and freedom.  Such a relationship will be devoid of jealousy or pettiness to an unusual extent.

The same energy affects existing relationships, so that you are able to relate to loved ones with great ease.  Because you are concerned with the larger issues in your relationship, you are not about to cause trouble over any problem that is not extremely important.  And such a problem is not likely to surface during this time.

At this time also your taste is likely to become more elegant, and you may be tempted to buy something that is very expensive or fancy.  At the worst it might even be gaudy or tasteless. In fact one of the few real dangers to watch out for under this influence is the tendency to waste or squander money or other resources.  Depending upon your own state of mind, however, this influence can also bring in money and increase your resources.   Whichever way it goes, it should be well under your control.

You have a strong desire to surround yourself with beauty.  Sordid or ugly surroundings are much harder than usual for you to bear, so make an effort to avoid them.  You are concerned with the beautiful side of life at this time, and you should do everything to expose yourself to it.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Jupiter conjunction Venus,    

,    

activity period mid-March 2020 until mid-November 2020

Sharing the day

Valid during several months: This is an extremely favorable influence for close relationships and one-to-one encounters of any sort.  A marriage or love relationship should go smoothly today, with both of you showing a great deal of affection.  If there are any difficulties between you, smooth them out today, because neither of you will want to argue.  You will both be much more interested in making peace.  This is also an excellent time to make an agreeable impression on someone new.  If you have to work within a partnership, where keeping the peace is an important factor in your success, this is an excellent day.  Any persons who are normally difficult to deal with will be easy to handle today.  This is not a good time to be alone.  You are in the mood for relating, and the day will not be complete in any way unless you share it.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Venus opposition Ascendant,    

,    

activity period mid-April 2020 until 12 July 2020

Domestic strife

Valid during many months: This influence is a sign of great activity where you live.  Positive activity might be working hard around your home and getting a great deal accomplished.  You are very strong on having your surroundings exactly the way you want.   Of course, if someone else in the home has a different point of view about this, you may have problems in coming to an agreement.  Domestic strife is another side of this influence that you may have to contend with, if you don't make an effort to agree with the people you live with.  If you identify so strongly and uncompromisingly with the way you want your home to be, you will force them to resist you.  At times like this it is best not to live with other people.  This influence can also signify disputes with others over land ownership and use.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Mars in 4th house,    

4,    

activity period end of June 2020 until end of December 2020

In the background

Valid during several weeks: Fortunately, with this transit you will have a strong desire to experience life on a feeling level, and this is just what you need.  One very real possibility at this time is that an encounter with someone will produce the need for very searching psychological self-inquiry or will force very powerful changes in your life.  This person may challenge your value structure, or there may be a powerful intermeshing of your personalities.  On the material plane, this transit can be a time of great concern about finances or resources held jointly with another person, such as a spouse or business partner.  By itself, this is neither a good nor a bad indication; it simply makes the issue important.  You may also be worried about trying to borrow money or get financial backing from a bank.

Transit selected for today (by user):

Sun in 8th house,    

8,    

activity period from 4 July 2020 until mid-August 2020

In need of response

Valid during several months: This is a good time to clarify and explain an issue to someone with whom you are intimately associated in daily life, such as your spouse or a business partner.  It is also good for consulting a specialist on any matter that concerns you.  You should not think and plan alone or unassisted today.  You need another person's consciousness and response to your ideas and statements in order to get a clear perspective on your thoughts.  Also, finding out your partner's thoughts will help him to clarify them.  Together you will be able to accomplish much more than either of you could separately.

The partner references are set for a relationship with a man. Transit selected for today (by user):

Mercury in 7th house,    

7,    

activity period mid-May 2020 until end of July 2020

Fair weather

There are wounds that do not heal with time.  Instead they start hurting again given certain "weather conditions".  If this occurs, subconsciously we will withdraw into ourselves in interpersonal situations, or be oversensitive and react in a hurt manner without apparent reason - or we ourselves become particularly hurtful, without actually wanting to.  However, if the weather is fair, as it is now, you have the opportunity to bring these painful things to light - preferably during a personal conversation with someone who is close to you.  Looking into painful experiences in this way can make you freer in your behavior, your close relationships and your relation with your body.  It can also prevent you from hurting others.

The interpretation above is for your transit selected for today:

Sun trine Chiron,    

,    exact at 19:58    

activity period from 8 July 2020 until 10 July 2020

[gukiex]

Crushed Velvet Ch. 2

Genre: Vampire AU, Angst, Smut, Supernatural, Slight Fluff

Paring: Skylar x Jimin, Skylar x Yoongi, Skylar x Taehyung, Skylar x OT7

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: When is a monster no longer a monster? When you fall in love with it of course.

Chapters: 1

Character Summaries: Crushed Velvet: Park Jimin | Crushed Velvet: Min Yoongi | Crushed Velvet: Jeon Jungkook | Crushed Velvet: Jung Hoseok | Crushed Velvet: Kim Seokjin | Crushed Velvet: Kim Namjoon | Crushed Velvet: Kim Taehyung

"What the fuck are you doing with a human girl Jimin? And why does she smell like that?”

The frustration in his voice was evident. Yoongi had an intense gaze set upon the poorly dressed young woman, devouring every single part of her with his mesmerizing eclipsed violet eyes. This caused a feeling of consternation to course through her body like electricity forcing her to stay frozen in her tracks. The tantalizing male, who looked as if he were some type of nobility, was capable of creating a completely contradicting feeling within Sky to stir. She was udderly terrified by him, although she couldn’t place her finger on why considering she wasn’t nearly as intimidated by Jimin or his protégés—even after almost being consumed by Taehyung. However, even with the fear that Yoongi invoked, she was incredibly drawn to him and couldn’t help but ogle at the sight.

“We can discuss all of this over a glass of wine, how does that sound? I have a beautifully aged Domaine de la Romanée-Conti just waiting to be opened.” Jimin offered swiftly.

“I’m not one of your little toys that you can just win over with some wine and sweet talk but I will take you up on the offer. You have a couple of hours to explain to me what the hell is going on and why you’ve kept me ill informed. I swear you have a death wish, Park Jimin.”

Jimin was incredibly smooth. The way he spoke, the way he dressed, he had the vibe of a classy english man from the eighteen hundreds. Even the way he walked with such confidence and sex-appeal, made Sky exasperated with him simply because she didn’t want to give in to the temptation of vampires. This is what they were designed for after all; seduction and allurement. It was something that she wanted to restrain from. She had so many thoughts running through her head right now, especially after witnessing the rage directed at her presence that came from the most hostile yet beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes upon. Frustrated by her conflicted feelings, Sky turned around and closed her bedroom door, making sure to lock it behind her before crawling into bed and shutting her tired eyes for a well deserved rest. Even a short sleep where she could get a brief escape from the evening’s chaos would be better than nothing. Sky forcefully shut her eyes, coaxing herself to sleep, attempting to separate herself from her external environment.

Just as her body began to relax she heard a familiar voice sounding from the closet.

     “Damn Sky, you look awfully delicious in that nightie of yours. Mind if I get a closer look?”

     Rattled, Sky hopped out of bed and flicked a lamp on only to see Taehyung standing in the frame of the closet with a smug grin on his face.

     “Tae, I swear to satan if you try anything I'm going to scream for Jimin to get in here and kick your bloodsucking ass.”

     “Why not just scream for me instead?” Tae mused can crossing his arms against his broad chest as he leaned nonchalantly against the closest frame.

     “You’re disgusting." Sky scoffed, "How long have you been in here anyway?”

     Unaffected by the girls jab, Taehyung continued on with his bashful commentary. “Long enough to see you slip into that sexy little nightdress you're wearing and to see the way Jimin touched your back. Before you get all comfortable here there are some things that you should know about our ‘courteous’ leader.” Taehyung warned and Sky knew she should hear him out but she wanted to give the elder vampire the benefit of the doubt.

     “I’m sure I'll find out in due time but right now I'd like you to get the fuck out of my room, I'd prefer to sleep peacefully without feeling like I'm either going to have your fangs in my throat or something somewhere else when I wake up. Goodnight.”

     Her hand grabbed the taunting young man by the shoulders and forced him out of the bedroom with blunt force. He giggled at how bold she was getting even after the incident outside of the bar, this comfortability made him admire her a little bit more. Taehyung was beginning to feel things that weren't associated with his normal overbearing hunger, causing him to experience a whirlpool of feelings about the entire reality of having her around.

     Meanwhile the two rival vampires were sitting in the common room discussing the series of events that had taken place.

    “So what would you like to discuss, Yoongi?” Jimin asked, peering over the rim of his wine glass before taking a sip of the bitter substance.

    “Can you not play dumb? Can we start with Jungkook and what you're going to do about his control? And don't get me started on Taehyung, he needs to give up that goddamn attitude and reckless behaviours he has, he's like a child searching for attention.”

      “Well firstly, Jungkook is only a newblood, I'm sure you remember what it was like when you first transitioned Yoongi. Its hard but he knows when he does something wrong. You need to be patient with him, if not he's going to retaliate and it could be incredibly dangerous for all of us.”

      “And Taehyung? He seems to be the chaotic driving force in all of this and he's an instigator. Jungkook wouldn't have half of the trouble if that little shit wasn't pushing him. And where exactly are you during all of these excursions those boys have? Actually let me guess, probably fucking some slut unworthy of our time.”

       “Do you actually expect me to follow those two everywhere? That's simply not going to happen and there's no one else who can look after them. You have to take into consideration that Tae doesn't know his bloodline, doesn't know why he's here and doesn't know who he is. At least the rest of us are aware of our comings, I don't exactly blame him for his actions.”

        “And what about the little tramp you have in the room upstairs? Is she just another casual fuck for you to toy with? I'd love to know all about that scent she’s putting off.”

        “Well honestly Yoongi I can't answer that which is why she's here. What I do know is that she has to be involved with vampires, maybe even have some kind of history with us. She smells of virgin but it's something stronger, it's intertwined with the scent of a newblood or even a hybrid. It's not purely human and I need answers.”

       “Well until you get those answers, don't bring her around me. Figure out what you have to but I want absolutely nothing to do with such filth. And as for those two boys, get them under control. If you fail, then I'm going to take them both and discipline them myself.”

       “You must be forgetting a vital piece of the puzzle Yoongi, Jungkook is mine. I turned him and now he's bonded to me. This automatically makes Tae a part of the equation as well since those two come in a pair. If you so much as dare lay a hand on either of them, I swear I will end you.”

        After the heated conversation between the two men concluded, Yoongi stood from his chair, sipping back the last of the wine before storming away. He stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder, glancing at the room where Skylar was peacefully dreaming. He could hear her deep breaths and the pulsating of her heart. The scathing immortal felt an unfamiliar feeling sweep over him, it was a tranquility that made him incredibly uneasy. He followed through with exiting the estate but the image of this young woman became ensnared in his reverie.

“Come on Sky, get your lazy ass out of bed we’re going on an adventure.” Taehyung said as he charged through the doors of the sleeping woman’s room.

“Didn’t I lock this door?” It wasn’t so much of a question as it was a statement, rubbing her eyes at the light that was now attacking her retinas. Sky was filled with annoyance at this dammed boy who just couldn't seem to give her any privacy.

“Oh babe, a locked door means absolutely nothing in a house full of vamps, so learn to love it.”

She audibly sighed and glanced up at the young man. He looked— normal? His hair was slightly dishevelled and he was dressed like a casual guy in his twenty’s. His distressed dark wash jeans were rolled at the ankles, accented with his cherry red Doc Martens while sporting a basic white v-neck tee. Her eyes fixed on his form, she could visibly see through the white material as he stood in the direct morning light that casted though the large window in her room. The way he looked right now; so normal, so alive, it made her attentiveness wander to the way he pressed his lips against hers a couple of nights ago. She shook herself out of it, tightly shutting her eyes and and grabbing her large-framed glasses and placing them on her face.

“Alright Bilbo what adventure are we going on today then?”

The fact that she agreed to his plans for the day got the man incredibly excited. He hopped on the bed next to Sky causing her to jump up in surprise at his swiftness.

“We’re going cliff-diving. It’s absolutely beautiful outside today and it’ll be fun. I can show you one of the best views in South Korea, its about a thirty minute hike from here and you’ll love it. Hey, you can take your camera for your blog!”

She was confused as to why he was being so ordinary with her, wondering if he genuinely wanted to spend time with her or if it was a ploy to get her alone in order to finish what he started when they first met last week. She quickly brushed that idea to the side, she knew that Jimin would most likely kill him if he were to try and feed on her. Regardless of that possibility she loved swimming and it would be a perfect article for her blog and there could potentially be some fantastic shots of the scenery here.

Sky climbed out of bed and prompted Tae to leave so she could get ready for the day. Luckily, Jimin was courteous enough to let her grab her suitcase from the hotel before taking off so she had everything she’d need. The eager young woman picked out her favourite hiking clothing and quickly threw it on. Unfortunately a bathing suit wasn’t something she had remembered to pack so she’d have to jump in clothed but that didn’t matter much to her. She sauntered into her ensuite bathroom to wash up and throw on some makeup. She looked at herself in the mirror intently, looking at every flaw with great concentration. Grabbing her makeup bag, she pulled out her foundation applying to every area precisely to conceal what she was so focused on. There was a faint sound of bedsprings squeaking in the room so she peered out of the bathroom door only to see Jimin sitting there with his legs crossed, smiling his beautiful smile directly at her.

‘Why are all these fucking vampires so goddamn sexy’ she thought to herself as she caught herself eyeballing the princely leader. She redirected her attention and smiled her half-smile at the man who was quite comfortable on her bed.

“Well good morning beautiful, did you sleep well? I know Taehyung has been quite bothersome but honestly that boy just enjoys fooling around and truthfully, I think he’s just trying to get a rise out of you. But listen, if he becomes too overbearing I need you to let me know because I’ll handle it for you okay sweetheart?”

“What did I say about pet names?” Sky replied in annoyance.

“Sorry, force of habit. Most of the women I take home love being called affectionate names, it’s proven to be incredibly popular.”

“So you’re basically trying to get me into bed by calling me generic names? How on earth do you get so many girls to fuck with you?”

“The words that are coming out of your mouth are far too vulgar for a girl like you to be uttering. Stop using such profanity or I’ll give you a reason to.”

“Oh no, Jimin’s going to punish me. I’m trembling.” Her response was incredibly sharp and it actually got to Jimin which is a rare feat.

“You’re starting to sound exactly like Taehyung and I definitely don’t need another one of those around. Why are you all dressed and carrying a backpack? Where are you heading.”

“Well actually, Taehyung and I are going cliff diving today and it’s a short hike so I needed to be prepared. I’m really excited, is the view really that beautiful?”

“You’re going into the woods alone with him? That’s not very clever of you don't you realize it's the perfect place for him to feed? Also, aren’t you nervous of him? I could just take you out somewhere nice if you wanted? We could go get a meal at one of the best restaurants or maybe take in a show?”

“Tae doesn’t scare me, honestly I’m actually beginning to tolerate his company. Plus he likes adventures, as do I, so we can get along in that aspect. And I think he genuinely fears what you’d do to him if he tried anything with me so it will be fine.”

“Alright, well just be careful ok? But I’d still like to schedule some time with you, I know little to nothing about the beautiful Sky so it’d be nice to get better acquainted.”

Jimin stood up and straightened out his grey pullover sweater. It was astonishing how attractive these creatures became to Sky when they dressed more and more casually. She couldn’t help but feel as if they were a group of young college guys that she shared a building with. They were just so desirable but little did she know they all thought the exact same thing about her.

The eldest vampire bid his farewells to his estates new occupant as he exited the bedroom, a concealed frustration on his alluring face. He hated how acquainted she was getting with Taehyung and it sparked a jealousy within him. Jimin was possessive, he didn’t fussy either of the boys developing a relationship of any sort with the girls he brought home -- even if they were just a simple fuck. When Sky mentioned her endeavours for the day every single one of his insides twisted. The only thing he wanted to do was grab her by her soft curves, throw her underneath him and show her which suitor she should really invest her time in. Only It just wasn’t quite the time do something like that just yet. He swallowed his burning desire and continued to walk out of the oblivious young woman’s room. The princely creature swept his hair back from his eyes, he was overwhelmed with lust and jealousy due to his dominant nature but he decided to brush those feelings aside for the time being.

“Hey, move your ass! Aren’t vampires supposed to be quick on their feet?” Sky taunted the immortal who was following behind her up the cliff.

“Oh we are, but I prefer the view from behind much better.” He responded with a snarky grin before swiftly joining her side which startled her, causing her to trip as strong hands held her steady.

Skylar looked up at Tae’s face. It looked so beautiful in the the sunlight and this was the first time she’d really gotten to take in his features up close and for once there was absolutely nothing threatening about it. He simply looked like a gorgeous young man, someone that girls would swoon over and would vote as the ‘best looking’ in high school. His eyes were bright and lively today while his silver hair reflected the warmth of the sun, making it shift to a slightly softer shade as opposed to the icy appearance it normally had. Everything about him made her want to lean her face in closer to his but she opted to pull away and steady herself, continuing the hike to find their diving spot.

     “So are you nervous? It's a long way down babe.”

     “Tae stop calling me babe or I'll slap the shit out of you.”

     As they approached the top of the cliff, the luscious vegetation that they had been trekking through opened up to display a beautiful sight of the sun’s mirrored image on the serene waters in front of them. In awe, Sky pulled out her camera and got a few shots while Tae was observing her discretely. He started to remove his shift, exposing his toned form, pale skin looking soft in the heat and he smiled at Sky, prompting her to shed her own clothing and get ready for their leap from the cliff.

“I don’t have a bathing suit so I’m gunna have to jump in with my clothes on, does it get very cold as the day goes on?”

“Do you plan on walking all the way back in dripping wet clothing? Keep in mind we forgot our towels to dry you off. You could catch a cold. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

‘Fuck it’ she thought to herself as she unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off, exposing her black embroidered boy-short underwear. Tae’s eyes opened widely in surprise at her boldness before he broke out into laughter.

“Oh my god Sky, I knew you weren’t like most girls but really? You don’t even own a sexy pair of underwear.”

“Shut up Tae, they have lace and embroidery on them, plus they’re crazy comfy. Sorry I’m not exposing my asscheeks to you.” She snapped back as she grabbed at the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head as the ‘young’ man ogled at her black lacy bra. When Sky threw her shirt to the ground she noticed him staring and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

“Can you please not look at me like that, it makes me very uncomfortable.”

“I know that we had an interesting start Sky but I’m not going to hurt you or do anything that would upset you, I promise. I’m actually quite fond of you. You’re lovely, don’t hide away from me.”

He walked up to her looking at her intently. There was a connection between the two, it was something that was evident almost instantly after she moved into the estate, so naturally the two had a sense of familiarity right away. He grabbed her and threw her on his back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs secure around his hips as he held her tightly. He started walking towards the edge of the cliff and slowly began to quicken his pace into a run. As they approached the fall, Sky shut her eyes tightly.

“Sky you need to look, you’re going to miss the view.”

As she opened her eyes he leaped from the cliff, falling towards the crystal clear water. A smile lit up on the young woman who was purely intoxicated with adrenaline and excitement. She was experiencing a rush that she’d never felt in all of her twenty years of living. It was like an out-of-body notion that felt electric.

The pair entered the chilled water smoothly, not interrupting its serenity too much. She let go of Tae and began to swim to the surface. When Sky emerged she didn’t see the boy and got incredibly concerned, looking around frantically until he popped up directly behind her, making her yelp as he had frightened her.

“For christ’s sake, don’t scare me like that, I thought you had drowned or something.”

“Sky… are you forgetting what I am? We don’t ‘drown’.”

“Right, oops. I have trouble remembering that you’re not just some twenty-year old fuckboy that I’m used to dealing with.”

“To say the least.” He giggled at her oblivious nature. It was endearing to him.

The handsome vampire grabbed her by the hand and swam back to shore, climbing out of the water. She couldn’t stop staring at him, dripping wet as the light perfectly highlighted the contours of his torso. He swept his hair out of his eyes, revealing the entirety of his gorgeous face. What she failed to notice, due to her focus on him, was that he was focusing on her just as much. He couldn’t help but stare at every curve of her body, she was flawless and he felt a rush of desire surge through him, it was a feeling he was never able to distinguish as he had never partaken in sexual activities prior. He had always confused lust with hunger but right now he knew exactly what needed.

Sky similarly felt magnetized to him. She enjoyed his company, looking at him, but she didn’t feel an emotional attraction to him. However, she did feel a powerful sense of lustfulness towards the immortal, a feeling she’d felt for many men but never this intense. The two exchanged a poker face when in reality they were both mentally fucking one another. Sky decided to brush it off and start climbing towards where she’d left her things and Taehyung followed, both ignoring the moment they just had at the edge of the water. They got to the top of the cliff once again and Tae grabbed her shirt from the ground tossing it over his shoulder.

“I think I like you better shirtless.”

“Are we really doing this right now, can I just get dressed please.” Sky was annoyed with him, not only for taking her shirt but because of the sexual frustration this man was causing her to have.

“If you want it I suggest you come get it.” he replied as she took off with her shirt down into the trails.

Sky immediately chased after him through the pathways in the trees until she suddenly lost sight of the boy when he turned off the trail. She wouldn’t dare follow any further as she knew she’d end up getting lost. The disoriented girl stood there for a moment as she got her bearings back.

“Tae, please come here with my shirt. I don’t know my way back.” She tried to sound calm, but in reality she was feeling a sense of fear sweep over her as she realised her situation.

“Are you afraid?” She heard Tae’s voice whisper from the trees.

“You said you wouldn’t do anything to upset me, well you are right now.”

“So you are afraid. As you should be considering what I’m about to do to you.”

As he emerged from the trees he walked towards the frightened girl, watching her face warp in distress. She didn’t know what to expect from him, she just stood there paralyzed.

“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you and if there‘s one thing you should know about me it’s that I keep all of my promises.”

He reassured her as he grabbed her by the waist and planted an aggressive kiss onto her soft lips, pressing her against a large tree as his body pressed into hers. She reciprocated the kiss and moaned softly into his mouth. Every ounce of distress she was experiencing escaped her body as she felt his strong hands on her hips. The kisses began to deepen and quicken as both tongues fought for dominance. Tae bit down on her bottom lip and stared directly into her eyes causing her body to flare up and her cheeks to turn bright red as she realized that the pair were still only wearing dripping wet underwear. There was very little fabric separating the two bodies from intertwining with each other and she wanted to remove that barrier.

Sky lifted her hands to unclasp her bra as he slapped them away, ripping the bra clean off of her chest. Taehyung trailed his aggressive kisses down to her soft breasts, leaving his mark wherever he felt it necessary as he attacked her chest. Sky gripped her fingers into his messy wet hair as he trailed even lower to her waist, gripping the sides of her boyshort underwear and pulling them to the ground. Tae lifted one of her legs over his shoulder to create better access.

“Fuck Sky, you’re so wet.”

Before she could respond she was cut off by the sensation of the his tongue pressing against her little bundle of nerves, sending her into euphoria. She tipped her head back against the tree as Tae inserted a finger inside of her as he continued to circle her clit with his tongue. He began creating a ‘come hither’ motion with his digit inside of her, hitting her g-spot repeatedly. She was moaning so loudly at this point that she was nearly screaming as she felt her walls start to tighten around his fingers.

“Tae don’t stop, I’m gonna cum.” she said between shaky breaths.

“Not yet you’re not.” he said before pulling his finger out and standing up to face her. He licked her juices off of it while keeping eye contact with her the whole time. This made her even more red than she already was from the pleasure she had just experienced.

The immortal young man gripped at his boxer shorts, pulling them down as his hard member was released from it’s uncomfortable confinement. He grabbed both of her thighs, picking her up and she wrapped her legs around his body. Tae positioned himself at her entrance and looked at her for approval. Sky nodded in agreement and he thrusted into her. Her eyes welled up at the initial pain she felt from having Taehyung inside of her. He held himself there for a moment until she had adjusted to his size before slowly rolling his hips against hers, replacing the pain she had felt with pure ecstasy.

“Sky you’re so tight, you feel so good around my cock.”

She gripped at his shoulders for support as the animalistic thrusts became quicker and harder, making her scream his name in pleasure. You would never guess that these two had both been virgin’s prior considering how amazing they could make each other feel. It were as if Tae had been possessed by some sex god with how precise his movements were. That was until the faint scent of blood passed his nose.

He knew the scent was coming from Sky and it took everything in him not to give in to the aroma. He continued fucking her against the tree while the scent lingered in the air, making the beast inside of him break out. He began circling her clit with his finger to quicken her orgasm as he continued pressing himself into her. His thrusts became sloppy as he got closer to his orgasm and he felt her walls tightening around his member as well.

“Cum for me Sky. I give you permission.”

As he whispered into her ear, her vision blurred and she felt herself escape from her body as she rode out her orgasm while he filled her with his warmth. When he pulled his finger away from her folds, he seen the crimson color that coated it. Skylar was oblivious to what had happened and he quickly had to do something about it. He pulled out of her and got on his knees to clean her up. He wanted to save her from embarrassment, he didn’t want to make losing her virginity even worse and he also needed to do something about the blood. He kept his composure and using his tongue, cleaned away everything, including the blood. His hunger nearly took over and he would’ve torn her apart, but there was something preventing him from doing that. He couldn’t bear to hurt her, plus he made a promise. A promise that he intended to keep.

When he finished getting rid of the mess he laid back on the grass, grabbing sky to lay next to him. The duo relaxed in silence as they caught their breath and stared at the clouds.

“Well now I don’t have a bra to wear home, thank you for that.”

“Bra’s are lame anyway.”

Sky giggled at him, she sat up and grabbed her boyshorts to put on and threw his boxers on his chest.

“We should go get our things, the sun will start to set soon and I fear Jimin may get worried.”

Taehyung was concerned as to why she cared about Jimin but he didn’t question it. She reached down and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him to his feet so they could head to the opening where their stuff was in order to get dressed and head back to the house. Taehyung couldn’t stop looking at her, even after what just occurred in the woods they were the same. There was no tension, no awkwardness, nothing had changed. It felt as if it was something that they just do, it didn’t mean anything and there were no strings attached and he loved the idea of fucking her whenever they felt like it without anything involved.  Sky had the exact same notion and was incredibly pleased with the idea of having Tae whenever she wanted it.

“Hey Jimin, we’re home! Tae didn’t kill me luckily.”

As the two entered the front doors with Tae’s arm draped over the dishevelled girls shoulder, Jimin and Jungkook smelled something strange coming from them both. It was the scent of sex, the scent of someone being fucked. Jimin filled with rage while Jungkook; a sense of curiosity. Sky wandered up to her room to take a long bath while Tae stayed in the common room with the other vampires.

“You fucked her didn’t you? How much compelling did you have to do? Or did you just rape her?” Jimin snarled at his protégé.

“Don’t you ever accuse me of raping her Jimin. I may be impulsive and reckless but I’d never hurt Sky, shes the only other person around besides JK that I actually enjoy the company of.”

“Yeah well I know damn well she didn’t let you inside of her that easily. Was it consensual?”

“Yes.”

Jimin walked over to the liquor cupboard, grabbed a bottle of whisky and stormed to his quarters, slamming the door in anger.

“I think you struck a nerve in the boss, Tae.”

“That’s something I have a knack for apparently. Jungkook, why do you think he’s so angry?”

“Well honestly I think he wanted to take her virginity, he brings women home all the time for a good fuck but rarely are they ever virgins. Plus she’s kind of part of the family now considering how much she knows about us. She lives with us for God’s sake.”

“He’ll get over it.”

Skylar was drawing up her bath when she heard the door to her room shut. She turned around to see a flustered Jimin staring at her with anger in his eyes while she was simply wrapped in a towel. Jumping up, she held her towel in place so that it wouldn’t fall from her sudden movement, exposing her to the intimidating man that was glaring at her. He walked up to her and kept walking until her back was against the wall of the bathroom. He slammed his hand against the wall, his face just inches from hers.

“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night.”

Her eyes widened at his proposition considering how aggressive he had appeared just moments ago. Now he was asking for… a date?

“I’m not going on a date with you Jimin.”

“I never said it was a date, I just want to spend some time with you, let’s go get sushi tomorrow.”

“You eat human food?”

“I eat fish but that’s it. So what do you say?”

“Fine, but it’s not a date.”

His face lit up as he flashed his enchanting smile at her before leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“Now turn the bath water off before you make a mess and I’d have to punish you.”

The water was about half of an inch away from the rim so she lunged over to the faucet to turn it off, and when she turned around the vamp was gone. Sky sighed in frustration and dropped her towel to the floor, climbing into the hot water.

What have I gotten myself into...