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archetypal-archivist · 3 years

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Xisuma and Evil X- A Hero By Any Other Name

So. This happened. You ever get the urge to write 9000 words of Evil X and Xisuma as brothers that in a Super Hero AU where the government is corrupt and runs all the heroes into the ground in the name of “protecting the most people possible”? With lots of Evil X making poor choices to help out his exhausted hero of a brother? And then have that story end up taking over your life for about a week until you can get it all out? Yeah. Yeah, glad I finally finished this but gosh darn am I double glad that I can move on to other projects.

Also on AO3.

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A story in which there are two little boys, a pair of twins by the names of Evil X and Xisuma. Xisuma is good and kind and responsible, everything that his mother ever wanted and more. Evil X was the mistake, the additional child their parents didn't want nor could afford to have. Their parents had run the math, knew the risks, knew that if they penny-pinched enough, they could afford to have the child they always dreamed of. Evil X threw their maths into chaos, and if they wanted one son, they had to take both.

Evil X and Xisuma knew that Evil X was a mistake, that his presence was why their family could never afford to go to the movies, why they couldn't buy school lunches like all the other kids, why their parents were so stressed and tired and cruel. Still, Xisuma was glad that his brother existed, even if it made his parents' lives harder. He wondered if that made him a bad son.

In time, Evil X and Xisuma were left alone by everyone in their lives and until all they had are each other and the void that their parents left them with when they had to look them in the eye and tell them that they couldn't take care of them anymore. Even now Xisuma thinks that the void raised them better than their parents ever did, teaching him and his brother to lie through their teeth, be sneaky, be cruel.

In the orphanage and the many foster homes that followed, Evil X did his best to take care of his twin as a sort of penance for screwing up the life Xisuma could have led. In return, Xisuma lied and lied and lied to the matrons and the well-meaning children about anything and everything he needed to. They don't need anyone but each other. (Truth.) They are happy. He is everything that Evil X needs, Evil X doesn't want a family. Xisuma is enough. (Lie.)

(Gods, don't take his brother away.)

Xisuma grew up with lies on his tongue and smiles in his eyes, warping himself into the golden child, larger than life. Evil X grew up in the shadows with bruised knuckles, a bruised heart, and eventually, scars across his face from a fight gone bloody and wrong. He was protecting Xisuma, the scars were worth it- his brother accepts them with an odd little smile on his face and a shattering in his eyes. It is a moment that stays with them long after.

---

Eventually, foster homes turn into streets and dumpsters, and long nights spent under the covers together are turned into nights spent up in the branches of trees in the park. Xisuma makes friends with the pigeons while Evil X pretends not to like their feathered neighbors. They curl up the same though, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces high in their bower. Made for each other, quietly shaping themselves around their twin so as to better protect them and shield them from the cold.

Evil X comes home to their tree with stolen sweaters and wilted flowers and popcorn kernels from behind the movie theater so that the birds don't starve. Xisuma meets him with tears of wonder in his eyes and fire dancing on his fingertips.

Xisuma has magic. Evil X tries not to be jealous. As it turns out, he has very little to be jealous of when it's revealed that there are many other people who have magic throughout the city- or rather, "superpowers." It's like something straight out of a comic book, if that comic book resembled something like Neil Gaiman's "Sandman" or the Transformers IDW continuity.

People start dying. A lot of people. Those with powers that make them look monstrous are feared, hated, and eventually outcast. Those with powers that are useful are drafted to fight wars and heal people for hours and hours with no rest in the hospitals. Xisuma sells himself to the city officials behind Evil X's back and in return, he and his brother get a cold glass and steel apartment and food enough that they will never starve again.

Evil X begins to build up muscle, fleshing out and growing tall and strong. He hates it, hates his body, because Xisuma never becomes more than whipcord strength and whispered words- down-turned eyes, up-turned lips. Reassurances that he's happy, really, truly. So obedient, his brother, the ideal filial son to the system that Evil X could never bring himself to be. They train the civilian out of his twin and mold him into a leader, a real proper superhero.

They don't give his brother lunch breaks. They need his power too badly, they say. There are people dying and they need his strength.

Gods, it makes him sick.

Xisuma's slight figure hides in his brother's shadow when they are at home, and Evil X does his best to wrap around him until the "monsters" of the world can't get him. Evil X lets Xisuma's flames dance across his fingertips and tickle his face, their gentle warmth driving out some of the chill in their big empty apartment. On truly special days, they go to the park to feed the birds. The higher ups don't like that, of course, insisting that Xisuma under Evil X's care is like using his spark for a kerosene lamp, contained, stifled, unable to help anyone in any way that matters.

The city wants a bonfire. Evil X growls and tells them no, but Xisuma just smiles and his eyes shatter a little more as he goes with them willingly, offering himself up as kindling. His superhero name is Matchstick of all things, and Evil X knows his brother well enough to know that he picked it out himself.

A nod to the fact that he is destroying himself? An inside joke and an apology in one, maybe. It breaks his heart too much to think on it.

---

With time, the rules and roles become a little clearer and the war begins to solidify. Basic rights for those with powers is still in the works, but Xisuma is able to start eating a little more. Evil X makes him protein shakes to take with him to work anyway.

The heroes are this: Matchstick, Reaper, Ivy-Over, Xenon, Spatter, Shank, Krypton, and Trigometric. Xisuma, Cleo, Gemini, Tango, Vintage Beef, Iskall, Impulse, Cubfan.

The villains are this: Armistice, Zyon, Ooze, Clockwork, Poultryman, Valkerie, and Lumesce. (Welsknight, Etho, Jevin, Mumbo, Grian, Stress, Pearl- but our hero doesn't know this yet.)

Evil X sits on their shared bed and holds his twin in his arms, listening to him talk about work with troubled eyes.

Reaper. Cruel, with a tongue like a knife and teeth even sharper. She eats her enemies whole and seems to enjoy the taste of blood. Somewhere in the dark of the building is a man named Joe who whispers comebacks and threats to her for her to use in her next fight. She has not seen him free or unshackled in three years. Around his neck is a metal collar, an irony too bitter for her to speak of often. Xisuma hopes they treat him well.

Ivy-Over, blinded by the glitter and shine of heroism, still firmly thinking the best of her political overlords. Naive. Carefully herded off the battlefields as soon as her fights are over so that she never sees the casualties her massive vines leave in their wake. Xisuma worries that one day the illusion will be broken and with it her mind. She seems like the kind of person who could regress to using entrails as a skipping rope if pushed far enough. Evil X does his best to reassure him, but the lies turn to mulch in his mouth.

Xenon and Krypton, a duo that never let the higher ups split them up or force them to fight alone. Together they share a record for the fewest recorded injuries, as well as a certain fierceness in their eyes as they volley explosive balls of shadow and light between them, bouncing them back and forth to build up velocity before letting them loose on their enemies. Still, the people whisper about how much more help they could do if they were simply separated, able to cover more places at once. At night, Xisuma hears them crying, bundled tight in each other's arms and mourning their missing third.

Shank, their sniper. Supreme accuracy, a consequence of his self-built bionic eye and his special laser rifle. The higher ups are murmuring about what he could do if more of him was bionic. What improvements could be made to his body? How many more lives could be saved? (How many more "monsters" could be put behind bars?)

Splatter, their brawler. A sip of blood and he hulks out, his strength becoming all the greater the more he drinks, so the higher ups give him all the blood he could stomach and more. They never tell him where it comes from, and he's too afraid to ask. (He was a butcher before this whole hero thing, he had explained to Xisuma once. He knows what animal blood tastes like. What they give him is definitely not animal blood- and sometimes, it makes him feel sick. He always was allergic to steroids.)

Trigometric, who bent reality into fractals, who seemed just a bit more broken than the rest. He actually liked his job, and that perhaps made him less of a hero and more of a monster. (Mr. Goodtimes was a head of government of some renown, famous for his power plays and his campaign that favored brutal action against those that the city condemned. Trigometric called him "Scar" with affection on his lips and that was perhaps scariest of all.)

It's terrifying hearing about his twin's coworkers and their varying flavors of unfortunate and unstable, even worse when he has to stay at home and watch the news to see if his brother has survived to see another day against the violent protests and the drug rings and mobs and super villains.

Because there are super villains. He even meets one.

---

The pigeons need feeding. Life or death, whether Xisuma is around to remind him or no, the pigeons need feeding so every Tuesday and Saturday Evil X goes to the park with a bag of bird seed. It just so happens that one sunshine-filled summer day there is someone there before him. Crouched close to a few pigeons, at first he thinks the figure is just dressed in a purple cloak, but when the figure stands up and stretches, the cloak separates to reveal a pair of brilliant purple wings. Poultryman.

Evil X has seen his brother come back from fights and he knows that while Poultryman is a figure of some renown, his battles rarely cause collateral damage- that's more the hallmark of his partner Clockwork. So when Poultryman turns to face him, trademark white mask over his eyes and an odd expression on his face, Evil X just glares and walks up to him to dump the bag of bird seed on the super villain's feet.

"For the birds," he says tersely before spinning on his heel, preparing to walk away. The sound of bright, cheerful laughter has him pausing and the sound of wings meeting the dirt has him turning around. Poultryman is on the ground, rolling around in the bird seed and laughing his head off, clutching his stomach and flapping his wings wildly, which only makes even more of a mess.

"Pffftt- hahaHAhAHaH! Oh gods, your face! If I couldn't tell you were so pissed off to see me I wouldv'e thought this was the greatest prank ever!" Oookay? Evil X crosses his arms, unimpressed and left with a sneaking suspicion he is being made fun of.

"And?" Poultryman lets out a last few wheezing gasps before smoothly rolling to his feet, mask askew and utterly covered in dirt, grass, and bird seed. The local pigeons have, surprisingly enough, not scattered just yet.

"And that was brilliant! Tell me, are you the one who's been feeding the birds around here? The pigeons have been dying to introduce me to their 'friend' and I've been eager to meet them ever since. Well, the word translates more to family but there's some non-pigeon implications mixed in there, so friend works a little better. I don't think my feathered friends have quite yet figured out how to buy their own bird seed. You don't look like a pigeon anyway."

"No. I am not a pigeon," Evil X sighs, shifting his feet but keeping his posture defensive. If he remembers right, Poultryman never did any real damage but he apparently came off to Xisuma as a little unhinged and he'd rather not test the super villain's good mood. "And yes, I feed the birds around here. Can I go?"

Poultryman tilts his head to the side, going abruptly silent and still, all emotion wiped from his body language, expression, and voice. "That depends. Would you like to make Matchstick's life a little easier? I have a deal for you."

---

It goes a little something like this.

Clockwork and Poultryman schedule a raid on a local food processing plant, hoping to take their newest shipment of tin. Matchstick and Splatter are in the area and are called in to help. It's a poor match up to begin with, with Splatter's strength not doing much against Clockwork's robotika and Matchstick- while able to keep up with Poultryman in the air, barely- can't seem to land a solid hit on the villain. It doesn't help that he seems to be limited in how hard he hits, too conscious of what his flames might do to Poultryman's vulnerable feathers and of just how high they are in the air. Clockwork, meanwhile, is free to pilfer what he and his partner please from the plant.

However, despite the lack of damage the super heroes are able to do, the villains do even less. To Evil X, that is all that matters.

In another part of the city, a group of civilians meet in an abandoned railway car, dry docked in a train yard with its rusted frame resting on several heavy blocks of wood. The door is chained shut, but that means little when the underneath has a hole cut into it and if one is determined enough, crawling inside is easy. There, they exchange moth-eaten blankets, half-broken appliances, tattered clothes, and the tools to fix them. Money. Documents.

Evil X brings food. The government promised food unending to him and his brother, he may as well take advantage of it.

A deceptively normal-looking man with glasses and a deactivated metal collar around his neck brings a stack of books in, most of them picture books for the children. Another man, this one with green skin and robotik prosthetics, brings a stack of battered but newly repaired mobile phones, gaze shifting around nervously, as if scared to be caught there. Evil X makes a quiet note of the men but moves on. Theirs is not a story he feels like tampering with today.

When Xisuma comes home to find Evil X laying face-down in bed, fast asleep, he just smiles and tucks himself in beside his twin. Today is the first day in a long time he had come out from a fight unscathed, and tomorrow he will share the good news with his brother. For now, he sleeps.

---

In time, Evil X becomes a staple of the Homeless Enforcing Principles, which quickly gets abbreviated to the rather unimaginative "HEP." He wonders in the back of his mind if a certain man in glasses had something to do with the name, but decides not to bother with that quickly enough. He has enough on his plate as is with his newly adopted duties.

You see, when you get a diverse enough body of people together from all echelons in the city, and then put them into a rather small space, they begin to do what every group of friendly strangers like to do on the train- start complaining. Sometimes it's about the new "neighborhood watch" starting trouble on the corner of 6th and Fruit, sometimes it's about the new increase in taxes their boss wants to implement, sometimes it's about the stock that slips through the gaps when the trucks come to restock the supermarket.

Between him and his twin, Evil X never really was the one for idle chit-chat, but he knew lies just as well as his brother did and public speaking was just lying with a pretty bow on top. Stock begins to get left off of inventory sheets and put into the hands of the needy. The "neighborhood watch" get pointed towards the parts of the city that actually need their help (conveniently drawing the attention of the local law enforcement, who can actually do something about the problem).

He begins to donate more and more food to the cause, waistline thinning in the process. He thinks he likes his figure better that way.

As Evil X puts more time into his new project, crime rates don't exactly go down, but the number of people arrested for stupid reasons certainly does. The other members of HEP begin to bring in their friends and family and the pool of resources and talents grows, expanding outside the walls of their train car and out into people's basements, gas station parking lots, metal trash bin bonfires in the park. Little pools of community, and for Evil X, wellsprings of information.

Clockwork and Poultryman are some of the first actual super villains to come to the meetings, this time under the names of Mumbo Jumbo and Grian, but they are not the last.

---

Armistice arrives hanging off of Lumesce's shoulder one night, his metal body forcing her to drag him along on the ground, shredded legs unable to hold his own weight. She cries steady tears of light, seemingly near-physically pained at being unable to further help him. Evil X watches quietly from the background as Grian looks up and over the bonfire from where he is tending the jagged gash in the unconscious Mumbo's leg.

"Wels. Pearl. Got you too, huh?" The carefully kept-up cheer is gone from the man's face as the duo settle down by the fire, sprawling out in a rough heap.

The woman, Pearl, nods wearily, pulling off her hood and wiping at her face, glowing tears staining her black jacket. "Yeah. Trigometric decided he wanted to come and 'play' for a bit, seems he finally caught on to the illegal clinic I was running down in Mr. TFC's basement. I was lucky enough to get an anonymous tip that he was coming, but Wels got caught in the crossfire for defending me." Grian nods back, eyes distant.

"Give Mumbo a hand with his leg, I'll go grab the last of our tin for Wels to eat so he can patch himself up. E-X?" Evil X straightens up at the winged man's attention. "Call up Keralis and see if you can't get some hew housing sorted for Mr. TFC. I doubt his house survived in the crossfire and you might as well fix it for him with my permission and funds rather than just sort it out behind my back and try to sell it to me as an 'investment' later." With that parting remark Grian stands up stiffly and flies away, leaving Pearl to make her way over to his partner, healing tears already streaming down her face so that she can start to fix the wound.

On the other side of the fire, Wels reaches down and rubs at the sharp and twisted metal of the remnants of his left leg, expression lost and weary. "Things can't keep going like this, so many of us are running on fumes by this point. Something has to change." Expressionless, Evil X just turns away, pulls out his cellphone, and begins to make a few calls.

He carefully ignores the twisting of his heart in his chest.

The next day, Mr. TFC has a room in a decent hotel and Evil X sits on his perfectly white couch staring at his overly large TV, watching the news. Armistice and Poultryman are fighting against Matchstick and Ivy-Over, dashing in and landing a few hits before retreating to the shadows, then running up to repeat the process again. The fight ends with both sides retreating, the heroes to the hospital, the villains to skies with Poultryman straining to bear both Armistice's weight and the load of cash stolen cash in his arms.

Grian's going to pull a wing muscle again, Evil X just knows it.

Xisuma leaves the fight unscathed. Gemini isn't nearly so lucky.

---

The next super villain he meets is mostly on accident, a random encounter more than anything. Tired of lounging about all day, if you call making connections and surfing the internet doing fuck all, Evil X decides he hates himself a bit more than he usually does and decides to go job hunting. A quick internet search later and he finds himself standing outside an abandoned warehouse on the North docks. He and his brother never had much more than their birth certificates and social security numbers to their name, so shady suited him perfectly fine.

A man steps out from behind a corner dressed in a hospital mask, black pea-coat, and a sailor's breton cap as white as his hair. Evil X freezes, eyes going wide as the familiar-looking stranger goes bug-eyed to see him right back. Then the man shifts his weight to his back foot, crossing his arms and wincing playfully, very real trepidation lurking in his posture.

"Uh, you wouldn't happen to by Matchstick's brother, would you?" Evil X takes a careful step away from the man, who he now recognizes as Zyon from watching the news, one of Xisuma's more common foes. His own research proved that the fellow had ice powers to put an iceberg to shame, which was ironic considering that he was secretly the business mogul Etho, who ran a shipping company helpfully named "Titanic Inc." It was doubly ironic since "Zyon" was notorious for causing problems for "Etho," who then claimed the insurance payouts when the boats eventually sank.

That the boats that sank frequently carried weapons, junk food made with GMO ingredients, and weirdly enough, socks, was of little consequence to him, but he kept that amusing tidbit in his back pocket for later. (The sailors on board were... collateral. And a nonissue. Anyone who signed up on a ship run by "Titanic Inc." deserved what they got.)

(Their deaths were not his concern.)

"Yeah, that's me. And you're Zyon- or rather, Etho." Zyon chuckles nervously.

"Yep yep, that's me. And you're very firmly on the 'no touchie' list around here, so I'm just gonna gooo...." Zyon flinches as Evil X suddenly attaches himself to his wrist, expression steely.

"List?" It's more statement than question, but it has Zyon gulping back a frantic giggle anyway.

"Oh no, I'm not messing with that one. Let's just say you should take that up with your brother and leave it at that. Get too deep into that mess and someone's gonna end up regretting it- and I'm not that dumb, that's for sure!" With that parting remark, Evil X finds his feet frozen to the ground and Zyon running off, dropping the black pea-coat of Etho to reveal the icy blue Kevlar ninja suit of the super villain underneath.

Bemusedly Evil X watches Zyon vault up a stack of pipes onto a nearby roof, then off towards the city where he could better better disappear.

Hmm. Seems like he needs to step up his game.

---

He runs into Ooze at the supermarket. Apparently they both prefer the green grapes to the purple ones. The more you know.

---

It's his encounter with Valkerie that really sets things off.

Xisuma comes home one day, tears streaming down his face and his gloves covered in blood and dust. He crumples in a heap at Evil X's feet where he sits on the couch and drops his face into his twin's lap, trembling. His arms dangle at his sides, blood dripping from his fingers onto the sterile white carpeting.

"Four dead found in a park near here. All teenagers, just having fun. Just. Just fucking kids! She ruptured their ear drums and they bled out because they couldn't move to get to safety. Gods E-X, their eyes... They looked so scared..." Evil X stays quiet and runs his fingers through his brother's hair, heedless of the muck clinging to the ends. Xisuma shakes himself to bits in his hands. "They were just kids. We couldn't do even do anything but clean up the mess afterwards."

Xisuma pauses, hesitant, before choking out- "That could have been us. Had we still been on our own, that could have been us." Ah. So that's it.

"We're safe, you know. Whoever Valkerie is, she won't get us here."

"But we don't know that! What if you're out shopping and she's at the market, or if she gets on the news and her scream works through the TV? What then?! I can't-" The words die in his twin's throat and Evil X gulps back his own.

I can't lose you. It's a phrase that's crossed his own mind more than once.

"Okay. Okay. I'll stay home until she's caught, okay? Get delivery or something, I don't know. And I'll keep the TV off, the radio too. Shhh. Shhhhh. I'll be okay." Xisuma struggles closer, shoving his face into his brother's stomach and getting snot and tears all over the both of them. Evil X doesn't complain. It's a lie and they both know it, but they've lived lies before, are used to it. What's one more, in the face of that?

To be fair, Evil X gives it a few weeks before he makes his move, and he knows he'll be fine so really it's only half a lie anyway.

---

Feet crunch against gravel as Evil X approaches the woman kneeling in the center of the abandoned construction site, hands over her mouth, eyes scrunched, biting the flesh of her thumb to keep her sobs held in.

"Hello Ms. Valkerie. Grian's told me about you."

The woman whips around, eyes wide and bloodshot at his sudden appearance, before she shakily lowers her hands from her mouth to clutch at the fabric of her pink cardigan. "I'm- I'm not some monster, got it? I'm just Stress, j-just- I'm just me! I don't want to hurt anyone!" Her voice goes shrill and thin towards the end and Evil X hides his wince, although apparently not well enough because she immediately slaps a hand over her mouth again, eyes watering anew.

"Okay. It's okay, Stress. I'm here to help," he placates, lowering himself down to sit next to her in the dirt. Around them, rusted I-beams and concrete pillars rise, giving them some semblance of privacy. The full moon lurks overhead, casting them both in a silver glow. "You're life must be very hard, hm?"

Stress nods, expression wary.

"And retail is very- ha- stressful too, I imagine?" Here a little grin leaks out from behind her hand. "All those customers whining on and on about discounts. 'Oh, I have a gift receipt why can't I return this?' Like, lady, you opened this box. 'I'm gonna talk to your manager!' Lady, he's just gonna say the exact same thing."

A stifled giggle and a whispered "Worse! I work in the women's clothing department." Evil X gives a mock gasp, face going wide and shocked.

"So you don't just have to deal with fussy customers- you deal with fussy suburban soccer moms!" Stress tips forward with the force of her muffled laughter, tucking her damp face into the curve of his neck and putting her full weight on him. Hesitantly she clutches the tail of his shirt with her freehand, then a little tighter when he makes no move to shove her off. Evil X just wraps a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"Some of those customers must make you want to go home and just scream, huh." Her laughter tapers off, but she nods, quiet. "So you go somewhere empty and abandoned and scream your heart out so you don't kill someone." Another nod, a little hitch in Stress' breathing. "And you scream and scream, so glad to release some of your pent-up feelings, but oops. It turns out there are people there anyway. And your screaming just killed them. You've become a murderer and the police brands you accordingly."

The hand in his shirt tightens, tugging. "I- I didn't want to hurt them! I didn't want to hurt anyone! But- but it just happened and then I was running, and no one saw me so I had to just go to work the next day, a-and. And-"

"And now you're the wanted super villain Valkerie." His hand smoothes up and down her back as her breath hitches again, once, twice, and then wetness against his neck.

"Valkerie is such a stupid name, anyway. I'm not escorting anyone anywhere, let alone to Valhalla. I just scream and. And they're dead."

Evil X hums quietly. "You must be very tired."

"...Yes. Yes." The moon slips through the sky for a while and they drift with it, lost in thought. Evil X stares up at it, squinting against its light to try and figure out what time it is, if Xisuma is likely to be home yet. The gravel is harsh against his knees.

Then. "Things can't keep going like this. I'm so tired, all the time these days. It's just work, day in and day out, and all this stress." She pulls away then and Evil X watches as Stress scrubs at her face, expression going cold and determined. She stares him straight in the eyes, but something about her still seems lost, like she's gazing through him. "Something has to change or else someone is going to get themselves killed."

He tilts his eyes head, considering, thoughtful, with a well-hidden edge to his voice.

"I think I could help with that."

---

The morning news. Four calls placed, a frantic brother reassured, Stress is sitting a cafe on the corner of Elm and 5th. Her gut flutters with nerves but Evil X can see her expression is calm from her position in the background of the shot. The news anchor is a pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman blathering on about how the cafe apparently is the oldest one in the city and some other historical nonsense. Out of shot of the camera, a desperate, dog-eared petty thief is running for his life down 6th street, the hulking figure of Spatter hot on his heels.

They round a corner, onto 5th. Past the cafe, the startled reporter, the public shrieking as their morning is disrupted. Stress nearly throws up as her heart launches itself into her throat but she's... There's a plan and she's going to stick to it.

So she stands up, small and in the background of the shot, but her bright pink jacket makes her stand out. She opens her mouth, expression going scared like a civilian's, and screams just as she had been told to. It's not for long, barely a second or two all told, but it's enough to have the people near her cringing away, blood trickling from their eyes and from where their fingernails dig into their skin in trying to cover their ears.

Spatter freezes in his tracks, pupils mere pinpricks as the sudden outpouring of blood triggers something deep and wild in him. The camera shakes, the frightened camera man ducking down to avoid notice but carefully recording what's about to happen, as if sensing that whatever happens next is about to be important.

The hero turns towards Stress, eyes wild, and although she's scared out of her mind, she stands her ground. Her voice barely even shakes as she speaks.

"S-stop. Stop running, can't you see you're scaring people? You nearly ran me over!" In the eyes of the camera Stress looks like a frightened civilian gone civil defender in pink, the morning light casting her in gold and the cafe's shadow creeping over Spatter's massive, muscled-out form to cast him in darkness and grey. The lack of harsh lighting makes it even more obvious when he starts sniffing the air, darting eyes pausing on all the bloodied hands and finally resting on the woman who caused the damage.

The world has insisted, long and loud, that he is a hero and with that comes certain ingrained responsibilities. Stress is Valkerie. Splatter fixes his gaze on her and with a snarl, he moves.

The camera catches it in perfect, awful clarity when his arm goes through her stomach and her blood starts pooling on the floor. Her expression is so betrayed.

From his place on his clean, white couch at home, Evil X turns the TV off.

---

Stress is buried with honors and all media depictions of Valkerie as a monster cease as the streets are made "safe" from the super villain. Instead, news programs and talk shows take up a new crusade, this one against the "heroes" that protected the city and the governing bodies that controlled their movements. Mr. Goodtimes has his name dragged through the mud, and each day his brother comes home with stories about how frazzled Trigometric is, Evil X has to hide his smile.

Seeming to pick up on the way things are turning, Clockwork disappears from the public eye while Poultryman steps up the showmanship, making more appearances in public spaces to egg government buildings and steal petty amounts of scrap metal from junk yards and factory scrap heaps. The heroes that give chase, usually Xenon and Krypton, end up causing more damage than they actually prevent.

Ivy-Over- shocked at the public outrage about the apartments left in shambles after her particularly brutal battle against Zyon- rather predictably ends up snapping, although not in any way Evil X expected.

She ends up going to the news and telling them everything. Public outrage rises anew.

There's a riot in town square and Matchstick and Reaper are sent in to stop it. Thirteen people die, kindly Mr. TFC one of them. Xisuma comes home, collapses into Evil X's arms, and cries.

Things have to change. And so they do.

---

Midnight and two figures meet on a roof top somewhere overlooking the domed silhouette of city hall. The first wears a set of armor shaded in green and grey, a purple visor over his eyes and an oxygen-filter over the lower half of his face. The second figure has wings, stretched wide to block out the light of the crescent moon above.

Matchstick. Poultryman.

Xisuma. Grian.

Matchstick tilts his head to the side, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over the far shorter villain. "The status quo is falling apart, Poultryman. Does the deal still hold?"

Poultryman rolls his head to make it clear he had just rolled his eyes, the purple insignia on his mask flashing to display his annoyance. "Yeah yeah, I've spread the word to the others and they're not as crazy as the news likes to make 'em out to be. No one has hurt your precious 'E-X,' nor do they have any plans to. Too much trouble to mess with beyond trying to keep him out of whatever crime scene we'll be making, and that's hard enough as is. Your brother has a habit of making himself hard to track and it's getting... troubling."

The hero's posture suddenly goes as stiff as his namesake, smoke starting to hiss from the vents carefully built into his suit. "Troubling?"

Violet wings flap once, twice, before pulling tight against Poultryman's back and not for the first time, Matchstick curses himself for never bothering to learn what his various wing positions mean. The villain in question just rolls his shoulders back and settles into a careful parade rest that gives nothing away, expression pensive.

"Xisuma..." Matchstick flinches back, the careful line between them wavering at the name. "What exactly do you about your brother?"

A hesitant head tilt and he taps his fingers along his leg, thinking back to when he had last spent more than a few fleeting hours with his twin at a time.

"He likes sweet foods, even if he pretends he doesn't. Has more money invested in Derp Coin than he probably should. Likes red and black but gets fussy if anyone calls him a goth. Never seems to sleep, or eat regular meals, but he never seems to forget anything either. Best brother I could ever ask for- he loves me, I know that for sure. All the important stuff. Why?"

A wisp of cloud drifts overhead, casting a brief shadow over the pair, and in the sudden darkness Matchstick could swear that Poultryman had pulled a frown. Then the moment passes and the villain is back to his usual inscrutable self, the only emotion in his body language being what he had put there intentionally. His wings remain tight to his back.

"Then I think you might be in for a bit of a surprise one day, Matchstick. Here's to hoping you can roll with the coming storm."

---

Evil X is beloved by the HEP network. Regardless of Grian's intention in putting him in contact with them- or even why the villain knew of the group to start with- his repeated contributions to their food stocks made him an opening among them and his ability to make and exploit connections made him their hero. If you were desperate, hungry, in need? Evil X could get you whatever you needed at the cost of a simple favor.

When it came to the price of a life, a favor is a small thing to ask indeed. Is it any wonder that they became so loyal to him? So when Evil X began asking questions about some of the city's more sensitive secrets and its shadier underbelly, it was only natural that they told him.

From the tall man with green skin, he learned the best places to dump things so that they disappeared. From a sleepy-looking fellow with a bandana, he learned the locations of the best drug dealers, and from those dealers he learned of their suppliers, their manufacturers, the places where heroes never walked. From the man with glasses, he learned about the back doors and hidden routes through the biggest, most important buildings, the places where they held people until they could make them disappear.

And with this information, Evil X's services expanded even further. Drugs for the addicts, as contaminant-free and trust-worthy as he could find them. Ways to make people appear and disappear in the eyes of the law (and the occasional abusive spouse). Alcohol, cigarettes- and most importantly, information.

Or rather, black mail. If you wanted to know something on someone, Evil X became the person to go to. Months of careful manipulation had spread his name and his reach through all levels of the city and people from all walks of life took advantage of her services, although usually all meetings were held over the phone and through a voice changer fashioned to look just like his twin's mask. The secrecy only increased his popularity, as people just love a good mystery and a grey-shaded crime boss made a lovely story indeed.

And soon, this caught the intention of another of the city's fabled figures- the mad scientist who lived deep in the underbelly of the city, a place where no light shone. The man, the myth, the legend... Void.

But then, myths never were all that accurate, especially with things like names.

---

Curly blond hair, brown cardigan, a ripped white lab coat. Calculating purple eyes and a wide, wide eerily white grin. Short and stocky with a complexion like a ripe peach, the blue light coming off the lights overhead casting hazy shadows over his form, everything about the good doctor is simultaneously creepy and a soft sort of handsome- he has to say, he's impressed. The mythical Zedaph lives up to the city's dark rumors of him and he says as much, which prompts that grin to grow all the wider.

"Ah, hello Weaver! Y'know, I kind of thought you'd be shorter. And down here a lot sooner, I almost could say I missed you~!" Evil X balks as the scientist steps forward and grips his chin to tilt his head down, purple eyes wandering over his scarred features.

"It's not like you make yourself easy to find- and that's not my name." Zedaph shakes his head, leaning his face up with just scant inches between them.

"Little spider, you might be pretty good at hearing things but you're awful at listening. If you have large enough ears, you'd find you're just about the most talked about thing in the underground these days-"

"Do spiders have ears...?"

"-so like it or not, your web is big enough that people have been spotting it in odd places, which means your twin will probably catch on soon. Which means..." Here Zedpah spins away to walk to the opposite wall, pressing a few buttons on his tablet which make the underground laboratory brighten considerably. Evil X tries not to feel bereft at the sudden loss of contact. "Your plans are gonna have to hit double time. And I love me a good speed potion!"

Speechless, Evil X just nods as the scientist opens a previously hidden door and pulls out a laptop case from inside, turning to present it to him with a fiercely proud expression on his face.

"Knock 'em dead darling. I can't wait to see you rock their world~!"

---

What does the end of an era look like? It's not a sudden collapse of civilization, people screaming and running through the streets. It's not the violent murder of the governmental leaders or riots against the past order. It's not as clear cut as all that. Nor is it so subtle that people look around one day and go huh, as the world around them had shifted beneath their feet without their notice. Indeed, there are many who saw the tide rising and were all too happy to watch the waters sweep in and away.

It goes like this.

The super villains go missing. First one week goes by with no wild scheme or dangerous incident, then two, then three. The higher ups are frantic with worry, running constant meetings and keeping the super heroes out on the streets for as long as they could without the heroes themselves rioting. It keeps Matchstick out of the way of Weaver, and at the moment, that's all the thought he can afford to spare his twin. It's for the best, really. The next step is important.

Across every government-issued computer in the city, an email is issued out. Personalized, first middle last name, parents' names, chidlrens' names. An alphabetical list of every law the person in question had broken in the last ten years, the number of witnesses who saw them do it, sometimes video footage or photo-copied documents if the crime was serious enough to warrant more concrete proof. What the punishments for those crimes would be. What could be done, if those punishments were waived for money or fame.

Nearly a thousand people get an email in the span of 24 hours. (Evil X never wants to write another email ever-fucking-again. None. Ever.) The heroes also receive an email detailing what laws were broken by denying them rights, food, decent living conditions and overtime pay, as well as the names of several lawyers who would work for them for free if the email was shown to them within three days time.

Every email is emblazoned with a web-like logo with a bright red "X" sitting in the middle like a bloody spider. Though some plucky tech people attempt to track the emails back to the sender, their every attempt is rebuffed by the impossible firewalls built into the computer the messages were sent from. As imagined, chaos in its most understated form ensues.

The city officials scramble to keep their sinking ship from falling apart and the little people kept cooped up in square offices and cell blocks come crawling out of the woodwork to jump ship. Some of the heroes, such as Xenon, Matchstick, and Shank try desperately to hold things together, but others like Reaper head for the nearest legal office and hole up with a team of vicious prosecutor attorneys. Meanwhile, the civilians go about their business, unaware of what is going on in the ivory towers far above their notice.

Xisuma comes home to fin their apartment empty, and although betrayal sits like a rock in his gut, his guts still squirm with desperate, aching fear. (No... please, no.)

The super villains make their reappearance with flair, setting the stage for the next act. Each one takes to a corner of the city, working in pairs to capture civilians and hold them hostage en mass, their efforts to wide spread for the remaining heroes to deal with in one go. From here, walking along a quiet street and watched by hundreds of frightened eyes- a captive audience- Weaver makes his debut as he makes his way to the city capital.

Tall, whip-thin enough to make his proportions lean more towards slenderman than super model, and dressed in red and black armor with a matching helmet and visor, Weaver cuts an imposing figure as he makes his way up the white marble steps of the capital building to where a nervous-looking reporter stands. She straightens up at his approach though and with a nod to her camera crew, she starts asking questions just in time for Poultryman to swoop in and land beside the newest super villain, expression stern but a clear presence of support.

In his hands a laptop is clutched.

---

The demands are simple in theory, but Xisuma feels his heart thunder in his throat at every point on the list.

The week would be split into three types of days. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays would proceed as normal and the heroes and villains could go at each other as they pleased. Fridays would be reserved for the villains to do as necessary without hero interference under the caveat that no blood would be spilled, and Sundays heroes could have the same. Tuesdays and Saturdays, no one would fight, a proper break for everyone.

The villains would keep to their side of the bargain, Weaver says darkly as he stares directly into camera, just so long as the heroes kept to theirs. And measures would be taken for anyone who chose not to comply. Xisuma's brain goes fuzzy with static as the super villain makes a few other demands, something about fair wages and from when to when each group could operate, but his gaze remains locked to where he can just barely make out his twin's face through his visor. The words filter through him, dismissed into a soft numbing blur.

The air suddenly feels chilled on his skin, fingers twitching in his lap, a rough, twisting feeling in his gut like the bottom of his stomach just dropped away. He feels trapped, unable to move from the couch, from the wrong side of the screen. Oh, he thinks hazily to himself, he's about to be sick. Hmm, ought to do- something. About all of- of this.

Gods... What did his brother do?

---

An era ends like this- Poultryman sweeps Weaver away in his arms and in his place, Evil X comes home. Xisuma watches his brother come through the door, eyes glued to his brother's face even as Evil X places his keys on the table by the door and takes off his shoes. There's a gentle realization bubbling up that this is the first time he's seen his brother's bare face with his own eyes, without the tint of a visor between them, in far too long. His twin's got paler as of late, making the eye bags and scars stand out all the more.

"You're home." The words hang in the air and Evil X sags at their weight, leaning against the door as if to prop himself up for the conversation to come. His arms hang behind his back, a laptop case dangling in his grip.

"You know this isn't home any more than the tree was."

"We- we were supposed to be safe here. This was where we were going to stay!" Xisuma is going red now, rising up from the couch in his anger, and Evil X watches him with the dredged-up calm of a man resigned to drowning. Good, anger he could handle.

"You thought this was where we would stay, got us a nice, normal apartment that looks like it's out of a fashion plate without asking me. You think I like staying in this pretty white bird cage that you bought by selling yourself to the most corrupt people around? This place isn't any safer for us than the tree was, and at least in the park we had company!"

"Says the one who fell into bed with the literal bad guy! At least here you weren't getting into fights every other week."

"No, now you're the one doing that!" They're shouting at each other. They never do that. An acrid taste fills Evil X's mouth and he gulps it back, along with a few words he just knows he would regret if he said them. A deep breath, a slow in and out. "Look, just. Don't be a hypocrite, okay?"

Xisuma pauses in his wind up for a proper tirade, eyes wary and wet. "What?"

"You aren't the only self sacrificing moron here."

"...Oh." Yeah. Oh.

Here Evil X takes another breath, resisting the urge to hold it, then extends his arm to show his twin the laptop case. "Hey."

Xisuma folds his arms behind his back, looking at his feet and then up again, shuffling back a step. "Yeah?"

"Got you a present. You always were the best of us, so. Here. It was the last part of the deal I kinda set up, a kind of fail-safe slash card to add to your deck. This laptop has evidence of my entire operation, every backroom deal, every piece of black mail, every person I've had killed or vanished or what have you. Everything I've been up to for the last however long. And... it's for you to read. It's not gonna be fun, but like, I trust you so it's okay. If you read this and really, honestly think I've crossed a line you can't forgive me for, you can turn this into the police and... I'll deal with whatever you choose to do with me. No loop holes, no take-backs."

Here Evil X leans his full weight against the door and lets his arm swing back down to his side, gaze sliding off to the side and a melancholy smile curling at his lips and pulling at his scars. "I trust you. I trust you. It... It'll be okay, yeah? Just make whatever choice you need to. Don't hesitate." He doesn't promise anything, keeps the words 'I'll be okay' from spilling into the air between them, but instead allows a careful submission to enter his posture, head bowed and figure loose and hanging.

It... might not be alright, but it will be right and that will have to be good enough. (It has to be.)

Xisuma chokes, a sob rising in his throat as his brave, strong brother gives up before his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes solid at the thought of having to choose whether or not his twin lives or dies, because that's what this is, he can't pretend that the city wouldn't execute him at the slightest chance, agreements be damned. His gaze tracks wildly from the laptop case to the top of his brother's head to the window, as if trying to see if anyone could be watching, could make the choice for him.

It's not fair. It's not fair, why him, why? He was so good, tried so hard- his heart is loud in his ears, breath rattling in and out in wheezing gasps- sobbing now, utterly sobbing. Evil X doesn't look up, doesn't try to comfort him. Won't even move, gods.

Fuck it.

Evil X startles, back banging against the door as Xisuma rushes forward and rips the case from his hands, only to chuck it into the far corner before throwing himself into his arms. On instinct Evil X catches him and holds him close just in time for Xisuma to bury his face in the crook of his neck and burst into messy, tearful sobs. They shake together and Evil X lets his head thump back gently against the door, eyes hazily gazing up at the ceiling.

"It's not- *hic*- it's not fair! I didn't want this!"

"I know. I know." He runs his hand over his twin's back, his taller form bowing forward to shelter his brother's smaller one. Somehow, even now it feels like Xisuma is the larger one between them, solid and warm in his arms.

"Why do I have to choose? I never wanted this! Why?! Why would you do this for me?"

"You're my brother. I love you." A gasping, wet sob against his neck and his twin lets out a moan like a dying cow, low and agonized. Evil X focuses on a soot mark on the white ceiling, tears stinging his eyes and running down his face to plop softly into his brother's hair.

"But why?!" Screaming. Gods, he can't-

"I love you. I love you." Rocking now, back and forth, gentle, just as he had when he had come home from beating up the men who had tried to lay stomp out his brother's heart, scarred and beaten and bloody. I love you, he had said then, and he repeats it now.

Later, much later, Xisuma will have to boot up the laptop and read through its contents. He will try to burn it, first, but Zedaph's work is more durable than most and Evil X will watch as his twin will dump his emotions into his flames, desperately trying to stoke them hotter and brighter. Later, a choice will have to be made.

But for now, Evil X will hold his brother, warm and safe, and let him cry.

#minecraft #my writing #fanfiction #hermitcraft #xisuma #evil xisuma #evil x #pretty much all the hermits actually

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officialleehadan · 3 years

Text

(un)Confident Invisibility

Hello darlings! Here it is, the last story of Prompt Month!

This story was brought to you by Glenn! Darling, thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: Callen and Rao have some difficulty with their new magic (Secondhand Souls)

+++

“Okay, so this isn’t… exactly the most precise sort of magic,” Callen said. It wasn’t his first attempt at writing a spell onto his skin, but it was the first time he had tried it with a tattoo, rather than a sharpie. “The guys I’ve been talking to don’t really designate between ‘religious purposes’ and ‘actually does something’ magic.”

“Are we sure we even want to try this?” Rao asked. He wasn’t cautious, exactly, but thing had been a little complicated since Callen started working out his magic. Most sorcerers only had one sort of magic, but , as they were discovering, Callen could do any magic, as long as he could figure out how it worked. A product of their deal, once they sat down to figure it out. “The last time was kind of explosive.”

“This isn’t supposed to be explosive,” Callen assured him. He held up his wrist, which was painstakingly tattooed with a beautiful, curling fern. It had been kind of complicated to get a tattoo needle, and the right inks, and more complicated to get all the ingredients for the spell, but now they were ready to try something new. “If it works, we’re never gonna get busted sneaking around ever again.”

“Unless you happen to get spotted, or someone’s a better spellchucker than you,” Rao pointed out. He was somewhat dismayed to discover that he, the half demon was the good sense of the relationship. That was not what he signed on for. Then again, Callen was a brilliant planner, and was turning out to be even more brilliant with magic. Yes, there were some explosions, but that was pretty normal for a young sorcerer. “Okay, go ahead. I’m ready.”

“Right,” Callen said, and ran a finger over his tattoo, a pinpoint of soft green light on his fingertip. In response, the fern coiled up and out of the tattoo, all made of deep green glass. Mist rippled off it, and rained glowing spores down on Callen’s skin, where they caught and glittered, before vanishing. When they winked out of existence, so did the skin beneath them. In moments, Callen had vanished completely. “Did it work?”

“Well, you’re invisible,” Rao said, somewhat surprised. Callen’s spells didn’t usually go so well on the first run. He focused inward for a minute. “I can still feel you, if you’re wondering. Probably not much magic that will block that.”

“It’s not designed to block you, but we should work on that,” Callen’s voice came out of thin air. He was moving around, according to Rao’s sense of him, but there wasn’t so much as a flicker in the air. “Can you hear me?”

“You’re a chatterbox. Of course I can hear you.”

“When I’m not talking!”

Rao rolled his eyes, but Callen fell silent. The brown grass, long ignored by Callen’s loser father, flattened down here and there, apparently trampled by invisible feet. When Rao tried it himself, the grass rustled and crunched under his boots.

“Looks like it’s sound-blocking too,” he reported to Callen, impressed and pleased. “Good work.”

“Thanks,” Callen said. Rao felt something like concentration through their bond, and then a shot of dismay. “Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” Rao demanded, not at all happy by the words, and unfortunately familiar with his pact-mate’s occasional lack of caution. Callen might be a brilliant planner, but unless he had a plan down to the second, he had common sense in the negative numbers. How anyone so smart and so clever could also be such a bonehead, Rao wasn’t sure. “What is uh oh?”

“I’m not sure I can turn back.”

“Crap,” Rao muttered, abruptly past ‘uh oh’ and immediately into mild profanity. He would get to the harder stuff if they didn’t manage to turn Callen visible again before his father got home. “Uh, what do we have to fix that?”

“I don’t know,” Callen said. The grass tamped down in a line. Callen was a pacer, especially when he was thinking. “Uh…. Okay, go get a few leaves from the jade plant on the window. It’s supposed to be good for success, so maybe I can translate that to visibility?”

“That seems like a long shot,” Rao told him, but he went and got the plant anyway. It was a sad, half-wilted thing, but it was alive. Rao had been looking after it for a week or two now, and it seemed to be perking back up. “What else?”

“I got some yarrow from the yard,” Callen said. Rao would just have to believe him, since he couldn’t see it himself. He held out the jade plant leaves and felt Callen take them. “It’s for light. Success and light should work, right?”

“Why’re you asking me?” Rao asked with sigh. He moved back to the porch, and the protective barricade of dumpsters that they had rolled over to take the worst of the damage when Callen’s magic went wrong. Fire Rao could deal with, but light magic, they discovered through a series of uncomfortable experiments, was not his friend. “Okay, I’m covered.”

“Right,” Callen told him, sounding determined and somewhat uncertain. “You’ll take Lis if I blow myself up?”

“I know where your cash is, you introduced me to your fake ID guy, and your father doesn’t get home for three more hours,” Rao reassured him as he always did right before their more dangerous attempts. He didn’t actually think Callen was likely to die, but it reassured them both to have a plan in place. “I could be across state lines in forty minutes, and Lis trusts me to take her if we need to run. You’re stalling. Go on.”

“Okay,” Callen sighed, although Rao could tell he was comforted by the reminder of their plan. “Light and success to undo an invisibility spell. First trial.”

+++

Secondhand Souls:

Solving a murder is rarely easy, but a sorcerer with a vendetta and his half-demon best friend complicate things.

Cora still hasn’t decided whether or not to shoot them both and blame it on whoever happens to be handy.

Partnership of Flames

Barroom Brawl

Lox of Trouble

Attack on Blue

Busted Engine

Dragon Curry

Territory Negotiations (Free on Patreon)

Word Salad

Rumble and Roll (Subscriber-Only!)

Prophesy Burning

Fly Out (Subscriber Only!)

Waver in the Air

Over Troubled Water

Three Sparks and a Book

Drop Downstairs (Subscriber Only!)

Special Delivery (Subscriber Only!)

Shattered Ward (Subscriber Only!)

+++

More Stories!

+++

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 3 years

Note

I’m so excited for all of the unnatural travesties we’ll get from you tonight around the dumpster fire of shame!!! How about a Fuck Marry Kill, but with a blurb on each one of course, for Captain Blowhole, This is Sparta, and I’m Your Huckleberry!

Unleash the shame and crack!!!

@safarigirlsp YOUR MIND IS SO DEPRAVED AND IM ALWAYS LIVING FOR IT!😂

GET READY FOR THE WILDEST RIDE A YER LIFE DARLIN’!

FMK WITH THE CRACK AU’S: CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE, THIS IS SPARTA, AND OF COURSE.... HUCKLEBERRY

FUCK: CAPTAIN BLOWHOLE

Flip loved the sea and all its sea-crets (i hate myself) it held. Yes he grew very fond of you as well, keeping his cock nice and warm every night while you wailed on top of him. His balls never felt so light as his cum stayed nice and safe in your slick folds at all hours of the day. But if there was one thing he detested more than death, it was marriage.

He never felt like he was the committed type, leaving you to question all the progress you’d made on his salty heart. Finally settling with what this all really was in the end, a quick fuck and forget.

You hated the idea of being a pawn in his game, cursed him for it every time he entered your pussy, but the hate-fucking made it more exciting than anything in the entire ocean.

You soon grew to enjoy being his own personal pet of sorts, him using you as his personal cumbucket whenever he needed to relieve his frustrations.

Never once muttering the words commitment once you’d figured out his triggers. The one night you did resulted in a night spent in the barracks with the crew, grabbing at your clothing, shredding it to pieces as you cowered in the corner, kicking their grubby hands from your skin. The mutual relationship was enough to get you out of the stuffy town you’d grown up in, full of drunks and homeless buccaneers, taking even more advantage of your beauty than Flip had already.

At least he was handsome, and well-endowed in just about every department you could think of. You craved the adventure, the smell of the salt in the sea, the wind in your pretty locks as you trekked the world with the Jolly Roger.

Getting fucked into oblivion every single night, eating gourmet dinners, being gifted with all the treasures of the Seven Seas, even participating in a battle or two amongst the rivaling pirate ships. It was perfect. Being his personal pocket pussy was just enough to keep you satisfied.

MARRY: THIS IS SPARTA

The wedding would be short and sweet. The entire village present as the nuptials of the two most beautiful people in the community were to be finally joined with the Gods blessing their union.

You were draped in the finest silks your family could provide, the white illuminating your skin in a halo of glitter as you walked down the path to the steps of the temple. The grin plastered on your warrior rivaling Zeus himself as he watched you glide down the aisle, carrying a bouquet of wildflowers in your delicate fingers.

You hid your face under a sheer veil, a small crown adorning your head as he was clad in his full army gear, including the Spartan helmet which covered his precious nose from your view.

He and you were only able to remove the garb when the officiant blessed the marriage. You traipsed up the stairs, grabbing the majority of your silks in your free hand as you came to his place on the marbled floor.

He held a large hand to which you took, both of you gazing into one another’s eyes as you waited for the end of the ceremony.

“Phillip,” the senator pronounced, “will you uphold the will of the Gods to complete the duty to your country, as well as your commitments to this woman you’ve chosen to be yours?”

Flip turned his head from the minister, to gaze into your precious eyes, smiling before he answers slightly above a whisper, “I do,” a chorus of javelins hitting the ground as the warriors in his guild were present in their full gear to witness their leader wed.

“Y/N,” the senator turned to your direction, “will you uphold the will of the Gods to complete the duties to your country, as well as your commitments to this warrior you have been blessed with to be your betrothed?” turning your neck back to face him as his amber eyes swirled in your brain.

“I do,” hitching a breath as you released the anxiety that had built up throughout the day of getting prepared for him.

“Then it is the will of Zeus and Hera to bless this sacred union in holy matrimony,” he pronounced to the crowd of hundreds gathered, “you may seal your duties with a kiss,” gesturing for the removal of your coverings.

He let go to remove the golden helmet, his ravened hair falling over his face in curls as he fixed himself enough to remove your veil. Your beauty shimmering in the light of day like a beacon, the smile on your face rivaling Aphrodite’s gorgeous stare.

He pulled you to him, gripping the back of your head to tilt it to his face, embracing your lips in a searing kiss. The movements only increasing as the crowd signaled their agreements with the union, cheering and stomping their feet while throwing flower petals into the air in celebration.

Yes the wedding would be short, but the reception would last days. The people dancing in the streets over your love. Women weeping as they watched their only chance with Flip fade away as you both gazed into each other, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

“I love you my muse,” he whispered by the lit bonfire surrounded by dancers, celebrating your marriage.

“I love you too my strong warrior,” running a finger along his jaw as he leaned in to give you another kiss, your tongues laving over each other as you both fell into each other’s embrace.

KILL: IM YOUR HUCKLEBERRY

“Phil!” you screamed, tied to the bed of the truck in a spread eagle pattern, naked as a jay-bird in the cool night.

“Fuck! Phillip! I’m gonna kill you!” crying out as your empty pussy puckered from the breeze that blew over the Colorado Springs plains.

You heard a deep chuckle roll from the side of the truck, the flick of his bic lighting a cigarette that he blew smoke out from your peripheral, “aw darlin’, don’t promise somethin’ ya can’t keep,” a grunt leaving his lips as he lifted a spurred boot on his tailgate, the motion causing the entire bed to shake.

“I said what I said,” spitting a wad to smack on the leather of the shoe as you shivered in the cold, “there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it, cowboy,” arching an eyebrow at the smirk that landed across his face again.

“Oh, sugar,” he cooed, lifting his entire weight on his tailgate, pulling the knots on your ankles to make sure they still held up from your writhing, “there’s a million things I could do about it,” pressing a spur to dig into the flesh of your thigh, the metal causing you to wail out in pain as it drew the slightest bit of blood.

“Just fuck me already you son of a bitch!” gritting your teeth to sand as he dug further into your perfect skin.

“Hold the fuck on,” he growled out, sucking the last of his filter as he lowered to your mound, watching your hole open and close from the bite of the air, “last time I checked, brats like you don’t get anything they want,” running his free hand over your slicked up folds, a hiss leaving your mouth as you felt his gritty fingers touch your pretty pussy.

“You’re such a goddamn slut,” snarling as he lowered the burning end of his cigarette on your other thigh, ashing it on your delicate epidermis.

“Motherfucker!” the pain unbearable as he pushed the ashes into the welt, “Flip! Goddamnit!” a gush of slick dripping down to your asshole as you cursed his name into the night.

“I know ya like the pain, whore!” spitting into your open mouth as he grabbed the trail of wetness and rimmed your puckered butthole with his thumb.

“I’m gonna,” you winced out, moaning as he pushed his digit into your ass, “I-I,” losing yourself in the feeling of his other fingers filling your gaping cunt, coaxing them to close in on them like a finger trap.

“You’re gonna what, sugar?” taunting as he watched your head roll back in pleasure, “you’re gonna kill me?” he chuckled again, watching you unravel on his fingers.

“I don’t think you’re gonna do anything, baby doll,” feeling your walls close in on him as he brushed your G-spot, “in fact, I think you’re gonna cum all over my hand... like the fuckin’ slut you are,” cooing with his Cameled breath as he watched you come closer and closer to bliss.

“You’re gonna cum,” he demanded, “and you’re gonna do it right now, Y/N,” growling out as he ran his free thumb over your aching clit, sending you into a frenzy of euphoria, the pressure built up so much from all of this causing you to release your spend in a stream that coated the entirety of his large hand.

Yes, you were gonna kill him, but not until after he made you cum a few more times tonight.

HO-MY-GOD IM EXHAUSTED FROM THIS BUT I LOVE ALL OF IT WITH ALL MY HEART. THESE AU’S KILL ME IN THE BEST WAY!

#the triple au smackdown #fmk ask #captain blowhole #this is sparta #im your huckleberry #flip zimmerman au #flip zimmerman request #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman fluff #flip zimmerman imagine

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breanime · 4 years

Note

“it’s no big deal” & “you scared the shit out of me” & “it sounded better in my head” for Billy

warning: sexual language towards the end there....

There were many benefits to having a boyfriend in the security business. The work was exciting for him, but he was still able to keep (semi) regular hours, he stayed healthy and in shape (and how!), sometimes he’d take you overseas with him and you got to have mini-vacations, and when he got back from a long assignment, you were treated to lots and lots of “I missed you” sex.

That being said, dating a man in such a dangerous business had its downfalls, too. You worried about him all the time—even though Billy Russo was the most capable person in the game. And he worried about you. There had been many times when Billy would chastise you for the security (or lack thereof) of your car and apartment.

“You can’t just leave your door open like that,” he’d say, glaring at you as you sat in the driver’s seat after you’d parked, “Anyone can come out of nowhere and attack you.”

Or “Sweetheart, I told you, if you’re gonna walk alone at night, carry mace with you.”

Or even “How many times do I have to tell you to lock your windows? You want someone crawling in here at 4 in the morning?”

You told Billy that he was being paranoid, and while you made efforts to follow his instructions, you weren’t particularly concerned with the threats he was always so sure were present…

…until it was 4 in the morning, and you heard a thump in your apartment.

You sat up, heart pounding. You listened, eyes wide in the dark, as there was another thump.

Someone was in your apartment.

You grabbed your phone and crept put of bed, unsure of what to do next. Your fingers hovered over Billy’s name on your phone, and you peaked around the corner as you stood behind your door. A light was being turned on in the living room, and you sucked in a breath—were you getting robbed? At 4 am? Because you didn’t lock your window even though you were on the 3rd floor?

Billy would never let you hear the end of this.

You grabbed the aluminum bat that Frank had given you when you moved in and held it in your other hand. You cleared your throat, letting the intruder know that you were there and aware of their presence.

“My boyfriend’s here and he’s a fucking Marine, so get the hell out of my house!” You cried out, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking like your hands were. There was a pause, and you wondered if you’d just made a mistake and let this robber know where you were.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Billy said, his voice immediately making you relax, “but that’s the least terrifying thing you could have said.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, dropping the bat and phone and walking into the living room, “You know, it sounded better in my head,” you raised an eyebrow at Billy. He was standing in front of the couch in one of his all-black stealth suits with a bag near his feet, and he was smirking at you. “You ass! You scared the shit out of me!”

He grinned, walking over to you and pulling you to him in a hug, “If it makes you feel any better, that wasn’t my intention?”

“What was your intention, then?” You asked, glaring up at him.

“To surprise you,” he answered, “I just got off the plane and wanted to see you.”

“And you couldn’t call or use your key?” You asked, stepping back from him with your hands on your hips.

His grin didn’t waver. “Nah,” he shrugged, “Wanted to test your defenses. They’re pretty weak, if I’m honest.”

Your mouth fell open; it was the ass crack of dawn and Billy wanted to test you? “I can’t believe you,” you threw your hands in the air, turning and walking back to your room, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m getting the sense that you’re upset with me,” he said, right on your heels.

You rolled your eyes and hopped back into bed, slamming your covers over your legs. “Fuck off, Russo.”

“Nah,” he said, crawling into bed and hovering over you, his dark eyes glittering in the dark, “I’d rather fuck you.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure even as you felt yourself grow warm at his words. “I’m still mad at you.”

“No you’re not,” he grinned, dropping his head to press light kisses into your neck.

You groaned, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around him as he used his weight to push you down onto the mattress. “I like that you think you scaring the crap out of me in the middle of the night is an acceptable way to greet me,” you said.

“Far as I’m concerned, it’s no big deal,” his teeth grazed your collar bone, and you shivered in his grasp, “You have no idea how badly I missed you,” he went on as his warm hand slid underneath your shirt, “Fuck… Scaling the side of your apartment in the middle of the night just to see you was nothin’,” he bit your shoulder, and you gasped, “All I could think about when I was dodging bullets in the Ukraine was burying myself in that wet pussy…”

You scratched at his back, wanting his clothes off. “Billy…”

He understood what you wanted—and needed—and acted quickly. He stripped you both before plunging into you, devouring you with his every touch until he was empty, and you were full. You fell asleep in his arms, and even though your sleep had been interrupted, you slept better than you had in days.

As time went on, Billy realized that his lesson hadn’t had the effect on you that he hoped it would. You still couldn’t bring yourself to lock your windows at night, always leaving them unlocked in case you got a late-night visit from your favorite Marine.

*******************************************************************************************

LOCK YOUR WINDOWS, GUYS! Billy Russo is NOT gonna climb through your window, so keep it locked at night! Thanks for reading!

Everything Taglist: @encounterthepast @jigsawlover10 @gollyderek @charlylama @realduckvader @teacuplotus @whovianayesha @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @fanfictionrecommendations-com @maxslime-blog @songforhema @lucielandss @themadhatter92 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @ashkuuuu @luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @iaintnofurry @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @binbons-is-theloml @aikeia @bitch-imma-head-out @witchygagirl

Benny B Taglist: @suchatinyinfinity @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @starkrobb @elanor-of-imladris @thesumofmychoices @marauderskeeper @honeyydippaa @thebabblingbookworm @khuangpu13 @ladyblablabla @woodlandreads @ms-delos @belladonnarey @thesandbeneathmytoes @georgiagrl1990 @kahlanmars @the-blind-assassin-12

Benny B Taglist (minus Sirius): @banditthewriter @something-tofightfor

#Billy Russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo #breanime's drabble event part two

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cyberneticlagomorph · 3 years

Text

And on the first day of the Apocalypse.

The sun refused to rise.

The blackened, bruised sky stayed dark and starless well past what should have been dawn, haunted by a full crimson moon that glared down at the world like an angry bloodshot eye, and washed everything in an eerie, rusty-red glow.

People stared up at the sky, numb with creeping cold, panic new in their hearts. They looked to the news for comfort, to science, to their leaders, and their gods, but found nothing but their own fears and confusion mirrored back at them.

The air grew slick and cold, somehow leaving a waxy residue in the lungs of those who breathed it.

Anywhere and everywhere, snow fell; as thick, and black as ash. Towns were buried and roads were closed, and watersheds were tainted, running red and caustic.

By late afternoon when the sun still hadn't shown, panic set in and there were riots in the streets. People looted, stole, and set fires in a feeble attempt to remember what warmth was. Cities burned, black snow hissing as it hit the flames and let off a putrid steam that scarred the airways of anybody unfortunate enough to breathe it.

High in their towers of glass and steel, the Conglomerate watched their kingdom BURN like the biblical rulers of old, and for the first time in uncountable, unnatural years

They.

Felt.

Afraid.

Confused.

Angry.

They watched as all they'd built, cheated, and killed to get was buried under a thick black blanket of ash and snow, and it scared them. Try as they might to capitalize on this ordeal, it seemed like some divine hand kept coming down to stop their plans from the moment they'd been formed.

And they were right of course.

With the Writer missing, and the End loose, the Narrative shuddered and wheezed like a dying thing and tried desperately to swat any and all significant Plot Twists out of the hands of anybody that couldn't be trusted.

Which is most people.

The Narrative keened and cried and begged and looked for its Protagonist. He'd save them, he'd fix this… he had to… this was what he was FOR.

Right?

Somewhere, deep in the ruins of what used to be Chicago, Jack stood. Gazing up at the red moon, up to his knees in black snow. It burned to touch, but not like fire does, more like drain cleaner or acetone, or acid.

It smelled that way too, like flakes of frozen pollution had come back to earth to wreak their vengeance upon their creators. The harsh chemical odor was almost as pervasive as the waxy winds that tore through town and left everything feeling greasy and slick.

Prolonged exposure made it hard to swallow and taste.

But still, Jack stood there, gaining a mix of chemical burns and frostbite as the temperatures outside continued to plummet.

This was all his fault.

And not in any, 'oh woe is me', emo bullshit guilt trippy way either.

This was LEGITIMATELY all his fault.

He willingly Named, and thus released, the most dangerous being in his universe, naively hoping that She'd be on his side for some stupid reason.

So he stood there, feeling the snow eat away at his fake flesh, gnawing hungrily on the plating beneath, and told himself that he deserved the pain.

Kay, his symbiote, smacked him in the back of the head… from the inside, and took control of their mutual body, marching this one rabbit pity party back into the Warren where it was still warm and dry and safe.

Kay plunked Jack down in front of the kitchen hearth and let him thaw, slithering across their wounds and doing her best to heal them. Jack just sat there, limp, caught in a self hate spiral, a few seconds from disassociating completely. Kay wrapped them both in a thick quilt and poured a mug of warm milk, with honey and sat close to the fire.

Gooey black hands formed themselves out of Jack's brown skin and gently stroked his ears, mopping his tears when he finally broke from the weight of it all.

But enough about him, and Kay, and numerous unnamed side characters that nobody really cares about.

Let's talk about the End, or Revolution, or Lucifer, or Eaten, or whichever of Her 50 alternative nicknames that She's gathered over the millennia.

The Narrative is Hers now, clutched tight in greedy, iron jaws.

The world is Hers now, and innumerable worlds beyond.

She has, for all intents and purposes, won.

We could End the story here if we wanted, but that isn't very fun, so we'll keep going and see how this all plays out.

There, gliding atop the snow in faraway Europe with unparalleled grace and malice, was the End of Everything. She'd Spoken Herself a new Shape, with seven glittering green eyes, seven horns and fourteen powerful wings. Where She stepped plants bloomed and withered in the span of a heartbeat.

Frightened humans watched Her pass and began to pray and wail, falling at Her feet, begging for mercy. When She touched them, their skin turned a sickly pale green, then steadily darker. Brown scaly patches bloomed like rashes, spreading across their bodies, fusing their faces shut, stiffening their joints, until all that was left was a wretched topiary in the shape of the victim. Their wooden eyes cried green sap, as they froze in the cold.

The End smiled at Her own cruelty, drank in the fear of those around Her. The world was a nightmare, Her nightmare. She'd shattered the boundaries between dreams and waking and covered the world in a blanket of FEAR.

It was beautiful.

She found a rat, shivering, half dead in a nearby gutter and kissed its little head. The rat sprang back to life and gazed up at Her with tiny red eyes, and then it screamed.

And screamed.

And something shattered with a sound like the wet cough of someone sick and slowly dying.

More rats poured from storm drains and trash cans, dumpsters, and every filthy shadowed place for miles around. The coalesced into a writhing heap that pulsated and churned, becoming the vague shape of a person before all the rats seemed to liquify and meld together.

As the figure made of rats finally started to solidify, any unfortunate human person still around started to hack and cough. Blood and bile poured from their faces, their skin blistered and split, soaking them in pus and who knows what else.

Their deaths were slow, so very very slow.

They spasmed and wheezed until their lungs stopped working and they were finally allowed to die in a puddle of their own mess.

The rat-thing donned a crown made of polished bone, silver scalpels, and empty syringes. It covered its face in a plague doctor's mask and climbed onto the back of something like a huge white lab rat with three tails twisted into a braid, and too many heads, each sicker than the last.

One head, foaming with rabies, snarled and hissed, and screeched as the reins were pulled. It gazed at the End and drooled deliriously, but did not bite when She scratched it behind the ears. She looked at the rat's rider and said, "Hello Pestilence, welcome to the apocalypse."

With the first of seven seals broken, Pestilence smiled behind their mask and spoke in a voice like mucus and pain, "We have long awaited this day, we have much work to do, the cold makes them weak… this is almost too easy." It chuckled then, a horrible rasping sound, and rode off into the snowy darkness leaving the sounds of coughing in its wake.

#action post #ic #the end is nigh #long post #body horror #religious imagery #blasphemy #death #dissasociation #disease #ask to tag #self harm

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hi-epervier · 4 years

Text

In other news I'm back with more Naruto & Fugaku Uchiha dumbassery!! Still pre-sasunaru (for now). Now tagged 'matchmaking tyrant au' and 'mt' for easier search.

When Fugaku is not singing the praises of Japan (free healthcare. Does Naruto have any STIs? What? It's a valid concern. Having been dropped on his head as an infant is not an excuse for neglecting his health) he's on the phone barking orders to some poor bastard.

At some point early on, Naruto goes 'How come you never call your family? Don't you miss them?'

And gets told that keeping in touch would only serve to worry them needlessly. Fun fact: Naruto is a garbage collector. He has a PhD in bullshit.

'Well, yeah, okay. But what about just calling them, without mentioning the hospital thing?'

'...That is wholly unnecessary. My responsibilities-'

'I'm sure mrs Old Pimp would appreciate a call. Come on. It's your wife! Don't you want to talk to your wife?'

'I assure you that Mikoto does not require-'

'I'll let you get me a new shirt if you call them right now.'

Naruto's shirts collection is comprised of three identical orange rags riddled with stains and holes. All previous attempts of shoving money at the brat to make him replace them with something decent were shut down.

Fugaku makes the call.

It goes well, if by 'well', one means that it's marginally less mortifying once it's established that he is indeed not dying, nor in any immediate danger of doing so, and that no, there's no natural disaster currently unfolding, nor economy collapse, nor any urgent matter of any kind. Fugaku is calling because he felt like it, out of his own free will. Mikoto teases that now she knows he must have food poisoning. Then, mercifully, she makes small talk. Fugaku forms one full, stilted sentence, and a series of grunts, and, eventually, gets to mumble something that may or may not resemble a 'goodnight'.

'That wasn't so hard, huh, you old bastard? Don't you feel much better now?'

Fugaku should have bargained to make it two shirts.

In the mornings, Naruto rises bright and early and leaves with a 'please don't croak while I'm at work, Cranky Old Pimp!'

His day starts with collecting people's shit to throw it in the truck. It's an ok job, once you get over the smell, and the maggots, and the fucking squirrels, all of which he already had to deal with as a kid anyways. At least he's not stuck in an office. And in winter he knows which dumpsters are more likely to have someone hiding in them.

After that, he usually has one of two part-time gigs, but the boss of the fast-food place has been riding his ass more and more about the orders Naruto messed up once or twice, and he suspects he's going to be fired soon (his short-term memory is pretty shit, as well as his focus if he's not bouncing, or dancing, or just doing anything that involves moving a lot; but he'd been trying, and he'd hoped that being nice to customers would save his ass). Demand for construction workers is at a low, so he's been meaning to find a new job, but his dyslexia is making things difficult, and as a cherry on top of this shit cake, his cheap phone died last month. In short, he's pretty much fucked. He's not one to let that stop him, though.

Plus, there are people he can't let down.

Fugaku is a naughty old bastard.

'What the fuck do you mean, you're 'going to the office'?!'

'You came in at 2 in the morning covered in shiny substance and looking like you'd been mauled.'

Yeah, the old asshole had teared him a new one and decided he was 'grounded'. Naruto had told him to go fuck himself.

'It's glitter, oh my god, and the nice nurses said you need to rest! Sakura is going to beat my ass when she hears about this!'

This sounds like a your problem.'

'A you problem, it's you! You! At least say it correctly!'

'Did I stutter?'

Naruto may have created a monster.

If the old man is well enough to sneak off to buy stocks, he's well enough to make himself useful. Naruto needles him into coming with to the food bank. It's easy getting Fugaku short-notice permission to give a hand, because Naruto is a regular volunteer and seems to get along with everyone.

As always, Fugaku complains a lot; about the quality of the food, about unsavory characters and slackers, about work conditions, about pens. Most of Naruto's friends take a dislike to him immediately for being a disrespectful asshole, but. He gets the work done.

He also bosses around several more impressionable volunteers and somehow manages to make the process more efficient, and he's really good at soothing that one baby whose mom couldn't find a nanny that day, so, hey, silver linings.

Fugaku hates every single minute of it.

(Okay, maybe not the baby.)

(He wasn't kidding about grandchildren. Fugaku loves babies.)

(They like him back They're discerning creatures, unlike teenagers.)

They go shopping.

'When I said you could buy me a shirt, I meant a normal one for like, 20 bucks! Not... this!'

Fugaku will be taking his business to a different tailor in the future, and firing the imbecile who recommended this establishment.

This isn't in any way related to Naruto's deafening screech that 'Oh my god, they think you're my sugar daddy!' in the middle of measurements taking, nor with the humiliation of being associated with this cretin.

They powerwalk their way out of the store at a sensible pace.

'They thought that you-' something something, hand gestures. 'Me' shirt, not orange. 'For sex! Ew! Ew ew ew!'

...

This is preprosterous.

'I'm a married man.'

'Oh, good, so it's not me, it's you?'

Fugaku pulls a face like he just stepped in a turd.

He really should have bargained to make it two shirts.

#naruto uzumaki #fugaku uchiha #matchmaking tyrant au #sasunaru #narusasu #sns #mt #no sasuke yet i know i know #soon guys #there's a point to the dumbass supreme just you wait

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 75

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

Koen arrives shortly before ten in the evening. A paper bag full of bottles of booze under one arm and a tattered and weathered backpack slung over the other; looking slightly worse for wear, even for him. He’s always been dishevelled and unkempt at best, but the pace and the intensity of the job has taken its toll on him; his beard thicker and and boasting more strands of gray, his face and body remarkably thinner and marred by both old and fresh bumps, bruises and contusions that will definitely scar. But that old familiar glitter is still in his eyes; the one that speaks of mischievousness and trouble and gives away his quick and sometimes cutting tongue before he even opens his mouth. The last three weeks have been hell on everyone involved; physically AND mentally. Bodies being consumed by near constant pain, little sleep and poor diet while their brains are subjected to fear, stress, and the overwhelming worth that comes each step out the door and onto the street.

But it’s almost over; the finish line finally in sight. With the list complete, only Mahajan himself and Asif’s people remain; the latter extra hurdles they never expected to confront. No one ever stopped to consider that Mahajan’s reach extended further than India, or that anyone would be able to get to Neysa and Aarav. Nathan is nothing more than a ‘tag along’; extra weight that has to be carried. And his true involvement and whether or not he IS the mole, is yet to be determined. To an untrained eye, it would be easy to see Nathan as another victim; the multitude of injuries and the defiance caught on video. But there’s too many unanswered questions to just let him off the hook. Too much suspicion and things that can’t be explained revolving around his disappearance and sudden reappearance, and it would be foolish -and possibly deadly- to let your guard down around him.

“Am I ever fucking glad to see your ugly face,” Koen says, as he sets both bags down on the kitchen table and then tightly embraces Tyler.

This isn’t one of his usual hugs. It’s warm and genuine; filled with enormous relief and a little gratitude that they've both survived long enough to get a moment like this. And when he pulls away -holding Tyler at arms length, a hand coming up to clasp him on the back of the head before tightly cupping it- there’s something even more unfamiliar in his eyes: a shimmer of tears and honest, pure affection. Normally Tyler would jump on it and rib his old friend about something like that; in the same way Koen would do to him if the situation was reversed. But now is not the time. The last three weeks have felt like three years; everyone involved is exhausted and hurting and relying on nothing more than adrenaline -the hope of it all sending soon- to keep them going. And there’s the strong possibility that someone -or more than one person, even- won’t make it out alive. The realization that the person standing in front of you might not survive and this could very well be the last time you ever see them.

“You good?” Koen ruffles the hair at the back of Tyler’s head. “How you feeling? You sure look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright, I guess. Could be better, could be worse.”

“What’s the pain like? That guy fucked you up pretty good.”

“I’ve had worse.” It’s not entirely a lie. When he’d woken in the hospital seven years ago, the agony had been intense; there hadn’t been a single inch of his body that hadn’t hurt. Since then he’s lived in chronic pain. Some days he’s able to manage and others he can barely get out of bed in the morning. This is a new level of discomfort; increasing and worsening mobility issues, the pins and needles in his right hand, the need for more and more meds to just take the edge off.

“Well you look good. Hell of a lot better than the last time I was with you. Which doesn’t take much, considering you were covered in your own puke and piss and I had to undress you and toss you in the shower.”

Tyler smirks. “I remember when that used to be a sign of a really awesome Friday night.”

Koen cracks a grin at that. “We’re both getting way too old for that shit. And you’ve past it, thank Christ. I honestly thought one day I’d show up at your place and find you dead. About time you smartened the hell up and got your shit together.”

“Guess all I needed was a kick in the ass.”

“A kick in the ass from the right person, you mean. ‘Cause I spent years kicking you in the ass and it did nothing but make you worse. I guess the kick had to come from a hot little brunette to have any effect on you.”

“Yeah…” Tyler grins. “...I guess it did.”

“Can’t say I blame you. She’d be all the motivation I’d need, too. Figure we should be both thanking our lucky stars that she came around when she did. Had it even been a couple months later…”

“Trust me; every day I’m grateful for that. Every goddamn day. For the past seven years.”

“Good. Because you should be. Because even though you were a fucking wreck, she stuck around. She could have easily taken one look at you and thought ‘damaged goods’ and hauled ass on out of there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed her. You were a lot to handle. She must be made of tough stuff, because she wasn’t afraid of your shut or to put a foot up your ass.

“She’s still not afraid of that. And she is. Tough. Strong. A lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

“That’s exactly what you need,” Koen declares. “A strong woman. Someone to challenge you and to keep challenging you. Although I do question her sanity. No one in their right mind would hook up with the likes of your sorry ass.”

“I lost my sanity a long time ago,” Esme says, as she descends the stairs. “Why do you think I have five kids? Do you think anyone with a shred of sanity left would do that to themselves?”

“I thought it was because he couldn’t stay off ya and you don’t know the word ‘no’.”

“I admit, it IS hard. He’s devastatingly handsome and can be very persuasive.”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Koen scoffs. “Sweetheart, you are blind as shit. How’s it going, kiddo?” He embraces Esme warmly, then presses a kiss to each cheek. “Looking lovely, as always.”

“Now who’s blind as shit? I look like the offspring of a dumpster fire and a train wreck. But I appreciate you trying to feed my ego.”

“Don’t even argue with her,” Tyler says. “For every good thing you bring up, she’s got five bad things that exist only in her own mind.”

Esme sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tyler is either completely blind, or totally biased. Koen, if your wife asked you if she looked like a mess...and not a hot one...would tell the truth?”

“Telling the truth is the reason I have so many ex wives. But in all fairness, my ex wives WERE messed. Had any of them looked like you, I’d probably still be married and the happiest sonofabitch on the planet. Now tell me…” he slings an arm across her shoulders and pulls her into his side. “...he been treating you right? Because if he hasn’t…”

“He’s been a complete gentleman. Except for the times I don’t want him to be. And those are X rated and not for your precious little ears, so…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then moves towards the fridge.

“I do not need to know about all the kinky shit you two do. You been keeping him in line? Making sure he pulls his weight? Because you tell me just one bad word, and…”

“He’s been amazing. Even more amazing than usual. Sorry, Koen; I’m not leaving him for you. Not yet anyway.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?” He grins, then nudges Tyler with his elbow. “You into sharing, mate?”

He scowls. “Fuck you. That’s my wife. What’s wrong with you?”

“Remember that one girl in Melbourne? About twelve years ago? The blond with the big…”

“There’s a woman in the room!” Esme pipes up, and snags a vitamin water from the fridge. “I do not need to hear these things.”

“You didn’t mind sharing her,” Koen points out.

“That was a random at a bar. That…” Tyler nods in Esme’s direction. “...is my wife. The mother of my kids. I don’t share. Not when it comes to her.”

“As much as I’d love to stay down here and listen to raunchy and disturbing stories from my husband’s sexual past, I have a bubble bath calling my name,” Esme says. “And quite frankly, I prefer to pretend he was somewhat innocent and virginal when we met.”

Koen snorts. “There’s been nothing innocent or virginal about him since he was about fourteen.”

She frowns. “I’m ignoring you now. I’m turning my ears off. Because I do not need to hear or know about these things. I’m going to go upstairs and pamper myself and do girly shit and you two can stay down here and talk about your sexual conquests. But I swear to God, if my ears start to burn, I will beat the hell out of both of you.”

“I would never do that,” Tyler assured her. “Talk about you like that.”

“He lies,” Koen speaks up. “He talks about you like that all the time. The things I know about you…”

“Fuck off,” Tyler snarls. “I’ve never talked about her like that with you. That’s wishful thinking on your part.”

“I’m just warning you both.” She places a hand on her husband’s hip, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to press a soft, brief kiss to her lips. “I am in no mood for fuckery.”

“What are you in the mood for?” Koen quips, the mischievous glitter back in his eyes as he bounces up and down on his heels. “I hear chubby, balding guys can really get shit done.”

Tyler glares at him, then slaps him upside the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s my wife.”

“Sorry Grandpa Koen,” Esme smirks. “I’m a one man woman.”

“Grandpa Koen?” He feigns insults, a hand clasped over his heart. “That’s harsh. Why do you have to break a bloke’s heart like that?”

She grinning over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs. “Goodnight, boys.”

****

Two hours and a bottle and a half of scotch later, they sit at the kitchen table, reminiscing on days long past. Military missions served together and the camaraderie and the rare laughs and lighthearted moments while overseas. Hiking and camping and hunting trips that they’ve taken -along with Rata- and the handful of times they’d simply packed up and travelled for weeks on end; nothing where they ended up or how they got there.

He was nineteen when he first met Koen; fresh out of basic training, too cocky for his own good, and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment and real experience to knock the chip off his shoulder. Koen had been a staff sergeant then; already grizzled and combat weary and sick of the ‘little shits’ like Tyler that passed his way; the ones with their heads shoved up their own asses, who thought they were something special for getting through training in one piece. Koen had made it his personal mission to make his life as miserable as possible; treating him lower than dirty in order to rid him of what Koen had called ‘pukey personality’. He’d seen something in that nineteen year old kid; the promise of becoming a damn good soldier. And it had worked; all the physical and mental punishment completely broke him; transitioning him into someone he no longer recognized. It had unknowingly led to the worsening of some things; the toxic masculinity that had been beaten into him thanks to his old man, and a propensity to drink way too heavily. Being that good of a soldier...as nothing more than a killing machine in his eyes...had made him feel invincible; each successful tour leaving him feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And had eventually led him to the job and that sick and twisted desire to seek out one suicide mission after another.

“You alright?” Koen asks, as he pours himself another drink. “You got a little quiet on me there.”

“I’m alright,” Tyler confirms, and runs a palm along the side of his glass. It’s only his second of the night. Starting off by promising to pace himself; not wanting to drink too much considering the amount of painkillers -well beyond the prescribed amount- he’s been taking. But he’d quickly realized it was more than that. He simply didn’t enjoy it anymore; all the cravings and the need and the taste for it somehow disappearing since the incident a week and a half ago.

“You sure? Haven’t seen you look THAT serious in a long time. What’s going on?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sounds intense.”

“About as intense as it gets.”

Koen sips his drink. “What’s it about?”

Tyler pushes his glass aside and reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. Pulling out a handwritten letter -two pages long- sealed in an envelope. And he issues a heavy, shaky sigh and offers it to his friend.

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

“If anything happens to me, you have to give this to Esme. I need her to read it. She HAS to read it.”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” the older man snarls. “I’m not taking no death letter.”

“You have to. You NEED to. If anything happens to me…”

“Stop talking that shit. I won’t listen to it. I won’t…”

“I need you to fucking do this!” he snaps, then roughly grabs his friend’s hand and shoves the letter into it. “She needs to read it. And I need you to give it to her. You keep it and if anything happens to me, you make sure she gets it. This is important to me, okay? I need her to read it. And I need you to promise me that you’ll make sure she does.”

“Why wait? Why wait until it’s too late? Why not tell her these things now? So she knows. Wouldn’t you rather she knows before? Why the fuck…?”

“She knows. She knows I love her. She knows I love her with everything I am and everything I have. But there’s things in there I can’t say. Or I feel like I can’t say properly. And I NEED her to know those things. If something happens to me, it’s important she knows. I need you to do this.”

Koen downs half of his drink and then stands up, reluctantly sliding the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? The things I don’t fucking do for you. Taking a goddamn death letter.”

“Just promise you’ll give it to her. If I don’t make it out of here, promise me you’ll make sure she gets that. You have no idea how important it is to me.”

“I’ll make sure. What about your kids? They might like something from their daddy. You know...if…”

“I already did something for them. A video. Ovi has it. He’ll make sure they see it. And that Addie will watch when she’s old enough to understand.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the new baby, but mere though of it...the realization that he could leave a pregnant wife behind and there’d be a child he’d never get to see- is just too fucking painful. Ovi knows; he’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy after telling him to make sure all the kids saw the video when they’re old enough. Even the one that’s still inside their mother’s belly.

“Well let’s hope she never has a reason to read it,” Koen says. “And that those kids never have to see that video. You do whatever it takes to get your ass out of there. Alive. And I’ll do whatever I have to on my end to make sure it happens. This isn’t it. It CAN’T be it. Not when you just found all of this. A wife and kids. A family. A REAL goddamn family. This can’t be it.”

“I sure as fuck hope it isn’t.” He doesn’t bother to hold back the tears that manage to escape; hot against his skin as they slip down the sides of his nose and his cheeks. His chest burns and aches. Not the kind of agony that comes with anxiety, but the suffering that comes with heartache and grief and tremendous loss. Not even the swallow of scotch -in an attempt to clear the lump of emotion from his throat- helps, and he places an elbow on the table and his palm against his forehead. Eyes closed as he struggles to keep it together.

“It’s alright,” Koen’s voice is surprisingly quiet and calm, and there’s an audible creak as he leans forward in his hair; hand both heavy and comforting against the back of Tyler’s head. “It’s alright now, son. It’s okay to be like this. You can be this way with me. I got you.”

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t give a shit,” his voice cracks with emotion as the tears continue to fall. “Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have cared if I made it out. But now I have her and I have my kids and I can’t...I can’t leave them. I’m not ready to leave them.”

“No one says you’re going to. It’s not a sure thing. You’re a tough, stubborn bastard.”

“I don’t want to die. I don't want this life to be over. Before her, I was ready. I wanted to die; I wanted all the bullshit to be over. I hated my life and I hated myself and I didn’t fuck care if someone put a bullet in me. And I then I met here and everything changed. I changed. She didn’t look at me like I was a pathetic, cowardly piece of shit and she made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time and I never thought I’d feel again. And maybe it was wrong; how things happened, where they happened. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, something felt right. Something felt good. It felt fucking amazing. And I should have pushed her way. I should have stopped it. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to lose her.”

“It was a weird situation maybe,” Koen says. “But it doesn’t mean it was wrong. Look how things turned out. Look at the life you made. Together.”

“I don’t want that life to be over. I don’t want to leave her. Or my kids. I want to grow old and gray with her and I want to see my kids graduate high school and go to college and get married and have kids of their own. I want ALL of that. But I’m fucking terrified none of will happen. That when I left my kids this morning, that was it. That I’ll never see them again. That I won’t even get to see Addie take her first steps or celebrate her first birthday. There’s so much I don’t want to miss and I’m scared I will.”

“I know…” Koen’s fingertips dig into his scalp as he firmly massages it. “...I know…”

“Everything that is good in me is because of her. Because she found it and she brought it out. And she’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. Her and those kids. And I’m not ready to leave them.”

“And you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. And so will I on my end. I’ve got you. I’ll bust my ass to make sure you get back to your family. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, and uses his elbow to push his friend away. “I hear ya.”

“You good? You get it all out?”

“I think so. I guess I needed to do that; get it out.”

“You’ve been trying to hold it together for her,” Koen reasons, and returns to his seat. “But even guys like you need someone you can fall apart with. And I guess that someone is me; lucky bastard that I am.”

Tyler gives a small laugh, then uses the back of his hand to clear the remaining tears away. “There’s something else.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Esme knows what she has to do; if something happens to me. She knows to take the money and the kids and leave. But I need someone to keep their eye on them. I need someone to make sure they’re okay. No matter where they end up. And I know this a hell of a lot to ask…”

“I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Wherever they go, I need you to go with them. You don’t have to stay forever. Just until she’s doing alright and the kids are settled and doing okay. And if you could do that for me…”

“I already said I would. I’ll make sure they’re alright. Nothing will happen to them. Not on my watch,”

“But I swear to God, if you even think of making a move on her, I will come back and haunt your ass.”

Koen laughs at that, then reaches across the table to tousle Tyler’s hair. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to get out of this. You’re going to walk in there, get shit done, and you’re going to walk back out and go back to your family. And then all of this...all this talk...will have been for nothing.”

“I hope so,” Tyler says, and downs the remains of his drink. “I really fucking hope so.”

****

It’s just past one in the morning when he steps into the master bedroom, moving about it’s darkened confines with the aid of the moonlight. Removing the holster and gun from his hip and placing it in the top drawer of the nightstand, then slipping out of his shorts and t-shirt; tossing both on top of the open duffle bag that sits in front of the closet. And he briefly lingers at the side of the bed, listening to her soft breathing and watching as her body rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Sound asleep; on her side with her back towards the door.

The pain in his chest and the knot in his stomach return with a vengeance; those thoughts of possibly never getting those moments with her again. He can’t get it out of his mind; how close he’d been to ending things only to find someone -when he hadn’t expected to- capable of snatching him off that ledge. Seven years. Spent with the person that saved him in every way a person can be saved. Who has proved time and time again that she loves every inch of him; all the good, all the bad, and everything in between. Every imperfection, every scar; both inside and out. Who taught him what it was to love again; to actually laugh and smile. And who has helped him make even more life; selflessly giving up her own body to do it.

How do you ever tell that person how you feel? Especially when you don’t think there’s words that can even come close to describing it?

Slipping into bed behind her, he presses his front to her back; lips in her hair as he trails his fingertips across her shoulder and slowly down her arm. Over the curve of her elbow and down to her wrist before moving along the top of her hand and then each finger. Memorizing every inch through touch; her skin soft and beautiful. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head when she pushes her fingers through his and tightly squeezes.

“What time is it?” she sleepily inquires.

“It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Just after one.”

“You been drinking?”

“Just had a couple,” he admits, then moves their joined hands down to her stomach. Smiling at the feel of that little bump. It’s smooth and it’s soft and even after four others, it’s incredible. The mere thought that there’s a living being in there. One that he had a hand in making. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn't have had any. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you HAVEN’T drank. That you’ve fought as hard as you have. I wouldn’t have blamed you or thought less of you if you’d slipped. This has been hell on earth.”

“I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I NEVER want to be him again. You deserve better than that. So do our kids.”

“You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think about yourself sometimes. I knew it the moment I met you; that you weren’t like everyone else. It was in your eyes. There was this softness and this vulnerability and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in any of the other mercs I’d come in contact with. You were different. I remember the first time we were here, and we’d have those long, serious talks that went into the early hours of the morning and I’d wonder how the hell someone like you ever got mixed up in a world like this.”

“Yeah, well we both know the reason behind that. I didn’t exactly hide it from you.”

“But you could have. And you didn’t. Right off the hop you were so honest and raw and it was...I don’t know it...it was beautiful.”

“Oh fuck...not THAT word.”

“It was, “ she insists. “It WAS beautiful. Because you were just so out there with everything. You didn’t hold anything back. There’s nothing you DIDN’T tell me. You told me about your mom and you dad. Your ex. Austin. You were just so breathtakingly real and honest and it was refreshing. To be with someone like that. Who didn’t try and pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was raw and it was emotional and I SAW you. And you let me see you. That was definitely not just two people using each other for sex. Now, had you just rolled over and gone to sleep…”

He laughs into her hair. “I never wanted THAT.”

“It was surprising. Not the things you told me, but the fact you told me at all. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I didn’t expect that from myself,” Tyler admits.

“Why did you do it? Just open up like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just trusted you. Guess there was something about you that made me feel comfortable doing it. A lot of what I told you? No one else knows that stuff. Not even Koen. Guess my instincts told me you were good people. Very good people.”

“You thought you could scare me away didn’t you. When you told me about Austin. You thought that would make me think less of you.”

He nods.

“You made a mistake. You were younger and you were scared and you made a bad decision.”

“Worst possible decision.”

“It didn’t even come close to scaring me away. It made my heart hurt for you. And him. But it didn’t make me think less of you. I could never think less of you.”

“So no matter what, you’ll always think the sun shines out of my ass?”

She giggles. “Always.”

He raises his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then rests his cheek against hers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I hadn’t been sleeping for very long. I’m having a hard time. I miss the kids.”

“So do I. But Koen called and checked up on them for us. Everything’s fine. They’re happy and they’re safe and they haven’t beaten the shit out of each other. Yet.”

“Yet,” she laughs. “That’s the key word. And we both know who the one beating the shit out of people will be.”

“Yep. Your daughter has quite the temper.”

“She’s just my daughter now, is she? And who do you think she gets her temper from?”

“You.”

“Oh bullshit. She’s just like you and you know it. And you’re proud of it, too. Don’t even try and deny it. I know you how much like that fact that she’s your mini me.”

“She’s my baby. My first. Well, my first after...you know…”

“Your miracle baby.”

He smiles and places a kiss to her temple. “Exactly. She’s one that made me a dad again. Never thought in a million years I’d get another chance at that. And then she came along. I mean, you did have a little part to play in all of it.”

“Just a little. I only carried her for nine months. And then what happens? She comes out just like you. Even the nurse in the delivery room had to point it out; how she had your eyes and your nose and your ears and your hair. I was like, well fuck you too then.”

Tyler laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I remember when the nurse gave her to you and you just tucked her into you and she stopped crying and she just looked up at you with those huge eyes.”

“And I cried.”

“Yeah…” she smiles and tightens her hold on his hand. “...you cried. And it was beautiful. You were so happy that she was finally here. I think it was the happiest I’d ever seen you. It was like all the pain and all your past was just gone and your face was so soft and so perfect. Nothing existed outside of her. And you looked at her like you couldn’t believe she was even real.”

“She was beautiful. She still is.”

“I think at that moment...seeing you with her...I fell so in love with you. Even more than I already was. And it was kind of crazy and scary, because I already loved you a hell of a lot. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone THAT much. Sometimes I still don’t. I’ll watch you with Addie or playing with Declan or helping TJ and Tanner with their homework and I’ll think ‘God, I love him’.”

He grins against her ear. “And you have the nerve to call me sappy?”

“I can’t help it. I’m feeling all sappy and emotional. I think it’s the fact we’re back here. Of all places. It makes me think about us. How we started and where we’ve ended up. All good things. All very good things.”

“I was thinking about when I woke up in the hospital and you were there. How you were the first person I saw and I was so fucking relieved you were there. I didn’t know if you even made it off the bridge. And even if you did, if you’d stick around.”

“Of course I stuck around,” she releases her hold on his hand and rolls over onto her side to face him. “I went to all that trouble to keep you alive. You really think I wouldn’t stick around to see the result of my handiwork?”

“I guess not.” He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose then drapes a leg over her and places a hand on the small of her back.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you. About tomorrow. Or today. About me going out there.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You know how you always say you’re not a rookie? Well neither am I.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better about it Especially when you have my baby in there.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had seven years of learning from the best. And Koen will be with me. He’ll make sure I’m okay.”

“He better. Or it’s his ass.”

“You have to trust me. I’d never do anything to put myself...or this baby...in harm’s way.”

“I do. I do trust you.”

“What if I can’t get the information? What if no one will give me any? Then we’re totally fucked. And not a good, fun way either.”

“If that happens, we go to plan B.”

“You let them know you’re here.”

Tyler nods.

“What’s plan C?””

“There is no plan C.”

“Maybe there should be. So we don’t have to rely on plan B.”

“Baby…” he skims his knuckles up and down her spine. “...we talked about this.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind And I’m changing it. That is NOT a good idea; letting them know you’re here. What ever happened to the element of surprise? It goes a long way. They want to lure you here, but they don’t need to know you’re here.”

“I’ll only go to plan B if you can’t get me information.”

“Okay…” Esme frowns. “...that is a lot of peer pressure. I haven’t done this in awhile. Since before Addie.”

“Addie’s only three months old. It’s not like she’s a year or a couple years.”

“So what? Ten months? Since I did this kind of thing? We found out about her during all of that.”

“Who’s the one that found out where Ovi was?”

“That took me four days.”

“It took Nik a week just to narrow down Dhaka,” he points out.

“Four days is horrible. My track record was way better than that before. Four days is embarrassing.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I should have had it in twenty four hours. Thirty six at the most.”

“I’m kind of glad it took as long as it did. I had a pretty good five days.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that much. It wasn’t a TOTAL failure. But four days? For me? That is shameful.”

“If it makes you feel better, it only took two from the day you showed up on my porch to convince me to sleep with you.”

“Oh, I had to convince you now, did I? You admitted you would have done it the first night had I wanted a booty call.”

“Well then you should be very proud of yourself. It only took you a couple hours to convince me to give it up.”

“Sorry if I don’t feel my ego inflated because you were horny and desperate.”

“Hey, if I’d been desperate, I would have fucked Nik.”

“That…” she scrapes her nails along his jaw and then taps a fingertip against his chin. “... is a very good point actually. I’m glad you held out an extra couple of days. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was SO worth it.”

“I was very impressed. When I see you naked. I had expectations.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You did?”

“I did. Very high ones, actually. You lived up to them. And then some. You definitely fit the old ‘big hands, big feet’ adage. I wanted to see if it was a myth. I quickly found out it was not.”

“You also thought the G spot was a myth.”

“I found out pretty quick that it isn’t. You were really on the ball those five days.”

“Had to leave a lasting impression,” Tyler reasons. “Wanted you to come back for me.”

“You left a lasting impression, alright. One that lasted nine months and weighed eight pounds, three ounces. That’s quite the impression to leave.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. That’s the one good thing...the one amazing thing...that came out of all that bullshit. Besides us.”

“Nice to see you finally admit we’re a good thing,” she teases. “I think we’re pretty amazing. But hey, that’s just my humble opinion.”

“We are. We are pretty amazing.”

“And we’re stronger together than we are apart. You’ve always said that. And that’s why we need to trust each other. With this. We have to trust each other more than we ever have. That’s the only way we’ll get out of here. That we’ll BOTH get out of here.”

He gives a small smile of agreement, then runs his palm up her back and all the way to the nape of her neck; squeezing lightly as he pulls her into a kiss. Long and slow at first; closed mouth upon closed mouth and their bodies brushing against each other. It’s her that takes the first step towards turning it into something more. Fingers pushing into his hair and tightly gripping it; pressing her body against his as her tongue pushes its way past his lips and teeth. Quickly transforming the moment into something much more desperate and needy.

“I want you,” she breathes, her lips finding the side of his neck, teeth scraping against the tattoo and the scar that mars the skin. “I want you and I need you. I need to feel you inside of me.”

He shudders at her words, then leans his weight into her and pushes her onto her back. Her fingers still in his hair and her eyes fluttering closed as his hands and his mouth behind their slow, torturous worship of her body.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #extraction 2020 #chris hemsworth character #best part of me

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is-it-art-tho · 3 years

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This is Chapter 3!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Summary: Jason will not let this happen again. He can't. But what if he's already too late?

Jason hated Halloween.

It didn’t used to be that way. There was a period, a lifetime ago, when he loved trick or treating.

Even now, he could still feel the bulky zombie teeth in his mouth, could hear the sound of miniature candies rattling around a plastic pumpkin bucket. Years of practice covering Bruce’s own bruises and scars had turned the older man into a savant with a palette and latex, and Jason could still picture the depths of Bruce’s eyes as he hovered practically nose to nose with the younger boy, skillfully crafting gruesome wounds and sutures across his face.

Back then, Halloween had been one of the few times a year when Jason and Bruce got to dress up for fun rather than battle or ritzy, soul-sucking fundraisers. It was a day when blades were made of plastic and Styrofoam rather than steel, and the things that lurked in the shadows were not deadly adversaries but friends and neighbors. A time when they moved with their feet planted firmly on the ground instead of along rooftops or soaring through the air, and the coming of night did not bring with it danger or violence.

On Halloween, blood tasted like food coloring and corn syrup. The bruises on Bruce’s face were bright and fake, and his scowl, usually menacing, was little more than a poorly disguised grin.

“No, you gotta be scary!” Jason had complained once after glancing up to find a wide smile on Bruce’s blotchy green face.

And Bruce had laughed, a full-throated sound from deep in his chest before promising, “Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

But that was then, and dwelling on those times now was an exercise in masochism.

These days, Halloween was easier to get through from inside a bar or holed up in his apartment. While miniature witches and cartoon characters trickled into the streets, he intended to spend the night plastered, eating too much food, watching mind-numbing TV, and praying the “No Candy” sign on his door would be enough to deter any would-be sugar gremlins.

As he kicked up his feet in nothing but his boxers and started scrolling through a selection of movies on the TV, though, he couldn’t quite manage to sink into the blissful detachment he so desperately craved. He shifted on the couch and glared at a movie synopsis without taking in any of the words there, a growing sense of frustration twisting through him.

It had already been two weeks and still his stomach was in knots, and he found himself swinging wildly from fits of aimless rage to bouts of queasy silence as Dick’s words reverberated through his head. Or rather, not his words, but his quiet.

And Jason hated himself for it because hadn’t he wanted this all along? To be free from the shadow of the bat? To assert himself as his own being with his own code? Hadn’t he personally waged war against them; wanted them dead?

How stupid to think a year and change of tenuous comradery might change any of that, might undo years of animus and at times outright violence between them.

They were right to keep him at arm’s length and expect him to be exactly what he had shown himself to be – a killer. It didn’t matter that it was because of them – because of Bruce’s inane code – that he hadn’t killed anyone in almost two years. Some things could not be undone. If anyone understood that, it ought to be him.

He glanced towards the linen closet in the hall where a duffel bag was crammed behind a couple towels and bed sheets. Inside was the new body armor he’d had Harper help him create. It was almost identical to what he usually wore, except this edition featured a brilliant red bat insignia across the chest. He’d been planning to start wearing soon.

He scoffed at himself.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. And maybe he wasn’t. But damn, if this didn’t still suck.

A ringtone went off, and Jason hopped up and made his way to the drawer in his kitchen where he kept his burners. He fumbled around before finding the dinky flip phone with a new message that simply said:

He’s out.

Jason sprinted into his room and emerged again in his Red Hood gear – the classic all black version – leaving a box of takeout and a scrolling screensaver on his TV as he slipped out the door.

The thick tires of his bike squealed against the asphalt as he tore around corners and down the still-sleeping streets of Gotham. Slowly, the store fronts, overpriced apartments, and new construction crumbled to ruins around him. Windows were replaced with graffitied plywood, buildings stood gaping and abandoned, some blackened with decades-old fire damage, others missing all together, just piles of rubble and garbage and overgrown weeds in empty spaces that reminded Jason of missing teeth. Even with the harvest moon drenching the city in pale light, these few blocks remained in shadow as if some invisible force hung overhead, blocking out the light.

Hood was headed for The Yards, a rougher part of town that reminded him of his old stomping grounds in Crime Alley. There were no trick or treaters out here. The few folks that walked the streets were mostly junkies and barflies and scantily clad girls. They noted him and offered nods of acknowledgement, unafraid.

He’d spent enough time in these parts now, that people who might typically shy away from cops knew that as long as they weren’t hurting anybody, he wasn’t going to bother them. It was a point of pride for him, that his reputation preceded him in that way; it made it easier for him to help the people who needed it most.

He pulled up in front of a defunct pizza shop and sauntered in through the boarded-up door, past the grimy tables and yawning brick oven, through the kitchen, and out the back door to the small alcove behind the restaurant lined with dumpsters and buzzing with the sounds of rodents and pests scurrying through trash.

A kid was sitting with his back against one of the dumpsters, a collection of glass bottles beside him. On the brick wall opposite him, Hood noted splatter stains over a glittering pile of broken glass. As if on cue, the kid picked up a bottle and flung it into the wall where it exploded in a spray of old beer and golden-brown shards.

Hood slipped off his helmet and tucked it under his arm so that he was only in his domino. A lot of the kids around here preferred when he stayed in the helmet. Some thought it was cool, but others, he could tell, found him easier to talk to that way. It was the eyes, he thought. There were certain things that were easier to admit aloud when you weren’t looking someone in the eyes.

This kid, though, was not one of them.

“Yo,” Hood said, walking over to slide down the side of the dumpster so that they were sitting side by side. Not touching, but close enough that a shift in weight, an adjusted leg could easily result in contact. This was another thing that not all kids around here liked – the physical closeness.

“Hey.” The boy didn’t look at him right away, instead waving his fingers over the bottles as he hunted for the next one to throw. He landed on a retro Coke and weighed the thick glass in his scrawny hands.

Hood watched him chuck it at the wall and grin at the explosion before asking, “How are things with you?”

Fry – that was what everyone called the kid around here; Hood had no idea why – shrugged, and his grin faded. Not into a frown, but a careful absence of expression. An absence that managed to say I’m fine and Please ask me what’s wrong and Please help all at once. It was the kind of look that Hood recognized too well; one he’d practiced in a mirror on more than one occasion when he was a kid, hoping someone would see it and understand.

They never did.

“Henry’s back,” Fry answered.

Hood already knew this. He had little informants all over this area; it was what the text had been about. But still he said, “Already? What about the trial?”

“He got bail.” Fry toyed with the neck of a new bottle, still not looking Hood in the eyes.

“And?”

Fry shrugged again, and Hood inwardly cursed the whole goddamn police department. It was a song he’d heard too many times before. Scumbag gets put away, makes bail, goes straight home, takes it out on the family, GCPD is nowhere to be found.

Stopping bank robbers and metas was easy. Those guys were loud and when they went away, they went away for a while. But this stuff, the villains who masqueraded as family men, as loving fathers and husbands – those were the real monsters. The masks they wore were more effective than any cowl or secret identity Hood had ever seen.

And it seemed that no matter how much time he spent talking with the kids in this area, working with them, trying clumsily to help them understand what to expect from social services and offering them numbers to some of his burners, he still felt like he wasn’t doing enough. There weren’t enough hours in the day, there wasn’t enough of him to singlehandedly pick up the pieces where the entire system was letting these kids – these families – down.

And God was it letting them down.

He wanted to get up right then. Every instinct in his body was screaming for justice, for revenge, and he wanted to go straight to Fry’s place and then to the GCPD to tell them to do their damn jobs and where they could find Henry’s body.

And maybe he should do that. It would be easier and more effective than anything the cops would do, and he felt now like he suddenly didn’t have anything to prove anymore. He was who he was, and if that made him the bad guy then so be it. A small price to pay in the grand scheme if that’s what it took to get things done.

As the rage swelled and Hood got ready to stand, he felt a small hand wrap around his. He looked, but Fry was staring away, his cheeks glistening in the orange glow from the light mounted above them on the brick wall.

And just like that, all of his restless fury melted into something dull and simmering, and Hood took a breath and tilted his head back against the grimy dumpster. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

Fry shrugged again and sniffled. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked, letting go of Hood’s hand to wipe his face.

“I can’t just come hang out with the coolest kid I know?”

Fry offered a shaky laugh. “Wanna try one?” He offered another Coke bottle and Hood took it.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the bottle careening into the wall. Something about the motion reminded him of throwing a batarang – like muscle memory.

“Whoa!” Fry shouted. “That was a good one! Do it again!”

Fry shoved another bottle at Hood, and Hood chuckled as he launched it at the wall, the sharp crash mixing with the Fry’s delighted whoops.

And though Fry was now openly elated, there was still something in his face, a deep, unwavering kind of hurt.

It was the kind of pain that Hood knew would stay with the kid even if he managed to set Fry up with the best family in the best city tonight. Even if Hood made sure nothing bad ever happened to him again for the rest of his life, that wounded shadow would cling there, if only barely.

It was the mark of a kid who had experienced too much too soon, during those formative years. A kind of broken that could not be fixed, but instead was lived with, grown into, like a childhood birthmark or a scar.

It wasn’t the debilitating kind. He’d seen those kids too, the ones who were already so far gone, the scars so numerous and deep that it would take a miracle to reach them. Fry wasn’t there yet, and Hood just hoped he’d be able to help before he got there.

“So, no trick or treating, huh?” Hood asked. “What? Too good for candy or something?”

“Don’t have a costume. My mom said she would make me one but then…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged again.

Hood stared at him for a while then popped up, saying, “Wait right there,” before jogging back through the restaurant. He returned holding a leather jacket. This one was more casual than the one he wore on patrols; it lacked the sewn-in armor and additional slots for concealed weapons, but it matched his Red Hood jacket close enough.

“Stand up,” he said, and Fry obeyed, eyes wide. “Turn around.”

Fry turned and Hood slipped the jacket onto Fry’s small frame. It dangled off of him like a cloak and must have been fairly heavy judging by the slouch in Fry’s shoulders, but when he turned back around, he was beaming.

“Yeah,” Hood said, smiling and looking him up and down. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Oh–” He reached into his own jacket and pulled out a spare domino. “Put this on.”

Fry put it on, and the way his smile grew to encompass his entire face was almost cartoonish.

“Nice,” Hood said with a grin.

“I’m the Red Hood…?” he whispered. Then he looked up into Hood’s eyes. “I’m you?”

“Looks like it.” Hood breathed through the ache in his chest that made him want to change his mind and urge Fry to be somebody – anybody – else. A voice in his head moaned:

You don’t want to be me.

“So now for candy,” Hood continued. “I’m guessing there’s not much around here to work with.”

Fry shook his head.

“If you want, I can take you to one of the rich neighborhoods where they give out the good stuff. I’m talking king-sized name brands.”

“You’ll let me ride on your motorcycle?” Fry’s voice edged toward an eager shriek.

“Yeah, long as you promise not to make that sound again,” Hood laughed. “And that you won’t fall off,” he added.

Fry nodded vigorously as Hood clapped him on the back and steered him back through the kitchen saying, “Then let’s blow this joint.”

After they’d gotten on the bike and Fry had securely wrapped his arms around Hood’s mid-section, he asked, “Um, Hood…?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you… walk with me, too?”

Hood went still for a moment. His grip tightened on the handlebars as he turned around to smile, saying, “Well, duh. You think I’m gonna let you get all that candy to yourself?”

And Fry smiled, squeezing Hood’s torso even tighter and burying his face in the young man’s back as they roared down the street – slower, of course, than usual.

#batman fanfic #nightwing #jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #dick grayson and jason todd #dick grayson & jason todd #batman fanfiction

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ificouldhelpyouforget · 4 years

Text

Pureheart: Part 16 (Caspian x Reader)

MASTERLIST

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, y’all! I will most likely not have a new part up the week after Thanksgiving since family will be in town, but I will attempt to work on it when I get a chance. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday (even if you don’t celebrate it with the United States). Enjoy!

Summary: You arrive on the first island and things do not go as planned.

Rating: T for totally innocent minus a little fighting

Words: 3.1k

Tags: @anverli @aspiring-fangirls-world @aylinnmaslow @blxkstar @drinix @glimmering-darling-dolly @gollyderek @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @jeowjungkook @mixmatchxxx @poindexted @remuslupindeservesbetter @suchatinyinfinity @sweetgoodangel @the-blind-assassin-12 @thisisparadisemylove

Let me know if you want to be tagged or not!

You led Lucy into your room while Caspian dealt with Edmund. You rummaged through your things to give Lucy dry clothes and something more suited for the ship. Since the boys were in the other room, you turned your back to let Lucy change.

"What's it been like sailing with Caspian?" she asked.

You smiled at the wall in front of you. "It's amazing sailing for so long. I never knew I had so much love for the sea. And now you and Edmund are back. I expect nothing less than a grand adventure."

Lucy giggled. "I'm so glad we get to see you and Caspian again. We've missed you so much."

"It's been lonely without you."

"But you have Caspian, right?"

"Of course, but we've both been terribly busy since your departure."

Lucy announced she was covered. You turned around and smiled. She looked like a true Narnian adventurer.

"How are Peter and Susan?"

Her smile faded a little. "They've been in America with Father. America is another land in our world that is very far from where we live in England. Susan keeps getting love letters and proposals over there."

You saw Lucy's disappointment in herself the longer she talked about Susan. You waved her closer and began to brush her hair with your brush. "If you're worried about finding love yourself, it will come to you when it's time. You're young! Enjoy what you have now. You may miss it when it's gone."

"Speaking of love, there's something different between you and Caspian. What is it?"

You sniffled, nearly dropping your brush. "I don't know what you mean. Nothing's changed."

"Are you kidding me? He can't keep his eyes off you! And I'm pretty sure I saw some drool on your chin when he and I were pulled out of the water."

"I think you're seeing things, Lucy."

She turned once her hair was in a low side ponytail. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay." You stepped closer and kept your voice low. "Caspian... he may have confessed romantic feelings for me after you left."

"And you feel the same way, too?"

"That's where the problem lies. I said I couldn't give him that. It hasn't deterred him in the slightest. Then I might have fallen into a drunken stupor and said something to him."

"What?"

You squeezed past her to dig through your trunk. You pulled out a book you brought and pulled out the bookmark from between the pages. You handed it to her. "That... apparently. I know he's not lying– he wouldn't do that. Also... I did... think about it for a moment."

Lucy's eyes glittered, staring at Caspian's handwriting. "Really? And you keep this with you? Do you love Caspian?"

You choked. "No... No, not like that. That paper was the first thing I saw for a bookmark."

"So, it was easily accessible."

"Lucy, please."

"What? You have to feel something for him if you're carrying around your confession written by his own hand."

You looked at the floor and picked at your nails. "I don't know, Lucy. I don't know what I feel."

"Is it so hard to admit you love Caspian?"

"I don't love him... romantically."

"I don't believe you."

There was a knock at the door. You sighed in relief.

Caspian's voice came through. "When you're finished, Lucy, I have something to show you and your brother."

Lucy gave you one more look before opening the door and grinning at the king. "I'm ready."

You and Caspian met stares. Somewhere deep in your soul you knew he heard the conversation. You knew it in the way his gaze softened, in the way his hand pressed against the small of your back as you walked by. He knew you couldn't decipher your feelings, which meant you had some in the first place. Caspian knew you were thinking about the word love, no thanks to Lucy.

You put your gaze low as you followed Caspian, Lucy, and Edmund to where Caspian stored their things. He never traveled without them just in case.

Lucy was drawn to the golden head of Aslan carved into the wall. She said the lion's name so lovingly and ran her fingers over it. Edmund neared a painting of him and his siblings back when they ruled Narnia.

Lucy's eyes traveled across the room. "Look!" Edmund turned to see her near Susan's bow and quiver of arrows.

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as you watched the youngest Pevensie's explore the room. Caspian glanced at you and smiled before pulling out a box from a cabinet, calling out to Lucy.

The young queen went to him, grinning when she saw what the box held. "My healing cordial and dagger!" She reached out but paused. "May I?"

"Of course. They're yours."

You tilted your head and smiled at her eagerness as she took her things. You were so happy to have Lucy around again.

Edmund looked at you with a smile before he noticed the sword displayed on the wooden counter near where you stood. "Peter's sword."

Standing up straight, you moved out of Caspian's way so he could take the sword and hand it to Edmund.

"Yes," Caspian said. "I looked after it as promised. Here. Hold it if you wish."

"No, no. It's yours. Peter gave it to you."

Still holding the sword, Caspian stepped toward the cabinet again, his shoulder brushing yours. "I did save this for you."

The Narnian king pulled out a flashlight, which you learned its name later, and tossed it at Edmund. He caught it easily, thanking Caspian, and proceeded to shine the light in his face.

You chuckled at the same time Caspian stood in front of you holding out the sword. Without being asked, you wrapped your fingers around it and took it. His eyes shot up from your hand to your face and he smiled brightly.

Caspian let go. "Thank you."

"Yeah," you nodded, holding the sword close to your chest.

He turned with one last look at you before taking Lucy and Edmund back on deck to find Drinian.

You carefully placed the sword back in its place and took a few calming breaths. Lucy's words repeated through your head as you left the cabin for some fresh air.

Later you, Drinian, Caspian, and the Pevensie's gathered around Caspian's desk where he unrolled a map of Narnia. Everyone leaned over– except Drinian– as Caspian told Lucy and Edmund what happened in Narnia since they left.

"The giants in the north surrendered unconditionally," he said. "Then we defeated the Calormen armies of the Great Desert. There's peace across Narnia."

"I hadn't realized how much you've done, Caspian," you said glancing up at him. "Is that why you had to leave Anvard so quickly? The armies in the south?"

“We were actually on our way back to Narnia when I stopped by Anvard.”

"There's peace in Narnia?" Edmund's face was full of wonder.

"In just three years."

You looked at Lucy just as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the ponytail. Her eyes shifted to you for a second and she grinned at Caspian. "And have you found yourself a queen in those three years?"

You coughed, lowering your head to look at the map. If you didn't acknowledge it, she didn't say it, right?

The corner of Caspian's mouth turned up at your reaction. He had an idea. A test.

"No. Not one to compare with your sister."

That hurt. It cut deep. It wasn't a matter of who Caspian chose. He told you Susan no longer mattered. What happened at the tree three years didn't mean anything to him.

Your eyes met Caspian's and you saw the mischief pooling there. Your brows furrowed. Caspian saw for a second before Edmund changed the subject, sensing the tension rising. You took that chance to slip past Drinian and out of the room.

If Caspian's words were meant to bother you, well.. they did. And it made you angry. Frankly, you had no desire to look at him or be in his vicinity. How dare he joke about something you were struggling with? He knew your apprehension and if he was only teasing you... You clenched your fist and kicked over a bucket of dirty water.

A few curious eyes looked in your direction as you muttered under your breath and set the bucket back up. You even took the brush to scrub the deck and used it to clean up the spot you dirtied.

Edmund found you later. You were leaning over the railing at the bow of the Dawn Treader. Some water nymphs were swimming beside the ship. You were watching them with a smile. You didn't want to think about Caspian and what he said anymore.

"Caspian is looking for you."

You rolled your eyes and faced Edmund. "It's not hard to find me. There's nowhere to go." You leaned back against the railing and crossed your arms. "I don't want to see him right now anyway."

Edmund nodded and assumed the same position beside you. "What he said wasn't smart, huh?"

"What would make you say that?"

"Did you want him to tell Lucy he found you?"

"No, because we aren't anything."

"A blind man could see there's a change. It's okay to admit what he said hurt."

You chewed the inside of your cheek.

"Oh, come, Y/N. Even if he was joking, it hurt you."

Looking at your boots, you fought back frustrated tears. Being called out by Edmund didn't feel good.

"Tell him he hurt you. He might be a good king, but he acts like a kid sometimes. I don't know what's happened since we left. No matter what has, he shouldn't have said that."

"I don't want to talk to him right now."

"Okay. I suggest you talk to him soon though. No need to end the day without an understanding between each other."

Sighing, you pulled Edmund into a hug. "Why did you have to leave when I needed you most?"

"Well, Susan would have still been here," he laughed. "You and Caspian had to figure things out without her around."

"Do people come to you for things like this in your world?"

"Definitely not. I'm just a kid to them."

"It's a shame they can't see you for who you are, Edmund." You smiled at him. "I promise to talk to Caspian later. If you could... keep him occupied for a little while longer, I'd be grateful."

"I'll do what I can. Caspian is desperate to find you."

"Tell him I'll find him soon."

Soon didn't quite happen. You took shelter below deck to help the cook, Tahl, while the crew passed the time with sword fights. You would have participated but spending time with Tahl was much more entertaining.

"Land ho!"

You and Tahl rushed on deck where the unmistakable mound of land sat nestled between sky and water. Tears caught in the corner of your eyes at the sight. Finally, the adventure was leading somewhere. Hopefully to Caspian's success.

Tavros shouted for the dropping of the anchor, for the sails to be pulled up, and the longboats to be prepared. Caspian and Drinian bounded down to the lower deck, Edmund following them. You rushed over, catching Lucy along the way.

"Need another sword?" you asked. You kept your face stoic when you met Caspian's apologetic eyes.

"Absolutely."

You nodded once and went to get your things.

Minutes later, you were sitting in a longboat with Lucy, Eustace, and a few other sailors. Eustace grumbled about having to come along, which Lucy mentioned he could have stayed behind. Then he ranted on about how he couldn't stay on the ship with so many beasts on board that could kill him.

As the first boat reached the dock, Reepicheep leaped off the front. "Onward! The thrill of the unknown lies ahead!"

Your boat slid in beside the other. Lucy was helped out first and you followed, except the hand you grabbed was Caspian's. Your eyes met and he apologized a hundred times with that one stare. Not wanting the others to worry about what was going on between you and the king, you squeezed his hand once before letting go and standing by the stairs. At least it was something.

"Couldn't this have waited until morning?" Eustace said too loud.

"There's no honor in turning away from adventure, lad," Reepicheep said back.

Lucy interrupted. "Listen."

Caspian crept up the stairs past you and Edmund. The sound of his boots scraping on stone and Eustace struggling to get out of the boat were the only sounds.

"Where is everyone?" Lucy looked around at the seemingly abandoned island.

Reepicheep said something to Eustace just as he wobbled out of the boat and onto the dock. It was rather embarrassing.

"And you're certain he's related by blood?" Caspian asked the Pevensies from the top of the stairs.

You followed behind Caspian and Edmund, Lucy behind you. Reepicheep scampered past everyone and sat on the stone wall of the ramp leading into the city. Everyone's eyes were on various areas in case there was any life around. You accidentally bumped into Lucy because of your stern gaze down one side of the docks.

A gong rang. Eustace nearly screamed. Caspian aimed his crossbow up toward the city. You and Edmund pulled out your swords while Lucy searched high and low for life. Nothing.

Caspian moved first. "Reepicheep, stay here with Drinian's men and secure the place. If we don't come back by dawn, send a party."

The mouse bowed as you all started up the ramp.

The streets were as quiet and empty as the docks. There was no sign of life anywhere. It kept everyone on their toes. Well, except Eustace who didn't seem to understand the danger of being loud.

He came jogging over from a building he peered into as the other three of you neared a door to the largest building in the center of town. "Yeah. Looks like nobody's in. Do you think we should head back?"

You put your finger to your lips while Edmund looked at his cousin.

"Do you want to come guard... something?"

Your gesture went ignored.

"Ah, yes. Good idea, cousin. Very, uh, logical."

That was the first time you saw Caspian, Edmund, and Lucy appear worried about the reliability of another person.

"I can stay with him," you offered. "Guarding always works best with more than one person."

Caspian looked like he was pained by the idea of you being out of his sight, but he came closer all the same. He handed Eustace a dagger– the boy nearly fainting at the sight of it– and he came over to you.

The king stared at you, his deep brown eyes holding all his fear and worry. "Please... be careful."

"I will. Watch yourself in there, too."

It was as if Caspian wanted to say more, but he didn't. He nodded and followed the Pevensies into the unmarked building.

"So, uh, you don't really think we'll have to fight anyone do you?" Eustace asked.

"We can never be too careful. Maybe if you lowered your voice–" Your words fell on deaf ears.

"It's a ghost town! There's no way anyone is here!"

"Please, Eustace. Lower your voice."

The man sneaking up behind you almost got to you, but the scuff of his boots in the dirt caught your attention. You swung your sword, turning to put Eustace behind you. You missed the man.

Eustace screamed as bells rang louder than before. Another man appeared, easily getting the young boy in his hold. The dagger Caspian gave him now in the hands of the other man.

You shouted and shoved the sword fighter away to get to Eustace. The glint of the dagger froze you.

"Ah," the man smiled. "It seems the woman has a head on her shoulders."

You lifted your sword to swing again, but the man holding Eustace stopped you.

"Drop your sword or the boy loses 'is tongue!"

"Tongue?! No! You wouldn't!" Eustace struggled against his hold to no avail.

You knew the man wasn't lying, so you let your blade fall to stone. The man you had been fighting grabbed your hands behind your back and touched his blade to your throat.

"Be a dear and scream so your friends will come save you."

The clash of swords was clear from inside the building.

"No."

The man with Eustace laughed and pushed the boy toward the building. "Then we shall do this another way."

Eustace let out a shrill noise just as both men pushed you inside. All fighting ceased.

"Unless you want to 'ear this one squeal like a girl again, I'd say you put down your weapons."

You glared at the man, jerking your hands in hopes of breaking free. Of course, it didn't work.

"Y/N!"

Caspian called out to you, causing the man with Eustace to grin wickedly.

"Y/N? As in the princess of Anvard?" He looked at you. "Many would pay a high price for a princess. Especially one sought out by many kingdoms."

"Let her go!" Caspian shouted, attempting to run toward you. He was stopped by several men who stood near him.

"Drop your weapons now or the princess will lose a finger!"

You cringed since your captor shouted in your ear. It made you angrier.

Had Eustace been quieter, maybe none of you would be in that position. Instead, Edmund, Lucy, and Caspian were forced to throw their weapons on the floor. Cuffs were slipped around their wrists. Lucy started getting dragged toward you as the man with Eustace spoke again.

"These three will go to market. Send those two to the dungeons."

Caspian nearly took the men holding him to the ground as he fought to get closer to the slave trader making the order. "Listen to me you insolent fool! I am your king! Release us!"

A new man dressed in nicer silks and jewels came out of the shadows. "Actually, someone else is going to pay... for all of you."

You, Lucy, and Eustace were dragged one way and Edmund and Caspian the other. It became a flurry of begging and calling out to one another. Lucy cried out for her brother. Caspian shouted out that he was king and then called your name. Edmund called for Lucy. Eustace cried. You cried, too, telling Caspian everything would be okay even though you had no idea if any of you would come out alive.

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