#is it really sentence mixing when all you did was order the already existing complete sentences?

[girlmachinezeph]

SO since so many voice lines are on WoWpedia I was possesed to make this. have fun my fellow sylvanas simps

#sylvanas windrunner #sylvanas #world of warcraft #victory for sylvanas #tw: violence #tw physical violence #tw sadism #banshee queen #audio splicing #is it really sentence mixing when all you did was order the already existing complete sentences?

[the-kaedageist]

This scene was cut from my most recent chapter of More Things in Heaven and Earth, and as it is cute and not spoilery, I thought I would post it here! You don’t really need any familiarity with that fic to enjoy this interlude, other than knowing that Caleb is currently in Guinevere’s body and Essek is in Oskar’s, and they are in Rexxentrum.

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

As they made their way back through the gate to the Shimmer Ward, Caleb shaded his eyes against the setting sun, struck by another idea. “It is nearly time for dinner,” he said, “and I know just the place, if you are interested?”

Essek nodded. Caleb began to lead him back through the streets of the Shimmer Ward, towards Soltryce and the neighborhoods that he’d frequented in his youth. Things here and there were different – it was hard to say if it was due to time’s passage or the fact that they were in another universe – but the majority of the city remained the same, and Caleb began to grow excited at the thought of sharing his favorite beer hall with Essek. Perhaps he could invite him for a dance…

They came to a stop in front of the place where the beer hall should have stood. Caleb glared with utter disdain at the upscale wine bar that had taken its place.

Essek wandered up to the window and peered inside curiously, his eyes alight. “This is where you intended to take me?” he asked with a small, pleased smile.

Caleb bit his lip, his frustration dying as quickly as it had flared up in the face of Essek’s enthusiasm. “It was intended to be a beer hall,” he said. “This was my, ah, old haunt when I was a student; it appears, in this world, that it has been gentrified. But I think you would be interested in trying it anyway?”

“I have not had as many opportunities to sample Empire wines as I would have liked,” Essek said. “Shall we?”

The wine bar that had replaced Hofbräuhaus had a cozy, dark interior lit with magical fairy lights, with a dimly lit map of the Menagerie Coast painted across the side and large, plush booths lining the walls The new ownership had retained the dance floor that featured so prominently in Caleb’s memories, but redecorated it with dark, stained wood flooring and lovely crimson curtains. Beautiful carvings of Nicodranas and other cities of the Menagerie Coast dotted the walls, and Caleb found his gaze caught by a particularly fetching relief of a very familiar building as he and Essek were led to a small, out of the way booth. The Lavish Chateau looked very similar in this world, it would seem, and he was immensely pleased to see it still existed.

They were seated in a booth that was plush beyond belief; Caleb immediately sunk into the crushed velvet of the upholstery. Across from him, Essek’s eyes crinkled into a smile as the dragonborn host left them with menus etched in a tiny, neat hand and glasses of water.

It was absurdly high class, far more than the beer hall had been. Essek looked positively delighted by every detail.

Caleb glanced down at the menu, squinting to read the details. “They have Lionett wine,” he said immediately, his eye catching on the familiar name.

Essek raised an eyebrow. “Beauregard’s family?”

“Interesting that the décor is themed after the Menagerie Coast, yet the wine is from the Empire,” Caleb observed.

A stuffy-looking waiter popped up at his elbow, surprising him. “Actually, we carry a wide variety of selections from all across the Marrow Valley, western Wynandir, and the Menagerie Coast,” the man said. He was wearing spectacles and had a neat little moustache, exactly as Caleb would have expected of such a place.

“And eastern Wynandir?” Essek asked, his expression deeply serious, which Caleb had learned was one of his tells that he was absolutely fucking with someone. “I have heard the Dynasty has many fine vintages.”

The waiter scoffed. “I’m sure they do, but you try getting those shipped into Rexxentrum with the war on. Might I suggest a bottle of ’20 Plumgroves Red? That was the year the hurricane swept through Feolinn, and only 300 bottles were ever produced. A rare delicacy, to be sure.” 

Essek’s eyes lit up.

“And undoubtably quite expensive,” Caleb said carefully, immediately knowing they didn’t have the cash for such a purchase. “I think we are looking for something more…affordable.”

The waiter didn’t even blink, reaching into his pocket and whisking out two more menus. “Here is our tasting menu, which may be more to your purse’s liking,” he said. Despite the lack of judgment in his voice, he’d lost much of his salesman’s panache with the realization that they weren’t high rollers.

Essek scanned the smaller menu. “I think perhaps we would be interested in the Feolinn sampler,” he said. He glanced up at Caleb. “If that is to your liking?”

Caleb smiled. “Anything you wish to try, my friend.” They also put in an order for a few of the small-plate dinner items in the Menagerie Coast style to be shared between them and the waiter left them to themselves, returning a few moments later with the sampler of Feolinn wines.

Essek sipped at the first offering the moment the waiter had vanished, closing his eyes while tasting it. Caleb watched, amused and just enjoying being present with him, distracting him from the events of the coming day; he could focus just on Essek, his reactions and his soft questions and his occasional smile, with soft music from the small quartet in the corner. Despite his pique at his favorite beer hall being replaced, the wine bar’s romantic atmosphere was absolutely perfect.

“How is it?” he asked as Essek sipped the first sampler once more.

He made a face. “Interesting. Drier than most Dynasty vintages, although I suppose perhaps that is the style.”

“I had no idea you were as much a wine snob as Beauregard,” Caleb said with a laugh. “Although I suppose you did bring us that expensive bottle back in Rosohna.”

 “Wine was one of the markers of status in my family,” Essek said. “I was trained to know it well.” He sampled the second option, his face much more agreeable. “This is much better,” he added.

“We shall have to bring you and Beauregard out to have wine together,” Caleb said with a small smile. “I think you will find much to speak on.”

The small plates arrived soon after, with samplings of various types of Menagerie Coast fare – richly seasoned carrots and asparagus, a delightful mix of seafoods, and some interesting spiced potato fritters. Caleb and Essek split the dishes between them, and it was quite nice to indulge in dinner, just the two of them, in a city that had once captured his heart and then broken it into a million pieces.

By the time they finished eating, Essek had already snagged the waiter for a second sampler, this time of Marrow Valley wines. Caleb could feel a pleasant tipsiness settling through him; he was used to having much more alcohol tolerance than Guinevere.

He looked over at Essek, who was critiquing his current sampler of wine with a delighted expression on his face that suggested he’d rather be nowhere else but there. Caleb couldn’t draw his eyes away. Even in a body that was not his own, in a world that was completely foreign, Essek was the brightest thing in the room.

Essek stopped speaking mid-sentence when he caught Caleb’s stare. “What?” he asked.

Caleb knew the smile that spread across his face was far too fond, but had absolutely no incentive to hide it. “It is nice, to see you so passionate.”

A flush went up the back of Essek’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. The small quartet in the corner struck up a new tune, soft and romantic. A few patrons from other booths began to move to the dance floor, and Caleb had the sudden impression that this was a popular date spot.

He reached over and took Essek’s hand, not sure if it was the haze of the alcohol, the rich attraction between them, or the strangeness of this world, but caught up in the magic of him all the same. It was strange, to realize that despite the revelations of the evening before, despite the coming day with all of its challenges, Caleb was happy.

#critical role #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #cr fanfic #cr ficlet #cr fic #my fics #tusk love: the behemoth #this has barely been edited so be kind lol

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon: Let’s break up on the 30th of February

This work, 我们 2月30日号分手吧, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

Every failed prank pulled on Victor has only served to embolden you. Once again, you’ve come up with an idea on how to challenge him.

“Victor. After giving it much thought, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February.” Exercising your acting skills, you bite your lower lip, standing before him with a pitiful expression. Your eyes are welling with tears as you pretend to be torn between reluctance and resoluteness.

“Mm,” Victor responds simply.

Without lifting his head, he circles some data on your proposal with a red pen, then draws a cross.

Hold on, why is this situation turning out different from what you imagined? Wasn’t he supposed to tug on your hand, begging you not to leave with reddened eyes? Turns out the television dramas lied!

You gripe, pinching his ear. “You actually responded with just a ‘mm’!”

“What else?” He creates some distance between himself and the desk, giving you more space to move. Resigned, he covers his hand over yours, rescuing his poor ear from your clutches. 

“Do you not love me anymore? As expected, men don’t know how to treasure what they’ve obtained!” You lunge at him, and the chair swivels backwards along with this action. Fortunately, Victor holds you before you fall.

“Didn’t you say it yourself?” After keeping you steady, he brings you into his arms.

Enraged, you give him glare, climbing up from his body and giving him an angry stomp on the foot. “Who was the one who said he’d never leave me? Now that I want a break up, you aren’t even trying to make me stay.”

Victor’s brows scrunch up in pain. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know that the 30th of February doesn’t exist?” 

Seeing that your plot has been unravelled, you chuckle in embarrassment. Trying to placate him, you nuzzle into his arms. “Heheh, Teacher Victor is really smart!”

He encircles his arm around your waist. As though he’s forgiving a playful child for the umpteenth time, he pinches your waist as a small punishment. “Since a certain someone doesn’t have sufficient IQ, I’ll have to make up for her absence of IQ.”

“Victor, there’s no need for personal attacks!

[ GAVIN ] 

Having an off day from work, the two of you decide to stay at home instead of heading out.

He’s currently reading a book while you’re scrolling on your phone as usual. All of a sudden, you come across a pretty interesting prank, and decide to use it on Gavin. “Gavin, let’s break up on the 30th of February.

Gavin freezes, the arm around your shoulders loosening by quite a fair amount. He turns his head stiffly towards you, a dash of pain flashing in his dimming amber eyes. “Have you... thought it through?”

“I have. We’ll break up on the 30th of February.” You give him a nod of certainty.

Gavin retracts his right hand which was around you earlier. With his brows tightly knit, he speaks carefully, his tone filled with unease. “Then... before you find someone who can protect you, could I continue protecting you in the meantime?”

Oh my goodness, I forgot how honest this man could be.

“Gav, look at the calendar.” Knowing that you’ve gone too far, you hurriedly tap open the calendar app on your phone.

“I’m not looking! I know that it’s the 26th of February today, and there are four more days till the 30th.” Gavin cranes his neck away, pushing away the phone you’ve brought to him, tone slightly upset. If he had ears on the top of his head, they’d definitely be drooping.

“Why don’t you take another look?” Suppressing your laughter, you push the phone in front of him again.

“I don’t want to!” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re going to tell me that it’s a non-leap year, which means there’s a year and four days left. But a year passes by really quickly, and the 30th will arrive soon.”

Oh no, I’ve shocked this poor boy silly.

Not receiving a response from you even after a long time, Gavin opens his eyes to find that you’ve been rendered speechless. He lowers his head with a pout. “Am I wrong?”

With a sigh, you lift his head, giving him a gentle gaze as you explain. “Dear, it’s a non-leap year, but there are only 29 days in February even in a leap year. There will never be a 30th February, which is why I’ll never break up with you in this lifetime.”

“...”

Gavin blinks, reacting only after a long while. Reaching out to encase you back into his arms, his fluffy hair nuzzles the crook of your neck affectionately. “You gave me a scare. In compensation, go stargazing with me tonight.”

[ LUCIEN ]

The bathroom is always the easiest place for inspiration to strike.

“Lucien, I’ve made a decision. I’ll break up with you on the 30th of February.” Your expression is solemn as you step out of the bathroom, looking at Lucien as he reads a book.

The light in Lucien eyes dim, and he sets down the book. With a mellow tone, he asks, “Little Butterfly, are you serious?”

You nod, repeating yourself once more with the acting skills you’ve picked up from actors during filming. “I’m serious. We’ll break up on 30th February.”

Lucien pauses for a moment, then lowers his head in thought. The situation dawns on him, and he releases a sigh, casting you a resigned glance. Tugging on your hand so that you sit in front of the dressing table, he takes out the hair dryer and dries your hair slowly. “Sorry. Even though I know there won’t be a 30th February, I won’t agree to it.”

“Huh? Why not?” You turn your head, speaking loudly amid the whirring wind. “Since you’ve already figured it out, just play along with me!”

He pats your half-dried hair, then turns the hair dryer off. Then, he locates the styling brush and tidies your hair. “I don’t wish for us to be tainted by the term ‘break up’, even if the chances of that happening is zero.”

Lucien is indeed pretty sensitive when it comes to this matter. Realising this, you obediently sit still on the chair like an elementary school kid, leaving him to tidy your hair. “Okay okay, I was in the wrong. I won’t joke about such things next time. Also, I can promise that the butterfly will never leave her painter in this lifetime.”

“Good.” The corners of Lucien’s lips curl upwards, satisfied. 

He picks up the hair dryer again. “Since you’ve admitted your mistake, your punishment will be to make me cream puffs, and accompany me to class tomorrow, in the capacity of a family member.”

[ KIRO ]

Once again catching Kiro red-handed as he steals your snacks, you grab a fistful of his hair angrily. “Kiro, since you’re always taking my snacks, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February!” 

“Miss Chips, you saw that post too?” Kiro completely ignores the first half of your sentence. As though lacking even a shred of remorse, he places your favourite snack back in its original position, unable to hide it in time. He stands up obediently, the innocent expression on his face causing your anger to dissipate.

“Huh? You already know about it?”

“Of course. There’s nothing Kiro doesn’t know!” Being able to escape unscathed, Kiro’s imaginary tail wags in the air.

You roll your eyes, chasing him away from the snack cupboard. “Boring.”

“But Miss Chips, let’s not say such things in the future. I’ll admit that I was a little frightened earlier.” He lifts his hand, showing you a gap between his thumb and forefinger. “But just a little.”

“Really! Did I really scare you?” Pleasantly surprised, you turn around. 

Kiro arches his brows in astonishment, then lowers his head as though upset. “Miss Chips, what’s with that excited expression?”

“Ever since we returned from the haunted house, I’ve always wanted to give you a fright, then snap photographs of your expression and make them into memes,” you laugh, taking out a small box from your pocket. Retrieving the lock from within, you clasp it onto the snack cupboard under Kiro’s shocked gaze.

“Miss Chips!!”

On that day, all the citizens within 10km distance had a discussion online about how they heard a man mimicking the voice of superstar Kiro, but his tone sounded so miserable that it was akin to a squealing pig awaiting its demise.

[ SHAW ]

After who knows how many times of facing Shaw’s mockery, you decide to give him a scare by employing a new prank you learnt on the web.

“Shaw, I’m ending our relationship as girlfriend and boyfriend on the 30th of February!” 

Shaw’s eyes flit to you leisurely as he grabs the final chicken cutlet on the coffee table. Revealing a triumphant grin, he begs to be punched as he responds, “Pick another day. There won’t be a 30th February in your lifetime.”

???

Finding this incredulous, your eyes widen. “You little brat - you’re looking forward to the end of our relationship, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say that I’m ‘looking forward’ to it, but it’s inevitable.” 

He doesn’t explain further, licking the corners of his lips. Then, he takes a sip of mixed cola from your coke. The longer you watch him, the more enraged you are. It’s often said that people tend to lose their rationality when angry. Without much thought, the words in your head leap out of your mouth.

“Fine! Since you’re so certain, I’ll end this relationship with your annoying eggplant head today!”

“Sure.” Shaw feels around in his pocket.

You turn around to leave, never wanting to see this eggplant head ever again.

“Hey, wait.” He suddenly calls you. “I haven’t gotten my household register.”

Puzzled, you turn around with a glare. “A break up is just a break up. Why do you need your household register?”

Shaw stares at you as though he’s looking at a blockhead. “We’re ending our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, so isn’t the next step to start our relationship as husband and wife?”

At this stage, it’s difficult to remain angry. Yet, in order to preserve some dignity, you stutter and stammer, face flushed. “W-who even wants to start a relationship as husband and wife with you!”

“Who else but you?” Shaw digs through the drawer, retrieving both of your household registers. Grabbing your hand, he pulls you out of the house. “Let’s go and get a marriage license.”

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc lucien #mlqc shaw #mlqc victor #aeiofjsdklneiowahfsdkl #S H A W

[dionnaea]

If I Could Love You | Zeke x Reader

pairing: zeke yeager x reader

warnings: reader is magath’s daughter, smoking, angst

wc: 1.7k

a/n: kinda want to write a prequel to this? like the start of zeke and the reader’s relationship. any interest in that? also, thanks for reading!

attack on titan masterlist | general masterlist

“Welcome back, monkey man.”

The sound of your voice tumbled into Zeke’s ears, a jumble of longing, elation, and teasing all mixed into your tone. You had been waiting for him, he knew. He knew before he even stepped out onto the balcony that you were standing there, and he knew that he shouldn’t have let himself step out in the first place. Choosing the safest option on this dangerous encounter, he ignored you. But when you said his name, his head immediately turned so that his eyes could meet yours. 

He was met with a cloud of smoke, and when it cleared, your grin stared back at him, cigarette hanging from your fingers. He left his face blank, seemingly unamused by your tricks, and turned back around, taking a few steps forward until he could lean on the railing. 

You were quick, though, and twisted your body in one fluid motion so that your back was pressing against the metal railing and your feet were crossed as you placed most of your weight on one leg. Zeke was used to this by now, and didn’t spare you a glance as he himself hunched over to rest against his forearms. 

The night sky in front of him was dark, only a few stars untouched by the light pollution of the city. In the distance, he could see the beginning of the sea, a black abyss promising the unknown. He could feel your eyes on him, hear the sounds of you sucking tobacco into your lungs and blowing it back out. The heat that waved off of your body was smothering, and Zeke didn’t know if the air was getting caught in his chest because of that or the smoke. 

“Those things will kill you,” he stated. 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “But won’t just about everything?” You took another puff, lightly pushing the exhaled smoke towards Zeke. He brought his hand up and swiped it away. Annoyance played on his features, but you knew that you weren’t really bothering him. “What’s up with you?”

Your gaze was studious, and Zeke knew you were trying to gain any hint of insight from his subtle reactions. He remained stoic, repressing the downturn his lips so desperately wanted to perform. He was well aware that you’d catch him if he even attempted to lie so instead he remained silent, letting you dissect him all you wanted but knowing you would find nothing. 

“Zeke,” you sighed and for some reason it was more exasperated than disappointed. You lifted your free hand up, brushing it side to side. “I get it. You’ve been at war. You’ve seen things. You’re sad or angry or whatever the hell you are. So what? I don’t care. Stop acting like a baby and talk to me.” 

Your words, your tone, was harsh, but coming from you, Zeke knew it was gentle. He knew you meant it all in the best way possible, knew you just longed for his attention, knew all you wanted was to be with him, and that killed him. That knowledge killed him in the most delicious way. Your existence was sugar laced with poison, and still, Zeke kept consuming you like it was the last meal he’d ever eat.

Which quite possibly, it was. 

“Don’t you know how to leave a man alone?” He was fighting a smile, you could tell. 

“Absolutely not,” you replied, shifting your position so that you leaned on only one arm and your whole body faced him. His mouth had formed a small grin, but he still wasn’t looking at you, choosing the darkness rather than the light right beside him. “Zeke. Look at me?” 

There was an unspoken ‘please’ on the end of your sentence, a light desperation dancing across your tongue. He was hopeless, absolutely hopeless, Zeke lamented as he turned only his head to finally meet your stare. Your eyes were pools of liquid, a shine on them as if you were fighting off tears. But no, Zeke realized, it was the moonlight dancing off of your irises, creating shadows of your eyelashes that rested along your cheeks. 

You breathed a sigh of relief and offered the cigarette to the man, dangling it between your dainty fingers so lightly that Zeke was scared it would fall. He closed the distance between the two of you, pulling the drug into his lungs until he could breathe no more before tilting away and blowing the smoke behind him. The wind picked up in that moment, aiding the smoke’s departure but cursing Zeke as your sweet scent wafted into his nose. It filled up his head, dizzying him until he was able to breath fresh air again. 

He dared to look back down at you, and for the first time in months, truly took you in. You were wearing pajamas, the strap of your camisole loose as it rested on the curve of your shoulder. There was lace on the front, enticing his eyes to glance where they shouldn’t. Your shorts were a bit too short, and your legs looked a bit too soft. As his eyes grazed back up your figure, he was met with a soft upturn of your lips, pink and plush and begging for his own.

It was obvious, you made it obvious, that you wanted him in whichever way he would give himself to you. It had always been like this, you opening yourself up fully and gladly taking whatever pieces of himself that Zeke would give you. You had roped him into a game through sweet smiles and subtle glances, and it seemed every time he felt like he understood the rules, you changed them. You were not something to be understood, you were something to be chased, to be longed for, to be loved, and Zeke cursed himself for not being able to do all three. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” you started, dropping the cigarette and pointing at it with your bare toes. Zeke obliged your silent request, stomping it out with his boot before kicking it in between the wooden slats. “You’re thinking that you shouldn’t, that it isn’t right or that it isn’t worth it.” You bit your lip, eyebrows furrowing, and Zeke couldn’t help but like the way little wrinkles appeared along your forehead. “But I’m telling you now that it is, okay? Just… just trust me for once.” 

That was the problem, Zeke thought, he always trusted you. He put too much faith in your reassurances and let himself fall too deeply into your fantasies. Thinking about it, Zeke realized that you were exactly like the sea: something he would inevitably drown in in search for answers and a warm embrace. You were a known unknown entity, and that scared Zeke more than he could express in words. 

Remaining silent, Zeke lifted his hand, and you froze in anticipation of what he would do. Gently, he brushed his calloused fingers against your upper arm, lightly pushing your camisole strap back up so that it rested properly against your collarbone. Your body involuntarily shivered, and chillbumps dusted across your skin. You waited with held breath, his fingers resting against the curve of your neck. After a moment of reverie, Zeke brought himself back to reality and pulled away. To your surprise, he shrugged off his jacket, casting it over your shoulders and waiting until you had thread your arms through the much too long sleeves before saying anything. 

“The armband doesn’t suit you.” His words were firm, almost angry. 

The weight of the band burned into your being, but you kept your eyes locked with his. “It doesn’t suit you either.” Zeke was well aware that you were dead serious, an anomaly in your family when it came to compassion. “Is this…” You already knew the answer, you had asked a million times. “Is this about my father?” 

Zeke sighed, running a tense hand through his hair and turning away once more, resting back onto the railing. He didn’t know why you asked when you already knew the answer, but he supposed that a small part of you kept the hope that someday something would change. It wouldn’t. 

“Why?” Your volume rose. “Why? It doesn’t have to be! Why do you let it!” It wasn’t even a question at that point. It was just a statement, an indisputable fact that Zeke’s future was decided by everyone but himself. 

“Zeke.” 

He gave a noncommittal hum in response. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” 

He could hear the anger in your voice, the frustration, but he also heard something else. Sadness? Loneliness? 

He wasn’t given a chance to respond before you were speaking again. “I know you’re leaving. You’re going to Paradis, and you’re going to fight back against Marley, and then you’re going to die. Maybe not even in that order.” You took a deep breath in and reached out, placing a soft hand on the side of Zeke’s face and turning it until his grey eyes were forced to look into yours. He automatically leaned into your touch. “So tell me this: With how much you’ve given up in your life, why are you still choosing to give up me?” 

There was pain dancing across your face, and suddenly Zeke didn’t think those forehead wrinkles were as cute. He had underestimated you as he always did, and was once again stuck in your crosshairs, having to make the decision of trying to run or giving himself up completely. His entire being begged him to do the latter. 

Because for Zeke, you meant more than every war combined. You meant more than most everything. But you didn’t mean more than his conviction, and he was a very stubborn man. So when you asked him to stay, even offered to come with him, he had to refuse. 

That night, Zeke realized something. Until that moment when your heart shattered and your face hardened over, you had always been known. You had never changed the rules, only adapted them so that you could be with him for just a little bit longer. All you had wanted was to love him. 

And the one time you had asked him to love you back, he had said no. 

#zeke x reader #zeke yeager x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #snk #attack on titan fanfiction #zeke jeager x reader #zeke jeager #zeke yeager #mere writes

[nanami-says]

Part V (2/3): chapters 58~60

Chapter 58

[About Sukuna’s fingers resonating with one another]

"The ones that possess an immense presence. The ones that are hiding. The ones that are already taken in by cursed spirits."

⇒ "1) The ones with too big presences. 2) The ones holding their breath. 3) The ones already absorbed by cursed spirits."

I added the numbers for explanation purposes, see below. 

"One of Sukuna's fingers was hidden by a cursed spirit. When Itadori consumed the finger in June, it released its cursed energy"

⇒ "The Sukuna fingers that had been absorbed were holding back their power [while] inside cursed spirits. Then they unleashed their cursed energy with Itadori's incarnation [of Sukuna] in June serving as a trigger."

Whelp. On top of extremely simplifying the explanation, they mixed up the kind of Sukuna finger involved here - it was very explicitly stated in the text that it was number 3) "absorbed" (assimilated) fingers, and not 2) "hiding" fingers. 

I guess saying that Itadori consumed the finger isn't wrong plot wise but it's actually referred to (here and many times more in the manga) as "incarnation"! The same word also gets used for the death painting brothers.

[Megumi remembering a conversation with Gojou] 

"I was surprised you asked me to train you"

⇒ "It's rare for you to ask me for a practice, Megumi"

"To train you" wasn't wrong but Gojou saying "it's rare" here points to it either happening occasionally or having happened in the past and I'm not sure "I was surprised" quite conveys that. 

"Are you feeling pressure because of Yuji's growth?"

⇒ "Did you get impatient after getting surpassed by Yuuji?"

Gojou actually says that Yuuji has surpassed Megumi here! Quite a different nuance from just "Yuji's growth".

"Megumi, your skill and potential are probably higher than Yuji's. All that’s left is the mental aspect"

⇒ “You know, Megumi, I think that both your real ability and potential are in no way inferior to Yuuji's. (...)"

Emphasis mine because pray tell, how does one reach the conclusion that "don't lose out to"/"aren't inferior to" equals to "are probably higher". “Skill” was fine btw but I’d probably go with “mindset” for the last line, personally.

[Gojou explaining why he thinks Megumi doesn’t know how to make a serious effort giving the baseball game as an example]

“Why did you bunt? You sacrificed yourself so that Nobara could advance. Well, good for you"

⇒ "Why did you make a sacrifice bunt? Did you want to advance Nobara to the next base even if it meant you'd be out yourself? That's commendable"

The nuance for the last line was just different - the word used there usually is just used as praise, either genuine or ironic but imo “good for you” has a different meaning. Also he says “out”  but it’s written as “death” (although that is sometimes the case in baseball as well.)

“But no matter how many allies you have around you, you'll always die alone"

⇒ “(...) when you die, you’re alone”

I tried to phrase it a bit closer to the original because I feel like the nuance may just be different for this line but can’t quite put a finger on the how.

[Gojou to Megumi]

"To die and then win, and dying victoriously are two completely different things, Megumi"

⇒ "To win by dying and to win even if you die are completely different, Megumi"

Emphasis by Gege. Ngl, I had no clue what the English was trying to say here… This is most likely what the line actually meant.

[Megumi regaining his consciousness after he blacked out from getting hit] 

 "How long was I out? Was my divine dog destroyed? No, my technique's finished"

Actually "my technique got undone". Putting it as "has finished" is imo both unclear and misleading. Similar situation as in ch. 1 (refer to part I).

[Lead-up to Megumi using a domain expansion for the first time]

"A jujutsu sorcerer's growth never comes easy"

⇒ "The growth curve of a sorcerer isn’t always gentle"

Mostly, the line was more intricate in the original but also the grammatical construction used here that they mistranslated as "never" actually means "not always [necessarily]” instead.

"Here we go!!"

Not really incorrect but it's kinda generic and I guess something like "I'm gonna do it!" is closer nuance wise. 

"With a firm base, skill and imagination, a person can change thanks to the slightest of events"

⇒ "A firm foundation, a handful of sense, and imagination. Then, [even] with a most insignificant opportunity, a person will change"

A pity they simplified "a handful of sense" into just "skill" here. Overall not really incorrect but I wanted to propose something that imo better conveys the original wording and vibe.

“Area expansion”

…”area”? What? Obviously this is actually “domain expansion”. I just don’t have words.

“Think bigger! My technique’s interpretation!”

First sentence actually referred to the second one, so it’s actually something like “Expand it!! The technique’s interpretation!!”

[Megumi to the cursed spirit after his shikigami deals it a finishing blow]

"Divine dog's claws even hurt it...You were no match!"

"(...) So something like piercing through you when you're not even paying attention was easy"

Less excitement, more dismissiveness, I’d say? Also, for the divine dog it’s actually specified that it’s “divine dog (totality)” and not just simply “divine dog”. The term appeared before in ch. 47.

Chapter 59

[Megumi talking about what he considers the basic rule for human interactions in a flashback to his middle school years]

"Basically, you shouldn't cross any line that violates another person's dignity. You should acknowledge each other's mutual existence. That's the rule. You ignored it and fed your stupid ego"

⇒ "In short, it's drawing a line in order not to jeopardise one another's dignity; [it’s] a process through which both parties can coexist. That's what the "rule" is”. You broke it, throwing your weight around and forcing everyone to walk on eggshells around you”

For the first sentence, Megumi says “it’s drawing a line”, so the nuance here was probably closer to “creating boundaries” rather than “crossing boundaries” like in the official English release. For the second sentence, the original literally says “the process through which one another’s existence is achieved”, so rather than acknowledging each other’s existence the sentiment is probably closer to live and let live? For the last sentence, they once again simplified it to the barest bones.

"I'll definitely tell Ikezawa and everyone today that we're not their lapdogs"

“You got this, Aida!”

"But we might be the next punching bags, so don't go overboard!"

Should be “Ikezawa and others'' and definitely “that I’m not their errand boy” for the smallest boy’s first line. If all of them were already being treated as errand boys like the way using the plural form here implies, the other student’s reply wouldn’t make sense.

[After Tsumiki sees Megumi has beaten up delinquents once again]

“You said you wouldn’t pick fights anymore”

“You’re not my mom”

⇒ (...) “Don’t act like you’re my guardian”

Imo the distinction is significant because there’s a possibility that Tsumiki as the older of the two probably did feel responsible for Megumi to an extent and acted accordingly, as if she was his guardian. 

Also, he doesn’t actually say “mom” - this is not the first time where the official English release opts for a gendered phrase where the original uses a neutral form. (Like making Yuuji say his grandpa was like a dad to him when he actually said parent all the way back in ch. 2.) 

[Megumi’s thoughts from back in the middle school]

"I hate bad guys with no brains and zero emotional capability. Walking around feeling proud. Disgusting."

⇒ "I hate bad people. The way they act like they’re superior, with their complete lack of imagination or sensitivity. Disgusting”

I guess I really dislike the way they worded it here, especially the “no brains” part since Megumi wasn’t really talking about intellect or smarts here but about imagination (and sensitivity), which he literally describes as being akin to "vacant lot", "empty lot", "raw land”, which is much more evocative.

"I hate goody-goodies forgiving bad people, justifying mercy. Makes me wanna puke"

⇒ "I hate good people. The way they forgive such bad people and perceive that act of forgiveness as something noble. They make me sick"

Mhm, way to just simplify the heck out of the whole line. I’m extra bothered by their use of “goody-goodies” here since this is yet another appearance of a rather formal word for “good person” (善人/zennin) in the original and which I’ve observed to be a very important part of the world-building in jjk. I discuss it at length in various previous installments, with notable examples including: ch. 9 (Megumi about Yuuji and about the kind of people he wants to save - part I), ch. 31 (Nanami and Yuuji’s conversation in the aftermath of the Junpei incident - part III 2/2), ch. 36 (Panda about Yuuji - part IV 2/5).

“Tsumiki, you’re a perfect example of a good person.”

See, the word he uses here to describe Tsumiki is the same as in the line above (善人) but because back then it got translated as “goody-goodies”, you’d never guess it since the vibes are just that different.

[Megumi reminiscing about meeting Gojou for the first time]

"In the first grade, my dad and Tsumiki's mom got married and separated just as quickly"

⇒ "When I was in the first grade of elementary school my father and Tsumiki’s mother, our respective single parents, got together and disappeared into thin air"

The original doesn’t mention marriage OR separation. Heck, especially for the second one, it doesn’t even come close to mentioning it?? I have no clue where they got this from. 

What I put as “got together” can also be translated as “to have a liaison with (a man or a woman)” (among others). Since Tsumiki’s surname is also “Fushiguro” in middle school, it’s possible that they were actually married and many Japanese fans seem to think that as well but it’s not explicitly stated, at least not here, so those are most likely speculations. 

As for mysterious “separation”, the word used here actually means "disappearance (of people intentionally concealing their whereabouts); unexplained disappearance", so imo the whole section means their parents got together and at some point both disappeared. As we learn at one point in the manga Touji first and Tsumiki’s mum sometime later. 

(Btw, one fan scanlation used “evaporation” here instead and while this is another possible translation of the word in question, imo from the context it’s clear that the intended meaning was the “unexplained disappearance” instead.)

Lastly, Megumi uses kind of formal expressions when referring to both his own dad and Tsumiki’s mum, which imo is indicative of the emotional distance.

[Tiny Megumi about teenager Gojou]

"A weirdo with white hair said"

⇒ "A suspicious man with white hair"

Needless to say, he doesn't actually call Gojou a weirdo.

[Gojou about Touji] 

"But he's a loser that just works for me. He left the family and had you."

⇒ "He's enough of a good-for-nothing to take aback even me. Basically, he left home and then had you."

Emphasis mine. Again, I literally have no clue where they got the translation they went with for this. “Works for me” - just what?? (Btw, one of the fan scans available for this had the latter part of this line mistakenly imply that Gojou had Megumi leave his house. The bit definitely referred to Touji leaving the Zen’in family.)

"You're something your dad used against the Zen'in family. His trump card"

⇒ “You’re something your father kept as his strongest card against the Zen’in family”

A bit of a different nuance than “your dad used” suggests.

"The divorce money makes sense now. I was sold to this Zen'in family"

⇒ "The mystery behind the funds for their disappearance got solved. Apparently, I was sold to this Zen’in family or something"

Again, the word for “divorce” doesn’t make an appearance ANYWHERE in this chapter, least of all this page. ...How. 

Once again - fan scans had this as money that also evaporated but neither it nor the official English release make sense, considering the line is followed up by “I was sold” as the explanation. So yeah, imo the first sentence definitely referred to the money Megumi considered necessary for Touji (and co’s) disappearance.

[Gojou referring to Touji basically selling Megumi off]

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's annoying. Especially your attitude."

⇒ “It pisses you off, doesn’t it”

“Yeah, it does piss me off. Especially that lack of delicacy of yours”

I mentioned it multiple times but imo repetition in the original text tends to be done on purpose and as a device and imo this was another example where this was the case. Megumi borrows Gojou’s words here. (Which mean “to be irritated, “to be angry” and not “it sucks”.)

[Megumi continuing about Gojou]

"But that annoying guy wrote off the situation with the Zen'in family. He made a promise that we would work as sorcerers in the future. We would be collateral and receive financial support from Jujutsu High in exchange."

⇒"This man pisses me off, but it was him who cancelled the deal with the Zen'in family, and made it so we would receive financial support from the technical college with me working as a sorcerer in the future [serving] as collateral for it”

I don’t know why they’d translate it as “we would work” here since who the “we” would be supposed to even entail other than Megumi himself? Surely not Tsumiki. Or Gojou. Also, putting the next bit as “we would be collateral” makes it sound kind of dehumanising to me, ngl, whereas Megumi was talking about his labour here.

Also, the same phrase for “pisses off” as above got used once again, which makes it three times in a row, so imo that was definitely a deliberate stylistic choice on Gege’s part.

“Jujutsu sorcerers. How stupid.

⇒ "Sorcerers, what even. How nonsensical"

Just proposing an alternate wording.

[Megumi about the curse Tsumiki got hit by]

"All we knew was that we didn't know anything. Tsumiki still sleeps."

The word used to describe Tsumiki’s state literally means “became bedridden”, which imo heavily implies she fell into a coma. “Still sleeps” is most likely a misunderstanding on the translator’s part since the word sounds like it’d mean that (but it doesn’t.)

[Megumi about Tsumiki]

"Always smiling and saying nice things"

⇒ “Always smiling and spouting lip service”

Another case where the translator seems to have translated the word based on the way it’s written as opposed to checking the actual meaning. (The “nice things” phrase.)

"It's not a bad thing to not forgive people. Megumi, that's your way of showing kindness."

⇒ “Not being able to forgive people isn’t a bad thing. That’s your kindness, Megumi”

It wasn’t just “not to forgive” but “not being able to forgive”! Which imo would imply the next line’s nuance was something similar to Tsumiki considering Megumi’s inability to forgive people to be something that stems from his kindness (e.g. because he can’t stand seeing injustice).

"Even spinning my short-comings in a positive light."

⇒ “She would affirm even my nature"

Imo this line was more of Tsumiki accepting Megumi as he is or at least that’s what the line says - makes sense with what I proposed for the line above too. Translating it the way they did in the official release kind of feels like overinterpreting.

"But even she would get upset when I hurt somebody. I was annoyed by the hypocrisy"

⇒ "But even such Tsumiki would get genuinely angry (...). I would get annoyed thinking she was a stickler to the rules and a hypocrite"

Emphasis mine. The phrase that the translators seem to have skipped here and I translated as "stickler to the rules" literally means "to play it safe", "to avoid trouble at all cost". 

"Yeah, I know. I was immature. I'm sorry so please wake up already"

“I’m sorry, I was a brat. I’ll apologise so just wake up already, stupid older sister”

Just a different nuance and tone for the whole line.

"All I did was get rid of the Yasohachi bridge curse. My sister's sleeping curse is a separate matter."

⇒ "This Yasohachi bridge curse was probably only overlapping with it, and the curse that caused Tsumiki to fall into a coma probably hasn't been lifted"

The official English release makes it sound like sleeping (or more correctly, the coma) was the nature of the curse that Tsumiki was put under, whereas imo the original indicates it just as its effect, which is an important distinction.

“As for the finger and Itadori…”

⇒ “What should I tell Itadori about the finger...”

The “tell”, “say” is only implied here but it’s pretty clear from the context that was the meaning. Also, he explicitly says “to Itadori” here.

[After the Yasohachi bridge curse got defeated by Megumi who then retrieved the Sukuna finger from it] 

"All of sudden I feel a presence. Did the finger get out of the barrier? Whoever took out the finger bearer is quite formidable."

⇒ “The huge presence that appeared all of sudden... Did Sukuna's finger get out of the barrier? If it was a sorcerer that exorcised the finger's host, they must be quite good......."

Emphasis mine on bits that got cut out in the official release. Because Esou was facing off Nobara, he probably assumed it’s likely there may be other sorcerers present and imo that’s what this line also suggests.

"Even so... The finger... Even if they fought against a special-grade and won, They more than likely didn't come out of it unscathed. I hope they're okay."

Just to clarify that the word used for “they” in the original indicates the speaker knows the people in question, so those were Nobara’s thoughts here.

 Chapter 60

[Esou to Yuuji and Nobara after he activates his wing king technique]

“Start running and turn your backs to me”

“Run. With your backs turned to me” would fit better nuance and mood wise. (Esou didn’t want to show his back to anyone so now he’s’ forcing them to show theirs.)

[Nobara to Yuuji after he scooped her up because she couldn’t run as fast as he could]

“I got your back”

“Okay”

“Okay” isn’t incorrect per se but the word has the nuance of “I’m counting on you”.

[Nobara to Yuuji after he speeded through the forest while carrying her, allowing them to escape from Esou's technique]

"Well done, you deserve some praise"

“Yeah, yeah”

“Just kidding. Thanks!”

⇒ "You have my praise." (...)

Actually a set phrase! Spoken from a rather elevated/superior POV, which is why Nobara later reiterates that she’s genuinely thankful. Also, I probably would just go with a period for “Thanks”, imo nuance wise it didn’t require an exclamation mark and it’s not there in the original either.

[Esou after Yuuji gets splashed with Kechizu’s blood]

"There's no need to worry. My younger brother's blood isn't the same quality as mine"

Actually "doesn't have the same properties like mine”.

"You wouldn't even die from mine unless you were drowned in it."

Much closer to something like "unless you were to bathe your whole body in it".

"But it does hurt like hell"

⇒ "But it does hurt to death"

Not really wrong meaning wise but in the original it was “to death” instead of “like hell”, which combined with a previous line was probably a wordplay. "You won't die but it does hurt to death"

[Esou explaining how his and Kechizu’s shared technique works]

"If you take in one of our brother's blood and if one brother activates a technique"

Idk if it's clear here but it most likely doesn't matter which brother does which (could even be the same one). Also, definitely should’ve been “the” or “this” for technique, since Esou has just stated on the same page he’s now going to start laying out how a specific technique of he and his brother’s functions.  

[Esou replying to Yuuji]

"Yes, the result is essentially poison. Our technique is 'decomposition'"

Should be “but what our technique is, is actually ‘decomposition’” nuance wise.

"It's activated now. In reality they'll be dead faster than that”

⇒ “Done with technique disclosure, so in reality (...)”

Emphasis mine. You know, the rule in jujutsu where if you explain your technique to your opponent, it gets a buff? “Activation” is just wrong here. 

While it’s not phrased as such, the phenomenon is first explained in ch. 20 during Nanami’s explanation to Yuuji (refer to part II 2/2). It also gets mentioned by name later in the manga but oftentimes the official release would either skip it or word it completely differently so it’s hard to tell, like in ch. 51, when Hanami realises Toudou has lied to him (part IV 5/5). 

[The history of how cursed wombs came to be]

"[In the beginning of the Meiji era] there was a girl with special genetic makeup who bore a cursed-spirit child"

Actually “with an idiosyncrasy that allowed her to get pregnant with the child of a cursed spirit”! Imo an important distinction since it’s not certain whether her first child that gets discussed here was born prematurely or not and the following pregnancies were all aborted.

"A child born of mixed blood - both cursed spirit and human.”

Skipped “grotesque child” at the end.

“It was a mysterious pregnancy. She would be ostracized by family and friends.”

⇒ "Starting from a pregnancy she had no recollection of, [followed by] the oppression from her kith and kin, it made her go insane"

This latter part of this section is filled to the brim with complicated language so I’m not entirely sure but I think this might’ve been the intended meaning of the line. The official translators were probably struggling with the vocabulary too, so they cut out some stuff entirely, to be precise - the go insane part. It’s the bit I’m not certain about myself but I scoured Japanese dictionaries and that’s the meaning that seemed to be the best fit among the options.  

Anyway, to reiterate - the bit about the pregnancy actually says that the girl herself didn’t even know (couldn’t remember) how it came to be. The part about the relatives doesn’t mention friends, it’s actually a set phrase that means “one's relatives by blood and marriage (in blood and law); one's kith and kin” - I went here with the latter since it’s shorter and fits the overall vibe of the line.

“She would hold the corpse of the child and flee to a temple in the mountains. The temple was run by jujutsu sorcerers. However, her luck had run out."

⇒ “(...) However, this was when her luck run out”

Other than the nuance in the last line, this isn’t mistranslated but the whole section just flowed differently in the original and felt less disjointed.

Also! One of the scanlations I’ve seen had it misspelled as “Noshitori” but the evil sorcerer’s name is actually “Kamo Noritoshi” (and yes, it’s the same as the young Kamo but the “toshi” is written with different characters).

"The child born from a cursed spirit and human would become a prisoner of intellectual curiosity"

⇒ "His [Kamo Noritoshi's] intellectual curiosity would be taken captive by children born between a cursed spirit and a human"

Very much the other way around. It's very clear in the original that the subject of the sentence was Kamo's intellectual curiosity and not the child.

"Death painting wombs: numbers 1-3. Cursed objects worthy of special grade."

Closer to "cursed objects powerful enough to be classified as special grade"

"Did cursed energy originate from a mother's hatred? No..."

It's specified here as "did their cursed energy" instead (emphasis mine), and the question is actually left unanswered......................................................... So yeah, congrats on getting rid of this very intended ambiguity. It's something like "or was it maybe--"

[About cursed wombs]

"For 150 years, with only the notion of one another's existence, they would survive, sealed away"

⇒ "For 150 years, they endured the seal, relying only on one another's existence"

"The notion" just doesn't capture the sentiment of the line at all, which imo is most likely the follow-up to the narrator's musings about the origin of the death painting's immense cursed energy. (See above.)

"We're siding with that cursed spirit."

Actually "siding with them", read as "them" but written as "the cursed spirits" - probably plural as the original literally says "the side of the cursed spirits", so it possibly means cursed spirits as a whole as well, aside of Mahito and co specifically. Remember, the brothers are actually half-humans too. I explain in depth the “written as but read as” device in part IV 4/5 (ch. 48, Toudou’s “my friend” phenomenon).

"The future that the cursed spirits have painted is more suited for us. But that's it. Forget about what we owe for our freedom"

Not incorrect per se but Chousou actually says “forget the debt we owe them of our incarnation”, which would make it yet another instance where the official English release has cut out the term entirely. (Emphasis mine.)

[Nobara after stating that a technique that assures a win as long as it hits an opponent is indeed powerful]

"I'm a bad match for you!!"

Actually “the worst match [possible]” - more confidence in the line! 

[Nobara to the death painting brothers after using Resonance on herself thus redirecting their attack back at them]

"Let's play a game of chicken, shall we?"

The actual wording is “contest of endurance”, I’m not entirely sure if the two have the same connotation.

[part v (3/3)]

#JujutsuKaisen #jjk #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk translation #jjktranslation

[witnessourescape]

On Omega's origins

I'm trying to make some posts on Omega so I don't lose track of what I think about the funny robot. :) What we know about Omega's planet:

It was in a war against the Dragonstar;

It considered Midgardsormr a threat;

It completely destroyed the Dragonstar;

It's presumably gone, having seen a Calamity.

I'll talk about each point. I believe there are already clues to what Omega's original planet is in the game.

1. It was in a war against the Dragonstar

Contrary to common belief, what happened in the Dragonstar was not that Omega alone randomly attacked it for no reason (or to get stronger) -- Omega and its planet were locked in an interplanetary war. We don't know why -- yet.

Midgardsormr: Foolish machine. What hast thou to show for all the years that have passed since the culmination of our war? Naught save thy continued existence. Hast thou no thought for what befalleth thy home star…?

2. It considered Midgardsormr a threat

Omega's objective was to kill Midgardsormr. Not to enslave, not to colonize the planet: to kill the Father of Dragons, paragon of wyrms, because it was a threat.

Omega: Prepare to face Midgardsormr--red-maned wyrm of the Dragonstar, and nemesis of my world.

3. It completely destroyed the Dragonstar.

"By thee and thine was my home laid waste". The Dragonstar as we see in Alphascape 2.0 seems devoid of life, aetherically unbalanced. If those are aether geysers, then something must have gone really wrong. Omega's planet didn't enslave the dragons or something like that -- they killed the Dragonstar itself.

4. It's presumably gone, having seen a Calamity.

Let's get back to this piece of dialogue.

Midgardsormr: Foolish machine. What hast thou to show for all the years that have passed since the culmination of our war? Naught save thy continued existence. Hast thou no thought for what befalleth thy home star…?

What did befell Omega's home star, after all? Why does Midgardsormr knows of it and why does he uses it to try to provoke Omega? Could it be related to their war? Could Midgardsormr have been responsible for Omega's planet's destruction?

The answer probably lies in From the Heavens, Final Omega's theme.

Our shadows lost in light, this life A fleeting kiss Hark! Temptation rings! Virtue slips through hands a-clenching wicked fruit Passion festers, black’ning sinless souls to root Sink’neath dark waters Drink deep, we suffer Drowning, drowning, drowning, drowning Irons sundered Paradise plundered Come welcome this Come welcome this Destiny Virtue slips through hands a-clenching wicked fruit Passion festers, black’ning sinless souls to root Sickles grate on heaven’s gate their fields ignored Seeking sinners deathlessly they reap discord As two become one Here ends this, our journey Never-ending, onward march! Witness our escape This our escape, this our escape This our escape, this our escape This our escape, this our ascension

From the Heavens tells the story of a society falling to hubris, temptation and sin, their paradise destroyed. Isn't that familiar?

Still on From the Heavens, it's strange that the first sentence is "our shadows lost in light": ascian means literally shadowless -- this is why the Heroes' Gauntlet set is called the Shadowless set. Then, "[sink] 'neath dark waters" is literally Amaurot's theme.

So, is there any other evidence Omega could be an Ancient machine?

Lots of them.

1. Omega and the Ascians got similar designs: both heavily use black and silver, and gold and purple as accents (Omega has a purple undertone and Final Omega has gold accents).

2. Omega and the Ascians share abilities: creation magicks and interdimensional travelling. It's not because they're both unsundered beings: I can't remember dragons having creation magicks or travelling interdimensionally. Midgardsormr enters Omega's rift in his Big form at the cost of his life energy. It isn't something that he does naturally and with ease.

3. Omega and the Ascians share a neighborhood at the Aetherial Rift, which is where ascians hide when they need to.

4. The Passionate Amaurotine NPC has weird dialogue about death-defying autonomous figures.

Passionate Amaurotine: Oh, did you want to ask me about my latest concept again? The autonomous figures I told you about before? They are utterly without feeling or fear, and will without hesitation or objection carry out their master's orders regardless of any injury or death they may suffer as a result. Truly magnificent, wouldn't you agree?

5. Both Amaurot the Dungeon and Omega quote the biblical Book of Revelation. This one may be the most important yet: the Final Days are akin to the christian Apocalypse as seen in the Book of Revelation. In the end of the Book of Revelation, Christ makes His Second Coming, saying:

12 Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. 13 I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.

Meanwhile, Final Omega's dialogue in O12SP2 is:

Final Omega: Experiment concluded. I am the Alpha. I am the Omega. Final Omega: <blip> <bleeeeeep> Witness...my coming... I bring...reward...and retribution...for all!

The dialogue in Japanese makes it even clearer that Omega is quoting Revelation 22:12 and Revelation 22:13. I'll make a post on it later. Why would the Ancients develop a war machine like Omega? Weren't them pacifists? Everybody is a pacifist until eldtrich abominations start banging at your door!

Research Report on the Akadaemia Anyder: High-ranking phantomologists have since been dispatched to afflicted areas, where they conducted the capture and transport of a single entity. This specimen, characterized by a disproportionately large maw, was dubbed “Archaeotania,” and investigations into its aetheric composition are ongoing. A theory posited by the esteemed Lahabrea suggests that the shape these fiendish beings assume is not random, but rather an amalgamation of the fears which lurk beneath our rational minds. As of this writing, researchers have begun pursuing methods by which potent guardians of deliberate design might be engendered to stand against this mounting threat.

Emet-Selch says Zodiark was summoned to rewrite the laws of the star because they went haywire with the creation magicks going wild, not to halt the monsters themselves. The Ancients also took time to develop the concept of Zodiark. Something must have been keeping the monsters at bay while the Convocation worked, and as we see in the Passionate Amaurotine NPC, there is some precedent that the Amaurotines could develop a death-defying autonomous figure ready to sacrifice itself for its masters if needed. How does the Dragonstar War enters the scenario, then? First, let's go back to Archaeotania. Archaeotania is a dragon.

It looks like a dragon-dinosaur mix, it attacks with Megaflare and Gigaflare, it has lots of Shinryu's -- who is a Midgardsormr-based primal -- attacks like Tidal Wave and Ice Boulder. Archaeotania, being one of the original fears that were birthed by creation magicks going haywire, must have been influenced by a dragon. Meanwhile, Omega ignores other primals on Hydaelyn but only bleeps and bloops when Primal Bahamut appears:

Magitek Terminal: Even with its stasis systems activated, Omega retained a measure of autonomy. Deprived of mobility, the weapon continued to scan the world around it, searching for a threat to engage. It was at the time of Bahamut's resurrection when Omega emitted a unique signal -- a signal which appeared to indicate the acquisition of a target -- and we first discovered that the machine had retained some degree of awareness.

So, for some reason, when Sophia, Zurvan and Sephirot appear, Omega ignores them: it only bleeps and bloops when Primal Bahamut is born. It could be that its aetherical signature is so similar to Midgardsormr's Omega thinks it got its original target. But it could be that Omega was built to hunt beings similar to Archaeotania: artificial, dragonlike and presumably drawing aether from the ambient like even Midgardsormr does. Now let's take a look at this dialogue in the lvl 50 The Rising Chorus quest:

Lucia: Last night, the dragon star burned with an intensity not seen in fifteen summers. Not since the Dravanians engaged the Empire in the Battle of Silvertear Skies. Urianger: "The northern sky doth burn full bright upon the wyrm lord's call. The red behemoth beckoneth, and flame consumeth all." Lucia: The old Coerthan rhyme, aye. The brighthening of the dragon star is said to accompany the roar of a great wyrm. The astrologians believe that it was Midgardsormr himself who cried out in this occasion.

So we know that the telepathic roar of a great wyrm can, from Hydaelyn, activate and make the Dragonstar shine bright in the sky. As the Dragonstar is a dead rock floating in space now, we can only imagine the roar messed with its aether enough to physically make it shine. Could the Sound be an echo of Midgardsormr's roar? Why would Midgardsormr roar? We still don't know. But Midgardsormr is in some kind a harbinger of doom. I'll make a post on it later. What could be the timeline? The [?]s are because I don't know when or the exact order it must have happened.

Midgardsormr, for some reason, roars.

The Ancient's planet gets destabilized, the Sound starts.

The Ancients get scared, leading to their creation magicks going haywire.

The Amaurotines capture Archaeotania and develop Omega to halt the monsters and to give the Convocation time to act.

Zodiark is summoned, rewriting the laws of the star.

Omega leaves for the Dragonstar.

Hydaelyn is summoned.

Midgardsormr flees from the Dragonstar.

[?] Hydaelyn sunders the planet.

[?] Hydaelyn calls upon Midgardsormr.

Omega, while hunting for Midgardsormr, loses both its homing coordinates and contact with its home star.

Omega crashes onto Hydaelyn and doesn't realize it's back home because it is lost and the planet is way different than it was when it left.

I don't like that even Omega and the Dragonstar would be "Ancients/Ascians again". That's okay. I get it. But it would explain a lot of things, such as: 1. Why would Hydaelyn accept Midgardsormr but ignore Omega? Because Hydaelyn saw an opportunity to neutralize the greatest threat to Herself, Midgardsormr, but recognizes Omega as native from the pre-sundering Planet so doesn't see anything wrong with letting a wayward child come back. Omega was wrong in trying to go back home: it was always home, but it doesn't realize it. 2. How would the Allagans have found Omega? It's very interesting, even Deus ex machina (hehe) like that the Allagans coincidentally found a super-advanced, ready-to-be-reverse-engineered, easily-turned-off machine that was the basis for their technological revolution that led to at least two calamities. But we know Emet-Selch was responsible for influencing the Allagan Empire. What if Emet-Selch, or even Lahabrea, or both, were working together on this? They would know Omega was back, how to activate it, how to work with its technology and, most important, how to turn it off so that Allag would never be threathened by it. Why wouldn't Emet-Selch talk about Omega, then? Because Omega is a symbol that his people weren't as perfect and pacifist as he wants to believe. The fact that his people could only be saved by a violent war machine, and not by their peaceful, elegant creation magicks and debate, must be abhorrent to Emet-Selch. This is why he must have chosen, like Mitron, to leave Omega to suffer at Allag's. In the end, Allag triumphed both against the Dragons -- the Ancient's planets nemeses in this scenario -- and against Omega -- the stain in the Ancient's peaceful history. Anyway, isn't Final Omega non-canon? Not exactly, not as I see it. For some reason, Alphascape Savage is the only Savage tier that isn't the Menestrel making things up: it's Omega itself that gives you the data it messed with. Final Omega is a form of Omega made by Omega. Is there anything else about this crazy theory? Both Omega's and the Ancient's planet's name have been mysteriously omitted. Omega physically cannot speak the name of its planet in any of Hydaelyn's languages, and Emet-Selch never gives us the original name of the planet. I think this is it. I'll keep updating this post and doing more posts as I think about more things about the robot. Thanks for reading.

#omega #ffxiv #Youtube

[the-silentium]

Rock Bottom

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 4150 words

Warnings: Blood, gore, monsters, killing, ANGST, cruel world in action.

A/N: I just reached 500 followers?! This is crazy! I love you all people who somehow put up with my insanity  ♥️

Taglist:  @haloangel391​ / @lightning-wolffe​ / @cherrydemon5​ / @and-claudia​ / @clone-rambles​

______________________

The vice grips around your upper arms burned as the talons cut through the fabric and tore through the skin. The humanoid creature hissed in pain when your bodies switched position and he got the worst of the branches. Soon, you found yourself falling on top of the Algax, out of breath and in pain. 

It quickly rolled over, throwing you to the ground right under itself. You heard yells and saw lights illuminating your surroundings, but more importantly, you saw the eyeless, noseless face mere centimeters from your face, the hideous lining that you thought was its mouth looked burned and sewn shut as if to prevent it from feeding on its prey. 

You would have been relieved of the fact if the pain in your arms hadn't moved to your whole torso. He was crushing you to death! 

Out of your daze, you trashed around, feet kicking what would be its chest, attempting to push it away. Screeches erupted from tiny slits at the side of its hectically rotating head, the Algax abruptly jerked away from the ground, your body still in its grip. It started moving away from the clones, unbothered by the blaster bolts hitting its back successively or by your movements. 

Orders were barked in your ear but they didn't register. All you could acknowledge was the building pressure around your bones, how it was becoming almost impossible to breathe even the tiniest of breath. You were positive that your ribs would start to break at any second now. 

The primal part of your brain then took over, reaching for your knife and plunging it forward in the dark blue arm holding you above ground. 

The effect was instantaneous. You were thrown like a rag doll to the side, right into a trunk. The thud of your head hitting the wood resonated through your skull, stilling you. Your whole body seemed to completely stop functioning for a whole second before remembering that this wasn't the time to chill out. 

A moan nearly escaped your mouth as the first satisfying breath of the last minute filled your lungs. How could you never realize that breathing felt so right? Breathing felt so good. So much better than being squished like a miserable insect. Oh no. Was this how they felt every time you'd step on them? This was so crue-

"Are you okay?" Confused, you blinked at Tech's question. 

"Me?" You pointed to yourself as if the question wasn't clear enough. 

Then the pain in your arms registered and-

"Holy mother fucker that hurts!" You whined, experimentally poking the bleeding skin to see if this really was the source of the pain. 

"Don't touch it!" Tech chastised, slapping your hand away, to which you glared in return. 

"I'll die of a blood disease." You pouted, watching as your wound touched the disgusting bloody mix you spread on your clothes earlier. 

"Highly possible." You felt the color leaving your face. Maybe you said it, but you didn't want it! 

"But we won't let that happen." You jumped at the gauze tightening around your wound unexpectedly, your opposed hand almost shooting out to hit him instinctively. 

"That was an Algax, correct?" Hunter approached behind Tech, keeping an eye on the surroundings while the engineer fixed your other arm. 

"Spot on. He ran away, right?" The dark blue monster was nowhere to be seen, not that it bothered you. 

"Right after you stabbed him." He handed you your knife that you apparently dropped at some point. "Look like those things are blaster proof or something." 

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that there's no blaster in the lore." You gladly took the life-saving weapon back, securing its handle in your grip where it belonged. 

"Does your head hurt?" Tech inquired, getting up when he was satisfied with the makeshift bandages. 

"Nope. All good." It was pounding in there, but whatever. 

Getting back on your feet with Tech's help, you took a second to stabilize yourself before giving a heart attack to the nerd. 

"Don't do that!" He yelped, catching everyone's attention on your stretching self. 

"I'm just stretching..." 

"You just hurt your back! Don't flex your spine like that!" He successfully got you back straight with a slap to your abdomen. 

"We have to leave." Crosshair cut you off, pushing between the both of you to get ahead. 

"I agree with Cross. No more fuss." You speed-walked to catch up to the abrasive clone, desperately trying to keep the laugh in at the rhyme. 

"Thanks for that." You whispered to him, eyes already moving from shadow to shadow. 

"Don't thank me. If you stretch again I'll make your life more miserable than it already is." Oh how this only made you want to stretch to push his buttons. 

"Can't make it miserable if that means you'll be around." You grinned, unabashed by the meaning of your words. It was time for him to warm up to you a little more.

Every second of silence made you cheer inside. Rending the snarky sniper speechless was an exploit after all. 

"I can figure something out." He countered weakly after a while. 

Chuckling, you rotated the handle of your knife between your skilled fingers, alternating it from pointing forward and backward to pass your sudden regain of energy. Why did he have such an effect on you? It still was a mystery that you'd have to elucidate later. 

"I hear a voice." Hunter informed the group. 

"Is it calling you?" This was never a good sign, the Venuste were really effective critters in their task of enchanting everyone around. Keeping him with you and away from them would necessitate Wrecker's muscles. 

"No, it's a kid's voice. Whining about flee- fleeing? Something like that. It's not clear." 

"A kid?" You stopped dead, deeply confused. Had the council gone mad?! What could possibly justify sending kids out to their death? Or did they get caught outside like you did? "Where?" 

"Sure it's not a trap?" He pointed over your shoulder to your right. 

"One way to be sure." It genuinely hurt to stay in position and not speed walk through the trees to verify if the council had gone from a bunch of imbeciles to a cohort of assholes running the whole village to their doom. 

You had to remind yourself that when you agreed to join the commandos, you'd made a promise to fight for them as well as with them and that you'd be a reliable asset at any time in any given situation. You weren't alone anymore. 

It didn't change the fact that it was hard. 

"It's personal?" Crosshair clearly saw the shift in your mood, from the tightness in your muscles that wasn't there before to the sudden lack of motion of your armed hand. 

"I just want to know if I'll break my hand again or not." 

"Break your hand?" 

The question passed over your head when you heard the young boy's voice. He wasn't from the village, you knew every kid there mainly because you liked to help them build traps for strangers to fall in and they liked your prank ideas. You didn't know how to tell Tech that you were the one to propose the phosphorescent bird poo mixed with loth wolf puke idea. Maybe it was better to take it to your grave.�� 

You halted at the edge of the clearing illuminated by the moon and its stars, eyes glued to the young boy walking in circle a couple of meters away, his bare feet bleeding profusely from the incessant walking he endured for who knew how long. Your heart squeezed at his fate. No one deserved this kind of torture, let alone an innocent child. 

Your eyes adjusted to the new light, a new serene pallet of color taking over the gradually fading shades of blue and black. 

The boy's clothes were torn up and dirty to a point where you couldn't say for sure what color it was initially or if there was a design on it like most children liked to wear nowadays. 

"What's wrong with him?" Wrecker's worry hit you in the gut. You shouldn't have to tell him this because this shouldn't exist. 

"He's a Wanderer, now. A Lumsin got his soul." You slumped, defeated. 

"His soul?" He tilted his head and although you couldn't see it, you were sure there was a frown hidden under the customized helmet. 

"Yes. Everyone has a soul and Lumsins feed on them. When they eat a soul, the body becomes lost and wander around, walking and walking until it dies." 

"His soul got eaten." He reiterated in a whisper, the hand lifting to his head not lost on you.

"Y-" Your heartbeat shot through the roof when your eyes found a crest necklace around the kid's neck. 

You knew that crest all too well. And those beautiful red hairs, they should have made you realize sooner. Way sooner. 

"I know him." It unconsciously escaped your lips before you leaped forward, not able to repress your urges anymore. 

Crosshair was hot on your tail, the others staying in the shadows to keep an eye out. 

You jumped before the boy, hands rising to his cold cheeks, wishing that the gesture would pull him out of his spell. He merely rammed into you with his small 6 years old emaciated body, barely making you budge. 

He continuously mumbled the same sentence, the last thought his body heard from his soul before the contact was lost. 

"I want Fleena."

"Nixon, buddy." You grazed the freckles on his cheeks with your thumbs. He was so familiar. 

You'd never met him when he was still a lively boy, their village wasn't one to be in close contact with the others, but you've seen extremely detailed drawings of him. Plus, he looked so much like his sister. 

"We have to go." Crosshair pressed, anxious to be so out in the open. You knew you were being delusional and were basically putting him in danger for someone who couldn't be saved, but you had something to do. 

"I'll be quick." You assured the sniper before taking the robin carved necklace off Nixon's small neck to store it in your pants pocket. 

"Your sis' loves you very much, Nixon." You tenderly kissed his forehead like any child should be kissed, with utter softness and care. "And she wants you to be free." 

You could easily remember the nights out between the local cantina and the general store, where Fleena would show you drawings of the beasts that attacked her village when their gates got breached. You were terrified. Her whole village was wiped out in a single night, leaving her behind with a mind plagued with nightmares and grief. 

She talked often about Nixon who had turned 6 the week before it happened. She would relive her best moments with him, where laughs and smiles were a common occurrence. Then she'd close on herself, praying to the merciless gods above to at least let her brother be in peace. 

It broke your heart to know that it wasn't the case. That he was still trapped, may his soul be somewhere else, hopefully, in a better world, his body was still living in a wicked world. 

"You deserve to rest Nixon." You ruffled his hair like Fleena used to do. 

With a quick movement of your hands, you freed him from his torment in this cruel world. 

The world numbed for a moment, mind blocking the events for your own sanity, but it wasn't enough. It didn't stop all the injustice of this world. A vast beautiful world that you couldn't explore because of monsters waiting for the right moment to bounce. You were forced to live in a cage when the world was so vast. Kids were forced to grow up too fast or couldn't grow up at all. This world was sick. 

It took 2 hours for your stomach to empty itself on the ground for the first time of the night. In all honesty, it was longer than you initially expected. 

Oh. You didn't expect either to find yourself back into the woods, without any memory of making the way back. Hands alternate from patting your back to stroking up and down between your scapulas. 

Someone's tears fell onto the bile, or maybe it was raining. Yes, it was raining. You felt the water stream down your cheeks like rivers, the two trails joining at your chin to fall on the ground. 

"You freed him." Crosshair crouched to your level so you'd not tune him out like you did the others. "You helped him." 

"I helped him." You repeated. It was true. 

"You did." A finger moved across your cheek to remove the remaining rain from your face. No. They were tears. Your tears of pain. 

"I hate to force this on you, but we have to get back to the rav-" 

A scream of distress pierced the night, cutting off the sergeant in the worst way possible. Everyone froze, listening to the yells asking for help that only you understood. Another hunter. He wasn't that far away. 

"He's asking for help." You mumbled slowly coming out of your daze. 

Your eyes moved away from the bile splattered before your knees to meet the black and white helmet of your sergeant. You were in no position to decide, the fog in your mind only beginning to dissipate gradually. 

"We can't help." The requests for assistance had already morphed into screams of pain and agony that they didn't need to be translated to understand. 

"We hurry back and get off this rock." He cut short, the yells fading quickly in intensity. 

Hands under your armpits helped you up. Shaky legs stilled after a couple of seconds and a few deep breaths. Slowly as if you'd double over at any second, Wrecker's huge hands let go of their grip on you. With a muttered thanks you harshly wiped your face with your hands to get yourself together. 

You needed to bottle up every event happening tonight for later. You'd have time to scream, thrash around and cry when you'd be safe within the Havoc Marauder. 

"Ready." You affirmed after swallowing the lump in your throat. 

The night was silent again, meaning that the beast could either be feasting or roaming around again. The group will have to be extra careful to return to the ravine and stay under the radar. Many species could have caused this kind of screams and they weren't to be messed with. 

Hunter took the front while you took his place in the middle, just behind him. Crosshair grazed your right arm, Tech your left and Wrecker got your back. 

You purposefully ignored the worried glances coming from Tech, it surely must have been a shock to see you do what you did in the clearing. It was so out of nowhere for them. But it wasn't for you. A big part of your brain simply wished they would not abandon you on the planet once you all make it back to the ship. 

This time, you were the first one to notice the change in the atmosphere. What was interpreted by Hunter as the wind humming through the trees was in fact a very angry Kribat protecting its territory. 

"Hide!" You whispered harshly in the comlink you hurriedly pulled out of your pocket. There was no way they'd see your hand sign at your current position. 

It was so sudden that they stopped for a millisecond, unsure of where to hide. You pushed through them to lead the way to a deeper line of trees on your left, feet moving faster to get more distance between the Kribat and your group. 

Your feet slipped under yourself when you ducked behind a particularly large tree. Despite your best efforts to stay upright, gravity pulled you down to your fall, as it clearly enjoyed to do, both physically and mentally. 

The ground wasn't as hard as you remembered, a bit soft if you were to define it, and warmer. 

It wasn't until Wrecker pulled you upright once again that you realized that your fall had been broken by a shredded body. Dread washed over you as you saw the two other hunters who'd suffered the same fate, laying close by in a pool of their blood, missing some limbs. 

You knew them. They never had a place in your heart, but you knew them nonetheless and would never have wished them to suffer like they did. You knew two of them had families waiting at home. Well. Maybe they weren't waiting, merely hoping that they would come back by some miracle. 

Two feet away from a Kribat's preys was the worst place to be right now, but you couldn't move to another spot. Not with the howling Kribat right behind yours and Wrecker's hiding spot. 

It was awfully close. Too close to your liking and way too angry to hope to survive its attacks if it were to find you. 

Wrecker had you pressed to his chest by a hand right over your breast, detail that flashed into your mind although it was totally irrelevant. He was just stressed like you were. His hands simply reached for you in his haste and happened to find the friends-are-not-supposed-to-touch spot so you dropped it. At least he wasn't groping. 

The ragged breathing of the feral beast passed as it reacted to a movement nearby, giving chase to the unfortunate creature. For a painful second, you thought that it might be one of your teammates, Tech and Hunter were out of view while Crosshair was peeking back to get a glimpse of the retreating beast. 

Just as you tried to push away to see if the missing clones were around, Wrecker's hand pushed you more into himself, crushing your boobs like they were never crushed before. 

"Everyone's okay." He informed you to keep you still, not releasing his grip. You hummed in acknowledgment. 

"Wrecker." He hummed back, waiting for you to continue. "Hands off my boobs." 

You've never seen a hand fly away as quickly as Wrecker's did. Yours didn't even move that fast when you accidentally put your hand on a lump of red coal and you remember having a good reflex then. 

"Hands off what?" A harsh whisper in your right ear caused the demolition expert to sputter. 

Apparently, the comlink in his helmet caught your voice. 

"I didn't know Sarge!" He explained without any more delay. "Sorry Y/N." 

He kept his free hand far from your body now that the danger has passed. It would have been hilarious if only you weren't at the lowest emotionally. 

" 's fine Wrecker." You shrugged, unbothered by all of it and way too exhausted emotionally to care. It was an accident in the midst of action, nothing more, no need to create a whole drama because of it. 

A piece of wood in the bloody mess caught your gaze. Your heart skipped a beat at the recognizable darker tint of the object, tonight was getting slightly better. 

Crouching, you reached for the thick wood stick, fingers moving along the carvings etched into its length. Both in relief and satisfaction, you found the energy in yourself to smile. 

"Found something?" Tech approached from your side, the remaining missing soldier in tow. 

"Yeah. Most useful stealth weapon on this planet." You showed him the bloody bow, your other hand sliding your knife into its rightful place in your boot. 

Rolling the body to the side respectfully, you checked for the quiver that you found still strapped to his back. Slowly, you pulled it over his head to pass it over yours.

"This is a fine piece of work." Despite his words, you could hear that he clearly would never use it to defend himself if he had the choice.

Taking back the weapon, you cleaned the grip and loaded an arrow, muscle memory doing a splendid job into positioning yourself perfectly in a flawless shooting stance. A sigh of relief almost escaped your lips at the feeling of finally being adequately armed. 

"Think it will hurt them more than our blasters?" Crosshair gave you some extra arrows he found laying around, still unconvinced that wood sticks with metal points could surpass their own advanced technology. 

"We'll know it now." 

You frowned, quickly grabbing an arrow to arm the bow, pulled on the string while aiming over the engineer's shoulder and suddenly released the tension on the string, scaring the shit out of Tech but hitting your target perfectly. 

The Algax screeched as the arrow hit it right where its left eye would be, retracting its dangerous talons reaching for the goggled clone to grab at its face. 

The troopers jumped at the unexpected screech, although they recovered in record time, turning around, blasters at the ready. They only had time to shoot at its already retreating form. 

"Don't lose that." Hunter turned around, pointing at the bow in your hands. "Now let's go." He urged everyone forward. 

Quickly, you grabbed the arrows in Crosshair's hand and stored them with the others. 

As you took your position back at the front, a hand softly grazed the small of your back, by possessiveness or just to ensure that you were alright, you weren't entirely sure. But Hunter's gesture was very much welcome. 

The bow was a game-changer. The weapon may not be able to kill them, but it could very easily gain you some time when needed. 

Now, if luck could still stick by your sides, the next useful thing you'd find was a shelter. 

In the following hour, you managed to scare away the next 3 Algax you encountered with a single arrow neatly shot between the hollows where their eyes should be and avoided another Kribat. 

Apparently, these two species were the main population of these parts of the jungle, it was a two-edged knife. The boys got used to hiding around the environment and knew how to react properly at an Algax jumping on them out of nowhere, but you knew those weren't the only danger around. Would they react adequately when a new monster presented itself?

Tech changed his opinion on your weapon, affirming that he'll have to build one himself, more technological of course, improved like he said. You kicked his shin at the 'less-primitive' insinuation behind his words.  

"It's a great weapon that deserves respect Tech." You reprimanded, arrow pointing to the ground and ready to engage if needed. 

"It does need improvements!" He countered on the defensive and he proceeded to explain what he would do to add more strength to the bow, allowing it to shoot further and at a greater impact. 

Just as Hunter shushed the engineer, you heard your name being whispered in the distance. Fear tensed your muscles in apprehension, expecting claws to tear at your skin any second now. Time went on without any foes jumping out of the shadows, prompting you to continue your route with the others, passing it for the wind or a trick of your mind.

That is until everything went downhill. 

"Do you guys hear that?" Wrecker suddenly asked, immediately catching everyone's attention. 

Silence followed, seconds after seconds passed in utter silence until, "That! Heard that?" 

"No." Hunter stopped the group to ensure that they weren't missing something important. 

"Wrecker, what is it? What do you hear?" A cold sweat ran down your spine, already knowing what he was going to say but praying otherwise. This couldn't be happening. 

"It's 99." Even without knowing who was 99, you knew that it would end badly, there was too much raw worry in his voice to calm him down in so little time. "He's in danger Sarge!" 

"No! Don't listen to it!" You jumped out to grab his armor, his hand, his blaster, anything really, not that your small muscles would have been able to stop the bear of a man anyway but your body thought it could. 

He was unexpectedly fast for someone his size, easily dodging your hand to push through his brothers like they were nothing. He ran like a desperate man chasing a dream and it hit you like a punch to the face. This was exactly it. His most desperate dream finally came true to haunt him. 

As you expected, the boys were on his tail in a heartbeat. 

But as you ran after them, you realized that for a team comm that should be flooding in orders for Wrecker to stop and pleas for him to understand that this was a trick, it was dreadfully quiet. 

Your blood froze in your veins as soon as realization dawned on you like a an ice cold bath. 

They all believed it.

#bad batch x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #wrecker x reader #hunter x reader #clone force 99 #star wars #clone wars #good night good luck #sergeant hunter #angst

[nakunakunomi]

Henlo all! This is my extremely-close-to-the-deadline-submission for @some-piece​’s AU event. I got these 5 characters to chose from: Rebecca - Hachi - Hawkins - Zoro - Paulie. And after contemplating for a long while I decided to put Zoro in an animal shelter AU which automatically became modern AU setting as well as slight!college AU but the main focus will be on the shelter.

2nd person. Genderneutral reader. slight mentions of animal abuse, nothing too bad. 99% fluff!

“Can I help you?” 

A young man about your age had walked into the shelter where you worked. He had opened the door quite harshly, making the bell at the top ring, and making you put down the cat you had been brushing for a bit and put it back in its cage. You walked up to the little desk area at the front, where he was standing with his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face that only seemed to relax a bit when he heard you speak up. 

“Yeah I sent an e-mail, I needed to be here for the volunteer program?” 

You thought for a second, suddenly remembering that you had posted an ad at local universities and colleges to come volunteer at the shelter. Most of those students didn’t have the time to come volunteer, but you had gotten a handful of mails. Most of the students never showed up and the only one that had made an appointment for today had made the appointment for two hours earlier so you had just assumed it was going to be another no-show. 

“Oh… you’re…” “-Late I know, I got lost.” You furrowed your brow wondering how someone could get lost for two hours coming from a campus that was only a fifteen minute walk away, but didn’t pry any further, just happy to have some possible assistance.

“Okay! Well, I’ll go get the stuff in order then, you can wait out here for a bit.”

After you got the papers he handed you some form from the school as well and explained that he had to fill in a couple of hours a week with other things than his sports curriculum to get his degree to be complete, and he had jokingly added ‘how hard can it possibly be to look after a bunch of critters’. The statement in itself did not seem to be meant to discredit your work or the animals, but you already saw that he was vastly underestimating just how much effort went into your work. So as soon as all the papers were signed and in order, you could prove him wrong. 

“You’re in luck, all the cleaning is already done. It’s feeding time now, and I was doing a round of brushing today, so maybe you could help with that and if we still have time left we can take some dogs out for a walk.” 

The grin on his face was confident, and you were taking a little pleasure in knowing it would be wiped off his face in an instant. Your main focus was to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally harm the animals, and to make sure they were properly taken care of. But if it meant this overconfident jock got his ass handed to him, you’d take it. 

The day had proceeded as you had expected. Zoro, as he had introduced himself once you got over the formalities, had not been really good with the animals. He was strong, and a hard worker you had to give him that. But the animals… seemed to not really like him, even if he did do his best? Cats hissed, dogs barked, the one abandoned parrot you were temporarily housing had pecked him so hard his finger started bleeding. Luckily for you, he didn’t physically lash out at the animals, but you had heard a whole new array of curse words and insults that you previously didn’t even know existed. 

You had spent most of the day explaining all the things to him and helping him out whenever he was really struggling but most of the time you had actually been occupied with trying not to laugh too hard at his failing ministrations. 

“You have to be kind, try not to come across as so intimidating. You’re a big bad man that they are scared off, and they’re all just trying to defend themselves,”  you said as you petted a big fluffball of a cat while Zoro put fresh water and new food in its cage. The cat was now happily purring and nudging your hand with his head while a few minutes ago it had been aggressively hissing at your volunteer. 

Zoro just angrily grumbled in response, finishing up his task so you could put the cat back. You eyed the clock, noticing it was already time for him to leave for the day. “I’ll release you from your suffering then. See you next week?” “Wait but you still have all these cages to do?” “I’m used to doing this all by myself, no worries” He frowned, and he seemed to be deep in thought for a second. “I’ll stay until it is done.” You raised one brow: “are you sure? These hours won’t count towards your total and it is getting quite late.”

He only shrugged in response: “My roommate is gone and I don’t have much better to do. I am volunteering time anyway, what is one extra hour going to do?” 

You smiled widely. “Let’s get to it then!” 

Even though the animals didn’t seem to like him very much, you couldn’t help but admire this green-haired man and his incredible work ethic. He showed up late often, because even after a few weeks he still managed to get lost regularly. You had just started to say that he needed to be there an hour earlier than he actually had to be there, so with his geographical skills he’d be there on time or even a little early. 

Most of the animals still were not that much of a fan of him, but you’d worked out a nice system that ensured fast and efficient work, and as little scratches and bites as possible. You got work done faster, had more time for social media and such, and thus animals got adopted out faster. It was a win-win, and you noticed yourself always looking forward to the days he’d come to help. 

Zoro wasn’t really talkative, but would listen to your endless ramblings as you talked about the shelter, all the animals, but eventually also things about your life, your family, your home… he was an excellent listener, and his very blunt character made that he usually came up with very honest opinions and helpful solutions, even when he didn’t necessarily intend them like that. And sometimes, when you stumbled over your words cause you were too focused, or said something that didn’t make sense he would laugh. It was a deep and loud laugh, making his whole upper body shake, and lately whenever he laughed, it made your heart flutter a little. Another reason to look forward to his help, which had already exceeded the number of hours he had to do for his extra credit. 

But the semester was coming to an end and you very well knew that even though he seemed to be enjoying his time way more than he initially did, that he would not do extra time. He had his sport’s practices to focus on and his group of friends that frequently went on weekend trips and such, and he had been missing out on a lot of that because of the volunteering he did. You felt a little sad, but had made peace with it. Still, a little voice in the back of your head was nagging more and more often to ask him to meet outside of the shelter. But you didn’t want to seem weird or creepy. Besides. He was obviously a popular college student, finishing up his degree, with a big group of friends that obviously adored him, and model-grade gorgeous. You were just a high school dropout that managed to get a job in a local shelter of which the owner died only a little after you got settled. You were struggling to make ends meet, had little social life besides the animals. You kept telling yourself that the only reason you were feeling so strange whenever Zoro came out to help, was because he was the only one who had made you feel like your life and stories mattered even a little. But you could get used to being all alone in here again with the occasional customer or 1-day volunteer. It was what you were used to. You had already taken far too much advantage of this gorgeous man’s free time.

And then the last day of the semester came. You were finishing up the chores of the day with a heavy heart. You would have to say goodbye, and you would have to keep it professional, since you never worked up the courage to really deepen the connection the two of you had besides working together. Zoro seemed a little uneasy as well, but neither of you was going to bring up the tense atmosphere. Tense was still better than awkward so you rolled with it. 

“Well then”, you started as you put your broom away, “you’ve been an amazing help this semester.” You walked over to the front desk and handed him all the papers he’d need to get his credit in order. 

“You more than deserved these, too bad I can’t give you a grade.” He chuckled in response. “I wish I could say I would miss it a lot, but I think my arms are better off scratch-free” You laughed a little as well, but felt yourself dying on the inside. Of course he wouldn’t miss this place. Or you. 

He put the papers away in his bag, and you were staring at the desk, desperately making up sentences in your mind, of which you could utter maybe one, just one, to say what you were feeling and what you really wanted. But anything you came up with seemed so lame, so stupid, so hopeless, so desperate, and even though you felt like all of these things, that was not how you wanted to portray yourself in front of him for all people. 

He softly touched your arm, his hand warm, and you jumped at the sudden contact. He stepped back in surprise at your reaction. “Sorry”, he mumbled, “I just wanted to say that I didn’t mind my time here. You really helped me out well”. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, clearly not too used to being soft in someone’s presence, and he smiled an adorable smile as he said those words, a mix of embarrassment and sincerity on his face. You felt like melting, and had to suppress the urge to just wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. With those broad shoulders and strong arms, you were quite sure that the hug he’d give back would be heavenly. But you didn’t, because again, that would be so strange with no indications beforehand that that was what you wanted. 

You nodded, a soft smile on your face as well. “You’re welcome. If you ever have some spare time and get bored, you know the way… or well, you don’t but you’ll find it.” He frowned a little at your remark, but the glint in his eyes betrayed that he found it quite amusing too. He picked up his bag, and opened the door. “Bye then?” “Goodbye Zoro”

A box of kittens. You had nearly tripped over them when you left the shelter to go home for the day. The box was in front of the door and weak, tiny mewls already betrayed its content as you did your utmost best to regain your balance. You kneeled down next to it, carefully opened up the top. Four little kittens, way too young to be away from the mother yet. Already emotional from the happenings of the day you felt tears well up in your eyes. You picked up the box and placed it inside, immediately grabbing whatever supplies you could find to keep the kittens warm, furiously wiping at your eyes in order to clear the tears before they could stream down your cheeks. Things like this could make you so furious. And oh, if only Zoro was still here to calm you down and help out a little. 

You had to take a few deep breaths and gather your thoughts. You had to get out, running for some kitten milk. These babies needed their nutrients and you’d probably spend the night in the shelter making sure they were fed whenever they needed it, keeping an eye on them. So you’d have to go get an overnight bag. But that would mean you would be away from them for a considerable time. You decided that the food was the most important part and literally sprinted to the most nearby pet store, mentally reminding yourself to book an appointment at the vet asap when you were back. 

Sunken deep in thoughts, you weren’t seeing where you were walking, running straight into someone, stumbling and falling on your back in the process. Great. That was what you needed. Some public humiliation while you were already at the verge of a little breakdown. You started to mumble a string of incoherent apologies when you looked up at a surprisingly familiar figure. “y/n?” “Zoro? What are you doing here?” “The apartment I live in is right here. What are you doing here?” He pointed upward at an apartment building and offered you his hand to get up. You grabbed it, and for a split second you wondered how he could possibly take up to two hours to get to the shelter from his apartment that was even closer to the shelter than his college campus was. But then you were back on your feet and you remembered the kittens. Your mind immediately regained some focus again. “Kittens” “What?” “Someone dropped a box of newborn kittens at the door. They will die without supervision, milk and warmth. So I'm getting some food for them and I’ll be staying the night with them to keep an eye on them” You managed to get all things out in one breath, almost turning to start walking again. No matter how much more time you actually wanted to spend in his presence, you knew it was a race against the clock to help the little babies, and those were your top priority right now. 

Zoro’s eyes grew wide. No matter how much he didn’t always connect with some of your furry friends that he had to take care of, he too was filled with rage when he had heard tales of people mishandling them and the reason why some were so scared and defensive when he was too loud or too brisk. You apologized again, explaining that you really had to go, that time was of the essence, and started walking. You were surprised to notice Zoro walking with you. 

“I’ll come with you.”  “What?”  “I’ll come with you. You need food too. And probably some blankets or something for the night right? You need some rest if you are going to take care of everything we usually do and then the new kittens on top of that. I’ll help” 

It was not a question, not even an offer. More a matter-of-a-fact-statement and even though every polite fiber in your being was telling you to follow etiquette and politely tell him that that was absolutely not necessary, you couldn’t push away the overwhelming relief and admiration you felt for this man in that moment and you accepted his help immediately.

You were back at the shelter in a matter of minutes, basic supplies for the kittens in hand, and the vet already on the phone as you followed their instructions on how to take care of them overnight, so you could bring them in for checkup and more detailed advice first thing in the morning. Knowing that Zoro would come and help you out, had done wonders for your mood, your resolve and your nerves. You felt more steady, like you could actually pull this off without neglecting either the kittens or any of the other animals that also needed your attention. 

Zoro had promised to go get some things to make the night at the shelter a little more comfortable and something for you to eat, because he figured you probably were starving at that point. And while you had not eaten yet, the adrenaline made you not feel the hunger. Now that things were calming down and the adrenaline was wearing off, you could feel your stomach grumble and you were mentally thanking your green-haired hero for his considerate streak. He had literally no obligation to help you out in any way. He was no longer officially volunteering. He had nothing to gain. He was probably on his ways to get a couple of beers and blissfully pass out after an evening of fun with his roommates. But he had seen you in distress and decided to help, and it had warmed your heart and given you renewed energy. 

The kittens were left to sleep a little after you had given all the first help that you could under the phone-guidance of the local vet clinic, and now you were nervously waiting on the couch for Zoro to return. You were nervous cause of the kittens, but you also caught yourself being a little nervous about the fact that he’d be keeping you company for the night. Not that you were seeing this as a date of any kind, but just the mere idea gave you the shivers in a nervous kind of way. 

He arrived only a little after you sat down, bag with a big blanket and some drinks in one hand, and another one holding a steaming bag of takeaway food. “I’m sorry it took me so long, I got -” “lost” you chuckled, “no worries, I got the first things taken care off” 

You patted the spot next to you on the couch. “Sit down, thank you for getting food. And thank you for helping out… I… I think I might have had a little breakdown if it wasn’t for your presence” He shrugged off the praise. “I am already used to helping out here, and besides, I kind of liked spending time with you, so a little extra won’t hurt”. 

He said those words so easily, you wanted to smack him for how casual he was about it,  and how bluntly and honestly he expressed his feelings, while you shared the same feelings but didn’t dare utter a single word. You grabbed the food instead and the blanket, sitting down so you could both sit down comfortably, keep an eye on the kittens and eat without too many problems. He got the hint, and made himself more comfortable on the couch as well.

The evening flew by. You had food, checked up on the kittens regularly per the vet’s instructions, and since there were no other chores to do, you could actually have some proper talks with Zoro. He was still not really as talkative, but he answered your questions, told you some more details about his life that he had not mentioned before. You could almost physically feel yourself growing more and more attracted to him, and nearly felt guilty about it. 

Despite all the adrenaline wearing you off and making you tired, you stayed up a remarkably long time, Zoro’s company and the kittens keeping you awake for longer than you had expected to stay up. But now it was nearing 4am and you were feeling your eyelids grow heavy. You were telling Zoro something about why you dropped out of high school, but you kept losing track of your own sentences. You had to think long and hard before repeating the few words you had already said. The playful smirk that was present on his face as you were struggling to find cohesion in your story didn’t help either. He thought it incredibly endearing, and when your eyes finally shut without opening again, and a soft snore could be heard, he very carefully moved you a bit so you would lay more comfortably. He crossed his arms and legs and leaned back in order to get some shuteye as well. 

You woke up to your alarm, that you had set up to go off every few hours, just so you could check up on the kittens and go through all the steps again. Your eyes and whole body felt heavy and it was harder to get up than expected. Not only because you were incredibly tired still, but also because a muscled arm was snugly resting around your midsection. You were sure you had fallen asleep on one end of the couch, but for some reason, you were leaning on Zoro, and he had wrapped an arm around you to secure you and make sure you didn’t slip off the couch. 

Your heart skipped a beat and you got up rather briskly. Of course, the sudden movement made Zoro wake up as well, and he seemed just as embarrassed as you were about the slightly compromising positions you had been napping in. You quickly cleared your throat, muttering ‘kittens’ before standing up, checking up on the babies and going through the motions. Without having to say anything, Zoro got up and started the morning chores already. It was way too early for those, but before you could protest he said that he’d get them started as long as you were working on the kittens, so you both could have a little more rest before your planned vet visit. You gave him a grateful smile. 

When the work was done, you called Zoro back, and you both sat down on the couch again. He seemed incredibly relaxed, almost as if he had forgotten that you were practically cuddling a little while ago, the mere thought of the sensation of his strong arm holding you making your heart race again. You shifted positions seven times in the span of three minutes and you could feel him staring at you, one brow raised in confusion at your almost yoga-like contortions you were trying in order to get comfortable. 

“Are you okay y/n?” 

“Yeah...I...I just… I don’t know how I could ever thank you properly” “Well… I already got my credit. But your head resting on my chest was kind of nice. Maybe a goodnight kiss before we go to sleep again for a little while?” He sounded casual, but he was avoiding eye-contact, regretting the words as they left his mouth. Your eyes grew so big they were about to pop up out of your sockets. “I mean, if you don’t mind if not… I…” Now it was his turn to get flustered, the little bit of smooth talk he had had earlier completely gone as the inner panic set in of maybe misunderstanding your previous actions, glances, words, and ministrations. 

You gathered up all your courage, and gave him a soft peck on the lips, seeing his eyes widen in surprise and the tips of his ears turn red before you rested your head on his broad chest. “You know for that payment, I’m willing to hire you as a full time worker here.” you hummed contently. He let out a few confused grunts, surprised by your bout of confidence, not seeing that you were trying to hide the insane embarrassment on your face. Face red, he managed to utter just one response before you drifted off into sleep again. “I’m gonna need a little more payment than just that. But well, I’ll consider it” 

fin. 

#alternative some-piece #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #opfanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro #alternative univers #modern au #animal shelter a #fluff

[the-darklings]

—𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒕;

—PART XII. | EXITUS ACTA PROBAT

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

word count: 18.6k+ (🤡✊🏻)

summary: “It’s like everything in my life is unravelling right now and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

warnings: you will suffer

notes: 3 weeks in the making is the only explanation I have for the length aside from being a stubborn idiot and refusing to split it. We are also going to pretend like I didn’t write 60% of this chapter in the last 24hr. If you’re still reading this series, I love you! Enjoy! 

children of ares series: 01 | …. | 10 | 11 | . . | 13 |

“You don’t have to do this.”

Blinking sluggishly, you brace a hand on your work table, pausing in your preparations.

A familiar vial lays before you and it feels like an insult, like another example of your many failures. It’s not ready. Years of work and research and trying and failing and…

Now that you actually need it, you can’t be sure it’s ready. Can’t be sure it will work. So close.

Your hands shake and you press your forearms to your sides to still them.

Dragging your gaze away from it, you return to packing.

Winston still hasn’t looked at you since his earlier statement, his back to you as he stares out of your hotel room window.

“What choice do I have?”

“Every choice,” he shoots back easily, and finally looks at you. His stare is hard, cold. “Johnathan knew full well what he was doing in agreeing to that Marker, and when he refused it. Mr D’Antonio, too, is no child. They are responsible for their own actions. It is not your job to fix their messes.”

You throw down the article of clothing clenched between your fingers, stepping closer towards the older man.

“That Marker exists because of me,” you snap, breathless with anger. “And it shouldn’t. John’s home is rubble because of me. Of course, they’re both equally as accountable for this but it stems from me. It’s my responsibility, too, and I have to make it right.”

“You can’t interfere.”

You know that. Markers are as good as sacred.

Once the terms are set, they have to be fulfilled. No one can interfere with the completion of a Marker, or risk invoking the wrath of the table itself.

You can’t save Gianna no matter how much you want to. Not without throwing away everything you have worked for.

“I’m not going to,” you tell him, struggling for air. “But Camorra will hunt John, and the least I can do is help. This will end in blood on both sides otherwise. I can’t let that happen.”

Your voice softens by the last sentence but the hard look in Winston’s eyes remains. Not that you expected him to show much sympathy for anyone in this situation. He’s a man of rules, of order. In his eyes, if John agreed to a Marker then he should have honoured it, and what he does after is his business. You can’t help but agree with that, too. But the dread you’ve felt since Winston told you about the Marker’s existence has only amplified since your conversation with Santino.

It stalks your every step. Accompanies every breath your draw into your lungs.

This situation—and all the factors involved in it—are a time bomb ready to blow, obliterating everything.

“You are terrified,” Winston voices suddenly, his narrowed stare stripping you down to your core. As always, he can see right through you. His words, knowing and incisive, wrap around your throat, squeezing it tight. “So terrified that you will lose them that you would willingly place yourself in the middle of this. Regardless of the consequences.”

You say nothing. You only stand in front of him and feel pathetically small under that unwavering, wise gaze. Winston exhales quietly, shaking his head slightly.

“What if it’s you that gets torn down in this little squabble for power?” he wonders but not unkindly. “What then, (Name)?”

How can you explain it to him? What words can you use to convince a man of professional, unyielding conviction that your actions are anything other than a desperate attempt to keep people you care about safe? What is this, if not completely irrational on all sides of this unfolding conflict?

You’re teetering on that edge again and Winston is right. You are terrified.

Everything has a price, and things always come full circle.

“Sometimes—”

Your voice cracks and you swallow thickly, looking away for a second as you force yourself to take a calming breath. “Sometimes I feel so alone it’s like I can’t breathe,” you confess in a tiny whisper, faint and fragile. “And it’s like everything in my life is unravelling right now and there’s nothing I can do about it. You, Santino, John—you’re all I have. I can’t lose anyone else, Winston. I can’t.”

The man’s expression eases, the light in his eyes softening just a touch.

But before he can say anything else your phone rings. Swallowing, you grab it off your table. It must be Santino—

But you feel yourself grow cold at the number shining back at you on the screen.

“It’s the Administration.”

Winston’s chin dips, his lips pressing into a stiff line, and he gives you a serious look. “Then you better answer.”

Rome is beautiful.

Over the last five years, you have grown to love it as much as New York.

You’ve spent many days in this city, in this country, due to your association with Camorra alone.

The architecture, the food, the cobbled streets and the energetic flow of Italian in the air. It mixes with English, French, Russian, amongst many others; and stepping back into this city is like being dragged into a dance, dizzying as it is warm.

Italy has—in many ways—become a second home to you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m not here because I want to see you kill Gianna,” you speak tightly, not looking at the man beside you. On the flight here, you’ve barely exchanged more than a few words. He seemed just as preoccupied with his thoughts as you have been. All he did was give you a long, searching look and asked you if you’re sure about coming along. “That Marker exists because of me. It’s my responsibility, too. And—”

And you know Santino. You know Camorra.

“I’m your insurance policy.”

John turns after you when you move, and he almost looks out of place. This man in a dark suit and dark eyes, standing in a city of such culture and light, like an ink stain on a perfectly clean canvas. You hesitate, reading his desire to speak.  

“You’re angry.”

You almost laugh out loud. In fact, a hysteric laugh tickles the back of your throat and you chuckle instead, even if the sound lacks joy.

“Yeah,” you intone flatly, looking up towards the clear, open sky above you. “Yeah, I’m angry, John. I’m angry at Santino. I’m angry at you. I’m angry that this bullshit keeps happening.”

John’s expression is guarded and you don’t quite understand the look in his eyes.

He’s angry, that much you do know. He didn’t want to be back. But when he looks at you there is something else there now; a weight, a question, a hundred unspoken conversations.  

“I didn’t think it would come to this.”

You exhale through your nose, your expression relaxing with cold amusement. You’re so tired of everyone. Everyone and their insistence that they know what they’re doing.

Every nerve in your body feels raw, and you don’t try to hold back the acid in your voice.

“That so?” you contemplate softly, but the bite to your words is impossible to miss. “Then tell me what the hell did you think was going to happen, John? Did you think that Santino was never going to call in that Marker? You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever known but I really have to question your logic here. I’m furious at Santino for calling it in but what were you thinking when you refused it? A Marker, John.”

Santino wasn’t exaggerating. With John refusing to honour an oath, he easily could have taken this matter straight to the High Table. And the latter is ruthless in dealing with such breach of their rules.

No bloodshed on Continental grounds and every Marker must be honoured. Such simple rules, really.

John’s refusal alone almost ended his life.

Wanting to stay away from this world is one thing. But knowingly creating a Marker only to later refuse it—

It’s one job.

Better one last head dive into the abyss than being dead.

“What is he to you?”

You don’t hear this tone often—not from him, and not directed at you. This is the Boogeyman talking with that low, icy voice that is just a touch more insistent than the John you know.

Your eyes find him and for several moments you are both silent.

Rome is a buzzing anthill of life and joy and despair but you two are suspended in this moment, and your tongue refuses to work.

Santino.

What is he to you?

I’m not your anything.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? A hurt driven, angry lie because you are—

“A friend.”

But this time, it’s not enough.

John speaks before your lips even close. “What more than that?”

The push is unexpected.

But if this is the path your old beloved wants to walk.

“When you left—” you start and pause, gathering your thoughts. John is unmoving and silent, waiting for you to continue but you see how the corners of his mouth tilt downwards. He already knows that what you will say next is unlikely to be pleasant. “When you left I had no one. No one to turn to, no one I could trust. Every enemy you ever had then turned their sights onto me. They hunted me, tried to capture me, poison me. Santino helped me. Offered me to work for him to keep Tarasov appeased. He kept me safe. Of course, he got plenty out of our partnership over the years but…”

“But you trust him.”

Not a question.

John’s expression is drawn, and it’s difficult for you to read what’s going on behind those eyes.

His loaded statement hangs between you, and you take a moment to think about it properly.

With everything that you have gone through in the last five years alone—  

“I do,” you admit quietly, even though those words make you feel naked and vulnerable. Even when a tiny part of you still whispers that you are a fool for doing so. That Santino is just another liar in a long line of liars. “Which is why I have to ask you something, and you have to promise me that you will answer me honestly.”

I found you in six hours.

But did he really? Did Santino mean those words or did he simply exaggerate to make himself look better, to justify his own anger, his own bitterness and old resentments?

John only gazes at you, even though your confession seems to have dimmed something inside him. He doesn’t look surprised, however, and it makes you wonder what else he’s gleaned from this exchange.

“When I was taken in Tokyo,” you start after another uneasy moment between you. “How long did it take for you to go to Santino?”

The question that’s been plaguing you for so long now.

The question that immediately creases John’s expression with a muted, worn sort of sadness. Devastation.

You almost don’t want to hear his reply.

“Eight days. I—”

You interrupt him before he can go on any further, “And how long did it take for him to track my location?”

This time, John looks confused.

“Why—”

You inhale deeply and try to keep your composure. “Please, just tell me.”

He moves closer and for a moment you fear he’s going to try and touch you but he doesn’t and you’re grateful. You don’t need his pity now.  

“A little over six hours,” he tells you, and your throat closes up at his words, a lump forming. “(Name), I’m sorry.”

You know he is. You know he didn’t mean for any of this to happen. In the place of that inferno that has raged and raged inside you for years, now only ash and embers remain.

You miss the inferno.

It made you feel at least a little secure in your emotions.

But John’s words tangle around your heart for a different reason, pulling on it harshly.

Have I ever lied to you?

Santino hasn’t. Seemingly even now when you’ve been so sure that he finally has.  

“Why did you agree to that Marker?” you demand next, though this time your voice is thinner, less sure. You try to shake it, try to force iron and ice and discipline into your demeanour like your Master always told you is necessary. “You could have tracked me yourself.”

Because he’s John Wick. Because it would have been easy for him, even if it would have taken longer. At least he would have been free of the burden he now carries.  

“Because I felt like I failed you,” he admits in a hushed breath and the pain in his dark eyes no doubt matches your own. “Because you were gone and I—”

You nod your head in understanding, and a pained, brief smile flashes across your features.

“You felt guilty,” you assume and know you are right by the way your words make him briefly close his eyes. “Guilt and pity. Seems like our relationship has that in abundance.”

Your tone is lifeless and distant and you don’t look at him, choosing to gaze instead towards the breathtaking architecture around you.

For a long moment, it’s silent between you. It’s not awkward or tense though. It’s almost peaceful. In a sense, you are getting the answers to questions a part of you has always clung to. In a sense, a part of you finally feels at ease.  

“I wanted to save you. More than anything. That Marker…” he fades off. “The Marker was the fastest way to find you.”

Your eyes go back to him, meeting his, and you tell him one simple fact that he seems to have forgotten. “But you didn’t save me, John,” you remind with a slight smile but your words are not an accusation, they’re just words. “I saved myself.”

You crawled your way out of that pit on your own. And maybe you would have failed at the last hurdle. Maybe you would have been stopped or tracked down once the guards noticed something was wrong, but you had saved yourself. Killed Kishi yourself. Freed yourself.

You were alone in hell, and you had made it your own.

One person was dragged into its depths, and something else was spat back out.

You were forged in the violence and the despair of that darkness.

There is no shame in admitting that, or owning it.

John says nothing but the look on his face says everything.

“I need time,” you finally say, and try to control the fidgeting of your fingers. “I have a few errands I need to run. I’ll see you back at the Continental.”

He takes a step closer, his fingers grazing against the skin of your inner wrist.

You exhale sharply at the sensation, pulling back to look towards him instead.

His expression is torn, so you reassure him with a simple, “I’m not running from you. I think it’s finally time we have this conversation but I just—I need to…to think.”

To prepare for the inevitable pain. For tearing of the scars that have finally stopped aching after all these years.

You give him one last look, and you see the understanding there.

He lets you go. 

It takes you till nightfall to return to the Continental.

Gianna’s coronation is tomorrow night and it cramps your stomach with nerves just thinking about it.

This is a ruthless world, and Gianna is a ruthless woman.

You know very well that she would do the same to Santino if it came down to a choice. But—

But you can’t help but blame Giovanni once again.

It’s his fault. He’s the one who made his children into this. Pushed them apart because only one could inherit his seat. Morphed them and shaped them into what he needed them to be. Stole from them the loyalty and the bond that should have been between the two siblings.

It makes you feel so helpless, so bitter with disappointment. Perhaps Gianna is not your favourite person in the world after what she did, but you did consider her your friend once. Once you believed it was mutual. You’ve shared time together, too. Bonded. Cared for one another.

She doesn’t deserve this.

You hate how unfair it all is.

Tradition, old hurts, resentment, fears.

They have all come together to set the stage for a tragedy.

“It is good to have you with us again, Vipress.”

Your attention snaps to the tall man walking down the stairs of the Rome Continental, his guards only a few steps behind him.  

Julius greets you with a faint smile and a kiss on your cheek that prompts a smile of your own.

“Ciao, Julius,” you greet him. “You look well. Winston sends his regards.”

The man in front of you chuckles. “Ah, my old friend. How is he?”

You suppress a smirk. “Still Winston.”

Julius nods with a knowing look and leads you towards the reception. “The presidential suite has already been prepared for you as per Mr D'Antonio's old request.”

Santino.

God. You’ve tried not to think about him since you walked out of the gallery, leaving him behind. That look on his face has seared itself inside your mind. So much so, that it’s easier not to think about your goodbye. Easier not to think about the Lovers and how they might use your separation to get to him. Easier not to think about all the things you should have said to him instead.  

Stop. Think. This is insane. This is not worth it. You’re smarter than this.

But you can understand his desperation, too. In a sense. Because if the situation was reversed, is there anything you won’t do for him, or John, or Winston? Ares? Any of your friends?

When you have so little, you cling to things that make you happy with desperation and hopelessness only few can truly understand.

But that does not excuse his recklessness, does not excuse his actions no matter how worry driven they might have been.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately, assuming the worst, knowing how Santino can get when he doesn’t get his way. “Was he unpleasant about it? I—”

Julius gives you a brief, amused look. “No, he was rather...polite about it, actually. He learned from last time, I believe.”

Yes, last time.

Last time when Santino chewed out one of the attendants for miserving him. Every bit the spoiled mafia heir. You refused to speak with him for the rest of your stay in Rome. Once, not so long ago, you were less than that attendant who was only trying to make an honest living. You were less. One mistake did not give him the right to unleash his temper as he did. Did not give him the right to look down on them without knowing anything about their life just because he was richer.

Your silence, your dismissal and refusal to so much as acknowledge him, had stung deeply. He had acted prissy at first, too, but with days that passed in a tense stalemate, he mellowed.

Perhaps he did learn his lesson.

He apologised for the incident eventually, no matter how reluctant.

Perhaps he can still see the errors of his way now as well.

You hope he will.

“Oh. Thank you,” you say instead, and shift in your spot while you wait for the receptionist to give you your key. “John?”

Julius makes a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, placing his palm on the gleaming dark wood.

“Yes, Mr Wick,” the man begins, his tone leading as he gazes in your direction. “I admit I was rather surprised to learn that you have come to Rome together on business, and not with Mr D’Antonio instead. I initially feared the worst.”

You almost laugh.

A slight grin appears despite your attempt to keep it at bay.

“Let me guess,” you muse, trying to hold back your mirth. “The Pope? Not this time, Julius.”

The man’s answering stare is so unamused, you chuckle under your breath. It feels good to smile, even if it takes considerable effort to do so.

Julius takes your keycard, but hesitates in passing it to you.

“I do hope that whatever business you two have in this city will not cause too much trouble, yes?”

Your slight smile falls and you break the eye contact, glancing away.

You wish you could reassure him and mean it. But that would be a lie.

“I can’t promise that.”

Julius doesn’t look surprised to hear it. He is a man who has seen a lot just like Winston. They’re old, wise wolves in a world of bloodthirsty beasts. He knows that your and John’s presence here, now, can’t possibly mean anything good.  

“I wish you a pleasant stay as always,” Julius says, at last, holding out the card towards you. “Mr Wick is staying in room 459.”

You try for a smile again but it feels forced this time, empty. Giving him a grateful nod instead, you pocket the card and head towards the elevator, trying to pretend you don’t feel Julius’ gaze follow you the entire way.

Getting to John’s room takes only minutes, and you knock on the door once, balancing on the balls of your feet.

You feel so restless, it’s like your skin is crawling constantly.

You’re dead to the world, a sly whisper tickles against the back of your neck.

Shut up.

The voice still continues though, and you try to drown it out by counting louder in your head. Like placing bricks between you and Kishi’s ghost.  

The door swings open and John’s face appears through the crack. You know he has a gun in his hand from one look.

“Don’t look so surprised to see me,” you tell him flatly and step closer, waiting for him to let you inside. He does and your eyes sweep over the room. An old habit that’s been integrated into you by the very man who now resides inside it. “I assume you made preparations already. I will need debriefing on your plan.”

You wander closer towards the table where you notice maps already laid out. John is methodical and you know he always plans.  

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?” his voice sounds from behind you.

Your fingers brush over the edge of the papers, humming, and you glance over your shoulder.

“The Marker must be honoured,” you state, your tone wooden. “Camorra lives by the rules even more so than other families but they will retaliate, and you will need every little shred of help you can get. Trust me.”

John comes closer, his expression thoughtful and you look back down towards the table. “Catacombs, huh? Smart.”

An easy way to get into the party and out without being seen.

You knew of the tunnels. The D’Antonio siblings have told you about them.

That gives you a pause.

Even if you were miserable back then, those months you’ve spent with them have been some of the happiest in hindsight.

“Santino told me. About what you did for me,” John speaks suddenly, like those words have been waiting to burst out of him, and comes to stand beside you. His stare is unwavering, latching onto you and your breaths even out. “How the only reason he helped me with my task is because you asked him to.”

You don’t say anything.

This certainly explains John’s earlier conflict—that heaviness in his eyes that said he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“Anything else Santino tell you?”

You wish you didn’t sound so morose, so joyless.

John’s lips part and he exhales quietly.

He knows full well what he’s about to start.

What two sad people you both have become.

Wary of each other and the dense mass of unspoken things between you.  

“Why would you do it?”

You scoff, turning away from him as you shake your head.

“Really John?” you wonder in disbelief as you turn your attention back to him. John is still peering at you, waiting for a reply. “Because I loved you. Because the alternative was you potentially dying and no matter how much you hurt me, I could never live with myself if that happened.”

His eyes lower, silent, and you can’t help but wonder, “Did you think that my feelings for you were a passing fancy? Is that it?”

His gaze flickers upwards, his dark eyes sparking at the carefully hidden hurt in your words.

“No. I knew that what we had was real,” he rebukes softly and steps closer. You look up at him and hate security that his presence always brings. “Thank you. For giving me that time with her.”

The sincerity in his voice hurts.

Helen. The beautiful woman you can still recall in your memories. Who stood and fit beside John so well. His other half. The woman who he chose.

That’s what it came down to, in the end, a choice.

You turn away from him, tugging off your pea coat and dropping it over the arm of a plush chair as you lower yourself onto it. Leaning back into the comfort of the expensive material, you tap your fingers against the armrest, staring up at the man who still stands beside the table.

“Tell me about her,” you request calmly, your fingers tapping, tapping, tapping—  “Tell me everything. From start to finish.”

John blinks, his surprise clear before he masks it, turning to face you fully as you both stare at each other.

The tension in the room grows.

“Are you sure you want to do this now—”

You almost bare your teeth at him.

“Yes, now. You wanted this chance, and I deserve to know everything,” you remind him through gritted teeth, and press your palm against the armrest when his attention moves towards your restless fingers. “Because I am so sick of people presuming that they know what’s best for me or how I feel.”

You won’t be in this mess if people just stopped assuming.  

If everyone just stopped and listened.

John pushes away from the table, walking towards the other vacant chair in the room with measured steps. He sits himself down, and every shift of his muscles is heavy, weary.

“Do you remember the Dublin job?”

“Yes, what about it?”

Dublin was the last time you worked together. The very last of your happiness before your birthday, before Tokyo, before everything that followed after.

A bar, thick smoke, rowdy singing and you leaning into his side—into his warmth. In a shadowed corner of that bar his hand had rested against your lower back, his fingers delicate against your warm skin.

He had smiled at your every joke, and you had fallen more and more in love with every twitch of his mouth. With him.

There—hidden away from the world—you had both been free to be happy.

However briefly.  

“After we came back, Tarasov asked to see me,” John’s low voice drags you out of the memory you haven’t visited for years, and you glance at him. “He told me that he knew about us. He told me that he is willing to give me one last chance to make it right. Either I stop whatever is going on between us or…”

“Or?”

“Or he kills you,” he divulges and his tone grows strained. “I knew he meant it. He said that he couldn’t have my loyalties split. Either I put a stop to it myself or he will have me kill you. I—I pushed you back because I couldn’t let that happen.”

You swallow weakly, moving your eyes away as he speaks.

It hurts to recall this, but you let him talk. This is perhaps the most open he has ever been with you so you listen.

“Better to hurt you than—I couldn’t lose you,” he whispers faintly, folding his fingers. His golden wedding ring catches your eye in the dim light of the room. He still wears it. Maybe he always will. You know you would. “You meant too much. I wanted—I suppose it doesn’t matter what I wanted now but...I did it to keep you safe. The only way I knew how.”

You nod your head vaguely, and lace your own fingers in your lap. The skin beneath your knuckles strains but you force the rest of your body to remain motionless.

“And Helen?”

There is no resentment in your voice, just curiosity.

“After I rejected your feelings, you drifted away just as I expected,” John resumes after a lengthy pause. “I knew you would need space so I was prepared to wait. Helen…I ran into her by accident. She invited me for lunch. I don’t even know why I accepted. I suppose I hoped that it would take my mind off you. Help to make it…easier.”

Easier. You wonder which part of this was the easy one.

“I never intended for anything to happen between us. Not ever. But Helen she was—she was kind and gentle and so open.”

Oh, that one stings.

From all the things he’s said, this hurts the most.

Kind. Gentle. Open.

All the things you are not.

Because you had to kill and strangle those parts of yourself to survive.

Because you always wanted to be those things but couldn’t.

Helen must have been such an easy choice, and you can’t even blame him for it.

Who could ever want you? Without any catches, without judgement or reservations.

Who would when the world is full of wonderful, bright people like Helen?

John continues when you fail to respond. “I convinced myself that this would be for the better. That even if we tried, Tarasov would have killed you. That in the long run, we would both be happier. But maybe—I never wanted this life, (Name). But I wanted to do this differently. Properly. Then Tokyo happened and…”

He pauses, inhaling deeply, seemingly unable to continue on.

His head dips down and you watch his profile. Your hand lifts and you press your fingers to your lips, trying to smother the hurt that quakes your bones.  

“There was not one moment during those days when I didn’t wish you needed me as much as I needed you, John. Not one,” you voice tightly and press your lips together when they tremble. John looks up at you, his expression crushed, his eyebrows tightly knit. “You should have told me. But you made the decision on your own. What if I wanted to try anyway? Wanted to fight for what we had?”

“He would have killed you—”

Something creaks, and then snaps.

“And you should have told me!”

It explodes right out of you, vicious and quick.

You practically jump to your feet, unable to sit still. But you don’t go anywhere, you simply stand there, staring at him wide-eyed.

John watches you for a beat before bowing his head. Something hot churns in the pit of your stomach at his continuous silence.

“I know,” he utters. “I know it was selfish of me but I thought I was protecting you.”

Protecting you.

He did. You know that. But in so many ways by protecting you from one demon, he left you alone to face an entire hoard of them. So many even more dangerous than Tarasov ever was.

The next question is so soft, so unguarded, you almost hate yourself for asking it.

“Did you ever, even for a moment, actually love me?”  

John’s head snaps up to you so quickly, you’re surprised you don’t hear his bones snapping. “You know I did. You matter more to me than—”

His voice cracks and he rises to his feet with a frustrated sigh. The way he fidgets with his ring catches your attention before his fingers slip out of sight.

“Tell me about Tokyo,” you insist before he can say anything else in regards to your pathetic question. “Santino said that you broke a deal between you. What kind of deal?”

For a moment, you think that John will press further. But perhaps he realises how fragile this situation is. How easily it can all fall apart and he still has things that need saying because he indulges you.

“Winston called me one day. Said that he hasn’t heard from you in days,” he starts, uneasy, like the memory is painful for him. You can’t help but wonder how bad it will get if he looks so apprehensive already. “That something might be wrong. I went to Viggo and he confirmed that you have gone off the grid. A mission gone wrong. He wasn’t sure if you were alive or dead. I asked for permission to find you but he denied me. He said the potential power conflict wasn’t worth it if you were stupid enough to get caught. Winston couldn’t get involved so I had only one other option left. Santino demanded a Marker and—”

“And?” you whisper, your voice hoarse, faint.

John’s shoulders curve downwards. His voice now is raspy, both pained and hushed. A lump in your throat grows larger as he comes to a stop in front of you. Back where you started only minutes ago.  

“And he suspected that Yakuza might retaliate just like Viggo did. So a deal was struck,” he reveals, tracking your reactions carefully. “If you’re still alive, he gives me the resources to get you out and I pass you to him. He would place you under Camorra’s protection until things settled. In terms of power, his family is one of the very few that could withstand any potential conflict. But when I found you—”

You were broken and cracked and destroyed beyond repair.

John continues and the pain in his voice feels like a stab right into your beating heart, twisting deep. “You were hurt so badly I—I couldn’t. I killed them all and had no intention of leaving you again,” he exhales heavily and meets your stare before adding, “So yeah, I broke the deal with Santino because I didn’t trust him. Because I worried that he might use your vulnerability against you. To manipulate you.”

Back then, you won’t have put it past Santino to do exactly that.

The sly, conniving man that he is.  

But he reacted to Tokyo in a way you didn’t expect.

A part of you knows that neither did he.  

“And you didn’t think once to tell me about any of this?” you pose quietly because talking is so difficult now. “To tell me about Helen sooner instead of hiding secrets? Instead of lying.”

You’re so tired.

So very tired.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever find peace at this rate. Or if you’ll always be stuck in this cycle. Over and over again. Without end.

John reaches out and for a moment his fingers hover over your cheek. You’re grateful that he doesn’t touch you, though something in his expression tells you that he wants to. “You were hurt. I was afraid that if I told you—”

His fingers drop away.

“I wanted to do this right. Wait till you recover fully. Sit you down and explain everything,” he says softly, and his soft dark eyes watch you sadly. “I knew what this sort of news will do to you. I saw how much you struggled. It was never about keeping it from you. So when you found my phone, I knew you would hate me. I figured it would be easier for you to forget me if you did. Easier to let go, so I left.”

You look away, your eyes starting to burn no matter how hard you try to blink the sensation away.

“Left because I knew that you will recover and succeed in this world,” he states, and even if you can no longer see his expression, you feel his attention focus on you. “Because you’re the strongest person I have ever met. And I hoped that one day, maybe, we would meet again and I could explain it to you. That we could rebuild.”

Rebuild.

As if it could ever be that simple.

You want to. You want to believe in the idea of having him back in your life but—

But you don’t trust him.

And that’s the problem. You can’t trust him anymore.

That gaping hole inside your chest aches and your expression crumbles as you turn away from him. Pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes, you digest his words silently.

It’s quiet for so long that it doesn’t surprise you when John’s unsure voice finally reaches you again. “Say something, (Name).”

It’s a plea.

A gentle plea that rips and shreds whatever little composure you still have left. Whatever little self-control and discipline you have managed to gather over the years.

“What do you want me to say, John? That you hurt me? That it hurt when you left? Because I assure you did a lot fucking more than just hurt.”

You spin around to face him, your hand dropping away from your face and he inhales at the venom in your voice, at the way your voice weakens and cracks.

“You destroyed my heart,” you choke out harshly, and now that the words are coming out, that he’s in front of you, you can’t stop. It comes out as five years of fear, and anger, and hurt that’s been repressed for too long. “You tore my trust, my hopes and dreams, to shreds. You made me lose my way completely. Because of you, I had to fake a smile and a laugh for years. Because of you, I can’t let anyone else in. Because I’m fucking terrified that they will leave me too. That I will never be good enough for them to just stay. Because you never stayed.”

He tries to touch your shoulder but you jerk back roughly. You’re practically gasping for breath and his figure blurs.

Tears.

You can’t recall the last time—

“You taught me the lesson of never letting anyone close again, so I’m never hurt the way you hurt me,” you gasp loudly, and the words stutter inside your chest briefly. “I lived so long just—just hoping to forget you and everything that’s ever happened between us. Because of you, I’m empty, and I blame others for the fact that I can’t trust them but it’s me. I’m the problem. You took it from me. That hope. My—my ability to love and trust and dream. Why did you take it, John?”

The tears finally spill, hot and wet, as they trail down your cheeks and your hands press against your face, trying desperately to wipe them away, hide them from him.

“Why? Why did you have to leave me when I n-needed you so much?” you sob, your body shaking and everything crumbles and caves inside your chest. It’s like a glass that’s been filling for years finally overflowing. No matter how hard you try to turn off the tap, ebb the flow, it won’t stop. “Why didn’t you just stay? I loved you so much.”

His arms wrap around you. You try to shove him away, but he’s stronger or perhaps you truly are that weak.

Another sob rattles free from your chest, violent and raw, tearing from deep inside your throat. Your arms feel clumsy as you try to push against him but his grip only constricts, holding you closer.

“I’m sorry, (Name),” he breathes against your neck, his voice raspy with anguish. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know that I never—I never meant to do this to you. I’m so sorry.”

You stop fighting.

You let him hold you.

You’re so very, very tired now.

For a thousand things said, there is a thousand more unspoken.

Yesterday had been a big step.

A step in clearing the air between you and you know that it’s done you both good, even if the timing of it had not been ideal.

Emotions had to be pushed aside quickly to make room for preparations.

Still, John held onto you for a long time, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if it was as much about comforting you as it was about comforting himself.

The question burns at the tip of your tongue but now is hardly the best time to ask it.

The catacombs are as dark and cold as you expected them to be. The air is dense and dusty, almost heavy with lack of fresh oxygen this deep underground. Together you cut through the tunnels, both of you clad in dark suits that will hopefully keep bullets at bay.

Because you doubt there is any other way this can go.

The thought of what you’re walking into right now only exhaust you more, drains you more. The invisible edge beneath your feet crumbles just a little bit more.

Below, gaping darkness awaits.

You’ve been lost in that darkness once before.

You don’t want to go back.

Trying to push your dangerous thoughts away, you focus on counting your steps, the shadows dancing a menacing tango across the shallows of these tunnels.    

“What is it?”

Your head twists towards John and even though his features are mostly hidden by darkness, you can hear his concern.

You’re distracted, restless, and it shows.

Every edge of your usually careful calm is frazzled.

“It’s nothing,” you lie smoothly because it’s so very easy to do so now. “It’s just…when you left. I stayed with Camorra for almost a year. Worked for them in exchange for their protection. Gianna and Santino have told me stories about the Catacombs. They said the tunnels were haunted by all their dead ancestors. It’s a bit surreal actually being down here.”

He digests your words, and you feel his intention to delve further into the topic but you don’t have the will to talk about the D’Antonio siblings right now. Not when—

The edge cracks just a little bit further.

“Come on,” you say before he can speak. “We should hurry.”

It only takes you another few minutes of silent walking to reach the party.

It’s loud and bright and extravagant.

Befitting Camorra though it clearly lacks the traditional edge these affairs usually have.

Camorra is all about soirees and parties very few are invited to.

Maybe Gianna is truly trying to bridge the gap between the two worlds.

Maybe inviting you was truly about waving a flag and calling for a truce.  Perhaps, now that Giovanni is dead, her desire to see Santino is less about insulting him, belittling him for not getting the seat, and about doing their own rebuilding instead.

It’s a nice thought.

But you know Gianna.

Even if she does want those things, there must be some benefit to her. Of which there are many when it comes to the possibility of a renewed friendship between you three. Except once she had that friendship. Once, you thought that she and Santino can be brother and sister again. That with time you can help them trust each other again.

You stand beside John as you track the woman and her loyal guard across the immaculate lawn while music blares loudly.

Cassian.

You’ve been trying very hard not to think about what this will mean to him.

It makes you feel like a traitor just thinking about his reaction.

John looks towards you but you don’t meet his stare. Instead, you simply dip your head in agreement.

This is it.

No more running.

Everything has a price.

You are here because John is here. John is here because Santino called in his Marker. Santino created the Marker as a punishment towards the man who wronged you.

On and on it tangles—this endless web of pain and choices and consequences between you.

Following them is easy.    

You are quiet as the shadows that hide you, watching Gianna fix her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

The space is vast and tastefully decorated with dark wood and golden accents everywhere you look. Muted lights illuminate the space and a large running pool of water sits in the middle of the room that you know runs hot water regardless of the time of day.

Right now, you’re grateful for the delicate trickle of the bathwater that drowns out your unsteady breaths.

Gianna shifts, straightening, every bit the deadly, brilliant woman you remember her as and halts.

For behind her stands the Reaper, his face full of regret and sadness.  

“John,” she voices, her surprise clear and her eyes snag on the dark corner where you still linger, unable to move. “V.”

You hate the slow understanding already filling her elegant features at your presence.

“Hello, Gianna.”

You want to move but can’t, it doesn’t matter though. Gianna, as always, makes the first move.

“There was a time not so long ago in which I considered us friends,” she states frankly, turning around and her glittering gown sparkles like stars, her fur overcoat only adding to her stunning but deadly appearance.

You’ve always admired her. Envied her in many ways, though she always laughed softly at such admissions.

John moves closer, his steps heavy with dread but the grip on his gun doesn’t loosen.  

“I still do.”

Gianna’s lips twist, the look in her brilliant blue eyes glacial. “Yet here you both are,” she says, unimpressed. “Death’s very emissary and the Serpent in the garden.”

Her eyes shift to you, still standing in the shadows of the lavish bathroom suite and your throat closes up at her scrutiny.

She stares at you as if challenging you to step back, to hide from her.

But you won’t. You are here because you respect her more than that, regardless of what may have transpired between you years ago.

You step into the light and Gianna’s cold expression eases a touch. Her chin tilts and she acknowledges you in her own proud way. Not that you would expect anything else from her.    

“I know why you are here, V,” she says knowingly even though the scathing twist of her mouth doesn’t drop. “But the question is what brought you back, John?”

“A Marker.”

That gives her a pause. “Held by?”

“Your brother.”

Gianna’s coolly composed expression fractures for a moment. In it, you see her dawning understanding, all the remaining pieces dropping silently into place inside her clever mind. Her eyes drag from John to you again, and you already know what she will ask next. “Did you know?”

Your quiet breath is more of a wheeze. “No. I did not,” you mutter tightly. “Not till recently.”

She stares at you for a beat, no doubt weighing the honesty of your words before her attention swings back towards the man in front of her.

“Tell me, John,” she begins, her gaze thoughtful, her thoughts racing. “This Marker, is it how you got out?”

John shakes his head, and you speak before he can. “It was for me. For Tokyo.”

Gianna blinks once, her lips parting in understanding.

“Tokyo. All this, and yet you still left,” she goads, a touch smug. “For an outsider, if I’m not mistaken. Tell me, what was her name? The woman who is responsible for all this pain.”

John seems almost reluctant to part with it. “Helen.”

“Helen,” Gianna repeats mockingly, pitching her voice into an almost dreamlike tilt as she moves closer towards the Boogeyman. “This Helen…was she worth the price you now seek to pay? Was she worth all the pain you have caused?”

You’re not sure you’re breathing as you watch John hesitate before nodding his head once.

Gianna’s eyes slide towards you knowingly and you meet her stare, holding it for a few moments.  

“Now, let me tell you what happens when I die,” she speaks calmly, seemingly completely unaffected by what she now knows is the end. Her end. “Santino will claim my seat at the table. He will take New York, and you two will be the ones who have gifted it to him. Though I suppose it is what you always wanted, isn’t it, piccola vipera?”

Your heart clenches at the old nickname she always used to call you.

You take a step towards them, and then another, every step as shaky as the last.

“I never wanted this to happen, Gianna,” you whisper weakly, trying to keep your expression calm. “I’m sorry.”

She almost glides towards you and you’re not surprised when she leans close, her fingers ghosting over your cheek. Just like her brother, she touches you freely because they seem to both believe in the intimacy of the most simple kind. Sometimes full of desire, sometimes of affection, sometimes of simple compassion and friendship.  

“I gave you that invitation because I had hoped we can be friends again,” she says and you hear the accusation there, no matter how finely laced it is into her delicate words. “I had hoped but I was foolish. I should have done things differently, I see that now. Fought for your loyalty before my little brother managed to steal it. Tried to take you away from him before you started to care for him,” she whispers, her words growing colder as her fingers brush over your bandaged ear, and she adds a tart, “Hmm. No matter.”

Her expression stutters, any warmth in her eyes fading as she pulls back abruptly, pushing past John as she approaches the sinks. She stares at herself in the mirror before ripping her fur coat off her body and dropping it on the floor. Her hands rest over her waist, and you’re not sure if she’s simply angry, debating what to do, or if she is trying to hold herself together.

She turns towards the running bath, taking a few steps towards it before she reaches behind herself to unzip her sparkling dress.

John tracks her every move with predator’s intensity.

You stand a step behind him and watch silently as the scene before you unfolds.

The dress slips down, pooling at her feet, leaving the woman before you completely nude. Her hand slides inside her luscious dark hair, and she tugs loose the brooch holding her curls in place. She traces over the intricate design of the brooch as she steps into the bath, the water inside sloshing around her feet.

“What would you Helen think about this, John?” she wonders bitingly, coldly, looking up at the man. “What would your Helen think about you? Hm?”

She places the honed edge of the brooch against her wrist and drags it down.

“Gianna—” you gasp out, stumbling towards her.

Her eyes snap to you and you halt, watching in horror as she does the same to her other wrist.

Red rains down, falling into the water below like a river of rubies.

“Why?” John asks, confused, as he comes to stand beside you.

She turns towards you, folding her arms as her body becomes a canvas of scarlet, and gives John a look that is every bit her brother and father. That D’Antonio pride mocks him openly, wickedly, and her lack of fear only makes this harder.

“Because I lived my life my way, and I will die my way.”

She trudges through the water, her knees shaking and you hurry towards her, your arms locking around her as she stumbles, sliding down and deeper into the warm depths.

“I’m sorry.”

Your voice is a wrecked whisper and her fingers sink into your dark suit sleeves.  

“Do you still hate me, piccola vipera?” she wonders faintly, her icy eyes finding your own as you hold her up, slanting over the bath.

John’s footsteps drawing nearer are distant as you focus on the woman in your arms.  

“No,” you breathe with a pained smile. “I never did. I was disappointed. Hurt. Our friendship was real to me.”

A brief smile appears on Gianna’s face, her finger smoothing over the velvet material absentmindedly.  

“I will not apologise for what I did,” she tells you bluntly and you almost laugh though you want to sob more. Just as expected. “I thought it was best for me and my goals. I know you understand,” she remarks before tilting her chin in your direction so she can see you clearly. “I always knew that you would side with my brother.”

But you only shake your head in reply; a sad, feeble motion. “That isn’t it. I was against this,” you tell her because she needs to know, needs to understand why things ended up as they did. Because she deserves better than to die not knowing revenge has been served. “But Santino didn’t call the Marker in just for the seat. Chicago, Gianna. Chicago all those years ago. That was us. Someone knows. The Black Dragon has marked us for death and sent the Lovers after us.”

An indistinct exhales slips free and her eyes spark with understanding, with ruthless sort of satisfaction.  

“I always suspected,” she murmurs with a sliver of a smirk gracing her features. “It was about revenge.”

John lowers himself on Gianna’s other side but you can feel his eyes drilling into you.

“Swear to me,” the woman demands abruptly, her nails sinking into your arm.

“What?”

She’s always been strong. Perhaps not physically but in sheer will. So it doesn’t surprise you when she finds enough strength in her body to tug you to her, her lips pressing against your ear.

“Swear to me that you will not let my family name die. Swear to me that my line will continue after I’m gone.”

Her harsh, hushed words wrap around something inside your heart, yanking with a strength that makes you flinch. You pull back, staring at her wild expression.

She looks so pale, but her eyes rage.

“I will—”

Gianna’s lips twist into a snarl—a break in composure you have never seen from her.

“No. I am the blood of old Camorra. You will swear it,” she hisses with a laboured breath, her fingers trembling around your arms. “On your life, on your honour, on your name. I will not have any less than that.”

Your eyes close, squeezing tightly, before you open them again, giving her a serious look.

“I swear it,” you exhale, forcing the tremble in your voice to steady. “The word of old Camorra. From me to you. I swear it.”

You are not Camorra. You are in no real position to give to her this oath, and coming from you it means close to nothing but—

But Gianna knows that you would never swear something like this unless you meant it with your entire being. Because she knows that you respect their values. For her, for her family, there is no higher vow.

Her grip on you loosens, her stormy features easing, as if that promise has given her reassurance she needed to find peace.

For a few breaths, it’s quiet. The pool of crimson keeps growing.

John, who’s been silent the entire exchange, reaches out, gently folding his fingers around Gianna’s other hand. He squeezes her fingers between his own and a brief, cool smile flashes across the woman’s face.

“Good. It seems like Papi was right,” she notes, her words growing milder, tenuous. “He was right.”

You’re not sure you can speak, but John does.  

“Right about what?”

Gianna’s lashes flutter a few times before she opens her eyes, slanting her head weakly in your direction.

“After Santino failed to bargain with my father…he went to Tarasov anyway. To demand your freedom like I told you,” she divulges with a cutting little smile. In power till the very end. “And I remember my father looked at me when he found out and laughed. He laughed, and he said, ‘He is more like me than I realised. He would let this whole world burn to ash, as long as she’s the one standing beside him in the flames.’ That tipped the balance and won me the seat. Because we do not know how to love by halves and father knew that. Our love burns brighter than the sun, and I warned you what will happen if you earn his.”

Did Santino really disobey Giovanni and went to Tarasov despite his father’s refusal? Did it cost him the seat—

A shudder rolls through Gianna’s body and she slumps slightly, making you tighten your grip on her. Your fingers find her hand, gripping them desperately between your own. Her hand is already growing stiff and cool and your stomach coils.

You hold her close, ignoring the way your sleeves sink into the bloody water as a result. She grows weaker with every exhale and your eyes burn when you bury your nose against her hair. Her favourite Chanel perfume tickles your nose and you choke on your breath.

“I’m sorry, Gianna, I’m sorry.”

Her fingers squeeze around yours, just barely, her thumb tracing a small circle against your skin. “Will you weep for me, hm?” she murmurs slyly, her voice barely audible. “Lovely, silly girl. Remember your…vow.”

And then she’s gone.

You cling onto her, your nose buried in her silky hair as you breathe heavily through gritted teeth.

“(Name).”

John’s voice is kind, patient, but you hear the reminder there. You’re here to do a job. You can’t linger for longer than necessary.

But it’s hard to let go.

Even if she’s gone now.

John’s fingers settle on your shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Your feet keep slipping from that crumbling edge. The darkness below hums your name. A mix of voices that blend together.

You will always make the same mistakes. You will always lose.

Stiff and reluctant, you let go, allowing John to tug you back.

Tears sting your eyes but you don’t let them fall this time.

Gianna would be disappointed in you if you cried.

Inhaling, you stand to your feet, turning away from the still body as you wait for John to finish this.

A trickle of water—

Bang.

Your eyes snap shut, your expression twisting.

It’s serene, the silence that follows.    

“We should go,” you inform him without turning around. “Someone is bound to come looking soon.”

You start walking away but John’s fingers latch onto your sopping wet arm, halting you. You jerk away from his touch, biting out a warning, “Don’t.”

You don’t want to talk right now.

You don’t want anything right now.

John doesn’t try to touch you again, and you know that this is hard for him, too.

The deafening rhythm of music washes over you both the moment you exit the bathroom and you lead the way, your shoulders stiff and expression wavering.

“Let me go first,” you say, glancing at him fleetingly over your shoulder before hiding your expression again. “Make sure the path is clear, I’ll meet you by the entrance to the catacombs. Don’t linger.”

Before John can say anything to contradict your statement, you stride into the hefty crowd of intoxicated guests. Most are tipsy. Others have that familiar glazed look in their eyes that tells you alcohol wasn’t their choice of poison this evening.

The music pounds with the beats of your heart and your shoulder knocks against someone. You ignore the contact, pushing past the moving bodies blindly.

It’s so hard to breathe. You’re out in the open air but you feel sick.

Changing your direction, you head east—

And twist your body immediately, hiding your face in the swarm of bodies.

Shit.

Of course.

You shouldn’t be surprised to see them here. After the ceremony, they would have officially served Gianna.

The other half of Camorra’s Elite Guard stands ahead of you at the edge of the crowd.

Julian and Dario linger on the outskirts, chatting between themselves though their eyes lift on occasion, scanning for any threats.

Julian is shorter from the two, his frame more athletic. His dark hair is neatly styled back for the occasion, and his equally dark moustache twitches whenever he speaks. His hands are folded in front of him and even from this distance, you can see the gleaming Camorra rings and dark tattoos on his hands.

Dario, by comparison, is a mountain of strength and muscle. The length of his long hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands brushing against his cheeks whenever his head turns from side to side every few minutes. His broad frame towers over most guests here as he stands with his hands in his pockets, and you slant your body downwards, using the numbers and the darkness for cover.

Unlike the rest of the security detail, they don’t stick out.

In fact, they could be guests simply having a good time but you know better.

These men are as dangerous as they are unremarkable at first glance.

Or they would be if they weren’t some of the deadliest you have ever met.

Step, at least, is nowhere to be seen. A small blessing. The youngest member of the guard seems to have a bizarre sixth sense when it comes to locating you just about anywhere.

They can’t see you.

This is not a confrontation you can afford right now.  

Shoving the people out of the way, you trek back when multiple gunshots pierce the air deafeningly.    

Shit.

People scream, scattering, and you push harder against the mob as you try to force your way towards the epicentre.

By the time the crowd spits you back out, you notice the back of Cassian’s powerful body disappear in the direction of the bathroom and your stomach sinks.

Oh no.

Guards dash east, chasing after someone, happy to ignore you in the chaos. For a second, you debate your choices before you peel after the guards.

Tracking John’s progress is easy.

You follow the trail of bodies he leaves behind.

It’s when you reach the catacombs that you suspect something is very wrong.

John is not here to greet you. Gripping your pistol in one hand and a sharpened blade in another, you cut across the darkened tunnels.

Gunfire explodes in the darkness ahead and you freeze, your eyes narrowing.

Moving quicker, it doesn’t take you long to stumble upon the first body. You use your foot to nudge the body over, levelling your pistol on it just in case.

You recognise that gear.

Camorra’s men.

Specifically those under Ares’ command.  

“Fuck.”

This time, you run. Cutting through the tighter, side tunnels, you try to get ahead to cut off any potential attackers.

You’re grateful that yesterday instead of going to your room to be miserable and pathetic, you pulled yourself together enough to study the layout plans.

Pushing through a small opening, you round the corner—

A barrel of a gun appears in your face, and you throw your arm in front of you too, your own pistol ready. It takes a split second for the face in front of you to register.

You tackle him to the side, a bullet sailing past his head as you both fall to the dirty ground with a painful thud.

John is calm as always though, steady, and reloads his weapon smoothly. That cold calculation behind this calm used to chill you once upon a time. But not anymore.

His head rises slightly over the crumbling pillar and your fingers sink into his shoulder, dragging him back down with a furious scowl.  

“Get down!” you snap, searching your pockets for the familiar coolness of your vials. “Go, now. I’ll handle this. Get to the Continental. Go, John!”

His eyes snap to you and the glimmer of anger you see there tells you that he understands what you’re doing.

That you know it’s Ares’ and her men attacking.

I’m your insurance policy.

You are.

But you will not let John slaughter the very men you know, either. Who might have helped you in the past, who you might have joked and talked with. Who you might know by name and face and life struggles.

You will certainly never let him lay a hand on Ares.

You’re his insurance but you are also a buffer. Between both sides.

John hesitates for a long moment and you know he considers refusing you in that instance, but perhaps whatever he sees on your face motivates him to nod his head and pass a spare pistol to you. You only shake your head, giving it back to him.

Few shots hit the pillar hiding you, and dense dust rains down onto your head and you frown in annoyance.

You roll the canister between your hands and gesture for him to go.

He hesitates again but ultimately listens, the entire exchange lasting no more than 30 seconds.

You wait till John rounds the corner before throwing two canisters over the side of the pillar, a stray bullet skimming over your arm but your suit holds, nothing but a faint tickle of pain following.

The vapour explodes with a hiss, the paralyser spreading through the cramped tunnels quickly.

Confusion follows, a few mentions of your name sounding before the paralyser robs them of their speech. You hear some fall back, an order clearly issued and you raise your gun, standing to your feet as you appear from behind the pillar.

You count at least six on the ground but they will be fine soon enough.

And there, on the other side of the tunnel, you just make out the familiar lithe frame of Ares. You can’t see her face with the darkness and the vapour but you know she is having the same issue. She raises her hand sharply—

An order to cease fire and retreat. But even though you cannot see her face, you can feel her hard stare digging into you.

She didn’t know you would be here. You didn’t tell anyone.

Not even Santino. Who no doubt still believes that you are safe behind the New York Continental walls, simply stewing in your anger.

The vapour crawls across the tunnel and Ares disappears from your line of sight, the rest of the men that are still unaffected following after her.

She knows how your paralysers work, she will come and collect the remaining immobile bodies later.

At least they’re alive.

Which they won’t be if you had allowed John to deal with them.

John.

Pivoting on your feet, you dash in the direction he disappeared in, racing after him.

He should be well on his way to the Continental now, if not there already.

You take longer than anticipated to get back. Your body is still recovering from the fight with Lucien despite your instance that you were fine. That deadly speed you’re so used to wielding as one of your most detrimental weapons has been dimmed.

You wonder how much of it is physical and how much of it is mental.

Racing up the stairs, you push past the doorman who opens the door for you and rush inside, looking around, trying to locate John.

As if that thought summons the Boogeyman, a crash sounds from the left, glass breaking as two figures crash into the foyer. They slide across the gleaming marble, struggling to get their hands around each other and you dash towards the two familiar men.

Cassian has an upper hand as he wrangles for control, trying to get a grip on the weapon between him and John.

John struggles for breath, his expression tight, focused, and you drag your gun up, pressing it against the side of Cassian’s head.

The man stills and relief shines in John’s eyes when he spots you from the corner of his eye, even if he clearly knows better than to look away from Cassian.  

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn harshly.

Cassian angles his head slowly, taking a peek at you, his expression furious. “Would you shoot me, little sister?”

You press the barrel deeper into his dark skin.

“Don’t make me.”

The tension between you is suffocating as the man glares at you.

“Gentlemen!” Julius’ loud voice cuts through the lobby and you ignore the security that surrounds the three of you. “Lady. Need I remind you that there will be no business conducted on the Continental grounds?”

The older man sounds more than a little displeased.

Your jaw clenches but you lower your arm, stepping back.

Cassian does the same, releasing his grip on John as he rises, still staring at you.

John is the last to stand but moves to your side at once, placing himself between you and Cassian. Normally, the gesture might have come off as protective but you don’t linger on it.

“No, signore,” Cassian says, his expression rigid, and the deep rumble of his voice bringing back months worth of memories.

Julius’ turns his attention towards you and John.

“No, sir.”

Your eyes lower and you simply shake your head.

Julius sighs, whether in relief or in chagrin, it’s difficult to say. “Bene. Now, may I suggest a visit to the bar, so you can calm yourselves?”  

His tone leaves no room for arguments.

Gin. Bourbon. Water.

They arrive in that order.

You sit slumped beside John as your drinks come. He sat down in the middle seat without a word, blocking Cassian from your sight. A part of you is grateful.

The look the other man gave you earlier—

The ugly realisation, the rage, the hurt—

“I had a Marker.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate. “Whose?”

John lowers his glass, staring at the bar counter.

“Her brother’s.”

It’s so hard to breathe.

You feel like slumping down and not getting up again.

The air lightens somewhat with John’s confession though.  

“I see. You had no choice,” Cassian concludes, his voice husky and your shoulders coil when you feel him lean down to look at you over John’s body. “Doesn’t explain why you are here, helping him.”

John’s expression grows colder at the accusatory tone but he doesn’t get involved. He knows better than that.

Exhaling lightly, you give him the truth. “The Marker was made because of me,” your words sound mangled, scratchy, but Cassian looks unmoved by your struggle. You understand. You do. The agony of his loss is still too fresh. “For Tokyo. I didn’t know about it, and I was against this. I didn’t want this, Cassian.”

The other man scoffs; a cold, pitiless sound, his anger sparking anew.

“Didn’t you?” he demands, his tone stony. “Even after what happened with Gianna?”

You turn to face him, your grip on the glass between your hands weakening.

“She was my friend.”

A muscle in Cassian’s jaw flutters and he swallows, his stare finally leaving you.

“Why did he do it? Her seat?”

John is the one who responds. “Yeah.”

Cassian lifts the drink in his hand closer to his face, taking a small sip.

“He’ll get it now.”  

“Yeah.”

You don’t say anything.

Santino finally has the one thing he’s always desired above all else.

He is Camorra now. Once his coronation happens, he will take the second seat at the High Table, and very few will have the power to challenge him then. He’s carved himself into the perfect position of ultimate power.

Swear to me that you will not let my family name die. Swear to me that my line will continue after I’m gone.

A shiver crawls down your neck at the unbidden memory.

You have sworn to Gianna.

On your life.

Santino is all that’s left of the D’Antonio name now.

“So you’re free,” Cassian voices after a lull of uneasy silence, his words measured. “Both of you.”

John hesitates, staring at his drink before he turns towards the man beside him.

“Am I?”

Cassian’s reply is as flat as his expression. “No. Not at all,” he remarks easily. “You killed my ward. Someone I was close to and you stood by and watched.”

The accusation hurts when his dark eyes jump to you and your lips press together.  

“You know I couldn’t interfere—”

The man lowers his glass to the wooden surface, the gesture too harsh to be casual. “But you could have stopped him,” he says point-blank, and you know he means Santino this time. Cassian has always believed that you hold sway over the heir. That you give him “good sense” as he once told you. “Did you even try?”

Does he really think so little of you?

Does he really believe that you could be so cruel?

“Yes,” you force out, your throat burning. “Yes, I did.”

John turns to face Cassian fully, hiding you from the man’s sight and it gives you precious few seconds to compose yourself.

Cassian makes a small noise at the back of his throat at that.

“An eye for an eye, John. You know how it goes.”

But no matter how hard you try to focus on the rest of their exchange, it feels like your head is being forced underwater again, the sounds around you blurring into a muffled, dull mess.

Don’t be sad, my vicious viper. I’ll be seeing you again very soon.

You gasp under your breath, your water almost spilling over your fingers at the sound of Tarasov’s voice in your ear.

It’s just your mind, you remind yourself firmly, it’s not real.

Tarasov is dead.

Kishi is dead.

They’re all dead.

And you are not.

Even if most days—lately—you feel like a walking, breathing graveyard full of ghosts.  

“—consider it a professional courtesy.”

Cassian is standing, and he’s striding away—

You almost fall out of your chair in the haste to run after him. But a figure catches your eye first, and you halt in your step, staring.

Ares regards you with an impassive expression, her hands rising to sign, but you only glare at her.

There is nothing to say.

You know how Santino does business.

No loose ends.

Ignoring her, you hurry after the man who just disappeared through the doorway instead.  

“Cassian, wait!”

He doesn’t so much as slow down.  

“I have nothing to say to you.”

His emotionless declaration is like a slap to the face but you march after him anyway, quickening your pace as desperation pulls on your tongue.  

“Please.”

This time, he stops.

He whirls to face you, open fury twisting in his expression and you hate the fact that you are partially responsible for the pain he now carries.  

“You knew,” he says, his words bitter as he looms over you. “You knew what she was to me. What she meant. All this because Santino wants power.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.  

“We’re being hunted,” you tell him hurriedly, your words rolling off your tongue because he needs to know. “Chicago. Almost four years ago. That was us. We were responsible and someone out there knows. He did it to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

Realisation. Just like with Gianna. He, too, is connecting the dots inside his head. Unlike Gianna though, there is no understanding, no softening of his features.

“Revenge, then,” he states flatly, his voice a rumble. “Others suspected but never had proof. But you.”

He takes a step closer and stares down at you.

For the first time since reuniting with him, you see your old friend back. Your stern sparring partner. Your teacher.  

“You, I considered as good as my own kin. A warrior spirit like my own,” he reveals, his words worse than angry, worse than hurtful. Cassian gazes down at you and looks disappointed. “I taught you, cared for you, protected you. And this is how you repay me, little sister? By taking someone I love away?”

The edge you are balancing on on crumbles further, your feet slipping and your expression falls apart.

“I never meant for this to happen, Cas. I—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“I believe you,” he says mildly, his expression deceptively calm. “And it’s because of that belief and what you once meant to me that I will let you leave this city alive.”

You only peer at him, stung.

He reaches out, touching the side of your face and bends closer, pressing your foreheads together.

An old, familiar gesture of respect, of kinship, of care between two people.

“But if we ever meet again,” he whispers softly, his words razor sharp. “I will kill you myself. Goodbye, little sister.”

He leaves you standing alone in the hallway.

Something inside your chest—the warmth, the happiness, the hope, you have painstakingly built up over the years—cracks, cracks, cracks.

The journey back to your room is a blur.

Your fingers trail against the walls as you stumble along, steadying yourself, anchoring yourself.

The door closes with a click, and you gasp for breath, the back of your head hitting the door as you slide down onto the floor.

Your hands press over your face and you breathe.

In and out. Uno, due, tre.

You’re dead to the world.

I’m not. I’m not. I’m free.

“I’m free,” you whisper, your words muffled by your hands. Fragile. “I’m free.”

Because the Administration has confirmed it.

The High Table has marked you down as an independent member of the Organization now. Viggo Tarasov is dead and so is his heir. By the table’s own rules, you are now free of your debt.

And yet, the leash around your throat has never felt tighter or more suffocating.

Your phone rings inside your pocket and you drag your palms down your face, blinking. Everything feels fuzzy and unfocused and—

Santi.

Your grip on the phone constricts, your hand quaking as you hold it close.

Gathering yourself, you croak out a strained, “Hello, Santino.”

For a beat, it’s still, but then you hear him exhale. “Are you hurt, bella?”

You can tell that this isn’t how he expected this conversation to start. Your voice, undoubtedly, gave you away.

“I’m fine,” you reply, though you doubt you sound convincing. “Why are you calling?”

It’s not a kind question. But—

You want to rewind to a few weeks earlier. To when things were simpler between you. When despite how he often got onto your nerves, you always found yourself looking forward to your next encounter. Even if you never admitted it to yourself back then.

“You went with him.”

It’s a statement; guarded and low.

Ares must have informed him.

Of course, she did.

“Why would you go?” he adds after you don’t respond.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you press your forehead against your legs.

Your sleeves are still soggy.

You want to be angry.

You want to shout and rage at him.

But a part of you just wishes he were here instead. That he hadn’t created this situation and was here to help you now that you need him.

After all these years only Winston can read you as well as he can.

“Because you made this my business,” you remind him, and know you sound unhappy. “Because that Marker never should have existed, Santino. You have no one but yourself to blame for this. Congratulations by the way.”

It’s silent for a while after that. You listen to his muted breaths and count with them. You’ve done this before, a thousand times, listening to each other breathe. Safe in the knowledge that neither has to say anything for things to be comfortable.

“Does it make me so awful, hm?” he ponders gently, thoughtfully. “Wanting to live. Wanting you to live. Power is a dangerous thing. You have to be willing to lose everything in order to take it.”

That last part—

This time, you do feel anger, your momentary tranquillity fleeing.

“Well done,” you hiss lowly, pressing the phone harder against your ear till you can feel the skin begin to turn hot. “I’m sure Giovanni would be very proud.”

“Do you think I wanted this?” he shoots back hotly in reply.

A sob burns at the back of your throat but you don’t let him hear it.

You’re not sure if you’re more furious or just devastated.

“I held her as she died,” is your impossibly sad murmur. “I held her, Santino.”

You know the naked pain in your voice hits him hard. The way the line goes utterly silent is telling enough.

“I always knew you would be against this, cara mia. I knew.”

His retreat. The way he was bracing himself for the inevitable in the days after your failed ambush.

“She deserved better,” you breathe, choked, and bury your face further into your lap. “Better than to have a bullet put in her head by her former friend.”

“I couldn’t lose you—”

“I’m not yours to lose, Santino,” you bite out, enraged. “My life…it’s not worth this. You’re destroying everything and you don’t even realise it.”

Neither of you says anything for a long, long time.

Something about this silence makes you sit up, makes you almost uneasy with nerves.

Still, Santino says nothing.

And nothing.

And—

“I was a fool. A fool to think that you could ever love me,” he admits and chuckles, his words warped, distant. “You’re right, (Name). You’re not mine. It was foolish of me to expect you to care. To ever place that expectation on you in the first place. I believed that if I just waited long enough…”

Your heartbeat kicks up a notch as you listen, biting your lower lip repeatedly.

“Hm. I’m not him. I will never be him,” he muses but it no longer sounds bitter or sullen. He sounds hollow. Like your conversation in Chicago, like when he came to you at the Continental after finding out he’s been made a Spare. Gianna’s words ring at the back of your mind— “Oh, (Name). I only ever wanted you to choose me as I chose you, bella. You are the only one I…”

Another pause.

“With this, I can finally give you the freedom you always dreamt of. It was worth any price for me,” he confesses before adding a knowing, desolate, “Even your hatred.”

He’s always expected the worst from this situation. He’s had time to prepare himself for this outcome.  

“You can have it all now. You are free,” he intones lightly, forcefully so. “So hate me, abhor me, curse me but know that I did it because I wanted you to live happily.”

He breathes out; something like a chuckle, pained as it is haunted. “Even if that life no longer involves me. Addio, mia amata.”

You’re not sure how long you listen to the dead signal echoing in your ear.

“—and now what’s hers is mine. Pray, I don’t ask for more.”

He’s in a foul mood and biting, swift Italian falls from his lips moments later as he watches Mr Akoni’s assistant walk away with a pinched expression.

Order.

Power.

Camorra.

The power is in his hands now.

And yet he feels—

“You have been busy,” a familiar man voices by the way of greeting as he approaches the spot where Santino sits. Two guards are behind him and Santino tilts his head in consideration.

Winston.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised to see him. The manager is comfortable in his power, in the control he has over New York, and in the past, Santino has been happy to let the older man indulge.

For you.

Because you care for the sharp-witted old fool. Because you respect him and if it wasn’t for the fact that Santino knows the man is at least fond of you, too, he would be far less inclined to have this conversation right now.

For you, he tries.

Your soft, sorrowful voice scrapes inside his chest. I held her as she died. I held her, Santino.

He loved Gianna. She was his sister. But the devastation he might have felt at the news of her death…it doesn’t come.

A lifetime of scorn, betrayal, and mistrust lies between them.

Still, he wishes—

He doesn’t regret it. But he does wish there had been another way.

It’s true that he’s always intended to take the seat for himself. But he had no intention of it coming to such an extreme.  

Everything has a price though, and he has paid his.

Even if the steepest price is yet to be paid.

“It’s a start,” he notes calmly, trying for a smile as Winston comes to a stop in front of him. The club is a buzz of activity, cleaners and attendants mixing with his own guard. “My sister has grown derelict in her duties.”

He stands to his feet then, ignoring the borderline vexed look Winston tries to hide.

Truth be told, Santino has never cared much for what the man thinks of him. Now that he has set his sights on all of New York, he can’t help but think that their fundamental differences will become more apparent than ever.

“There was some...dust to blow away,” he adds lightly with a dismissive hum, stepping past the man with a wave of his hand.

He’s trying but right now he’s not in the mood to try that hard.

He will make it right. With time, he will make it right.

You desperate fool, she doesn’t love you. She will never love you, a voice that sounds too much like his father hisses at him, and he strangles it the moment it comes.

He knows that now.

He...knows.

You still love him. Helped him. Forgiven him.

It will always be John Wick.

Always.

And yet.

And yet, it’s kinder to pretend that you love him as well. That you could.

Maybe he’s truly never stood a chance. Maybe he fooled himself into thinking that what he’s felt for so long wasn’t so one-sided after all. That in these last few weeks something hasn’t fundamentally changed between you yet again. That finally—finally—what he feels is being returned. No matter how small in capacity.

He thought he meant it when he said that he would be fine with you hating him.

But he doesn’t want you to.

He hopes you won’t.

He’s so used to taking, demanding, claiming that the concept of letting go is completely foreign to him.

It’s a lot harder than he ever could have anticipated.  

So although he doesn’t particularly care as to why Winston is here, he starts leading the man into a more private spot to give them privacy to talk regardless.

He strolls down the stairs slowly, knowing that Winston will follow as his hands slip into his pockets. Whatever the issue is, he would prefer it to be dealt with quickly.

“You can’t change everything at once,” the older man states from behind him. “There is a such thing as rules.”

Santino almost laughs, then.

Rules.

There are a great many things Santino wants to tell the man he can do with his rules. What have rules ever done for him other than gag him and make him miserable? Rules have taken his mother, rules have taken his father’s love, rules have taken the loving sister he remembers in hazy childhood memories, rules have kept you leashed to Tarasov for years; broken-hearted and alone.

He fucking loathes rules. If he could he would set the whole rule book up in smoke and delight in the destruction of it all.

He hums, soft and mocking, and glances towards the man once before looking away. “Rules are meant to be broken, Winston,” he tells him dispassionately.

“Not to those who live by them.”

He knows Winston means you to an extent. Though a part of Santino can’t help but wonder how the old man would take the news of how spectacularly you shredded the rule book in Chicago yourself.  

But more importantly, Winston means him.

Darling Johnathan.

For a brief second, Santino sees red.  

The hard-boiling feeling in the pit of his stomach spikes and the taste in his mouth sours.

The assassin’s refusal to honour the Marker, his unfounded rage at the gallery when they both knew that Santino had every right to his actions.

John Wick might be a man of honour and conviction and rules, but he broke one of the most important ones with startling ease. Broke it even after Santino told him that it could help to keep you safe.

“We are not in your hotel anymore,” he states flatly, glancing towards the manager, and there is an obvious hint of ice buried deep in his words. “Do not speak to me like a child. I set the rules now. If I need room service or a martini, I’ll let you know.”

Winston leans back slightly at those words, a hint of surprise there but it disappears quickly, and the following understanding only makes Santino angrier.

He doesn’t have the capacity for civility right now.

He turns away from the older man, continuing his trek down the stairs.

“You have a problem with tradition.”

It’s not a question and Santino just barely holds back a scoff.

“Tradition,” he bites out softly. “Is the enemy of progress.”

But he will reforge Camorra into something better, stronger.

He will wield the power he now has to create something that will survive long after he’s gone.

“And here’s me thinking it’s the opposite,” Winston notes quietly but Santino ignores him.

He leads them into a private VIP lounge, sitting himself down on the sofa at once. The seat is plush and comfortable as he stretches his arms and folds his legs. He tries to relax his taut muscles, projecting an air of indifference because he abhors how knowing Winston looks whenever he glances his way.

The man in question strolls towards the giant Shiva statue, gazing at it thoughtfully.

One of Winston’s guards stalks forward, placing a familiar leather-bound book on the table before respectfully stepping back.

Santino stares.

“What’s this?” he questions coolly.

“He completed the task,” Winston says, his voice bland as he turns to face him again. “The Marker is over. Mark it.”

Ah, yes.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Winston considers John his friend as well, though Santino is aware that the relation has…cooled somewhat after John’s retirement. After what the infamous assassin did to you.

“If Mr Wick isn’t dead already,” he replies, his words clipped, but feels little joy at the thought. “He soon will be.”

Winston takes a step down the stairs, then another, and his expression is oddly familiar. That exasperation is one Santino has seen directed his way many times before even though this is far more refined. Professional.

“Will you mark it, sir?” Winston asks with a slight, mocking bow and a gesture of his arm.

Santino briefly considers taking the damn ledger and throwing it into the fountain just to see those pretty pages become thick and soggy with water. Decades of immaculately kept records disintegrating in a blink of an eye.

But he wants this done quickly, wants Winston out of his hair even more.

He has two psychopaths to hunt down, and a city to bend to his will.

He stretches out, grabbing the Marker and opens the device, staring at the bloody imprint there.

So easy.

It all could have been so easy if John had just honoured the damn oath.

Santino may not be one for rules but what weighty reason did John have to refuse? None.

One job and then Santino would have never approached him after that. Would have preferred to never see him again, in fact.

Now though.

Now it’s as simple as repaying for the hurt he caused and the disrespect.

You’re destroying everything and you don’t even realise it.

Santino licks his lower lip and presses his thumb against the tiny metal needle, feeling the sharp sting. He hesitates for a second, letting the ruby liquid gather before he presses his finger into the Marker and then the ledger a moment later.

Marker completed.

“Whatever did V make of your little stunt?” Winston wonders suddenly, moving closer. His question is airy but the older man seems already amused by the possibilities. “I don’t imagine she was much impressed by your actions.”

Santino stills, and that slight hesitation costs him because Winston notes it at once and makes a sound at the back of his throat. Disbelieving, almost derisive.

“My, my,” he begins mildly and Santino lifts his head to look at him. His own expression is strained and Winston’s amusement mounts. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you? Do you think she will let you do this? They may have had their issues in the past but don’t underestimate just how much she still cares for Johnathan.”

Santino’s mouth twists but it’s not a smile. “I am not,” he professes icily, and Winston’s eyes narrow at that, considering him. “But I have everyone in New York looking for him. I doubt we will see him again. So even if she hates me. It is done now. The Lovers will be dead soon enough as well and then…”

And then you are free.

Truly free.

Even if you never see him again. Even if you will spend the rest of your days hating him—

It will be worth it.

He has to convince himself he will be able to live with that. With letting you go. With you hating him.  

Perhaps it’s for the better.      

“Do you now?” Winston muses with a raised eyebrow. “You stabbed the devil in the back and forced him into the life he has just left. Incinerated the priest’s temple. Burned it to the ground. Now that he’s free of the Marker, what do you think he’ll do?”

Santino doesn’t reply but the fury he feels churns in his stomach. As if John Wick needs someone else to stand in defence of him. Poor, old Johnathan.

“He had a glimpse of the other side, and he embraced it,” Winston continues smoothly. “But you signor D’Antonio took it away from him.”

“He was already back.”

Winston releases a short breath. “Oh, he came back for love, not for you.”

Love?

What right does John Wick have to destroy in the name of his so-called love?

If that’s what love is, then he should set this world on fire for you.  

“He owed me. I had every right,” he hisses lowly, rising from his seat abruptly and feels the rage like liquid fire scorching through his veins. “Or have you forgotten what he has done? How he has dragged her into his messes over and over again? Have you forgotten what his actions have wrought, hm? ‘If she continues on like this, she will die.’ Those were your words when you called me before the Chicago job. If it weren’t for what we did, she would be gone and it would have been his fault.”

“And what about (Name)?”

Santino exhales sharply at the quiet question, confused.

“What?”

Winston’s eyebrows arch and he stares at Santino for a few seconds. But there, carefully hidden behind that calm facade lays a question and a warning laced with piercing sort of ice.

“Should I be expecting a contract in her name as well?” Winston questions lightly with a slight curl of his lips. “You know full well that once she learns about this, she might turn against you. Grow to resent you for it. She will certainly not just stand by and let it happen. And if she turns away, betrays you, what then? Will you put a price on her head as well? If you can’t have her, no one can, is that it?”

Every word is merciless as it is piercing. Ruthlessly straightforward. Yet every single syllable rips at something inside him expertly, almost like finely measured knives sinking deep.

He’s been so focused on all the best case scenarios he has never taken a moment to consider the worst case ones.

Vengeance.

When John dies…

I think that if we met first, it would have been very easy to fall in love with you.

He wishes more than anything that had been the case.

He wishes he was back in that awful, smelly diner with you and half-melted, too sweet ice cream between you. He wishes he had said more than I believe it is because you adore me, no?

He wishes he could pause that moment and stay in it forever because your lack of denial, the slight grin on your face, the soft crinkling around your eyes—all those details have created one of the happiest moments in his life.

Second only to his last birthday.

No father, no titles, no Tarasov, no John.

Just you, his home, and no expectations.

“I would never harm her,” he says and doesn’t recognise the thick timber of his own voice. “Never.”

The memory of you being dragged unconscious from the rubble of those destroyed tunnels, bloodied and still, haunts every single one of his nightmares now. Haunts his every thought, too.

I’m not yours to lose, Santino.

He knows that too.

Winston is silent for a long moment, his judging stare drilling into him with such intensity it almost reminds him of his father.

The older man makes a small sound at the back of his throat as if weighting Santino’s words before reaching down and slamming the ledger closed, taking it into his arms.

“I’ll admit Mr D’Antonio,” he begins conversationally, glancing up and meeting his stare as he straightens. “When I first learned of your interest in V, I warned her against you. Repeatedly. I saw nothing more than another powerful, conceited man who believes that the world is his playground. Your track record tells a rather colourful tale of use and disregard, and she doesn’t need more pain in her life. I believed for a long time that your care has been nothing more than a well-crafted manipulation. A game. That you are in it for the long con. But now, I confess, you have even me wondering.”

Santino swallows, shifting under the man’s shrewd stare.

“For your sake,” he goes on coldly, tucking the leather book under his arm. “I hope that whatever you do have with her is genuine. Because right now she might be your only hope. If you have any to begin with,” he intones with an aloof expression and salutes him. “Adios, Santino.”

The man turns to go, and Santino remains standing in the same spot for a long time after he’s gone. 

Hope is a foreign emotion to him.

He has grown up ruthlessly wringing it out of his heart.

Lessons about what it is to be Camorra, what it is to be an heir to an empire of bloodshed and death, were taught to him early. Ingrained into him when he should have been free to be a child. The very first came when he was still just a boy.

His mother’s screams—

“Why the long face?”

Santino blinks slowly, coming back to the present, and his head turns.

The smirking figure approaching him is at the bottom of the list of people he would like to see right now. Or ever.

“What are you doing here?” he demands harshly, not in the mood for pleasantries. “You haven’t been summoned.”

Hector’s smirk stretches, the familiar bright blue of his eyes practically glowing in the candlelight as the man takes another long drag of his cigarette. He moves past the spot where Santino has been sitting since Winston’s earlier departure, and throws the remains of the cigarette into the fountain before turning to face him again.

“Summoned?” the man echoes, amused. “That’s cute. I’m here on orders.”

“Whose?”

Hector strolls closer, undoing his jacket button before he drops on the seat opposite to him, stretching till his legs come to rest on the table separating them.

Santino doesn’t bite though. The disrespect scrapes against his already worn temper but he leashes it. He will not give Hector the satisfaction.

“Your sister’s and the council’s,” the man responds and blinks innocently, his amusement barely contained. “Oh. My condolences by the way. Or whatever.”

Santino sits up unhurriedly, a mass of simmering rage. “Use that tone one more time and I’ll strip you of your title.”

Hector might have been his father’s beloved little pet, his right hand, but he has Ares. He could never imagine trusting anyone but her to be on his side. Even with the brunette’s displeasure with the unfolding situation.

Hector, despite his many talents, is not necessary to him personally.

“Oh dear, someone’s in a bad mood,” Hector drawls lazily, his lips stretching in delight. “But leave the threat making to V, yeah? The wildcat at least sounds convincing. Though the fact you didn’t know I’m in town is telling. Had a little spat, did you? Not a lovers’ spat because, well, you’re not really lovers, are you?”

Santino keeps his expression steely, unmoved, but Hector digs deeper, not that he expected the leader of the Elite’s to do any less.

“Wow, how long has it been now?” he muses loudly, even though they both know exactly how long it’s been. “Six years, was it? No wonder you’re such an uptight little bastard. Biggest blue balls of the century.”

Santino’s mouth curves into something unfriendly, biting. “That’s the second time,” he notes mildly. “There won’t be a third. Don’t forget who you answer to now, hm?”

“Not you. Not yet.”

Not yet indeed. But soon.

“What were your orders?” Santino questions instead.

The man before him fiddles with the lighter between his large fingers, his Camorra rings clicking dully against the metal. “To make sure you don’t do anything stupid but…my bad, I guess, huh?”

The council no doubt.

He faced quite the uproar after the news of his vow to you reached the family.

Gianna’s reaction had been simpler, more surprising.

I’ve been expecting it, little brother.  

“You have new orders now.”

The strong curve of Hector’s eyebrows quirks.  

“Do tell.”

Santino wastes no time. “The Lovers. I want you to bring me their heads.”

Remove those deranged puppets from the game.

As for the Dragon. Oh, he has plans for them. Once he takes his seat, he’s going to tear the Dragon to pieces. He will find out who knows about Chicago and bury them all. One by one.

“What’s wrong with her?” Hector speaks up suddenly, still focusing on his lighter. When Santino doesn’t reply, the man lifts his gaze back to him and sighs, irritated. “Fine, let me rephrase: your pretty viper is better than those two French shitheads with loose marbles knocking around their heads. So what’s the issue? Why didn’t she just turn them into drooling goo?”

Because these last few weeks have been hitting you hard. Because he’s been trying to help you but that damned wall keeps him at bay.

Because there is a separation between you now.  

“There were…complications,” he phrases cautiously, his voice thin, guarded. “Things are, ah, difficult for her right now.”

Hector stares at him, considering his words before he snorts and sits up too, dragging his feet down from the table. He rolls the lighter between his fingers as he peers at Santino for a charged moment.

“Difficult, huh?” he repeats, his gravelly voice twisting his words into something meaner. “Well fuck me. You would think her life being threatened would inspire her to stop her pity party.”

Oh, Santino can take insults just fine.

He’s been hearing them directed his way all his life.

But you—

“Careful,” he warns, his tone icy, as something volatile churns in his stomach. “You speak about her like that again, and I’ll do more than strip your title.”

Hector falls quiet at that. For some time, the two of them simply gaze at each other, sizing the other up.  

“Tell me, Santi,” the man before him begins breezily, curious. “When exactly did you realise that you loved her? Hm? I mean, do you really think this story is going to have a happy ending? Your father adored your mother. Sun rose and set with her but their story still ended in blood and death.”

He’s had enough.

Santino rises to his feet, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stares down at the man before him with a stony expression.

“You have your orders. And you will obey.”

Hector’s head tilts to the side and he rises to his feet too, stretching to his full height.

He’s taller, and stronger, and could likely kill him with his bare hands, too.

But Santino finds that he doesn’t care.

Right now, with everything going on, he feels like he could crush this world in his bare fist and delight in the savagery of it all.

“Why?” the other man asks, his voice bored.

Santino smiles.

That calm that he’s seen you use so many times—the mask, the construct of control—he grasps onto it now.

He lets it guide him, cooling the volcano of raging fury inside of him.

“Because I am Camorra now,” he states calmly, pleasantly, still smiling and something flickers across Hector’s expression. Surprise, perhaps. “Because I do not care if you like me or respect me as your new boss. You will obey because you are sworn to do so, yes? Because if you think even for a second that I will tolerate your disobedience, then you are wrong. You may believe yourself to be above command, Hector, but I am the command now and I say that you aren’t. È chiaro, hm?”

Hector straightens, his wide shoulders rotating back.

Then the Devil of Camorra bares his teeth at him.

“You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” he says idly, his smile disappearing in a blink, leaving something more barren and brutal behind. “Well if you insist. Boss.”

The man brushes off invisible dust off the sleeve of his jacket and with another deride little smile turns to go.

You have no idea what’s coming, do you?

Right now she might be your only hope. If you have any to begin with.

“Hector.”

The man pauses with an exaggerated sigh of impatience, turning to look at him over his shoulder.

Santino meets his expectant stare.

“One more thing.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, John. I’m very far from okay.”

There isn’t enough strength in you to pretend that you are.

Yesterday was a nightmare that you want to wipe from your mind. So much so, that the usual joy you feel at being back in New York doesn’t come. Not even a whisper of it.

You’ve barely spoken more than few words to John on the flight back, and despite his silent worry, he’s been giving you room to sort through your thoughts.

You’re not sure what rests on your mind more heavily.

Gianna, Cassian or Santino.

It feels like a mix of all of them.

I swear.

But if we ever meet again, I will kill you myself.

I was a fool, a fool to think that you could ever love me.

Your head is pounding and no thought seems to linger for longer than an inconsequential second at the time.

This morning you asked after Cassian but Julius has told you that the man has departed already. Ares, too, was absent.

“If you need a place to stay—”

Your phone pings, cutting John’s words off and you frown. You’ve just switched it on minutes prior before pushing it deep into your pocket to give it time to turn on and catch the signal properly.

You pull it out, opening the message, a slight frown contorts your features when you spot the number on your screen.

Then, horror locks every single muscle in your body, making you stagger to a stop with a horrified exhale.

-

OPEN CONTRACT: JOHN WICK

7 MILLION USD

BY: SANTINO D’ANTONIO

-

“No. No, no, no,” you mutter, your mouth dry, and a roar in your head. “What did you do, Santino? What did you do? Why—”

John steps close, his hand coming to rest on your trembling one.

His wedding ring fills your vision and you flinch away from his touch.

“What’s wrong?”

You can’t look at him, clenching your phone tighter in your fist as you breathe harshly.

“Santino opened a contract. For your head.”

He’s quiet for several moments.

“How much?”

His voice is gruff and when you meet his stare that familiar grimness on his face chills you.

No—

No—you can’t—

You force your tongue to move. “I need to talk with him.”

“(Name),” John addresses you flatly, his dark eyes firm.

But you’re not listening because you know—

You know—

He will—

Why Santino? Why?

I can finally give you the freedom you always dreamt of. It was worth any price for me, even your hatred.

“Get somewhere safe,” your words are a croak, frayed and hurried. “Lay low. I can—I can get him to take it back.”

John reaches for you again, his fingers settling against your forearm as he peers at you. He almost looks regretful.

“You can’t. You know you can’t,” he tells you but you only shake your head. “He didn’t listen before and he won’t listen now. There is only one way to get him to take it back now.”

You wrench yourself away from him, stepping back.

“No. He will. He will listen to me,” you whisper, a touch frantic, trying to force yourself to believe it. “He has to—he—he will listen to me. Just give me time. Please, John. I need to talk with him. Go. I’ll find you when it’s done. Go!”

You stumble backwards with every step and ignore John calling for you as you turn in the opposite direction, heading towards the penthouse instead.

Your phone feels slippery between your fingers as you try to dial Santino’s number, half-jogging through the streets.

The line rings, rings, ring—

“Shit!”

Dread flows through your veins as you hurry to text Ares number instead.

Your shoulder knocks against someone and you move to push past them—

Heat erupts around you, the shock wave of the thunderous explosion ripping you right off your feet.

Your body flies to the side, and the impact of your body hitting the nearby car rattling through every bone in your body.

White burns behind your eyes—

Then everything goes dark.  

Humming drags you back from the depths of inky darkness.

You suppress a groan, your body growing taut when you realise that you can’t move your hands or legs.

They’re bound.

A shallow, barely controlled breath escapes you at the vicious stab of a too familiar memory.

You’ve been in this type of situation before. None of those times ended well.

The feeling of disorientation persists but you try to drag it away slowly; little by little, to get a better grasp of what your situation currently is.

Inside your head you count obsessively like a mantra, trying to keep yourself steady, grounded.

The humming continues; a gentle, melodic sound that would be soothing under different circumstances.

The bones in your neck creak when you slant your head upwards, blinking your eyes open. The left side of your temple is pounding from the impact with the car and you suppress an agonised groan.

The humming ceases at your shifting.

“And the sleeping beauty awakens.”

Gritting your teeth, you slant your head forward, and glare.

“Hello, Lucien.”

. . .

an: I love me a good “everything goes to shit” chapter :D

leave it to john to say more in this one chapter than he likely did in this entire fic combined lmao. but the J/V scene has been long in the making (and one of the biggest reasons for the block with this chapter because I knew it had to live up to the expectation so I hope it did ahhhhh). I also hope it didn’t seem too OOC for him to speak this much but he certainly is a man who speaks only when necessary and I still tried to carry his blunt manner across. Keep his story to facts only. 

as for santi, well, I dragged john’s character flaws through the mud and it’s only fair I do the same with him, too. santino’s actions are certainly justified but it doesn’t make them right. 

and finally v. oh man, this has been building up for a while now but this is the chapter where you can really see the cracks starting to appear. she is in the worst possible position right now because she is directly in the middle of the conflict and has an emotional investment in all sides. she is quite literally being torn apart. please give her a hug. damn :/

wow, if you are still reading. thank you. thank you. thank you. these chapters are, as always, as much for me as they are for you. love you all lots and thank you for your support <33 

#john wick #john wick x reader #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick fic #santino d'antonio #john wick imagine #riccardo scamarcio #keanu reeves #fic: children of ares

[bettsfic]

Hello! Can I have a piece of advice regarding descriptions when it comes to writing? I think my paragraphs seem bland and lack powerful descriptions that pull the readers in. I can’t seem to describe well a certain place or figure since I’m having a hard time in incorporating the five senses when writing.

i’m sorry to say, anon, this is the eternal problem. (unless you are a poet writing prose, and then description is probably the only thing that isn’t a problem.)

here are some tips that are not necessarily “here’s how you should do it” but “here’s some stuff you could try.”

save it for another draft/layer it in

i almost never put imagery into my first two drafts. description gets woven in over time. think of it the way an artist begins a painting. usually they sketch it out on canvas before they begin painting. then, the first layer of paint is bold shapes, and after layer upon layer, you begin to see the finer details. 

if you force yourself to think about description AND conflict AND character AND dialogue AND pacing AND voice AND style all at once, you’re going to exhaust yourself. when writing, you can only do so much at once. having a whole draft where the goal is to spot places to add exposition is very helpful in minimizing the pressure early on.

consider both relevance and familiarity

the sad difference between consciousness and prose, as much as consciousness sometimes wants to be prose and vice versa, is that consciousness is not linear, and only a single translation from Environment to Brain needs to occur.

prose, however, must be linear. you can only read one letter of one sentence at a time. moreover, it’s translated twice: Environment to Brain, then Brain to Squiggly Black Lines On A Page. it is an astronomical effort to turn consciousness into prose, and we do it all the time. i’m doing it right now.

i have a whole 2-hour Brief Intro to Semiotics (and how it relates to prose) lecture that i’ll skip in order to reach the conclusion: when you are writing, description can be narrowed down into 1) relevance and 2) unfamiliarity.

by relevance i mean, what does the POV character notice and attend to? what is necessary to know in order to move the plot forward? 

by unfamiliarity i mean, it’s a waste of word count to have your character go into the bathroom and point out that there is a toilet. when you write “bathroom” (or lavatory, loo, washroom, etc.) your reader, regardless of who or where they are, will know a toilet is in that room. 

however, let’s say it’s the very first scene in your story. your character goes into the bathroom, hands shaking as they topple a bottle of pills into their palm. describing the bathroom goes a long way in setting the scene. is the place dirty? small? does it smell? stalls or no? is the lock broken? 

if you describe an opulent bathroom complete with velvet couch, underpaid attendant, and sensor-based faucets, that tells me a lot about the potential circumstance of this character. rich maybe? at a party? a banquet?

if you describe a dingy small gas station bathroom with graffiti on the walls, that tells me the character is traveling, maybe. or desperate somehow. what would lead somebody to take drugs in a gas station bathroom? it’s unexpected. unfamiliar. it leads to the conflict. 

describe things using movement and active verbs

a narrative always exists in space and time, and possesses some kind of movement. stories always start somewhere and end somewhere. so it stands to reason that your description should move with the action. and to make description move, you often need to employ effective verbs.

“there was a green chair” is a still-life. nothing is really happening. it’s just a fact. “she sat in the green chair” gives us the image of an action. a character is sitting in a chair which is green. is it important the chair is green? i hope so. maybe there is also a red chair, and these colors are symbolic of something or whatever. 

also consider the stacking of adjectives: “there was a green, plastic, small, wobbly chair” could maybe be “the green plastic chair wobbled as she sat. it was too small for her, and the sides dug uncomfortably into her ample backside.” that’s terrible, but you get my point. hopefully. you See far more in the latter than the former, in part because the description is moving along with the story.

make stuff move, or make people move stuff. let verbs do your heavy lifting.

read poetry

a lot of poetry is just images stacked on top of one another. poets are masters of description. if you want to learn how to craft an image with words, read poetry until your eyes bleed. whenever you read a line or stanza and it conjures a specific picture in your brain that your brain would otherwise not have conjured, take a closer look and figure out how they did that. teach yourself how the strings are pulled.

you probably need less description than you think you do

ever since a mentor once looked me dead in the eye and said of my work, “it’s pretty but i don’t see anything,” i’ve been busting my ass to drench all my prose with beautiful and loving imagery. (in his defense, the assignment he had given me was, in fact, to write a story full of description. i did not, because it turns out i could not.)

i’ve had mixed results. mostly i end up with a bloated word count and a lot of ways to envision sunlight falling onto a bed through half-closed blinds. i’m not proud. 

in my most recent project, however, i finally (FINALLY) made a main character who doesn’t notice jack shit. as an observant and perceptive person, i find this abhorrent, but she is not me. she is an angry teenage girl who doesn’t give a fuck about anything that is not an immediate threat or prize. 

so after years desperately flooding my narration with description, i leaned the opposite direction. i’m good at voice and style. i prioritized voice and style. and here’s what happened:

nothing.

i say my story is set in the suburbs, you don’t then need a whole extra paragraph about uniform houses and checker-cut lawns. you already know what a suburb looks like. if i say 70s style kitchen, you don’t need me to tell you the oven is burnt orange. you either made that leap yourself, or it doesn’t matter enough to know. if i say my characters are having a conversation in a diner, you can already see the vinyl booths and shit on the walls and tacky laminated menu. if i say my characters have landed on Omicron Persei 8, i might need to roll up my sleeves and tell you what that place is like. 

the thing is, even if i didn’t, you’d still think up something. 

the only reason i would describe something is if it’s particularly special to my narrator, insofar that she would go against her god-given right to be a total dumbass in order to Notice Something. does that make the story more difficult to read? no, it just means the reader either makes their own image, or uses no image at all. because that’s what description does: it specifies. absent of specifics, the human mind supplies. 

#writing advice #description #imagery #Anonymous

[producer-miss-chips]

Analyzing Helios’s Words- About Kiro and Helios’s Origin Story

Please be warned that this theory includes spoilers from a few of Kiro's dates and from the general story!

So after finishing Chapter 21, I decided to try and share this theory that started when I heard Helios's words.

The writing here made it clear that Helios is speaking from personal experience. His words are a mix of earnestness, harshness and worry.

And since Helios is actually Kiro (somewhat xD), we can infer from that a bit more about Kiro's past.

Discerning Kiro's Past

From bits of information we learn throughout the dates and stories, it's clear Kiro grew up alone. He hints to that a few times: whether the fact that he doesn't know his own birthday, (as seen on his "Birthday Date"), the fact that he always had to spend holidays and birthdays alone (as seen in "New Spring Date" and "Confession Date"), or his story of wishing to "not always be alone" (in his "Old Friend Date").

In his "Confession Date", Kiro pretty much says this fact outright:

(Screenshot from Lucien's Wife's Youtube channel.)

In this screenshot, I want to point out one more thing: the start of his sentence.

"My memory may be a little hazy..."

Psychology has proven that when someone experiences something very traumatic, their body may try and forget what happened and when. So the fact that Kiro experiences memory problems about his childhood, may mean that he went through some pretty harsh stuff as a kid. These experiences were so scarring, his body decided that it was better to forget them than remember.

I mean, just the fact that he had to spend his whole childhood alone is really harsh. He literally had no one to turn to. You can really see that in his story in "Old Friend Date".

We know Kiro had a mentor who was really important to him. Kiro may not talk about him a lot, but from the little we've seen, it's not hard to see how much he influenced Kiro's life. Heck, he even named Kiro.

It almost seems like this guy was Kiro's father, in some way. Or the closest thing to a father figure that Kiro had.

But then he disappeared, and Kiro was left all alone. For years Kiro never really had someone he truly trusted. YEARS. Only when MC entered his life again, did he finally have someone he could lean on.

It's impossible to go through such a harsh experience without being affected. You have to develop some way to cope with it, and Kiro found his way: happiness, love and music.

But that doesn't mean the darker part doesn't exist.

And that's where Helios comes in.

Kiro vs. Helios

As said before, it's impossible to go through something traumatic without getting scarred. And, if you miraculously manage to survive what you went through, you learn to develop a thick hide.

Both Kiro and Helios show signs of this: Kiro in a more subtle way (he never complains, for instance), while Helios... is outright about it (does he even try to hide his harsh behavior?).

Everyone has a dark side: even angels like Kiro. Helios is this side, a person that stemmed from everything Kiro experienced. He's the side Kiro hides, and he shows us our blonde angel has a lot more depth than it may seem on the surface.

After everything Kiro experienced, he had a choice: do the hard thing and be kind to everyone, in order to fix what he went through; or close off and just stay away from any person who could be a threat. Kiro chose to go the kind way, spreading love and laughter to everyone. That doesn't mean that he couldn't have chosen the latter. It doesn't mean that he doesn't feel Helios inside him. If that was the case, how could Kiro even become Helios?

(As mentioned in this theory, the Helios in chapters 20-21 may actually be who Kiro would have become if he didn't choose this path.)

And then, we have the rest of Helios's words.

For convenience purposes, I'm dividing this into parts:

Use your strength, every method you can think of.

As pointed out before, both Helios and Kiro have strengths. Kiro's strength, being kind against all odds, may be less appreciated, but that doesn't make him any less impressive. And that doesn't make Helios's cold facade bad, either. It just means that they have different advantages:

Kiro has the strength to overcome his demons and give to others against all odds.

Helios has the strength to make sure others don't mess with him.

So when Kiro's strengths don't work out, he reverts to Helios and vice-versa. That's how, at the end of the day, Kiro uses all his strength. He knows one way is never the complete answer, so he has no problem trying the other way too.

The difference in these situations is which side is more dominant: the light one, or the dark one; Kiro, or Helios.

For example, the story shows us how Kiro is tangled up in Black Swan, even after he chose the path of kindness. From the endings of some of the earlier chapters, we can see quite enough proof: how Kiro wrote Helios's name in something relating to Black Swan, how Helios shows up amongst the organization, and many more.

I mean, in Chapter 17 Kiro says he fights Black Swan for MC. He had to have some way, some connection to them for him to do that, right?

These facts further prove my point: Kiro was never completely perfect. He always had a Helios side to him, MC just never got to see it. And, maybe, we can say the same about Helios: he was never completely bad. Otherwise, how would the Kiro moment have happened in Chapter 17?

My conclusion from this part, and this sentence of Helios, is that over here we can see how Kiro navigates the world. He uses the strengths of both his identities, and by that is flexible enough to use any method he can think of (Kiro method vs. Helios method) to do it.

That way, he learned not to be weak.

Abandon your past... even abandon yourself.

Kiro never really talks about his past. He prefers living in the moment, spending the best time he can with MC. And when he does mention a tidbit about his experiences, it's in one of two situations:

A casual mention or something he could laugh off.

When he's at his most vulnerable with MC.

Examples for the first part can be when he first mentions he doesn't know his birthday in the "Birthday Date". The way he said it sounded a lot like a happy coincidence. "Hey, since I don't really know my own birthday, let's celebrate our birthdays together!"

As you can see, this harsh fact is hidden very well in his words. He could've said it in a self-pitying way, but he chose not to. It almost seems like he's afraid of being 100% vulnerable with MC.

We'll get to that later, but first let me point out an example for one of Kiro's vulnerable.

In Kiro's "Old Friend Date", he tells MC a lot about how lonely he felt when he was 16. It's a heartbreaking story: he was just a kid, making his second album, but still felt lost. Because he had no one to guide him. So one day, he went to the shrine and wished to not always be alone.

Pay attention to the wording: Kiro didn't ask not to be alone, he asked not to always be alone. This word may not seem like much, but it shows a lot.

In his position, no one would blame Kiro if he would have wished not to be alone. But the angel was so desperate, he asked to not always be alone. That's the equivalent of saying "I know this may be an inconvenience to you, so I'll make it easier on you. I'm not asking to have someone constantly by my side, but I need someone to spend at least a bit of time with. Please."

The reason I'm emphasizing how harsh his reality was, is to raise awareness to this part, and how much Kiro downplays the whole story:

The moment Kiro sees the gravity of his story sink in, he laughs it off. Notice the amount of reasons he gave as to why MC shouldn't worry.

I was purposely exaggerating to make it interesting.

I was a teenager. I didn't know what I was doing. Now I'm much more mature! It was just something stupid that would never bother me today.

He was so desperate for MC not to take him at his word, that he gave two reasons as to why she shouldn't make a big deal out of it. Once again, Kiro does this, even if he was vulnerable at the start.

And even in other moments, where he's completely vulnerable with MC, he changes the topic really quickly. The moment the information sinks in, he's already changed the topic, laughing as if nothing ever happened.

So, in both situations mentioned above, we see how Kiro is never fully vulnerable. This means two things:

Kiro has trust issues because of his experiences.

He prefers running away from his past.

We already touched conclusion 1 before (somewhat), so for this we'll address only conclusion number two. It's an important point we'll come back to later.

Helios is a completely different story.

In the short amount of time MC spent with Helios, we learned almost as much as we did in all the time with Kiro. Just see how much Helios hinted to in these few sentences.

So saying that he's running from his past would be a lie. On the contrary: I think Helios is so connected to his past, he won't let anyone in. He just can't ignore the warnings his traumas whisper in his ear.

But there's one thing Helios does run away from, and that's himself.

One of the first recurring things Helios tells MC is "I'm NOT Kiro". In Chapter 17, every time MC mentions that possibility he denies it: over, and over, and over again. And at the end of MC's time with Kiro (in that chapter), when Kiro turns bavk to Helios, it describes how the tenderness in Kiro's eyes is replaced with cold apathy.

If Helios completely forgets what he, as Kiro, felt toward MC, I think it's safe to say that he's turning his back on himself.

So while we could say that Kiro is abandoning his past, Helios abandons himself.

And now, for the last sentence:

Helios is right. If MC can't survive in this cruel world, the harsh place he endured, then she has no place to be there. Because he grew up in a dog-eats-dog world, where every day was a fight.

And that is why Kiro chose to sacrifice himself for her, as stated in Chapter 17. He knew that harsh world didn't suit MC. He wanted her to stay safe and live in her bubble of happiness, give her a bit of peace and quiet, while HE faced the cruelty MC was fighting.

While Kiro did transform to Helios a few times before Chapter 14, it seems like it was for short bursts. But now, his transformation is for much longer: and it's all for MC.

But he can't protect MC forever, and it seems like Helios has started to realize that.

Thank you for reading this theory/analysis! I hope you liked it, and I'd love to hear what you think! ❤

#mlqc #mr love: queen's choice #mr love queen's choice #mlqc kiro #mlqc theories #mlqc analysis #mlqc helios #mlqc spoilers #mr love spoilers #mr love kiro #mr love helios #mr love #kiro x mc #kiro x producer #chapter 21

[bibuckbuckley]

something wretched about this (something so precious about this)- A Vera x Hamish Fic

Alternatively called Caught: A Vera x Hamish Fic

A/N: Sorry it took a while but I finally finished a prompt! This ended up bringing two prompts in one so hopefully that’s okay. Also it got way longer than I expected. Hopefully it turned out okay.

Prompts: Hamish and Vera (madly but like subtly (or not) in love- from  @upsetpizzaaaa

Everyone walks in on Hamish and Vera- from @nerdgenie:

Warning: It starts a little angsty but then gets more lighthearted. 

Enjoy :)

________________________________________________________________

They really needed to stop doing this. Meaning, that he and Vera needed to stop having sex in her office, not that they needed to stop having sex in general. They had way too many close calls for comfort and even though everyone practically already knew, both of them had agreed to keep their...relationship private. So they really needed to stop doing it in a place where anyone could just waltz right in while they were in a...compromising position. Though they also frequented both her place and his apartment, those were more for when they had made plans in advance and/or wanted to stay the night. The reliquary was more...convenient since both Vera and even Hamish for the past few months spent more time at the temple than anywhere else.  Often either dealing with the latest Order business or researching the current threat against them all. Even though after the breaches stopped where they ended up spending more time at the other’s places, more often than not they still found themselves having stolen moments in her office. Usually it was either after another failed attempt of getting Vera’s magic back or when seeing the beautiful bar in the temple’s lounge became too tempting for Hamish and his sobriety. 

This time it was a little mix between the two. 

Vera had started to close in on herself after the latest spell they had tried to get her powers back also didn’t work. She had looked so...broken. Definitely not like the powerful woman, with or without magic, whom Hamish had grown to care for way too quickly for his liking. Yet, at the same time, he knew the significance of her showing him such open vulnerability and selfishly relished in it. He relished in the fact that Vera was opening up to him, showing the sides to her that she deemed “weak”, not in the fact that she was hurting in a way that he couldn’t seem to help. 

It reminded Hamish too much of Cassie. Of the times where the hunt to stop bad magic got too much, dealing with yet another loss pack member because of it. To anyone else, she was a poised pack leader, ready to fight for their cause no matter the cost. To him, he saw much, much more than that. In retrospect, that was probably one of the many reasons why he was so drawn to Vera in the first place, even when she was the enemy. Apparently his type was older strong, powerful women leaders who often felt like they had the weight of the world on their shoulders but didn’t show it. It was moments like those, where Vera looked so lost without her magic like she was about to give up, where the reminders of Cassie got too much for Hamish and all he wanted was to go to the lounge’s bar and get himself lost in all of his favorite cocktails. 

Only he didn’t.

Instead, Hamish had followed Vera into her office before closing the door behind them with the snap of his fingers and watched as she sunk into her chair, her eyes looking into empty nothingness. He had ended up kneeling down in front of her and gently touched her cheek, making her turn to catch his gaze. Instead of recoiling away like she had the first time he tried to comfort her, she sunk further into his touch. 

“Listen to me.” He had fiercely told her. “You are still a powerful and terrifying woman, with or without your magic.”

A small smile had appeared on her face and shone brightly in her eyes at his words. She had then turned away from his grasp, leaving his arm to fall on his side, and cleared her throat. “Even if that may be. The council is going to find out sooner or later. And when they do...” Vera hadn’t finished her sentence, but she didn’t have to.

They wouldn’t allow her to be the Grand Magus, or even to still be a part of the Order of The Blue for that matter. The least damage they would do would be erasing her memories of her entire life in the Order, like she had done with him and the rest of the Knights. However, he knew that in the Order’s eyes, Vera had been very lenient on them when she had done it.  If most or even some of the council members were like Kepler, then they’d might want to kill Vera and be done with it, not wanting to risk someone with that much information on the Order to get in the wrong hands. 

“Hey,” Hamish had said, taking her hand within his, “look at me.”

Normally Vera would scold him for telling her, the Grand Magus, what to do. Instead, she had turned to look at him again with an annoyed expression on her face that didn’t hide the sadness and fear in her eyes. “What?”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” 

She gave him an incredulous look, “Oh really? How do you manage to do that? We’re nowhere close to finding a way to get my magic back and you can only use magic for me to stay face for too long.”

“Well, I think my acting has improved.” He teased to which she rolled her eyes. Hamish then placed his free hand on her cheek again, and began to say in a more serious tone, “I’ll make sure no one finds out even if it’s the last thing I do. And we will find a way to get your magic back. Mark my words.” 

Her eyes shone with such emotion that he had the pleasure of being one of the few people to witness. “Why do you care so much? Why would you risk everything for me?”

Hamish gave her a small smile that hopefully told her everything that he couldn’t fully say yet. He then took her hand that he had still been holding and lifted it up towards him before placing his lips against her soft skin. He put all of the feelings that he had felt for her as much as he possibly could in that one kiss. At her barely audible gasp of pleasure, Hamish tilted his head to meet her gaze. “I think you know why.”

And just like that, their mouths and bodies had swiftly collided.

It usually would be rough and hungry with both of them exhilaratingly fighting for dominance, Tundra loving the push and pull as well. But then she’d eventually take over and he’d always happily oblige. Though this time had still been similar, it had been slower, both taking their time to discover each other’s bodies on top of her desk like it was their first time doing so. There were moments where it was still rough and hungry and then others where they were slow and tender, depending on which emotion they wanted to get out at the moment. Whether it was from their individual emotional turmoil or their feelings towards each other, they poured it all out. 

Nothing else existed. Only Vera. And their bodies colliding together in perfect harmony and euphoria.

Usually Hamish would be able to get lost in the Grand Magus but be alert enough to use his keen wolf senses to detect if anyone was coming before it was too late. They had a little more close calls recently since he also had to use his magic to quickly make themselves and her office look unruffled. But they had always made it just in time before getting caught. 

Only, this time their luck had finally run out. 

Unlike those other times, Hamish had completely gotten so lost in Vera that even if he had heard someone coming or Tundra’s warnings, he hadn’t even noticed. Which was why when the doors flew open, they didn’t have any time to separate before the entire pack caught them in an extremely compromising position. 

“Shit.” Hamish breathed out as both he and Vera quickly tore themselves from each other as he both heard Randall and Jack make two completely different kinds of noises of shock. 

Vera then quickly grabbed the nearest piece of clothing and covered as much as she could before nudging his shoulder. He tore his gaze from the gaping mouths of his friends to catch her expectant look. 

“Clothing spell.” The Grand Magus ordered him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was, but Hamish was also used to being naked in front of his fellow knights and the thought didn’t occur to him as quickly as it would have if anyone else caught them. 

But then once she gave him the command, it completely sunk in that they all had caught him naked with Vera. He then quickly spoke the incantation that put anything that they had messed up back in their places, including their clothes. 

“I knew it!” Randall exclaimed, pointing his finger toward the pair both out of accusation and triumph. He then turned his attention to his fellow wolves. “You all owe me 50 bucks each.”

“We agreed to no such thing, Babe.” Gabrielle replied first, arm intertwined with his as she checked her nails on her other hand, not seeming to be phased by the current situation.

 He gave her an incredulous look like she said that 2+2=5. “Uh, yeah we did.”

“No we didn’t.” Jack interjected, who had his hand covering his eyes and his back facing Hamish and Vera. “You said and I quote ‘I bet you 50 bucks that Hamish and Vera are doing it’. And I said ‘I’d rather turn myself into a tree again than find out’.”

“And I said that I didn’t give two flying shits.” Lilith chimed in. “I’m just glad that it seems like Hamish is having an active sex life again.”

“Thanks, Lil.” Hamish gave her a small tight smile, wanting to be anywhere but there. If they had caught him with anyone else, then he’d take their teasing in stride. But this was the Grand Magus. And Vera Stone, with or without the esteemed title, wasn’t like anyone else. 

Gabrielle interrupted his thoughts with a bored sigh. “And I said that they are obviously screwing each other so I definitely wasn’t going to bet against you.” She then turned her attention toward Jack and rolled her eyes. “Jack, you can turn around now. They’re fully clothed.”

“I don’t wanna.” He huffed, reminding Hamish of a little kid. 

Randall wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulder, “Come on, Dude. I thought you were way passed the whole ‘only-child-shy-around-naked-people’ thing?”

“It’s not that. I’d just rather not see Hamish and Vera all,” he visibly shuddered, “post sex and shit.” 

The two in question turned to look at each other, both silently ready to end this little conversation about their personal sex life with the entire pack. 

However, Randall responded to Jack before they could. “Ohhhh. I get it, Buddy. This is awkward for you because you see Vera like some weird hot mom figure. And no one wants to see their parental figure getting all hot and sweaty with their friend.”

“That is enough, Mr. Carpio.” Vera finally spoke up, using her ‘sexy Grand Magus in charge’ tone, as Hamish secretly liked to call it. She then as gracefully as possible, slid down off of her desk before straightening her clothes. The Grand Magus then stood behind her chair and clasped her hands together, looking as regal as ever. “I think we can all be civilized adults here. So can you please act like it and make sure this stays between us?” 

“Oh, like a ‘what happens in the Reliquary stays in the Reliquary’ sorta thing?” Randall asked, making weird hand motions that Hamish for the life of him could not decipher. 

Hamish then quickly got up from the desk as well. “Basically.” He nodded, folding his arms. “Can you all just please keep your mouth shut about this?”

The four knights looked at each other before turning their attention back to the pair and all nodded in unison. A certain sense of pride formed within him at the sight of his wolves making a decision together without any verbal communication and being so in sync. 

“If you really want to keep whatever,” Lilith began to say then waved a lazy hand toward him and Vera before continuing, “this is. Then you really should stop screwing in a place where anyone can just waltz in and catch you two banging each other’s brains out.”

Hamish placed his hand on his head in exasperation as Vera cleared her throat. “Duly noted, Miss Bathory. Now can we all please move on from mine and Mr. Duke’s private relationship and focus on whatever it was you four came here to talk about?”

He straightened his stance, ready to focus on more Order and Knight business instead of his friends continuing to talk about his and Vera’s relationship. 

Jack then raised his hand and Hamish could not help but be amused at the sight. 

“Mr. Morton, this isn’t a classroom.” Vera told him, a slight soft tone of fondness laced in her voice. 

Jack looked at his outreached hand and seemed to realize what he was doing before putting it down and saying, “Right. Sorry. I just have a question before we change the subject.” 

Hamish and Vera both turned to look at each other for a moment, both deciding together if they should allow him to ask the question or just finally move on from this horrid conversation. They then both sighed, knowing that they were going to give in anyways. 

Turning their attention back to Jack, the pair reluctantly nodded. 

“Fine. Go ahead.” Hamish answered for them, bracing himself for whatever the question was. 

“Just please try to be quick, Mr. Morton. This isn’t a high school bathroom where we dish on the latest gossip.”

“Not with that attitude it’s not.” Randall muttered under his breath, earning a glare from both the Grand Magus and Hamish. 

“Well…” Jack timidly began to say then cleared his throat before continuing. “What exactly is going on between you two?”

Hamish immediately regretted his and Vera’s decision to allow him to ask the question, even though that was the most probable question for him to ask. 

Jack continued. “I mean besides…” He then proceeded to awkwardly create an image with his hands that normally Hamish would’ve laughed at if it wasn’t about him and Vera. 

Randall shook his head. “No, Dude you got it wrong. It was more like this.” He then proceeded to create his own, making Hamish groan in annoyance. 

He was going to kill his friends. 

“That’s enough!” Vera exclaimed, one hand on her hip and the other placed on her head in frustrated exasperation. 

“Seriously, you two.” Hamish scolded them. He then relaxed himself and shrugged before continuing in a more casual tone, “Besides, it was more like a mix between the both of them.”

 “Not helping.” She chided, giving him a deadly glare that made him gulp both out of fear and from being turned on. The Grand Magus then cleared her throat before turning her attention back toward the four knights, Jack in particular. “Mr. Morton, as I said, my and Hamish’s relationship is private. And we prefer it to be that way.”

It was not lost on him that she called him by his first name and not ‘Mr. Duke’. Which Vera usually would do in public as a guise to help make appearances look like she didn’t see him in a different way from anyone else. Sometimes, she’d call him ‘Mr. Duke’ in private but for completely different reasons. But that was beside the point. 

Hamish then noticed Jack had been looking between him and Vera. “But it is a relationship? Not just...that?” 

She opened her mouth to respond and he knew that she was probably going to reiterate that their relationship was private or even say something like ‘That’s none of your business Mr. Morton’. Instead, her mouth closed again before Vera turned to catch Hamish’s gaze. Her expression was filled with more emotion than she liked to show, especially in public. There was a vulnerability in it that he only saw when it was just the two of them. Her eyes searched within his, seeming to ask permission. 

He then nodded and gave her a small yet tender smile. Before she could do anything else, however, he walked toward her before placing an arm around her back and waist. Vera gave him a small, genuine smile that he noticed was only reserved for him, and wrapped her own arm around his back as well. 

She then turned her head back toward his four fellow knights.  “Yes, we are indeed in a relationship.”

The four of them were uncharacteristically silent as they seemed to take the image in. 

Randall became the first one to speak up, seeming to be the one that was more shocked that they were in an actual relationship. “So you two aren’t just angerly boinking each other because it’s kinda forbidden and hot?”

“No.” Hamish answered him with a wince. “And please never say the word ‘boinking’ ever again.”

“Or the term ‘weird hot mom figure’ while we’re at it.” Vera chimed in. She then lifted her free hand up and pointed a finger in the air. “In fact, consider those actual orders from your Grand Magus.”

Randall rolled his eyes. “Ugh, why do you always gotta ruin the fun?” Only, there wasn’t any malice in his voice like there would’ve been a month or so prior. 

“With that out of the way,” Vera began to say, “do any of you have any more questions about us that we may or may not answer before we talk about actual Order business?” Vera asked them all in general. “Mr. Carpio?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I think for now I’ve had my fill of the Adventures of Hameo and Veriet.”

Hamish groaned and placed his free hand on his forehead again. “Don’t drag her into the names. They’re bad enough just with me.”

Randall shook his head. “No can do Hamikan Skywalker. You and Veradme Amidala are a package deal now.”

“Hey, you know I identify more with Obi-wan Kenobi.” Hamish couldn’t help but argue. “Besides, if you watched Clone Wars like I keep telling you to do so then you’d know we’re way more like Obi-wan Kenobi and Duchess Satine.”

“Okay fine, how’s Hami-wan Kenobi and Veratine?”

Hamish mulled it over. “Hmmm. Actually not bad this time.”

“Enough! The both of you!” Vera exclaimed. “I am this close to powdering you both again and making you think that you are penguins from Antarctica.” 

“Sorry.” Hamish apologized in a soft tone, giving her a fond look, which seemed to calm her.

Randall didn’t seem phased by her threat like he would’ve been before. “That’s a very oddly specific threat. May I ask why a penguin? I mean they’re adorable and all. But if I were to think that I was an animal I’d much prefer to be a puppy.”

“Duly noted.” Hamish told him and then turned to the other three. “Anyone else have questions before we never talk about this again? Jack?” 

“Nah, I’m good. After this conversation I’ll be happy to never talk or even think about this ever again.”

“Agreed.” Vera interjected then turned her attention to Lilith. “Miss Bathory?”

“Nope.” She shrugged. “I’m just glad Hamish seems to be the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time.” She then asked him, “You are happy, right?”

Hamish stole a quick glance at the woman who he still had his arm around, before looking back at Lilith and nodding with a giant smile. “Very.”

He noticed Vera looking at him but couldn’t quite meet her gaze, feeling a little self-conscious.

“I have a question.” Gabrielle interjected. 

The Grand Magus turned her head toward her direction. “Yes, Miss Dupres?”

“Are you happy, Grand Magus?” She asked pointedly, something sparkling in her eyes that Hamish couldn’t quite figure out and was kind of afraid to.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” Vera answered in a clear, authoritative voice. But he knew better, feeling her arm loosen in its hold. 

She was closing in on herself again.

“Well, you did ask if we had any more questions and that is mine. You don’t have to answer, like you said before. But I figured since Hamish answered the question that you might as well.”

“Gabrielle.” Hamish chided, but she didn’t look phased. He wondered what angle she was playing, but knew it wasn’t anything nefarious that she might’ve had in the past.  Whatever it was, however, she seemed to be using her psych degree for help. 

He then looked at Vera. “You don’t have to answer it.”

“It’s okay.” She told him, still looking at Gabrielle. The younger girl gave her what seemed to be a nod of encouragement. Vera then shifted her body in his grasp so that she was fully facing him. She then gently placed her hand on his cheek, making Hamish stare at her wide-eyed. It had been hard for her to visibly show affection, and though the process was slow, she had been starting to show it more and more to him. But doing so in front of the others? That was completely out of her comfort zone. Did she really care about him enough to do so? What exactly was happening?

Vera then gave him a rare and bright smile before saying, “Yes. I am very happy. Happier than I’ve ever been in a long time.” Her eyes then shifted inward and he could practically hear her say in her head, “Even with the ever lingering threat of my demise without my magic”. 

Hamish couldn’t help but gulp at the sincerity in her voice and the way she looked at him with such emotion. He was completely taken aback by not only her words and the fact that she even said them in the first place, but also the fact that she said them in front of his friends. It would be amazing enough whenever she would show him such vulnerability when it was just the two of them. And now she was showing not only her vulnerability but her feelings for him to the others. 

Oh how he so badly wanted to kiss her and then go back on her desk to finish what they started. 

But his friends were still there and they already saw way too much. Both in the physical sense and the emotional sense. 

Seeming to be thinking the same thing, Vera changed her expression and tore herself from each other’s grasps. Both he and Tundra ached at her missing touch already. She then walked around her desk and toward his four knights, clearing her throat. “If any of you utter a word about anything that just happened since the moment you walked in, I will make you regret it so badly that you’d wish you dealt with an Emperor demon instead. Do I make myself clear?”

The four of them nodded with both amusement but mostly fear in their eyes. “Yes Grand Magus.” They answered in unison.

Vera then clasped her hands together. “Great. Now that all of that is finally over.” She then placed her on her hips expectantly. “What was such an emergency that all four of you needed to come to tell me?”

“Oh right yeah.” Jack responded first before clearing his throat and saying in a more serious tone. “Speaking of demons...there’s one on the loose.” 

Both Hamish and Vera gaped at them before he asked, “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” 

“Sorry, we were a little distracted by the confirmation that Vermish became canon.” Randall answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Hamish gave him a pointed look. “You gave us a ship name?”

“He did.” Jack answered for him. “Like a while ago.”

He mulled the name over. It was kind of flattering that their relationship had a name. “I like it.”

“What the hell is a ship name?” Vera asked, but then shook her head. “Never mind, I do not want to know. We’ve tangented enough already.” She then went back to full Grand Magus mode. “Pray tell, what do you know about this demon?”

“We’re not quite too sure who it is, but if my suspicions are correct then I think they’re a friend of mine and possibly not even all that dangerous.” Lilith answered for them.

“Right, you have demon friends now.” Vera then walked back toward the back of her desk before taking a seat at her chair. 

Hamish remained standing beside her, placing a hand on the top of her chair. Vera then placed her own hand within his before pulling it down to the arm of her chair and placing their intertwined hands on top. All four of the knights eyed the hand placed but didn’t seem to be bothered by it. 

Vera then gave his hand a gentle squeeze for comfort before saying, “Now, tell us everything you know.”

#hamish x vera #the order #hamish duke #vera stone #the order fanfiction #vera x hamish #randall carpio #jack morten #gabrielle dupres #lilith bathory #kj writes #kj's writings #my stuff #kj's writing

[theartofdreaming1]

Partners - Part 8: The Breakthrough

Rating: T

Pairing: DickBabs

Summary:  Looking for ways to take down corrupt Chief Redhorn, Dick and Barbara make a surprising discovery. My DickBabs police officers AU.

You can also read this chapter at AO3 or start from the beginning on my blog

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Over the course of the next weeks, their regular jobs and their work for the Circle claimed most of Dick and Barbara’s time. While they were making good progress building their case for the feds, there was still one thing missing - even with their combined efforts, they had not yet managed to get anything substantial on Chief Redhorn himself.

“As long as we have nothing to charge Redhorn with, we can’t make our move,” Amy had explained in their last meeting with a grave mien, “it’s too dangerous - by the time something might come up to indict Redhorn as well, he could have figured out who supplied the FBI with the info necessary to take down his cronies and knowing him, he will have made some ‘arrangements’ so that won’t ever happen again - and frankly, I’m not willing to take these chances.”

Barbara’s “digital hunting expeditions” hadn’t yielded anything of interest either.

“Ugh,” she’d grumbled irritably after yet another attempt that left them with nothing to show for but an evening wasted,”this is pointless; Redhorn is of the old school - probably does everything face-to-face that isn’t already well-established in this syndicate he has been building up since the 90’s! He probably doesn’t even know that his computer has a calendar function!” 

Barbara had closed her laptop with a huff.

“If we want to get our hands on some incriminating evidence, we’re gonna have to track down some good old-fashioned paper trail - and finding that is going to require a freaking miracle.”

***

“Hey, remember that miracle you mentioned a week ago?”

Barbara looked up from her laptop, her previous frustration from another pointless try morphing into confusion, “uh-huh?”

She looked at the bags with their takeout in Dick’s hand, amused: “Why, did you find our miracle while getting Chinese?”

“Maybe,” Dick replied, visibly excited.

“How so?” 

Barbara stowed away her laptop in the compartment of the coffee table, while Dick was setting up their food on the table top.

“Well, I actually dropped by Hogan’s before getting our food and he told me something that could be a potential lead,” Dick explained, handing Barbara some chopsticks and her dumplings before plopping down on the couch.

“Spill.”

“Well, Hogan’s heard some rumors of Redhorn being in a pretty bad mood recently and that he seems to be on a pretty relentless search for someone…”

Barbara’s heart lurched. 

“Well, that doesn’t sound exactly good for us, does it?”

“That was my first thought as well,” Dick admitted honestly, taking a bite of his spring rolls. “However, according to what Hogan picked up, it seems to be related to something or someone super personal to Redhorn - apparently Mac Arnot complained about getting told off for asking “too many damn questions”; and well, as you know, Arnot always prides himself on being all chummy with our dear Chief.”

“Ugh, terrible sycophant that man.” Barbara said, her disgust displayed plainly on her face.

Dick let out a chuckle.

“You don’t have to tell me twice - he was actually enrolled at the academy at the same time as me; despite rarely attending our lessons, he surprisingly managed to start off his career as an inspector, which is not even an official position at the BPD - but we’re getting off the track here. The real question is: Who is Redhorn looking for? If he’s that secretive about their identity and connection to him that he won’t give plain orders and explanations to his lackeys, it must be someone really close to him…”

Dick trailed off with a knowing look in his eye, clearly creating a pause for dramatic effect as he was preparing to drop a bomb on her.

Barbara couldn’t help rolling her eyes fondly.

Always with the theatrics.

She gestured for Dick to move on, almost dropping the dumpling that was wedged between the chopsticks she was holding in that same hand.

“Well, it’s conjecture, but Hogan remembered that, way back, when he was still in harness, there had been rumors of Redhorn having gotten married- what if he’s looking for his wife?!”

“His wife?” Barbara echoed, surprise evident on her face. In her mind, she combed through the scarce information she had gone over during her research, but she drew a complete blank on the chief’s marital status. To be fair, she hadn’t considered nosing around in such private, familial matters (she might act as an information broker, but she was no creep) and Redhorn didn’t exactly strike her as husband material or a family man, but now that she was looking back on it, the complete lack of information on his marital status was kind of odd-

“Now that you mention it, I don’t recall having seen any information on Redhorn’s marital status whatsoever,” Barbara said carefully.

She noticed the excited spark in Dick’s eyes.

“At the very least, it sounds suspicious, doesn’t it?”

Barbara nodded, “Definitely worth checking out.”

“Of course,” Dick mused, clearly trying to rein in his excitement over this new potential stepping stone in their investigation, “even if Redhorn is looking for his wife, there is still the question of why - has she been kidnapped by other criminals who could be blackmailing him? Has she simply left him and he’s trying to get her back?” He gestured vaguely, as if to illustrate the endless possibilities.“But my point is, if Redhorn is married, his wife could potentially have information that could be useful to us.”

“Well, how useful that could end up being for us really depends on how attached she is to her husband,” Barbara pointed out, “she could invoke marital privileges and refuse to testify against her husband even if she knows of his wrongdoings... If she wants to leave him, however, she might be more inclined to help us…”

Dick nodded, a grin on his face: “Should that hypothetical wife exist, that is.”

Barbara chuckled, already shoving the half-empty take out container to the side to make space for her laptop.

She snatched her computer from the table’s compartment, opened the lid, and booted it up: “Let’s find out, shall we?”

***

Now that she knew what she was looking for, it didn’t take Barbara long to unearth the sought-after information:

“Here we go: 23 years ago, Delmore Redhorn, age 31, married Mary Wallmer, age 20, in a private ceremony in the small fishing town of Snug Cay-” a few clicks on her touchpad and a couple of strokes of her keyboard later- ”Mary was born and raised in Snug Cay, born to Albert and Lucille Wallmer, recently deceased, no siblings.”

Barbara’s eyes raced over the texts and documents, sifting through them for relevant information.

“While in high school, Mary worked at the nearby summer camp as a counselor. After high school, she enrolled in an office course to train to become a secretary… Then worked as a secretary for a small housing firm in Blüdhaven for a while… until the owner of the firm was assaulted and shot dead in his office in broad daylight, with Mary right in the next room.”

Barbara felt Dick next to her shudder. What she read next did nothing to allay her own contempt for the perpetrators of this crime:

“Apparently, the firm had had a few properties over at Avalon Heights, in Freddy Minh’s territory, something the mobster hadn’t appreciated.”

Dick let out a sound of disgust.

Barbara read on: “First responder to the crime was a certain Officer Delmore Redhorn… the wedding took place six months later.”

Scrolling through the data, Barbara tried to find any other entry of employment for Mary. Nothing.

“Doesn’t look like Mary took up another job after that.”

“Not that surprising, considering...”

“From the wedding onward, there is very little info on Mary herself… hmm, a nearly dormant facebook account, maybe that’ll yield something later… oh, wait, here’s something!”

Barbara’s eyes widened.

“Oh.”

When no further elaboration followed, Dick shifted closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was staring at.

“What’d you find?!”

Barbara moved the laptop so Dick could get a better look at her screen: “A birth record.”

Looking up from the screen, Dick looked at her uncomprehendingly: “So?”

“It’s not Mary’s birth record - it’s from thirteen years ago; it’s the birth record of her son.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And the father?”

Barbara tapped her screen, “Redhorn.”

“Huh.”

“Yup... A wife and a son would definitely qualify as “close connections”, don’t you think?”

Dick grinned: “Kinda.”

Barbara smiled back, buzzing with excitement, now that this angle opened up a whole new perspective.

“Give me another hour to figure out whether this is connected to Redhorn’s troubles,” Barbara declared confidently, about to dig deeper into the piles of data ready at her fingertips. She paused briefly, looking at Dick, who had moved to the edge of the sofa, about to get up, “would you-”

“- put on some coffee?” He finished her sentence for her, smiling.

”Way ahead of you.”

***

About one hour and two cups of coffee later, Barbara was ready to present Dick with the findings of her latest cyber expedition:

“Okay, so let me show you this online chat: It’s mainly frequented by well-to-do middle class moms in the Gotham-Blüdhaven-area and their exchanges are mostly a mix of discussions on the deficits and benefits of local schools, challenges of achieving a good work-life-balance, complaints about their unruly offspring, and tips on where to find an excellent yoga instructor - but one thread stood out among the rest: A concerned user talking about how the recurring rumors of corruption in the police department and mayoral office are worrying her because she’s afraid her husband could be wrongly accused of being “mixed up in such dreadful things”. The user name? SnugCayfish78.”

Dick let out a whistle.

“Sounds like you’ve struck gold.”

Barbara grinned triumphantly: “Right? And there is more, my friend… Aside from recurring mentions of her concerns, SnugCayfish78 also dropped this bomb two weeks ago:

“He doesn’t tell me much of his work (I know that he doesn’t want me to worry), but I can tell that ever since another of his subordinate officers was arrested, something is weighing heavily on my husband… If only there was a way for me to ease his burden. Has anyone any ideas? Maybe the social calendars I’ve been keeping all these years will finally come in handy! Being able to show that my husband has only ever been in contact with the upstanding members of the public that have been so deeply invested in building up the Blüdhaven we know and love now, must certainly prove that my darling would never associate with such dishonorable policemen that are involved in corruption! Hopefully, this will be enough to lay my husband’s worries to rest.”

… and that’s the last entry from this account. Coincidentally, that is also the date Redhorn’s son posted his last picture on instagram.”

Dick gave her a meaningful look.

“Sounds to me like Mary just realized that her husband might not have been some innocent bystander in the sea of corruption that makes up Blüdhaven’s elite and decided to go underground. As an added bonus, Summer break started last week, so even if Mary just grabbed her son and left, there’s no danger of inquiries from school.”

“Would fit with what we have found out so far,” Barbara agreed, “of course, there is still the question of what Mary’s planning on doing with the information she has at hand and what Rehorn’s planning to do once he finds her…”

Dick hummed in agreement, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Considering how her entire world view has been turned on its head, she probably doesn’t even know what to do now that she has discovered her husband’s vest is anything but squeaky clean,” he reasoned,”but maybe she’d be open to handing over this evidence she’s kept unintentionally all these years.”

“Maybe,” Barbara agreed, “nothing I have found suggests that Mary had been involved in Redhorn’s illegal activities in any way; I guess she was truly ignorant of them until now. As for Redhorn - keeping in mind how he appears to be unwilling to deploy his goons in the “usual” manner, I guess we can assume that he actually does care about Mary and doesn’t want her and their son to get hurt… That being said, I have no idea whether his love for them wins out over his sense of self-preservation,” she finished grimly.

Dick nodded, steely determination displayed openly across his features: “Which is exactly why we need to be the ones to find her first.”

“Agreed.”

“You think you can find Mary and their son before Redhorn does?”

Barbara gave Dick a confident smile: “Even if Mary was a Luddite like her husband - she’s in hiding with a teen; I’ll find them, don’t you worry.“

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to be continued.... here.

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Notes:

Nightwing #33: Mac Arnot talks to Dick in the cafeteria of the police academy and Dick finds out that they are supposedly in the same class although he hasn't seen Arnot attend any of his classes; Arnot just shrugs it off, explaining that he's "kinda advanced"

Nightwing #42: Chief Redhorn makes Mac Arnot an Inspector (based on shifty recommendations), while Dick gets turned down when applying for a job at the BPD

Nightwing #47: Chief Ebersol (who was appointed Chief while Redhorn took off for some time, hiding from Blockbuster, I think) points out that the BPD doesn't have an official position of Inspector, while Arnot lets Ebersol know that *he* will be running things in the background until Redhorns gets back... oh and he vaguely threatens Ebersol's family (I flipping hate Arnot, ugh)

Nightwing# 71-74: Mary Redhorn (née Wallmer) is important in this story arc; she's Redhorn's wife and is from Snug Cay (although they got married 33 years ago in the comics), Dick followed her all over Europe when police and Blockbuster's goons were coming after her for having a journal that detailed Redhorn's social contacts with plenty of questionable characters; in the comics, Mary's just super naive and probably wanted to use this journal to clear his name, having no idea how closely her husband was entangled in the corruption that is running rampant in Blüdhaven - I wanted to make Mary a little less clueless and give her a bit more agency/motive by having her be protective of a son that I made up

Nightwing #59: Dick wants to drop by Freddy Minh's in Avalon, only to find that Freddy Minh has been dead for some time, his empire now run by his wife, Madame Minh (I assume Chuck Dixon is referring to Avalon Heights and not Avalon Hill, because Avalon Hill is on the outskirts of Blüdhaven, basically in the middle of nowhere, whereas Avalon Heights is situated a bit more centrally, with access to some docks, according to the map in Nightwing Secret Files and Origins #1)

#dickbabs #dickbabs fanfiction #dick grayson #barbara gordon #dickbabs fanfic #I write sometimes #my fics: partners

[yuvon-writes-letters]

To, Yu

Okay, I was gone, and the moment I came back, i [The sentence randomly stops]

I’m, not upset at the fact you lied, i actually had an inkling for awhile now while you were describing the rooms for the first time, it looked like you wanted to continue, but stopped yourself at the last second. I understand why you lied, seeing all of those things must’ve been hard, but Lis and I can’t help you if we don’t know anything, ok Yu?

It sounds like, you found ways out, but both are, not good for you? I don’t know, my brain’s all fuzzy and I can’t comprehend words right, maybe I’m getting something wrong.

My point is, when you build up the guts to, please please please explain to us, or at least me, on what’s in that North room, I don’t care if it’s bad we need to know everything we can about the realm so [The sentence stops again]

Sorry, I’m just, kind of on the edge. Of course you don’t have to tell me now, but

If, it’s not intruding on personal space, what the hell happened between you and Jake? I’m assuming that Jake lied about something, but I don’t think we would do any good if there’s bad blood between the two of you. I sent my Jake the letters too, and he agrees as well.

We’re both worried about you, so, don’t hide anything, alright? [The rest of the text is blacked out]

Rai and Jake

|Hello, real person behind Rai here, I wanted to clarify some things because I don’t think I made it clear before (I’m sorry about that). Rai is a complete OC, their not a self-insert at all, and they have their own life completely separate from mine. Although it is true that I’ll be busy on July and won’t write letters frequently, I wanted to give an in-character Roleplay reason as to why Rai is not as active as the first few letters, hence the panicking at the last letter.

I, the real person, am completely alright, Rai, is not, not at all :)|

Rai,

Thanks for understanding. I'll try to hide as little as I can from now on.

What I think are the two ways out are sitting still and looking pretty, which I despise the concept of, and killing the MWAF by paying an even price, which I hate the idea of even more. (Blacked out) I checked out the altar room a little more, and the phrase "An eye for an eye" (or something approximate because Google Translate) was on the back of the altar in Greek. Jake helped me translate it before we argued.

Mixing mythologies yet again. So far we've got Egyptian, Greek, and... Biblical? I think that's from the Bible. Sue me, it's been a while since I took World Religions.

Actually... no. I guess it hasn't. It just feels longer than it actually was.

I'll try to be a little more specific about what's in the north room. It's not... quite as bad as I made it out to be before, but I was already freaking out and in a bad headspace from remembering the freaky stuff, and I blew it a little out of proportion. I'm not sure how I'd even explain what it really is, though.

It's something similar to a hologram, transparent enough that you can see the trees through it. There's some text in white that doesn't seem to be addressed to me, implying that I'm stuck between the end of something and the beginning of another. Then there are a couple bars— five, to be exact —and two of them are filling with orange very slowly. The others are untouched so far. It's implied I'll be out of this place when all the bars fill up to full. I'm not sure this text was necessarily written by the entity, though. If it was, I think it'd address me a little more directly.

I don't think the argument Jake and I had is necessarily all that useful to the investigation, but since I'm trying to not keep secrets anymore, I'll say it regardless. The cause is tangentially related to the case, anyhow.

I asked him a little while ago whether he could find out if there was a missing person's out for me or not, so we could figure out the extent of the stasis. Then drama happened and I completely forgot all about it until two days ago. I asked him again then, and he sort of acted a little cagey while telling me that he was still in the process of investigating, and told me to wait another day. So I did. I don't think he expected me to remember, since I forget things all the time, but I don't forget things I'm really invested in and I REALLY wanted to know the answer to that question.

Jake made an excuse and went offline when I tried to ask again, which sort of made me think the worst. In hindsight, thinking that anyone who could've reported me missing was dead was pretty stupid, but you try being rational in the face of an unknown like that. In any case, I got anxious, and that sort of blew everything out of proportion, and then that made me more and more upset, and given all the other bullshit inherent in this place and the stress I've been through lately I just completely broke down. Had to sit down and put my head down so I was less likely to pass out from my hyperventilating. Luckily, I knew what was going on and I know breathing exercises, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

In any case, when I was back to being semi-functional, I unlocked my phone again, meaning to close out of the chat, but apparently my last few texts before I had to stop had managed to get across to Jake at least a portion of how freaked out I was. He probably figured it out based on all the typoes and the lack of punctuation or something, his "flaw" (if you can call it that) only seems to make him oblivious to tone and not to outright out of character writing styles.

So he finally told me that there wasn't a missing person's out for me, and not only that but everyone who might have put one out pretty much forgot I existed. He got my fucking parents to answer a "survey," and they only filled out that my half-sister existed, not me. Legal documents and stuff were still all in order, but literally the only people who seem to remember I fucking exist are the Duskwood crew and you and Lis and he had the nerve to tell me that he didnt want to tell me because it wasnt essential information and it would affect my judgement

Back now. I screamed abuse into the woods for a couple minutes, so I feel a bit better now.

I can see his point, logically, but for fuck's sake, there are some things that don't have much to do with the case that I do need to know regardless. This is one.

I'm not going to cut contact with him forever. To put it callously, neither of us can afford that. But if I talk to him now, I'm going to end up saying something or other I'll regret.

Right. Other topics.

Rai, are you doing alright? I know you've got personal issues going on, and I'm not trying to pry into them, but your writing is sort of disjointed and you mentioned being "fuzzy" and "not comprehending words right". Are you getting enough to drink and to sleep? I know weird shit happens to me when I get dehydrated. If you ever feel like you're about to pass out, sit down and put your head between your knees. If this continues, maybe you should see a doctor. Do you feel like your head is stuffed with cotton balls, at all? Any other symptoms?

Feel better :(

—Yu

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

#congrats rai you have unlocked mom friend mode #duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #tw: mental illness #tw: panic attack #both only mentioned/implied but still

[smmahamazing]

“I’m not gonna make you take the medicine, but it’s there.”

Ayyyy only about a month later and I finished it! At first, I was going to try and incorporate this into the CB universe, but I had a cute little canon idea for this, so I went with it! Thanks for the prompt @superpixie42 , hope you like it <3

"I'm a youkai, I don't need any human medicine. I'll be fine by tomorrow!"

'If I have to hear that sentence one more time, I'm going to explode,' Kagome thought, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

Kagome was at her wits end. It had been a long week for the group of travelers. Absolutely no news of any Shikon shards or Naraku had put a damper on everyone's mood - feuling Inuyasha's already irate grumpiness to add to the mix of emotions. To top it all off, it poured the last two days of their travel back to Kaede's village. It wasn't quite winter yet, but the temperature had begun to steadily drop, turning the once warm droplets into freezing ice water.

The chill in the rain did not deter Shippo, the youngest in their group, from deciding to play in the rain. Kagome attempted to keep him distracted and amused so that she could keep him warm and dry, away from the chilled rain. She even went as far as telling him he would regret getting soaking wet, but the young kit would have nothing to do with it, deciding that jumping in mud puddles and catching rain drops on his tongue was a far more pressing matter.

The regret came the next morning in the form of sniffling and coughing, the obvious signs of the common cold. They were still a few hours away from Kaede's village, even if they rode on Kirara and Inuyasha, respectively. She bundled the kit up in the light jacket she had brought for this trip, foregoing her own warmth, and attempted to give him a dosage of children's cough medicine that she kept stored in her first aid kit. Attempted, but not successful as Shippo refused to take the medicine.

His refusal to take the medicine wasn't a complete shock to Kagome though. She could still remember how when Souta was around Shippo's age, he would whine and moan to their mother whenever he would end up with the cold, not wanting to drink the foul liquid that paraded itself as “bubblegum” or “grape” flavored, despite the fact that it would make him feel better. Even she used to put up a fit about taking her medicine - according to Mama anyways. And Shippo was still a child, so the unwillingness to take the medicine was natural.

But then, he proudly proclaimed a single sentence that would soon become the bane of Kagome's existence. 

"I'm a youkai, I'll be better by tomorrow."

She had been giving the inu hanyou of their group the iciest of glares ever since her young kit spoke the words. This new development was all Inuyasha's fault. How many times had young, impressionable Shippo heard Inuyasha say just that? About how he wasn't a 'weak human' and would heal in less than half the time? It didn't matter that Inuyasha was talking about physical wounds and not about viral diseases. Despite their ability to heal quicker than humans, Kagome knew youkai could get a common sickness like the cold. There were plenty of times that even Inuyasha would get the sniffles after a week of crazy weather patterns. Inuyasha even had his mother's recipe for medicine that he took as a child when he was sick.

Even if youkai could recuperate from a virus faster than a human, Shippo's youki would still be too little to really help with that.

‘If only he wasn’t as stubborn as Inuyasha.’

Currently, Kagome and Shippo were hunkered down in an old, unused hut that sat towards the back edge of the village. It was a little run down; the thatching in the roof was thinned out from the weather over the years, and the reed flap that served for a door had been ripped off. Kagome took a quick trip through the well, and thanks to her mother, came back with a variety of thick comforters that she hung on the walls, serving as a makeshift door, and covering the few holes of the "windows" the hut had. There was a small fire going in the middle of the hut, working collectively with the comforters hanging from the walls to create a warm space from the colder temperature outside. Kagome still had Inuyasha's fire rat fur draped over her shoulders,  given to her when she gave up her jacket for Shippo earlier that day.

Shippo laid on a long, plump body pillow, covered in an old crochet project of Mama's. His face looked a little pained, even as he continued to shrug off any medicine Kagome tried to give to him. In his hands, he held a small plush fox toy, the "fur" striped red and white, wearing a green elf hat. It was an old Christmas toy of Kagome's that her father had given her years and years ago. Most of her old toys ended up being donated, some saved in the attic for any future grandchildren of Mama's that might come to visit. There were a few, though, that Kagome kept around her room, toys that she saved because of an extreme emotional attachment. Kagome had locked eyes at the toy fox that sat on her desk when she went home to grab all those blankets. She knew that canid youkai, like both Inuyasha and Shippo, used their sense of smell in many ways, one way using certain scents to calm themselves. Kagome knew the tiny fox would be coated in her scent from all the times she would hold it close to her - a way for her to be close to her late father - and hoped that having her scent so near him would help to speed his recovery.

She didn't know what she wanted to do more; cry or scream. Truth be told, Kagome was scared.

She was aware of how something as small as the common cold can turn into something bigger or worse. Especially in these times, with no practiced modern medicine or hospitals, it was easy for someone to succumb to illness. Especially a child like Shippo. 

And no matter how much she pleaded and yelled, Shippo would simply not take the medicine. Kagome was even able to persuade Inuyasha to make that nasty tasting antidote he had her drink back when she got sick. She had hoped that if Shippo saw that Inuyasha had made the medicine - and even armed with the knowledge that he used it on occasion as a child - he would be more inclined to take it; she wanted to use Shippo's unspoken adoration with the hanyou in her favor. But the kit would not budge.

Inuyasha could smell Kagome's rising anxiety. Hell, he could see it in her face, she was never good at hiding her emotions. He was currently seated by the door, watching the exchange between the young woman and her young kit. She was getting nowhere with the runt. Inuyasha kept his face cool and unfazed, despite the lingering guilt that had begun to seep into his chest. It wasn't hard for anyone to see where Shippo was getting his skewed ideas about youkai and illness from. Even if he was as dumb as a board, the heated glares from Kagome sure could point him in the right direction.

'Keh, it's not my fault the runt is too stubborn for his own good,' he thought. Hell, he'd even gone out of his way to collect everything he needed for his mother's antidote, a surefire cure for the little cold he had, and the runt still was refusing it.

And as every minute went by, every sniffle, every sneeze, every slightly wheezing cough caused that sour, tangy smell to seep from Kagome's pores, the one that Inuyasha hated with a passion. The damn wench was going to put herself under the weather if she didn't start taking care of herself, and Inuyasha was sure that she wouldn't until Shippo took that damn medicine.

'At least she's still wearing the fire rat.' One small victory he supposed.

"Kagome," he said, startling the young woman from her rampant thoughts. "Go down to the baba's hut and grab something to eat."

It wasn't a question, or a suggestion; it was an order. Inuyasha took on a tone of voice he used when he was serious about something. If he thought about it enough, it was the voice of an alpha talking to his pack, but that was a thought for another day.

"Inuyasha, I can't - "

"And you can grab something for Shippo while you're there. He'll want something to chase down the medicine," he said, moving from his place by the door to a spot on the opposite side of the hut, closer to both the fire and Shippo.

"I told you I'm not - "

"But what about - "

A sharp growl cut both of them off, saying in no uncertain terms that his demands were to be taken seriously. Shippo began to cough some more while Kagome continued to stare him down, challenging him. Inuyasha could have responded with a deeper growl, which would have been his original comeback, but instead he softened his gaze, to tell her without words that he could take care of the kit while she was gone.

Not like he wanted to show her he could take care of kids mind you. He was just trying to be a decent friend.

Yeah.

Understanding his good intentions - only she could read him like an open book - Kagome rose with a quick nod of her head. She whispered a few words to Shippo, a soft promise to be back with food and for him to rest, and left the hut. Inuyasha could just barely smell the salt of her tears she most likely was shedding on her way to Kaede's, finally succumbing to her distress and anxiety.

Now, the only sounds in the dilapidated hut they hunkered down in was the crackling of the fire and the faint sniffles and coughs coming from the stubborn kit laying in the most luxurious bed the kit has probably ever seen. Inuyasha wanted to strangle the runt, to beat into him with just how lucky he was to have someone like Kagome. Someone to worry about his health, to feed and shelter him - both with love and home. But Inuyasha knew that Shippo knew all these things. He knew how Shippo felt about Kagome, since she was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever have now. All of his stubbornness to not take the medicine was coming from his pride as a youkai, to reaffirm to his human mother that he was strong.

It was a feeling Inuyasha knew all too well growing up. Most of his childhood was spent proving to himself that he could survive no matter the challenge - whether from hunger, fighting demons, or surviving any encounters from humans he might come across - but it was also a feeling he experienced with his own mother before her demise. Back then, he wanted to become a strong demon, like his father, so he could protect his mother from anything. 

No matter how much Inuyasha could relate to the young kit, taking that medicine was Shippo's only option if he wanted to get better. And Inuyasha was going to be the one to make him see it.

He grabbed the cup that held the antidote and thrusted it in front of Shippo's face.

"Drink," he ordered.

"I told you I don't - "

"Yeah yeah, I know what you said, and I don't give a damn. You're gonna drink this and get better you little runt."

"But - "

"No buts!" Inuyasha slammed the cup on the ground in front of him, a bit of medicine spilling onto the ground from the jarring movements. "Do you have any idea how worried Kagome is about you? This cold may be messing with your nose, but mine sure as hell works fine, and even a low class youkai could smell the anxiety coming off her. I know you're trying to show off to everyone, to show them you can handle something like this, but you're still just a kid. So you need to quit being a pain in my ass and let Kagome take care of you properly."

Silence once again filled the hut. Shippo stopped coughing, but Inuyasha could hear the sniffling of an almost crying child.

"Is….is she really that worried about me?" He asked, burrowing even farther into the blankets and pillow he rested on. Inuyasha didn't answer him, simply standing from his spot on the ground and moving towards the door.

"I'm gonna go help Kagome grab the food. I'm not gonna make you take the medicine, but it's there. You can either take it and get better to show Kagome the kind of youkai you'll grow up to be, or you won't." Without another look, Inuyasha lifted the heavy blanket and exited the hut.

He wasn't far from the hut when he swore he heard the sound of his young pup grimacing from the less than stellar taste of his mother's special cold medicine.

#inuyasha #kagome #shippo #prompt writing #inuyasha fanfic

[grifalinas]

Batter Up (Working Title) (Chapter 2)

-/-

There was a lot of work to do in getting the front room cleared out, mostly moving things back to the stockroom, though some of the equipment boxes were set in one corner of the kitchen to be attended as soon as it was clean again.

Throughout the day, Samuel and Eddie worked together, first cleaning the kitchen up after Eddie’s disastrous attempt to prove that she could totally be a good baker for the shop!!, just give her a chance to show it!!, and then getting the equipment unboxed and set up. Samuel wouldn’t let Eddie do any of the hookup, once again citing her age and the potential liability if she were to get hurt.

Flint and Radley could hear snatches of their conversation when they passed through the kitchen from front room to stock room and back, exchanging fond looks over Eddie’s endless chatter and Samuel’s low timber when he responded, almost always prompting Eddie into another string of breathless, run-on sentences.

Raphael stopped by the shop late that evening to witness the two signing their contract, and once that was done it was time to call it a night; they all went their separate ways, Flint turning down Samuel’s offer of a ride when he found out the three Meadows (and Jock) were on foot.

“It’s just a few blocks, no big deal,” Flint assured his new partner, waving him away as they headed out into the night.

Raphael walked part of the way with them, having parked in the carpark a little down the road; while Radley and Eddie chattered and compared notes on- what else- the newest addition to their circle, Raphael fell back, Flint falling into step beside her to talk.

“So what do you think of Samuel?” Raphael asked, once she was sure the kids weren’t paying attention.

Flint just groaned in response, long and drawn out. Raphael chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s straight.”

“Seriously?! A man that beautiful practically lands in my lap and I haven’t even got a chance? What kinda monkey’s paw bullshit is that?”

This got another laugh out of his friend. “This dry spell is really getting to you, isn’t it?”

Flint waved that away. “It’s the kids, you know? With Les out of town for the foreseeable future I don’t really have a chance to go out on the pull, and I’m not bringing some drunk rando back to my apartment while they’re around anyway.”

“Well it’s probably for the best, honestly. You shouldn’t go mixing business and pleasure. You and Samuel will be a much better working partnership if you don’t muddy the waters with a sexual liaison.”

“Eh, I guess. Seriously though, how is he single? Straight women have taste too, they must have noticed how gorgeous he is?”

“He was married up until a year ago, actually.”

“Divorced or widowed?”

“Divorced. Between that and the accident, I imagine he hasn’t had much time to start dating again.”

“He has a daughter~” Eddie chirped, falling back enough to hear the tail end of their conversation. “He told me while we were scrubbing. Her name is Rosie and she’s my age and he’s going to take me to meet her and we’re going to be best friends.”

“Oh yeah?” Flint tossed an arm around her shoulders and ruffled her hair just to be irritating. “And if you don’t hit it off?”

“Mr. Bassington says Rosie doesn’t have many friends. So I’m thinking her standards are probably gonna be pretty low, and I can sneak in under the radar.”

“You and Rosie are going to get along very well, I think,” Raphael said. “In fact you might be just the sort of friend she needs.”

“What’s she like?” Eddie asked, as the group came to a stop at Raphael’s motorcycle.

“A little reserved. She’s been a bit sheltered all her life, but she’s a sweet girl- she just needs a little socialization. I’m sure she’ll like you just fine, low standards or not.”

Radley had been silent throughout this conversation, so once they’d parted ways with Raphael and were on their way to the apartment, Flint said, “So what do you think of Sam, then?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. When you were giving him his tour it felt like there wasn’t anything right about any of the work we’d done so far, and no consideration that we’ve only been at it a few days or a note that we did get the kitchen cleaned up and set up in that time. And he kept giving orders- you know, saying what we couldn’t do? You’re supposed to be partners but he’s already taking over.”

Flint nodded. That was about what he’d been thinking too, though he was willing to give Samuel time to grow on him. After all, he’d needed him for exactly that.

“Isn’t that what Uncle Flint hired him for though?” Eddie said, echoing Flint’s thoughts. “He was just doing his job.”

“What do you think of him?” Flint asked. “You were the one working with him all day. What kind of impression did he give you?”

“I like him! He’s really nice, he was super impressed when I told him about Jock winning the red ribbon at the dog park show last month and he didn’t even think it was a little disappointing that he didn’t win blue because second place is still extremely respectable and it just means that the dog who did win blue must be super impressive. And then he said that not getting first just meant that Jock and I still had plenty of room to grow and he was sure we’d do even better next time assuming there would be a next time because it’d be super okay if we decided not to do another dog show because of course things like that should only be done if they’re fun and if they’re not fun then we shouldn’t worry about them because Jock is only a pet dog anyway so he doesn’t need any kind of best in show ribbon to be a good boy.”

“If he didn’t run off after spending a day with this chatterbox, I think he’s worth the look-in,” Flint said, fluffing Eddie’s hair again. “His contract’s a two month trial period, by then we’ll know whether he’s a good fit for us and if he doesn’t work out, we won’t be stuck with him for too long.”

“If he doesn’t work out I can still be friends with Rosie though right?”

“Don’t you have any kind of loyalty?”

“I’m going to be loyal to Rosie, I think. I want her to like me.”

“You haven’t even met her yet.”

“Yeah but Mr. Bassington says she likes the Vampire Mummy Werewolf and Shark Teens and Cobalt and Crimson same as I do and she likes dogs and bunnies same as I do and she likes eighties rock and space stuff and museums same as I do and she likes to sew and paint and play the piano and I can’t do any of those things so I think probably we’ll get along really well cause I bet she’ll be interested in stuff I can do that she can’t and he says she can’t bake either so maybe we can learn how to bake together! And be best friends!”

She came to a halt and struck a pose that said, in flashing neon letters, ‘So THERE’. They’d reached their building while she talked; she fell silent when Flint fished his key out of his pocket to buzz them in, but no sooner were they in the elevator than she started up again.

“Uncle Flint, did I hear you say you think Mr. Bassington is handsome?”

“Handsome’s a word for it,” Flint growled. “Yes, I think he’s handsome, which is a crime, cause Raph says he’s straight.” He sighed. “What a waste of a good ass.”

“Dad says you’re not supposed to say stuff like that to us,” Radley reminded him.

“You’re seventeen, you’re old enough to hear swearwords. Just don’t repeat them,” he added belatedly. “Otherwise your dad will kick my ass.”

“I think it’s more because you’re implying the existence of sex as more than just a nebulous thing outside of our reach as teenagers, who we all know are completely unaware of anything pertaining to sex and definitely don’t have sexual thoughts of their own,” Eddie chimed in.

“Oh yeah?” Flint teased. “You haven’t been having sexual thoughts, surely? You, a teenage girl? Perish the thought.”

“Tch, please.” She scoffed and disappeared into the room she shared with her brother when they stayed with Flint, waving a dismissive hand at him while Flint stared after her. He looked to Radley.

“...she’s not sexually active, is she?”

“No, but she’s written a lot of smut fanfiction.”

“Is it any good?”

“It was written by a sexually inactive fifteen year old exploring her sexuality through a safe outlet. Of course it’s not any good.”

-/-

In her room, Eddie was looking very seriously over the selection of comic books she’d brought with her while she was staying with her uncle- not her entire collection, that was at home- and trying to decide which ones that Mr. Bassington hadn’t said Rosie was into that she could potentially interest her in.

She really wanted Rosie to like her. She couldn’t explain why; she had, as her uncle had pointed out, never met the girl, but her father had made her sound like the most amazing girl in the world, and Raphael had said she didn’t have many friends, and since Eddie didn’t have many friends either, it sounded like a match made in heaven.

It wasn’t enough to make Rosie like her; she wanted them to be best best best friends.

(Deep down in her heart, she knew this probably had to do with her own best friend drifting away from her. There was a gap in her soul that only a best friend could fill. But she wasn’t ready yet to process that, so she buried it and set herself to the task of speculating about what Rosie would be like.)

-/-

#this story is supposed to be about samuel and flint but it's rapidly becoming the eddie and deacon show #(y'all haven't met deacon cause i'm a few chapters ahead #but he and eddie are both show stealers #can't wait till they're in a scene together) #(eddie and deacon are ruby and mercury clones though so it's not surprising they're scene stealers) #batter up (working title) #please don't reblog this! #just comments will suffice!