#just. the idea of this incomprehensible girl making a space for herself in his life. and him letting her have it and trusting her with it.

[zutraeumen]

Materialistic Seduction

This is a part of my one-shot book about Raiden called: Ceraunophile. You can find the whole book on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev. Mortal Kombat belongs to its respectful owners.

Ceraunophile 🌩 Masterlist

Materialistic Seduction [+18]

"Do you think this looks better than the mustard one?"

Sonya asked you as you turned around to give your opinion on another dress your friend tried on. For what occasion one might ask? Well, answer that for yourself- just kidding. Johnny had asked Sonya to be his date for the premiere of his new film, and Sonya (not surprisingly) had no suitable dress in her closet. Not for a red-carpet event at least.

Hell, you didn't possess one either, so who were you to judge?

As a true best friend should, Sonya had asked for your help, and you, as a best friend should, didn't even hesitate to accompany her on a trip to the mall. You saw no harm in helping out, to be another pair of eyes here for you to find the best fit.

Only then did you realize just how bad of an idea taking you was.

You had literally never bought a dress for yourself IN YOUR LIFE! How were you to know what colours would match your best friend?!

"It does, but I have a feeling something blue would make your hair stand out more. Hmm..." trailing off, you perused the different articles, acting as if you had any real idea of what specifically you were looking for.

Admit it, you were just trying to sound a bit helpful even though you were doing most of the research on the spot. Behind your friend's back while the blonde was changing, googling as a woman possessed for articles that gave you an incentive on what colours to look out for.

Elder Gods, your inner woman felt pathetic.

Okay, enough self-pity, get over yourself, this shouldn't be that hard! Just turn on your brain and make logical connections!

You stood by your belief that a turquoise blue would most brilliantly stand out against Sonya's blond tress and matching blue eyes. Plain was off the table, it HAD to be something glamorous so it matched with her date's personality as much as it would shock him once he would lay eyes on her. You were convinced that with Sonya's level of confidence and sculpted body, she had what it took to rock any dress.

Your mind was running seven miles per hour at this point as you searched for a worthy candidate for what you had envisioned and- OH MY GOD THAT DRESS THERE WAS PERFECT!

It didn't take much for you to imagine your best friend in this piece of art. With gentle fingers, you took it off its hanger and presented it to the Commander.

"This Sonya, trust me, this is the one we've been looking for."

You tell her, sounding positively captivated by your choice, your friend noted discreetly as Sonya made her way to the changing room. She emerged after a short amount of time, slowly falling in love with the magnificent piece herself as you stood by her side against the massive mirror.

"[Y/N], I have to say, you might be right. It does look kinda good on me."

Your head almost unscrew itself from your spine so fast did you turn to your friend, unbelieving of what you were hearing, "Kinda?! Girl, don't tell me no bullshit, you look positively ravishing! Johnny's jaw will be hanging on the floor for the rest of the evening, you'll see!"

Sonya simply stood still as your verbal charade ended, arms crossed and one brow raised, questioning.

"Is that tone I am hearing, soldier?"

"Noooooo, but seriously, if I were Johnny, I wouldn't hesitate to jump your bones."

"Like those guys sending you bedroom eyes at the gym?" She retorted and a frown settled on your determined face before it morphed into disgust. You said it before, you didn't appreciate any other eyes on you than Raiden's.

"Ew, no, I pass."

"Thought so, not when you have caught yourself a god."

...

...

...

Thoroughly shocked, with words caught in your throat, you made an incomprehensible indignant sound to fill the space with your confusion. A furious blush has taken over your face while you sputtered questions along the lines of 'How', 'Why' and 'When'.

Sonya, with a soft quirk of lips, supplied, "You didn't think I wouldn't notice my best friend suddenly disappearing with the Thunder God in the middle of the dancefloor?"

"Uhm, yes?" You reply, trying not to act too guilty about being caught red-handed by your best friend, who should have been the first to know.

"You are right, I didn't make the connection at first. Johnny told me."

Now you were sheepish and embarrassed in equal measure. How did a harmless conversation turn this uncomfortable? Well, someone outing your secret and then being confronted about it wasn't going to be pleasant for anyone, but alas, you were at fault for not sharing.

You only hoped your bestie would understand why you had kept it from her.

Disapproving, you shook your head, muttering a 'Fucking snitch!' under your breath. Sonya couldn't help but laugh at what you said. You looked into her eyes and then let them drop.

"I am sorry for not telling you. You must angry at me."

Gowns and events forgotten, Sonya put a comforting hand on your shoulder, "You don't have to be and anyways, would I have asked for your help if I were truly mad at you?"

Most likely not, you nodded knowingly at her, beyond thankful that your little secret hadn't created a rift in your friendship.

"Does he make you happy?"

There wasn't any need to answer as the gratifying smile that broke out on your lips showed your friend the true extent of happiness your boyfriend - Sonya never thought she would come to associate the stoic Thunder God with that word - caused by simply being your significant other.

"Anyways, let's wrap things up here so we can grab a cuppa, don't you say?"

Glad to shrug off the tension, the idea of a hot cup of sweet tea sounded appealing, "Sounds good to me."

And after a quick visit to the cashier, Sonya's purse felt lighter than before as the two of you enjoyed your warm beverages with a dose of light-hearted small talk. Although you could tell that your best friend became curious pertaining to the details of your romantic liaison with Raiden.

I mean, who wouldn't be?

The air felt light around you two, having achieved all that you came to the shopping centre for. The day seemed to be concluded, you figured as Sonya finished her coffee, and you would soon part ways amicably.

That was how you thought it would play out.

Sonya had other ideas. Terrible ideas. Why in the Elder Gods were you going into a fancy lingerie shop?

Let me rephrase that.

WHY THE HELL ARE WE LOOKING OVER SEXY UNDERWEAR?!

"Umm, Sonya?" You waited for her gaze to settle on you, "What are we doing here?"

"Spicing things up for you."

Confused, you asked, "Why?"

"For the bedroom."

Offended, you asked again with a slight shrill in your tone, "WHY?"

"Dunno. We can't call it a shopping trip if only I get to buy something. We have to get you something too!"

"But why lingerie?!" You hissed through gritted teeth.

"Because you need it!"

"Do not!"

"You do!"

"DO NOT!"

"Oh for Christ's sake [Y/N], you're running around in sports bras long enough! Just imagine the face Raiden will make once he sees you in one of those. You will have him salivating like a dog."

This wasn't how you imagined him to react at all, he wasn't some prude after all. But the intensity with which he would look upon you, you could picture in your mind. With relative ease, you could see the last tethers of his self-control snapping within seconds before he would strike and ravage your alluring body to new heights.

The thought made you impossibly aroused, and say what it may about you, that was all it took for you to follow through with Sonya's idea.

So this was how you ultimately ended up posing in front of your bathroom mirror a few hours later, in nothing but your freshly bought underwear; a matching chemise discarded on the toilet lid. After one last contemplating glance at your reflection, you splashed your face with water for refreshment and jumped into bed.

Though with no intention to sleep as you waited for the return of your Thunder God.

Raiden came to you sooner than you expected, and you nervously adjusted your position to look as seductive as possible. You know, like those playboy models that some boys in your high school seemed to hinge on during the breaks.

But the fantasies and possible scenarios kept you wanting and desperate. More than you ever have been.

Your heart picked up as you heard the bedroom door open, rusty hinges squeaking with the movement (you'd have to oil them soon). The darkness of the room hid your nervous silhouette. A short silence followed that had your body itching in anticipation and impatience, close to being unbearable when a rustle of cloth permeated the room's silence.

Raiden was taking his clothes off, you could tell, and none the sooner you felt your mattress dip with his weight. Any time soon, he would notice and confront you about it, only...

He did nothing. Simply continued to lie on his side of the bed. Feeling lost, your mind ran on overtime as you drummed over other solutions to your small problem. Perhaps you weren't as straightforward with your intent as you imagined.

In an attempt to catch his attention without blowing your cover, you shuffled closer with some made-up noises. Once you were skin-to-skin, enough to invite him to touch you and discover his surprise, now you were positively thrumming energy.

Yet it still amounted to nothing, no reaction at all, and even your sexual drive slowly receded with the lack of interest. It left you disappointed in him and most importantly, yourself, as you couldn't have failed more spectacularly than this.

With that in mind, you disregarded any possible option of continuing and prepared yourself for a frustrated attempt at falling asleep. In the end, you did somehow end up falling asleep but you don't even remember how long it took you as you found yourself slowly awakening within the next moment.

Not to the morning light shining through the gasp of your drapes.

Not to the hooting of cars in a faraway street.

Not even the barking of that Rottweiler your neighbours kept walking in the morning hours.

It was a tender sensation, not quite like a touch, but soft to be misjudged as one. A faint humming gave the atmosphere a warmth that made a smile blossom on your face. If only every morning with Raiden could be like this. Warm and sweet, like a fine tea to get rid of residual sleepiness.

Raiden had other ideas though, once his eyes drank the utterly sensual sight of you. The silky sheets pooled messily around as you rested on your side, away from him, with a pillow tucked underneath your head. You embodied the epitome of peace. It was, however, not the only thing he noticed in his visual venture.

He had never seen you in such revealing clothing before and he particularly liked the light blue chemise that looked, against the few rays of gold, like a holy veil. And your body an altar to be worshipped. In that case, he would gladly adhere to the role of a devoted believer.

However, your innocence certainly conjured the most sinful ideas in his imagination. Devoid of ill intent, but full of lust and desire. The images came to him easily, seamlessly transitioning and overlapping into a vision so pleasurable, he got hard in no time.

About how he could take you. How he could elicit in you the greatest heights of ecstasy. In different positions. Through different touches. Through...

At first, it had him taken back. Fantasizing was an entirely new thing for his virtuous self after all and for a second, he reprimanded himself. That he shouldn't be thinking of you with such depraved thoughts. Especially not while you were SLEEPING! But you had a way of sweeping away the very foundations his being stood on.

And this time was no different.

He decided, in a valiant effort to calm down, to listen to your periodic huffs of small breaths. His mind wouldn't pounce on that, surely. But it did, viciously, as he thought about how it sped up during your shared passion and he resisted the urge to grind his aching need into the sheets, or worse, you.

He would have no words for his actions if you woke up to him rutting against you like some sort of animal, not the dignified individual that he presumed himself to be.

How could he want you this strongly by only gazing at you? By this point, he was getting desperate for you. For your warmth. For the way you sometimes whispered his name lewdly into his ear, or screamed it when Raiden brought you to peak-

"Hmm... Raiden?" you called out sleepily, a lilt of confusion to your small voice that had him repressing his befuddled state even more. But a roaring fire once stoked, could hardly be put out by the wind. It only served to enhance the frenzied flame that churned inside of him.

He wanted to greet you into waking up to a new day, but he feared his voice would give him away, if his inappropriate actions haven't already.

The god's silence gave your time to sober up a bit. The sleep-induced grogginess gradually faded with the realization of space and time. It was morning, not too early but not yet noon as well. You felt rested, despite the disappointment from yesterday.

However, as you turned to catch a glance of Raiden, you realized something was wrong. He was frowning, like when he was in deep thought, but it looked as if he was particularly conflicted this time around.

It couldn't have been of the positive kind, as his body appeared tense, muscles tightened like a bowstring, "Honey, talk to me, what's wrong?"

His eyes flickered to yours hurriedly, as if he was deliberately concentrating on anything that wasn't you. That was when you saw just how much they had darkened, glazed over with unbridled desire, and the sight alone debauched you in ways only your Thunder God could.

Unlike other times though, you had no intentions of giving in easily this time. You'd act cross with him since he had, unknowingly mind you, denied you release yesterday. Sly wasn't a trait one would associate with you in any concept, but that was before Raiden became part of your life, and before you experienced the infuriating feeling of sexual frustration.

Teasingly, you ran a hand across his feverish skin, and as expected, it elicited a violent shudder from your lover, "Gods, Raiden, you are shivering! Should I get you something to warm up?"

At loss for words as he seemed, a simple 'no' made it out of his orifice. You yourself had no words to describe the empowerment you felt, but you would indulge in such depraved thoughts once you were done with your mission.

Feigning the notion of not knowing better, you continued with your charade of concern, "Should I fetch you another blanket or? Oh, tea! Right! I'll go and make you some oolong tea. That will surely warm you up!"

Just as you were about to let him be on his own, a sturdy arm came around your mind, momentarily robbing your breath due to its force as Raiden brought you to himself. Your instincts tingled with danger as you felt him exhale against the shell of your ear.

"I... I need you."

Gosh, you might as well have died right there, right now. You could swear his baritone had never dropped this low. Coupled with those sensuous syllables dripping from his mouth like fine silk, well, it left the empty walls of your channel to clench around nothing. He had you right back to where you were yesterday, and from this standpoint, it seemed that what you had in mind seemed far crueller than initially thought.

But you would not let him have his way quite yet, as sorely tempted as you were.

Like a cat that got the cream, you cooed with barely constrained amusement.

"Are you running a fever as well, my dear?"

A hand of yours, tingling with residual needles, swept across the smooth skin of his forehead to find it absolutely packed with heat (as if you weren't burning up from the inside out). You were curious to see how far you could push him with this. If you could manage to coax out his rougher - no, hmmm, how should you put his - primal? - side of him.

You simply wanted him to explore those intimate parts of himself that he had yet to discover.

"Nay, my love! I-"

Taking his hesitation into an advantage, you rushed out of his embrace to saunter off into the kitchen like a feline that got her way, with a pronounced sway to your hips, enticing him further. Fighting to keep the Cheshire grin off your face, the hungry gaze of his would have pulled you back to him like a string.

Once you have passed the door and out of sight, your palm moved to your heart almost immediately, overwhelmed and unbelievably shaky. You actually pulled that off! With your timid nature no less! Willpower next to none!

It was hugely out of character, ESPECIALLY for someone like you, who most jerks would call a good girl. Complaisant and obedient. But your actions spoke louder than words. Denying him once inspired some braver parts of you to poke the dragon doubtlessly hidden inside of him.

Whether you would come to regret it was up to the upcoming minutes.

Although seriously speaking, the god would have to approach with some unconventional tastes to truly scare you off. But you were confident that wasn't to be the case with him. You simply didn't peg him as an overly kinky guy.

Lost in your musing, the lurking giant behind you totally escaped your notice until you felt him against your diminutive frame, touch scorching as he, with all the time in the world, caressed your curves as one would touch something delicate.

And indeed, for him, that was the bottom line of words that were worthy enough of your person. Sometimes he wished to study more words to bequeath you with, for he feared that he had already exhausted every vocable there was, and it felt shortcoming. A shame it may be, the Thunder God preferred to be a man of actions than words, he felt most strongly compelled to do such when all coherency has fled his mind. Which, often not, happened the moment you injected him with desire.

A craving which, the longer your romantic relationship went on, became more defined and pronounced to a point where the god had fewer inhibitions in expressing yearnings that his responsibility to Earthrealm prevented from being realized before.

With the shackles that he so willingly imposed on himself, there was no remedy from their weight before you entered the picture. In truth, he hadn't been all that aware of it. How much depended on him. In the midst of all of that, the importance of free time never crossed his mind.

There wasn't really much to him as a person other than his onus. On some days, he liked to entertain the idea that he might have been born BECAUSE of this purpose. Consider it his own little pep talk for the harder days.

He thought that was part of being a God.

But you showed him that was no at all there was to it.

Alas, were he of clear mind, he might have waxed poetry the likes of the greatest poets of human history. That privilege, however, Raiden would leave for another day when your pliable body wasn't giving him ideas that would make the devil blush.

And he had every intention of going through it... only with your consent.

"My love," he rumbled so deliciously into your ear, "my goddess, let me adore you."

You gulped as you felt his member prodding against your lace panties, hell might have felt cooler than your core. His words quickly chased any form of teasing you might have planned. The poor tea was discarded and forgotten in an instant.

Rationality was exchanged for the unbearable ache for him. A wildfire was sparked between the two of you and your arm reached behind you, to tangle your fingers into his uncombed hair, inching his head closer to the neck that you have craned in response to his desire. Following his lust, he wasted no time skimming his velvety lips against the exposed patch of skin; it smelled like vanilla (or so his nose tried to convince him) and it made him bury his nose into you with greater fervour.

The open-mouthed kisses meant to devour you had you lapping for breath, leaving you with a feeling of being drowned, and yet not. His passion was difficult to put into words, but you felt how it challenged you to match it, mirrored by the way you tightened your grip on his strands. He growled against you and a girlish yelp left you as he spun you around to effortlessly lift you onto the kitchen counter. A fleeting image of this one time when he had tried to make you something to eat flitted through your mind, how adorably sweet he had been caked in flour.

Now it had become a stage that resembled another porn video. Cooking, from this point on, would become rather interesting after the two of you were done.

Fuck, look at him! What a sight he makes!

Positively BURNING for you. Thrumming with sexual tension that was about to explode into something so mind-boggling that you almost couldn't contain your excitement. Gone were those days were such activities scared the hell out of you. It was so easy to give yourself over to him without a second thought. To fall into him, figuratively speaking.

His presence resonated a signal of security, inviting and welcoming anything and everything. You have never felt such with any other person of the other sex and it liberated you in your actions immensely. There was a tightening sensation in your chest, a sort of vigorous tingling with each touch of your lover, so positively possessed to be part of your very being by the way he latched himself to you.

You never needed anyone so much as him at this moment, and it didn't terrify you to act on your desire.

"Damn, t-touch me, Raiden. I need to feel you."

You never heard yourself beg for something this desperately, and blushed at how it sounded to your own ears. You would have cared, but the god's hands were already working on unwrapping you from the set of lingerie you had bought yesterday specifically for him. Sonya's idea appeared so brilliant to you now, that some part of you regretted fighting against it in the first place.

The god's mind was bereft of words as he took a moment to gaze at your form, gloriously naked and within range for him to revere. Focused on fulfilling his word of practising worship upon your body. He made you the centre of his universe, and his intentions were clear when he spread your legs - when did he take off your panties? - and got on his knees, levelling his head with your dripping folds. His eyes could have burnt another hole in you by their vehemence and most surprisingly, there was no urge for you to close your legs out of shyness.

You felt POWERFUL, to have a literal god on his knees for you. Despite his masculinity that screamed dominance in this instance, you felt like the one who held the reins, so you arched your back a little and further opened those hips for him. A look flashed between the two of you as you offered your most intimate parts to the Thunder God. There would have to be found a new word to describe the level of wetness you achieved when he lowered his face to your crotch.

You couldn't help but hyperfocus on his lips, and he couldn't look away from your petals, surrounded by a soft patch of hair. There was a bit of a warm, coiled tension, your muscles started to tense up in anticipation, expressed in the way you let out a shuddering moan once his lips made first contact.

"Oh my God, Raiden."

You were thankful that although you were both heavily drunk on longing, he didn't dip his feet too deep into the uncharted waters, and paused at times you needed him to. He began with kisses and licks that did a wonderful job of letting you adjust while also prepping you for the next steps. You prayed he would discover that he could use his tongue on his own because you mistrusted your ability to create any semblance of a sentence-

Oh! He did!

And it told you exactly what you've been missing out on. The sensation of an active, slippery tongue was foreign to your groin. It felt gratifying in the most unexpected ways, soothing an annoying itch you had since you felt his rod pushing against your rump. It was a different kind of penetration, not as invasive or linear. By the time you grew fairly accustomed to this squishy feeling, waves overlapping waves started building somewhere in your belly, the heat impacted you as much as his member would, but what really stood apart was the phenomenal texture and the way it inquisitively searched out every untouched nook and cranny of your channel. It was a good thing you showered before going to sleep.

The god in return, fuelled by basic instincts and youthful energy, intrinsically concentrated on his strenuous efforts as much as he tried to catalogue the new territory he had read about while doing research. The outer labia were plump and soft. He noticed as you become more and more aroused, the inner labia became engorged, wet, warm, and smooth to the tongue and lips.

They felt incredibly soft and squishy as the god alternated between kissing and licking, and he couldn't help but gently suck on them occasionally as well - you responded stronger to that. The pubic hair pleasantly rubbed on his cheeks, enriched by the rapturous smell he had yet to decipher. The vaginal opening had smooth, rounded edges that Raiden could feel with his tongue once he slipped it inside you as deep as it can reach. In and out, faster then slower, he could feel the slippery vaginal walls firmly around his muscle, beginning to constrict.

It happened instinctively, that you arched your back in response to a particularly precise stroke of his tongue, that you almost slipped off the kitchen counter weren't it for Raiden hefting his strong arms around your twitching thighs. Scrambling for purchase, which you found in his hair, sounds of delight freely flowed through your gaping mouth as he ate you out like a man starved. He also occasionally responded with a grunt or muffled groan that vibrated oh-so-deliciously against your sensitive skin.

Drunk on your pleasure, enraptured by your musky scent and most of all, ravenous for your marvellous taste. He gulped the cocktail of hormones, this nectar of life as if it were his sole purpose. Completely oblivious to his own mounting pressure on his purposefully neglected member. It was as he had exclaimed many times before - your pleasure was his pleasure.

The unabated truth came, you were close. Very, very close to finishing. Breath laboured despite not doing anything than grinding wantonly against his face, you miraculously chanced a glance at your lover and found him staring right back... and that had done it for you. His head between your legs, eyes deliberately keeping eye-control on your unravelled form would sear its way into your memory.

His name echoed in your ears even after you tried to collect yourself. Recovery was a slow process. A pleasant haze dizzied your vision as your breath eventually evened out. Any perception of time eluded you, but the buzz in your bones did not. Boneless, would describe it better.

"Raiden, honey," you started after regaining some sense, "that was absolutely amazing!"

When he didn't answer you, concern made its treacherous return to your mind. Had something happened during your climax?

Pushing your hunched upper body forward, you narrowed your eyes enough to analyze the state he was in, and within seconds you came to the sudden realization that it wasn't only you who had achieved completion.

You had come together.

Raiden servicing you was enough for him to get off with you. Would you possess an ego, it would have been on the roof by now. But being frugal suited you better, and you savoured the sight of his handsome face, from the nose down, soaked with a combination of your release and his own saliva while stroking his shambolic long hair.

That was one heck of a morning.

#raiden x reader #mk raiden #dark raiden #lord raiden #raiden mortal kombat #mortal kombat #netherrealm studios #explict #smut and fluff #oneshot #comfort #hard on #service #arousal

[maxfieldparrishes]

would it be harsh of me to ask for a bunch of,,like,,unposted ethanessa headcanons or something like that?? i miss the serotonin ur fics would give me ugh

not harsh of you at all! my executive functioning just sucks dong and i'm a horrible procrastinator when it comes to answering asks

so... unposted ethanessa headcanons... hmm... not really sure how much i've left unposted but!!! i will do this for you, and also for them because they are a Forever Ship

(jsyk these will be AU because i'm obsessed with the idea of them in the present day having a happy life and family together... also i'll be drawing on conversations i've had with @curioussubjects about the HML (happy modern life) AU) so here goes!!! under a cut because it got Long lol

ethanessa settles in either the pnw or maine, likely the pnw because there's some space for ethan during his time of the month but it's still relatively close to major cities (depends on your definition of close, tbf) (also i gotta represent my og turf! pnw represent!)

they have three kids - charles, claire, and celia. they are all thick as thieves which makes ethanessa sweat somewhat because of the potential of organized sibling chaos and shenanigans, but they adore their parents so they take it easy on them. mostly.

ethan is such a loving dad i can't even begin to describe him because i get too emotional!!! same with mom!vanessa... like they're not perfect people and they'd absolutely make mistakes as parents but their hearts are always in the right place!!! im crying omg

out of the three, claire and celia are both werewolves like ethan. this means that during every full moon there are 3 annoyed lycanthropes in the house and/or on the property--although now that ethan is older and more experienced with the shifting he's better able to control the urges, and he's made it a point to teach claire and celia how to better cope with the change while they're still young. claire will sometimes have supervised freedom while transformed; celia does not like transforming, does not trust herself, and will not leave the basement, even if calm/rational and if given the opportunity

charles is the most like van. magic shit. spooky ghosts. seances. freaky spellbooks. rituals that are Beyond Intricate. claire can deal with low-level shit, but anything above her pay grade (which is like... minimum wage) is sent to charles. charles is a nerd who loves lit theory and reads it for fun, philosophy and history, anthropology/sociology... academia in general; he wants to be a professor and publish incomprehensible papers when he grows up. also likes knitting to unwind, courtesy of ethan. would absolutely be bullied and stuffed into a locker if he wasn't so nice, cute, and friendly... closest out of the 3 kids to aunt cat, the sometimes-resident Cool Aunt

claire is the Social Butterfly of the three. she's the resident social (media) expert, keeps up-to-date on trends, tons of twitter/insta/snapchat/etc followers. absolutely has a hydroflask with stickers on it and an iced coffee obsession. chaotic middle child energy. super smart and cunning and protective of her family, absolutely the type to get into poli-sci for the activism, which she eventually does. loves cats even though they don't love her, animals in general, the environment, and being bisexual; does NOT love being a werewolf. she loves both her parents but would probably admit to being closer to ethan (is 100% a daddy's girl) probably the only member of the family who actually enjoys organized sports (was on the soccer team) once punched a guy who repeatedly sexually harassed her in the face, broke his nose, and was sent to the principal's office for it. ethanessa were proud <3

celia is the Artist in Residence of the clan. an absolute madwoman in the best way, she lives to create, is creating constantly, and is a fucking superstar bohemian who will one day go down in history and end up in museums. she works in a variety of mediums--painting (watercolors, oils, etc), ink drawings, sketches, clay--and always has something up her sleeve or on the backburner. gives off a vibe of being somewhat disconnected from reality, but she's very astute and observant. 100% the quietest and least social of the three kids, but also the kindest and most open-minded. can go through manic phases that result in an increased creative output but can also crash super hard, is on mood stabilizers and a diet high in omega-3s to help; the lycanthropy does not help AT ALL. 100% goes to school in paint-covered clothes, paints sets for the drama dept, has no social media at all but claire reps her sister's art on her own accounts and charles does too. has baby privilege; everyone loves her the most, including addy, the pet goat.

(they're all so supportive of each other i'm so!!!)

even though ethanessa are each other's primary partners, they are also both in a polyamorous relationship with catriona (and she with them) an anthropology professor, and the kids' Cool Aunt Cat

cat is literally a cat--she comes and goes as she pleases, she loves the kids like they're her own, she loves van to death and ethan only slightly less. far too self-directed and independent to ever be a dog, even if she is one of the most loyal and loving people ever

she's not always there bc she has her own apartment and her own life, but she spends a ton of time with the family when she can and wants to

the kids have all known her since they were born, grew up being somewhat co-parented by her, and idolize her completely, charles especially

brings yarn back from her travels so the fam (except for vanessa, who, bless her heart, SUCKS at knitting) can knit sweaters for addy (and sometimes scarves for van if the yarn is REALLY nice)

non-traditional family structures!!!

cat is the one who introduced charles to Theory and also tea. she gave him some hegel and zizek to read as a joke while he drank his genmaicha but he was absolutely enamored; told ethanessa later after he gave them all a lecture about lacan and the mirror stage at dinner: "i have created a monster. i am so sorry."

they don't have cats, but they do have dogs and a pygmy goat named adelaide, or addy for short

addy is the undisputed queen of the household and every single one of them would bend over backwards to make that goat happy

celia is addy's favorite person, because she's always on the floor doing Art, and doesn't mind it when addy climbs on her

addy has more instagram followers than charles and claire combined, because all 3 kids + ethan knit her sweaters and post pictures of her in them online. they have a schedule for it and everything, and the hype surrounding this tiny-ass goat is i n s a n e

ethanessa don't really use social media except to monitor the kids and keep in touch with fam because while they are not necessarily old they are also Old, if that makes sense

ethan goes deep into the forest during his transformations and usually it's uneventful... until the one time vanessa doesn't go with him, which becomes the one time he saves some lost hikers from a cougar and becomes a local legend as the town's Resident Cryptid

(this is a source of never-ending hilarity in the ives-chandler household. ethan is voted "hottest cryptid in the pnw" three years running and van gets it for him on a coffee mug. there is a close-up picture of his absolutely unimpressed face when he's presented with it on the polaroid wall and it is one of van's most treasured photos)

there's a well-intentioned running joke/bit in the town where they all playful accuse each other of being the HCITW (Hot Cryptid In The Woods). ethan almost got outed one day and left the grocery store sweating BUCKETS after one of the hikers he saved turned out to be the cashier in his checkout line, who said that he could have sworn he'd seen ethan somewhere before (ethan: "i just have one of those faces i guess???")

one girl in claire's class is absolutely CONVINCED it's ethan and she's absolutely right, but after claire takes her home one day to work on a project she's like "nah claire your dad couldn't possibly be a werewolf cryptid man he's way too chill and dorky" (claire: "don't tell anyone but that's the weed. at least the chill part is weed. he's just a dork naturally")

ethan is offended despite himself; van and charles have to leave the house to go walk in the woods because they're laughing so hard; celia is unbothered and only emerges from her room to change her paint water. claire thinks that she might one day marry this girl.

(they aren't married but they are still dating!)

none of this isn't to say they don't have bad days. sometimes charles hyperfocuses on things that aren't real--ghosts of people and the ghost in the book and drifts away from reality. sometimes claire is too angry for her own damn good and, when the full moon hits, becomes more of a wolf than either her father or her sister. the period of time before celia's mental health issues were nailed down and treated was hard on everyone. sometimes ethan and vanessa run out of patience with each other. sometimes they all have moods where they just don't want to talk. they're all in step with each other anyway, and sometimes you just don't want to fucking talk.

but all in all... it's a solid family. the state of being alive, in and of itself, is far too messy to ever be perfect, but their life now is better than either van or ethan could have dreamed (especially considering their own childhoods...) there's so much love in there that all of them don't know where or how they can store it all. there is so much love that no one is hungry and there is love left over for those who might need a little more. it's open hearts and warm arms and a hand to hold in the darkness. it's fucking awesome. it's the best.

#oh my god i made myself SO EMO but in a good way... #ethanessa #otp: i'm with you #ethan x vanessa #i miss them!!! if i ever meet john logan it's gonna be ON SIGHT #sorry about this it got very long and self-indulgent but i am so Fond of this particular little fantasy daydream #i hope you enjoy it anon!!! #penny dreadful

[whitherliliesbloom]

heartbeat concerto

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #03 - scale ]

[ alphinaud/wol ]  ★ [ 2,605 words ]  ★ [ nodame cantabile au ]

scale: an arrangement of the notes in any system of music in ascending or descending order of pitch

Illya prays to the heavens that the man beside her does not hear the fortissimo that was her pounding heart. 

“Rachmaninoff?” Her voice was equal parts confused as it was alarmed, hiking in pitch that sounded like an ear piercing squeak, almost grimace worthy. Trepidation rings loud in her chest, like shrieking white noise that deafens her. “I’ve never played a concerto in front of somebody before.” 

She had hoped that admittance would allow him to grant her some fraction of mercy. After all... for as gracious and supportive a tutor as he was a diligently observant audience for her playing, he surely wouldn’t throw her into the deep end after she’d just barely able to make some progress, right?

The boy merely smiles, navy blue eyes softening in its gaze as he waves the music sheets in his hands before placing them delicately upon the piano stand. He exudes an aura of gentle reassurance, but knows that his resolve to push her past her comfortable limits is implacable. 

“Now would be a good time for a first then, wouldn’t you agree?”

Illya heart sinks, lips pressed into a thin, paling line as she glances at the score that awaited her - notes upon lines that were rapidly blurring into nothing but squiggles and incomprehensible doodles in her vision... as if taunting her, daring her to butcher one of the most iconic piano concertos to have ever been composed - by one of the greatest virtuoso pianists to have ever lived no less? 

Sonatas were one thing - it took Illya a good amount of time to be able to even bring herself to play the first movement of Sonata Facile to completion in front of him without breaking down into a mess of cold sweat and trembling fingers. 

But concertos... by the twelve, even saying the word brings her chills down her spine. 

She was nowhere near good enough for pieces that demanded such high amounts of skill, precision and talent... nowhere even close to being able to perform alone on stage for a crowd to behold... let alone in front of an entire orchestra. 

When she had met the violin prodigy that had been her new neighbor and he’d offered to help her overcome the performance anxiety that had crippled her ability to play the piano in front of others for years, she hadn’t expected for him to have such sky high expectations for her - expectations that she was certain she’d never in a million years be able to meet.

Alphinaud is a confident, assured young man. Performing was only natural to him, came as naturally as music does flow through his very veins - he had even stated so on the very day that they’d met. Music is for ears to hear, for the world to enjoy. What point was there to keeping music hidden behind four walls? To hide away the sound of their instruments is an affront to the very reason those instruments were made in the first place. 

He moved into this apartment complex for a very different reason than she did - and she understood that he too, in his own ways that she could not yet fully understand, had his own troubles which kept him from reaching the heights in which he, and his family had aspired him to be. 

But the notoriety behind the difficulty of the pieces he plays has never once made his bow once falter, nor has it ever put him off the idea of even trying. Certainly, there were aspects of his playing to critique... but his determination and confidence alone makes him more of a capable musician than she is - something she both deeply envied and admired. 

Would that she could even possess half the amount of talent as he- she’d constantly tell herself, and it was a thought that possessed her even as she hung her head in defeat, trudging to the piano that sat in the middle of the living room before sitting herself down on the cushioned bench, the dent in the corner of the wood still visible from their first meeting when she’d knocked it over onto its side from panic. 

Violet eyes glance down at the black and white keys with a gulp - her greatest friend in her darkest times of sorrow... yet also the cause of many of her biggest regrets and worries in life. 

She stalls for a moment to pick her train of hair up from the floor and let it unravel gently behind her on the bench, her cotton slippers kicked aside to place her feet upon the pedals that were propped up by a well used extender - a necessity due to her short stature. 

With stiff, slightly shaky fingers that now laid delicately upon the surface of the piano keys, Illya sharply inhales, and forces herself to quiet the raging thoughts of potential failure and humiliation as she presses down to play the first notes. 

Alphinaud stands behind her by the window, quiet so as to not disturb the girl... but even with his considerate silence, Illya could not help but be acutely aware of his eyes staring holes into the back of her head. She could only begin to imagine what he was thinking - and while she’s befriended him long enough to know he was a man who was above ridicule, she still hated to disappoint - especially the first person who has heard her play the piano for the first time in years. 

A symphony fills the apartment, bright as the rays of sunlight that shone through the window, making Illya’s starspun hair appear to glow like a halo. Like little bells, the piano sings out a melody that is as light as the air. It sounds easy on the ears, gentle and kind as the timid pianist who was weaving this piece into being with her fingers. 

And that was the problem.

Rachmaninoff composed Piano Concerto No 2 during some of the darkest moments of his life - the piece that would go on to save his career as a floundering, helpless musician had been written from the very pits of his own despair - a song of tragedy and sorrow that tells of a struggling pianist and composer who feared to lose the very thing that gave his life meaning; something many other aspiring musicians would surely understand... something Illya herself knew all too well.

And yet when Alphinaud listened to the piece being played, it conveyed none of that sadness, none of the essence of what made Concerto No 2 become such an iconic classical piece in history. 

Illya played without fault - that much he is certain. She’s taking great care to play the right notes, attentive to her own pace that would be fitting were a choir of violins and cellos playing after her tune. But he can tell, even without looking upon the tense, rigid scowl upon her face that she was focusing too much on the technicalities that she’s lost all of what made him so captivated with her playing before - a mistake that he himself has been criticized for countless times. 

Father has chided him for that before - praised him for being a genius and young violin paragon both while at the same time admonishing his lack of improvement even after three years of performing professionally - three years of the same critique that would come back to haunt him over and over again.

Music was more than playing perfectly - it was about the inflections, the subtleties in the way one moves their finger across the piano keys, or the way one draws a violin bow... The emotions that would stir one’s heart in a way only music would be able to convey and can never be properly emulated with computerized digital sound. 

When Alphinaud closed his eyes, he did not hear the disquiet of a child’s heart as he heard the echoes of church bells ringing on a Sunday morning... but, just as it is - a nervous pianist who was pressing keys because she was told to, because she is doubting herself. 

“Illya.” he calls her name, softly so as to not startle... but more importantly, to convey that he wasn’t mad, disappointed or upset with her - as she is wont to often assume. 

The piano stops abruptly, and the girl turns to look at him, her piercing stardust hued eyes shimmering with a glossy layer of worry - it suits her less than the rare blossoms of joy that sprouted in her eyes whenever she seemed to genuinely be enjoying his company.

“Y-Yes?” 

The young man pauses for a moment to casually stroll up beside her, before gesturing for the lady to move. Though confused, she scoots over to her right to allow him space on the bench, questioning expression apparent on her face about his intent.

When he sits, the close proximity between them brings him warmth, and he feels the corners of his lips instinctively pull into a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, you must have been caught off guard with such an unreasonable request from me.” He apologizes before quickly holding up his hand when he sees the young lady’s lips part in an impulsive need to protest.. but it is quickly lowered when she draws back into herself and swallows her retort. “Maybe... a little warm up would be better before we move on to such a challenging piece.”

His slender fingers stretch, the pad of his index finger resting gently upon a D key, but not pressing down. 

Alphinaud has only the basic understanding of how a piano is played... and he has in the past tried to expand his musical repertoire to cover the undisputedly most popular classical instrument of all time, but he regrettably never quite got the time or chance to. But he is aware of a routine piano players would use to practice, not too dissimilar to the way violinists would warm up as well.

“May we perhaps practice scales? Just for a little while?”

The humility in his tone with his request compared to before doesn’t escape Illya’s notice, but she refrains from commenting on it as her eyes widen up at him.

“Um... s-sure.”

The hesitation in her response is only natural - after all he’d just challenged her to play a difficult piece of piano concerto only to reduce their practice down to repetitive scales - something even the most amateur of players could easily do. 

Perhaps he’d felt a tad sorry for his earlier forwardness and the not so subtle way he’d intimidated her into playing something she was clearly not completely comfortable performing for him.. and the only way he knew how to make amends was to correct the damage of his own transgression’s doing. 

Getting Illya to relax was important - not just for her music but for the sake of herself as well. If her Rapunzel length hair, lack of fresh foods in her pantry and well worn and weathered pink camise was any indication, the girl wasn’t the best at taking care of her own wellbeing in her pursuit for musical perfection. 

Illya’s shoulder is still relatively stiff as she begins to play, though not nearly as much as they were before while she was playing the concerto. Her fingers effortlessly glide across the keyboard to play an ascension of notes before moving back down. 

By the third repeat, she’s begun relaxing considerably and picking up speed, and her hands were moving with a practiced, ethereal fluidity that was akin to waves of the ocean... as were the sound of the notes being played - reminding Alphinaud of the push and pull of the tides upon a sandy shoreline. 

She transitions from C major to C minor, weaving in the scales of D-flat major and minor before the scales moves further and further up in pitch, so seamlessly that anyone who isn’t familiar with notes in the slightest would have trouble even realizing the switch in scales until she’s reached F major. 

In the face of something that comes naturally to Illya, she is at ease... and the piano is once more harmonizing in tune with her love for the instrument. 

It’s a not so subtle way of giving her a confidence boost, but Alphinaud claps as she finishes the B minor scale with a flick of her arms - and though her confusion is still apparent, he can tell just from the adorable tilt of her head that she’s relaxed now.

“Wonderful, Illya... It’s clear as crystal with the way you played how seasoned you are. I’d dare say you’re quite a prodigy yourself.”

Having a lofty title thrust onto her so suddenly without warning burns her cheeks a bright shade of red, and the girl is quick to shake her head.

“I-I... I appreciate it, Alphinaud... But I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Be that as it may...” He retorts before leaning forward to close the distance between them, his blue eyes swirling with a sincerity that begins to mirror in Illya’s bejeweled ones. “My praises are always truthful and well deserved. You’re a wonderful pianist, Illya.”

Something compels Alphinaud to continue speaking. Perhaps it was the twinkling of Illya’s eyes that held the radiantly clear reflection of himself within... or the dust of pink speckled upon her cheeks and across the width of her little button nose and pointed ears... or maybe it was the soft sound of air being inhaled through her barely parted lips - glossy, pink and befittingly cute for a woman of such beauty. But he deigns to open up his heart and speak his mind freely- he finds himself being able to do so more easily towards her than any other person for some reason.

“Besides... It was because of my own selfish desire to be able to hear you play that I offered to be your tutor. Being able to be by your side here like this and watch you play alone is an honor I would always treasure. So you needn’t be so afraid of playing how you wish to with me.”

When Alphinaud leans back, he finds the delightful cherry pink shade upon Illya’s face to have darkened, and her flustered quivering of her lips as him self-reflecting upon his own statement which causes him to dart his head to the side in an attempt to hide his own blooming blush.

Not that it’d be noticed by Illya in the first place, as she tilts her head down to hide her thoroughly embarrassed expression beneath the shadows of her white bangs. 

“I-I’m sorry. Maybe I said too much.” 

Illya doesn’t respond, and the young man is almost thankful she doesn’t... because he’s determined to force himself to recover and continue on with their practice.

Clearing his throat unabashedly, his head turns slowly back to look at the girl beside him.

“Well. Shall we continue? I could pick out an easier piece for you to try, this time.”

She nods, as halfheartedly as she did earlier when he’d asked her to perform  Rachmaninoff’s piece for him. And though her playing of Mozart was even more shaky, off-pace and lacking in original intent as it did with Piano Concerto No 2 before... Alphinaud could only acknowledge her efforts with an apologetic and bashful smile on his part... for the deep red flush upon Illya’s face never once dissipates during her performance. 

Nor does the trembling of her fingers - which, if nothing else, conveys the pounding of her racing heart more than clearly and loudly for him to hear. 

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #illya skawi #fanfic #mine #nodame cantabile au #we've come so far #AAAAAAAAAA THE FIRST FILL THAT I ACTUALLY REALLY REALLY ENJOYED WRITING HALLELUJAH #I LOVE THIS AU SO MUCH AAAAAAAAAAA

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Illumi x Reader 18+

Warnings: Yandere (?), noncon, oral sex 

Tapping your foot in time with the reverberating beat, you scanned the crowded bar again. Still no sign of the man who’d offered to buy you a drink over twenty minutes ago. It was incredibly disappointing, and not just because he’d been a real cutie with a strong jawline. That was the second potential suitor that had pulled a vanishing act on you tonight. 

You frowned, wondering what the problem was. 

Halfway through the motion of lifting your hand to your face for an inconspicuous breath test, you froze. Someone was watching you. 

It wasn’t either of the men that had approached you tonight. You’d never seen this one before and he was doing very little to hide the fact he was staring. A shudder snaked its way up your spine as you quickly looked away, breaking eye contact with him. Something was wrong. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what but the lead weight settling in the pit of your gut was reason enough for you to stand up and move to the opposite side of the room. Had he been observing you this entire time? 

You didn’t want to think about that. Couldn’t. You’d come out to have a good night, not spook yourself with your overactive imagination. Putting some space between you and that disconcerting, blank faced stare would do you a world of good. You were certain of it. 

Finding a vacant corner along the far wall, you tucked your back into the tight space and looked out over the sea of nameless faces. Still no sign of the two who had struck up conversation with you earlier. No sign of that voyeur either. You forced your shoulders to relax and took a deep breath. It wasn’t so strange to have someone checking you out like that in a bar. You’d definitely overreacted, you decided, feeling silly now. There wasn’t any reason to let it negatively impact your evening. 

Shrugging off the discontent, you went about your business. It didn’t take long at all for someone else to walk up to you while you swayed in time with the music. You smiled in greeting. He smiled back and told you his name was Myer. A pair of perfect dimples winked at you, making your heart flutter. He asked if you were alone and when you said ‘no’, he offered to get you something to drink. You almost declined the offer. Letting him out of your sight didn’t seem like a good idea. Would he just disappear too?

With a quick look at the bar, you concluded that it couldn’t hurt. You had an almost straight shot view of the long polished counter from where you were standing so it wouldn’t be difficult to keep an eye on him. No harm, no foul, right? 

Making up your mind, you smiled again. “Rum and coke, please.” 

“Sure thing. Be right back.” 

Myer turned and you watched him go, an anxious tickle teasing the back of your mind. He weaved his way up to the bartender and, after waiting for his turn, he placed the order. You could see him pulling out a healthy stack of bills from a pocket and the fact he stopped long enough to slip a few into the tip jar endeared you to him all the more, feeling your uncertainty start to subside. Everything was going well. He didn’t look like he was going to run off on you like the other two and your confidence rapidly cobbled itself back together. He might be the one.

You started to turn away, not wanting him to think you’d been watching him like a hawk the entire time, when a flash of shiny obsidian caught your attention. Icy chill assaulted your veins when you realized it was the man from before. The one who’d been staring at you. He’d shuffled right up next to Myer and leaned in close to say something in his ear, a shimmering curtain of jet black hair shifting against his back with the motion. It looked like they were sharing a secret between friends. Innocuous by all accounts. You would have assumed it nothing more than an innocent exchange if you hadn’t noticed the way Myer’s back stiffened. 

The instantaneous horror that gripped you was palpable. What was he saying to him? Why wouldn’t Myer so much as look at the stranger as he turned and shuffled off with his tail tucked between his legs, leaving both drinks at the bar? You couldn’t make sense of it. The implication of what you’d just witnessed was startling and incomprehensible in equal measure. Was this why the others had never come back?

With your heart lodged in your throat, you pushed off the wall and shoved your way through the crowd. Your first instinct was to beat a hasty retreat before your absence from the corner was noticed but you couldn’t do that. Not in good conscience, anyway. The friend you’d gone out with was out on the dance floor with her boyfriend, oblivious to the panic making it hard for you to breathe and having a good old time. She’d worry herself sick if you vanished without a trace. You had to find her and fast. 

“Hello.” 

You nearly jumped right out of your skin when someone stepped directly into your path and you immediately recognized him. The ink black hair cascading over his shoulders was a dead giveaway. He was a strange mix of forgettably plain and strikingly unique, uncanny in a way. Just looking at him caused your fight or flight instincts to go haywire and you shuffled back a step, shuddering when those eerily blank eyes tracked the motion. It felt like he was peering right through you. 

“I’m Illumi.” 

Brows knitting, you shook your head in disbelief. You didn’t really care what his name was. “What do you want?” 

“Come with me.” He said, reaching out to grab the meat of your upper arm. 

It happened too quick for you to pull away and your eyes widened in surprise. His fingers were as unrelenting as iron and as cold as the dead. The notion that he wasn’t human flashed through your mind, screaming at you like a flashing neon sign, but it was too late. He already had you in his clutches and all you could do was sputter indignantly when he pulled you into motion. This could not be happening. 

“Let go of me!” You hissed. “I’ll scream if you don’t. I’ll scream so loud your ear drums will bleed! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

“I’d rather you didn’t do that but if you feel the need then go ahead.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t possibly be serious right now. “W - where are you taking me?” You quivered, losing some of your adrenaline fueled bluster. 

“Not far.” Was his simple answer to that question. 

Dumbfounded, you gaped at the back of his head. It was a struggle to wrap your mind around what was even happening let alone figure out how he could be so nonplussed about this. Didn’t this count as kidnapping, or at least abduction? And didn’t anyone care? 

A quick, terrified look around the crowded bar seemed to suggest not. It was like they didn’t even see him dragging you away against your will and you’d just taken a breath to shriek, determined to make them care by causing enough of a scene that they couldn’t ignore it any longer when Illumi abruptly pulled you off course. The air caught in your throat as you stumbled through a door and straight into a bathroom. It was small and cramped. Only enough room for a toilet and a sink. 

You spun on him when he released your arm, the abused nerves crying out in agony. There were sure to be blooming purple splotches in the shape of his fingers come morning, if you made it that long, but there were more pressing matters to worry about at the moment. He was locking the door and turning to look at you expectantly. Your face promptly drained of all color. Surely he wasn’t serious. 

“Are you out of your mind?” 

Illumi cocked his head to one side as if that’d been a strange question to ask of him. “I’m perfectly sane, thank you.”

You barked out a humorless laugh. “I doubt that. Unlock the door. Now!” 

“I don’t think so.” He closed the distance between you two in a single step and you recoiled. His hands came up as fast as before, maybe even faster, to cradle your cheeks between his calloused palms and tilt your face up at him and you trembled. “You’ve been a bad girl, you know. Talking to those other men like I wasn’t even standing right there. I won’t tolerate promiscuity.” 

You were too stunned to even blink. “Wha … I -”

“It’s time for your punishment now. Are you ready?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer before forcing you down onto your knees so hard that pain spiderwebbed throughout your legs. You seethed and swayed unsteadily, physically reeling from the shock. Illumi was much stronger than his lithe frame would suggest. You hadn’t anticipated such unrelenting force from those elegantly skinny arms of his but that was nothing compared to the startlement that rushed through you when he reached for the front of his pants. 

“Wait -” 

One of his hands shot down to grab your hair at the roots and pull you up straight, making it impossible for you to escape now. An ugly, wet sob bubbled to life in your constricting throat and you almost choked on it. Everything was happening too fast. None of it made any sense. All you could do was suck in one ragged breath after another as you numbly watched him shove his loose fitting pants down his thighs, trying not to hyperventilate. The half hard cock that sprung up into the air, mere inches from your nose, very nearly sent you into a full blown panic attack but you managed to rein it in through sheer force of will. Now wasn’t the time to dissolve into hysterics. You needed to think.

“Listen to me. Please.” You croaked, looking up at him pleadingly. “I wasn’t being promiscuous. You’re not my boyfriend. I don’t even know anything about you.” 

Illumi had the nerve to appear somewhat surprised by that assertion. “You don’t? That’s odd. I know everything about you.” 

Your gut twisted. The implication alone was horrifying but if he was telling the truth, if he wasn’t bluffing … 

You were in such a shellshocked daze that you didn’t notice Illumi guiding his cock to your mouth until the head of it brushed your lips. Grimacing, you tried to pull away but he merely tightened his hold on your hair and jerked you back into place. You whimpered and he tried again. This time you petulantly clamped your lips shut in a hard line, denying him access even when he tried to force his way in. 

With a click of his tongue, he gave up. “If you don’t open your mouth it's only going to get worse. There are plenty of other ways I could choose to punish you.” 

It didn’t take long for you to realize he was right. You were probably getting off easy this way. He was clearly in a position to do anything he damn well wanted and there was very little you could do to stop him. Maybe it was better to just swallow your pride, get this over with and pretend like nothing had ever happened. The invisible scars would probably be less severe, at least. 

Hesitantly, you parted your lips. Illumi gave no outward sign of approval and he wasted no time sliding his cock head inside your mouth. The weight of him settled on your tongue as you fought to breathe through your nose, shuddering at the bitter taste of him. He was almost completely hard now and he twitched against the roof of your mouth, smearing a bead of precum across your palette. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and settled into your spot on the floor, apathetically accepting your fate. There was nothing you could do about it now. 

A long beat of quiet passed over the cramped little room. 

“Well?” Illumi quipped at length. “Aren’t you going to suck it?” 

Your eyes snapped up to fix him with a heated glare. It didn’t seem to bother him one bit though and you could feel your face growing warm as you bobbed your head forward, listlessly pulling him in deeper. The thought of actually putting in any effort to get him off made your stomach roil but it quickly became apparent that you didn’t have any other choice. He seemed content to just stand there with his prick in your mouth for as long as it took. You could see he had the patience and his cock showed no sign of softening any time soon so you had a choice to make. Bite the bullet and get it over with or prolong the humiliation. 

What he’d said about this being a punishment echoed through your mind. He was under the impression that you’d wronged him, that you were somehow cheating on him with those other men, which meant you had to earn his forgiveness. You could do that. Probably.

Shifting on your protesting knees, you carefully brought your hands up to brace them on Illumi’s thighs. He allowed it, much to your relief, and you used the newfound leverage to swallow him down to about the midway point of his shaft. You got no reaction for your trouble but that wasn’t about to stop you. Not when you’d already sunk this low and you pulled back only to repeat the process, not stopping this time until you felt the glans tickle your tonsils. Pausing there, you brought your tongue up to the lav the underside of him in attention he didn’t deserve. 

He remained as stoic as a stone statue above you, the continued silence only spurring you on in some sick, twisted way. You didn’t stop long enough to consider how messed up that was and, drawing a steadying breath through your nose, you started bobbing your head. Up and down, up and down, over and over again, letting him drag the accumulating spit out of your mouth on each upward pull. It dripped down your chin in thick sheets, pooling and oozing onto your exposed cleavage in heavy clumps that quickly cooled in the air. You felt like a sloppy mess but you could tell Illumi was enjoying the hasty mouth fuck by the sporadic tic in his thigh muscles. You still hadn’t gotten much of a response out of him though and you decided to test your luck. There wasn’t a whole lot you could lose at this point so it was worth a shot at least.

Holding the oxygen in your lungs, you relaxed your throat and leaned into him. The smooth glans dipped into your throat, very nearly setting off your gag reflex, but you persisted. Inch by inch, he slid down your neck until your eyes were watering with reflexive tears and your nose touched the base of his pelvis. You stayed there for a moment, trying not to wretch around him, but it was a lost cause. Stomach heaving, you came up off him with a wet, ragged gasp. Ropes of glistening spittle stretched between his bobbing cock and your raw lips, only further highlighting your degradation and making you feel even more ashamed for submitting to his demands like this. It was shameful. 

So caught up in swallowing the pitiful sobs that were clawing their way up the back of your throat, you almost missed the sigh of pleasure he breathed out. Almost. 

Gaze lifting, you numbly peered into Illumi’s face. His expression was as blank as ever but the glint in his dark eyes seemed to suggest you’d found the winning formula. Either he genuinely liked being deepthroated or the action was enough of a struggle for you that he got off on watching you do it. Either way, you couldn’t afford to waste this nugget of information. If that’s what it took to put an end to this farce then so be it. 

You breathed in and you breathed out. Steeled your resolve. Bringing your hand up to grasp the base of him and keep him still, you took Illumi’s cock into your mouth again. Straight to the edge of your throat where you paused just long enough to force the muscles to relax before swallowing him down your neck again. You could actually feel the way he filled out the narrow, fleshy passage and stretched it right to the point of discomfort, the baser part of your brain screaming that you were choking. It took every ounce of willpower you possessed to smother the urge to pull off him again as you nuzzled into the short trimmed curls that were tickling your nose. He was very neat and clean, you had to give him that. 

“I knew you’d figure it out.” He said softly. “There can’t be forgiveness if there isn’t an appropriate amount of suffering first.” 

Wretching around him, you gurgled noisily in response. Your vision was clouded over and blurred from the neverending stream of tears pricking your lash line and you were starting to get light headed, but you forced yourself to stay put for just a moment longer. Praying that it would push him that much closer to the edge. The sooner he came the sooner you’d be free to go and, hating that you couldn’t endure any longer, you pulled back until he slipped out of your throat. Choking and heaving for air as a fresh deluge of spit poured out of your mouth right along with his cock. 

Your stomach lurched at the sight of it wetly flopping between his thighs. You weren’t sure how many more times you could do that without throwing up all over the front of him. He probably deserved it but you had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate it much. 

You groaned in frustration and fisted his prick again, desperately pumping at him. Illumi’s fingers only gripped your hair even harder, making your scalp burn, and you quickly got the picture. It was all or nothing.

Sucking in a haggard breath, you surged forward onto his prick again. Your throat constricted and tried valiantly to keep him out this time but you forced yourself down, down until he was once again wedged deep inside your neck. Shoulders shaking, you stayed there with your nose flush against his pelvis for as long as you could stand it, only pulling back when you thought for sure you were going to pass out. Illumi’s hand stilled you though, exerting just enough force to keep you right where you were. 

Your eyes widened. Genuine panic rushed into the forefront of your mind in an instant and you struggled to pull off his cock, frantically pushing at his thighs to signal that you needed air. But he was implacable, entirely unperturbed, and when you started to thrash he merely brought his other hand down to lock your head in place. You were trapped. He wasn’t going to let you spit him out this time. Would he really let you suffocate right here on the bathroom floor? 

“Relax.” 

You would have laughed if you could. All you did instead was loudly wretch so hard that snot bubbled out of your nose. You coughed around him, frantically swallowed and choked again. Every muscle in your body heaved and you spit up an obscene amount of saliva that oozed out around his cock and ran down your face. You were covered in it now, the top of your low cut shirt uncomfortably damp with it, but that was the least of your problems now. Everything was starting to recede to a throbbing pinprick of consciousness and you knew you were going to blackout. Just a few more seconds and it would all fade away. 

At least you would be free of this nightmare. 

Illumi abruptly yanked on your hair, tearing you off his cock so forcefully that you fell back into the wall. Your head thumped against it but you were much too disoriented to notice the pain. Blinking widely to clear your vision, you sucked in a much needed lungfull of fresh air and owlishly peered up at him. His thin lips were parted in a surprisingly delicate ‘o’, the only readily available sign that he was at all affected by what was happening. Your dazed attention dropped lower and locked on his glistening prick when he angled it at your face. Realizing what he was doing, you opened your mouth to protest but it was too late. 

Thick ropes of pearl white ejaculate erupted from the glans and hit you dead center between the eyes. You froze, too stunned to react, and a second splurt of cum promptly splattered across your forehead. The third and final load hit its mark on your chin, mixing with the mess of spit you were covered in.

You couldn’t believe it. Any of it. The fact he’d felt it necessary to paint your face, as if to complete the humiliation sundae you’d suffered at his hands, threatened to bowl you over right on the spot. You didn’t even have the wherewithal to put up a fight when he guided his flagging erection to your mouth and wiped the lingering traces of semen across your mouth. How were you supposed to get home looking like this? 

Oblivious, or perhaps unconcerned, Illumi casually went about pulling his pants back into place and secured them with an emerald green sash while you sat there, reeling in the aftermath. You’d hoped he’d just leave and let you wallow in your misery alone but of course that was asking too much. He shuffled close again and bent at the waist to place a condescending hand on top of your head. Toying with the notion of spitting right in his stupid face, you looked up at him with the most furious scowl you could muster. It didn’t bother him, of course.

“I hope you make better choices next time.” He said blandly. “You belong to me. No one else. Do you understand?” 

You nodded your head tersely, already notating a comprehensive restraining order in your head. 

“Good. I’m afraid I won’t be so lenient next time.” 

#Hunter X Hunter #hxh #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #self insert bullshit

[shadowsfascination]

Shadamy swordland AU - part 4

The air was knocked out of Amy’s lungs by his statement and her skin paled, drawing long shadows over her usually cheerful face. Her head began to ache and she rubbed her forehead as if to rub to swirl of emotions inside her away. Shadow on the other hand crossed his arms and legs, a hint of sorrow playing his ruby eyes.

Amy hunched her back and leaned on her hands, eyed Shadow and drew a breath. She intended to speak, but found no words. Instead she watched the light of the flickering candle cast constantly changing shadows on him, the warm tones of its’ flame contrasting with the now chilly atmosphere between them.

Unaware of it Shadow gritted his teeth in distress. At a total loss for words or the slightest idea how to behave in this situation, he chewed his lip and mildly pinched his arms. He couldn’t talk anymore. It was somehow beyond his control and he despised powerless it made him feel. His body froze and the longer the silence lasted, the further the words drifted away from him. Meanwhile his mind became a cacophony of tangled, blurry thoughts.

I have to snap out of this!

Shadow took a deep breath and closed his eyes, tracing the source of the messed up chaos energy in his body and changing it into a state of tranquillity again.

“Amy.”

The sudden renewed confidence in him broke not only the silence, but the seal between them as well. She couldn’t somehow deny his gaze and locked eyes with him, her eyes full of questions and expectations. He took her hands to cover them in his own. They were warmer than she’d expected.

“I cannot explain any of this to you.”

Amy frowned at him in annoyance and backed off to escape his hold, her eyes starting to blaze. A series of angry growls escaped her lips and she clenched fists. Her knuckles made a cracking sound from it.   “Please, oh please tell me you’re joking!”

He blinked twice, innocence and incomprehension written all over his face.

“I’m not. It would be a poor jest.” “You can’t just drop this bomb on me, fall quiet and then not explain any of it!”

She was prepared for a whole lot of it, but this? – she thought to herself. As soon as the thought landed in the conscious part of her mind she labelled herself a fool, questioning what she did expect from him. She knew Shadow… Why did she keep getting so thrown off by his untactile behaviour?

Blood rushed through her veins at high speed, causing a rustle in her ears. There it was again: the unwanted announcement of her bad temper. He’d soon have to deal with it if he didn’t make haste with properly explaining this… mess! At this rate, she still had control over her temper, but that could change in the blink of an eye. “You’re not saying anything yourself either. Although, knowing you, I hardly believe you don’t have any questions. I’m not throwing that in your face, am I?” “Well, can you blame me?!” “A little, yeah. You carry your heart on your tongue. You always know what to say.” “I don’t right now!” “I don’t believe you. I think you’re trying to spare my feelings and I don’t care for it.”

“Oh no, Shadow. You’re NOT shifting YOUR responsibility to explain who you actually are to me.” “I’m not.” The pink female whirled around and caught his attention with her fierce turquoise orbs. The warm, yellowish tones of the dancing flame were fighting for precedence with the luminary aqua in her eyes. He could see her hands gesturing, signalling him her upset internal state in the blurry background of his view.

“Then talk.”

“I can’t.” “Blast, Shadow! I can’t believe how incredibly rude you are to me! I’m your girlfriend! You’re keeping so many important things from me…I wonder how you in 300 darn years still achieve to be totally oblivious about how to act polite and chivalrous around a woman!”

“You should know me better than to mistake me for a soft, gooey fool who drops every aspect of his personality when with a woman. I might be a knight, but surely I’m not going to be your imaginary heroic boyfriend. Or always treat you like a queen when you’re being a huge pain in the ass, Amy. If that’s what you want, than better rethink your choices…”

Another of her romantic bubbles burst by another blunt statement, one he made her aware of she had it in the first place. Amy shifted her headstrong gaze to the red, green and blue-checked woolen blankets on the bed. Ignoring him, she distracted herself to follow the lines from the wrinkles on them with her fingers. The raw texture of the wool prickled through her gloves. It was a unpleasant feeling and she wondered how he was able to sleep under them.

“… Besides: I’m sharing my deepest secrets with you! Do you think that’s easy for me? What more could you possibly want?” “I want you to explain who on Mobius you are!” she shouted. “I want you to explain how it’s even possible to be that old? I wanna know what you are. A ghost? Some divine creature? And what about your strange, dark powers and the stone?! Did you have kids in the past? What does this all make you?!” Both their ears fell back, the awkward silence became deafening on them. Amy’s eyes reddened from the upcoming tears and anger. She bit her lip and bravely fought against the waterworks. A few salty tears quietly dripped down her cheeks though. Amy battled the strong tendency to cry once more. She felt so hideous whenever she cried- and she did see herself cry before. She felt she looked awful and so she did her uttermost best to hide it- in comparison to when she was a young girl. “What’s it make us? Just tell me.. something! ANYTHING will do!”

Her loud, hoarse voice cracked and she sniffed. Shadow’s hand squeezed and crinkled the blanket with force. He cursed under his breath.

“I KNOW, OKAY?! I know ANY words will do, but there are no words! NONE! They’re stuck! I don’t mean to be rude or inconsiderate of your feelings. Plagues! If anything, that’s what’s making me freeze up. I have no idea at all how to handle this!”

An upcoming sense of guilt sent a series of shivers down her spine. Her stupid pride and temper pushed him too far. A lump in her throat now accompanied the already present stress-related stomach aches.

“I don’t either… It’s scaring me.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Shadow, I don’t want to be the reason you’re holding back. And don’t tell me I’m not, because I know I am. Sorry about that. Just spill. I’ll learn to deal with it.”

“It’s not just that. I can’t verbalize all this.”

He concentrated on the chaos energy in his body once more, shards of them whirling around like a hive of bees. They seemed impossible to catch. His focus shifted to his irregular, high paced breathing and he breathed out some of the stress in his body. The shards immediately lowered their impossible-to-follow rhythm and he was finally able to catch some of them.

I never lose my confidence.

With a certain determination Shadow grasped her gloved hands. They were tensely folded into fists. Their touch revealed the quivers they were both trying to control. Shadow suddenly scooped her onto his lap and then rose to carry her bridal style, all much to Amy’s confusion.

“However, I can show you.”

His signature self-sufficient smile now curved his lips.

“Come on, I’ll carry you. I know how much you love this romance-stuff and I am a knight after all.” He blew out the candle, letting the darkness swallow them entirely before calling out the ‘Chaos control’. With this single chant he overcame the barrier of space and time. The darkness around them swiftly faded into a serene surrounding, filled with flowy, intertwining ruby, royal blue, shiny silver and regal gold ribbons of light.

They weightlessly soared through the pacifying, outstretching void. A sea of glowing orbs laid ahead of them and with confidence. Shadow commanded some of them to come closer, each carrying a memory. He let some fragments play out before her eyes to see for herself what happened in his past, for he was unable to tell her.

It was all there, right before Amy’s eyes: the mystery of what he was, his unknown origin and lonesome existence by surviving everyone he’d ever cared for in the past. He had roamed around the planet for years and years in order to keep his immortality a secret.

There was also a set of painful memories in which he was fighting, on the run or hiding for the many different faces of danger. They were a tad blurry and she couldn’t quite capture the meaning of it. The memory of the unknown hero neared and she witnessed his amazing powers, bravery and strength. It replaced her unsettling state of being with much softer feelings, easing her temper away. Amy smiled when concluded to herself that neither his physics or personality had seemed to change. The Shadow she knew now was as stubborn, blunt, socially awkward, dedicated, loyal and brave as in his past. Without having to verbalize he answered everything she wanted to know and more. Amy’s sweet, caring nature calmed her temper and she empathized with Shadow. She felt for the challenges his long life had brought upon him and pulled him into a deep, consoling hug.

“Shadow, I’m sorry I pushed you. I misjudged and jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

The scenery of his bedroom slowly faded in again and Shadow gently put her down. He lit the candle again. A shameful blush coloured his cheeks and played his eyes. His ears drooped backwards. Shadow felt like he was stripped to the bone. “I know everyone thinks I excel in many things, but communicating my inner state isn’t one of them. It heaves me down whenever I… feel strongly about something. Actions speak louder than a thousand words to me.”

“Thank you for being honest with me, for showing me all this. I imagine it must’ve been hard on you. You seemed so lonesome all these years.”

Hiding his face in his hands, he stared without focal point in his gaze. Shadow broke down internally, forcefully biting the insides of his lips to prevent him from crying like an infant.

“You’ve seen it for yourself now. You’ve seen me fight…My past…It’s the most private thing that I carry with me.”

“You don’t have to carry this burden all by yourself.” “You’re the very first to learn about it.”

“I already assumed I was, given your struggle to share it with me. I’m glad you told me.”

Amy smiled, trying to lighten up the mood again. “It’s awful and humiliating to share. I even killed in the past. I can’t help but feel like a monster sometimes. It haunts me.”

“You’re a knight. There’s times where you’re left no other choice than to eliminate your enemies. If anything, you’re a hero, Shadow.”

“I’m not! You weren’t there! Y-you d-d-don’t…You don’t know…”

He whimpered almost inaudibly while his shaking body sank into her embrace. Amy petted his back and caressed his quills while he hid his face in her chest. She cupped his tear-stained muzzle and made him look her in the eye. When his red, bloodshot eyes met her aqua ones they showed the strong-minded, yet hopelessly emotional Amy Rose Shadow had fallen for.

“There’s still so much that I don’t understand, but my emotional compass tells me you’re reliable and trustworthy. I’d like to believe you must’ve had your reasons… Tell me whenever you’re ready.”

She let herself fall back on the bed and pulled Shadow onto her, snuggling up to him under the prickly woolen blankets. On any other night the knight would’ve protested and let his self-discipline never allow her to stay over, but they were exhausted. Shadow and Amy couldn’t battle their minds anymore and forgot about the possible consequences they’d have to deal with in the morning. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. None of it. Even though their minds were loaded with troubles, which usually would’ve kept them awake, it somehow did not tonight.

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I struggled with this chapter. I’ll try to make the next one more uplifting (: Sometimes it seems to me that neither of these two dorks know a single thing about relationships, yet they have so much love to give to one another. 

I’d appreciate if you share your thoughts and send me a message if you find any annoying typo’s or grammar mishaps. 

@shadamyheadcanons, here you go!

#shadamy #shadow the hedgehog #shadow #Amy Rose the Hedgehog #Amy Rose #Shadowsfascination #shadamy fanfic #shadamy fanfiction #sonic related #sonic fanfiction #shadamy swordland au #shadamy swordcraft au #sonic au #chaos energy #my story #swordland au #amadow #shadow x amy #shadamy love #sonic history #shadow amy #shadamy romance #sonic romance #shadow the knight #tails the librarian

[raccoonhearteyes]

Clarke vs. The Hot Customer

Meanwhile in DC, CIA Agent Lexa Woods and NSA Agent Anya Forrest sit across the desk with Homeland Security General Indra Beckman.  

Beckman starts, “Last night at 18:00, CIA operative Costia Daniels was killed in action. Before her death, she sent the entire Intersect Project to a civilian, a top-secret mission known only among those with the highest clearance in the CIA. The project consisted of every CIA mission and intel since the CIA’s founding in 1947. All contained in a supercomputer. The goal was for the intel to be downloaded into the human brain. While it has yet to be tested, it would give the agency’s top agents every piece of information necessary to complete their missions, without having to read every file, look through every photo, and analyze every document. This project is now in the inbox of one Clarke Griffin. As I’m sure you can guess, this is not ideal. The recipient’s unsecured g-mail means that every terrorist and their mother can track who it went to. And they will go after them without hesitation in order to get their hands on our intelligence.”

“Why did she send it to a civilian instead of a CIA contact?” Anya asks.

“We don’t know. As far as we can tell, she’s just some random college dropout. She works at a Buy-More. Your job is to find Clarke Griffin, find out what she knows, and download the e-mail yourselves so our nation’s secrets are not floating around in the head of some idiot civilian.”

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Clarke wakes up on her bedroom floor to the blaring alarm on her nightstand. She’s groggy, and doesn’t quite remember why she apparently passed out on the floor instead of changing into pajamas and climbing into her bed.

Slowly, the memories of last night trickle in. She remembers a hot pocket, going to her room to play video games, and… an e-mail from Costia? That can’t be right. They haven’t spoken in years… But she distinctly remembers getting an e-mail from her, then a bunch of weird pictures, and that’s it.

She goes over to her computer to try and reread the email, but the thing won’t turn on. It seems to be fried from the inside. “Great, so not only did Costia ruin my life, she sent me a computer virus that destroyed my computer?” Clarke wonders.

Clarke’s still a little woozy from the unending strobe light of incomprehensible images her brain was exposed to the night before, so she skips breakfast, and thanks her past self for not even changing out of her work clothes so she can just walk right out the door and head to the Buy-More.

Raven is sitting at the Nerd Herd help desk waiting for her.

“You never logged on to LoL last night,” Raven complains. “Yeah, I got a weird e-mail from Costia and it torpedoed my computer.”

“I’m sorry what? Costia? Costia Daniels? The one that ruined your life and got you stuck working at a Buy-More with me?”

“The one and only.”

“What did she want?”

“I don’t know. It was a weird e-mail. It spazzed through a bunch of images and then fried my hard drive.”

“What a bitch.” “Yup.”

It’s a slow day at the Buy-More so Raven and Clarke spend most of the day chit chatting about nothing, planning their next video game all-nighter, and talking about starting their own electronics company to beat out the Buy-More. It’s an idea they’ve talked about for years, but is nothing more than a pipe dream. Neither of them have the capital to get that thing off the ground. No matter how many engineering degrees Raven collects. Eventually they fall into a game of “Guess what that customer is thinking.”

“I am going to hoard this for when the nuclear apocalypse hits us and toilet paper is scarce,” Raven says about the guy with 100 rolls of toilet paper and nothing else in his cart.

“I need a copy of Die Hard for every TV in my house,” Clarke gruffs about the old many with 8 copies of Die Hard in his basket.

The two are so enthralled in their game that they hardly notice a customer approach the help desk.

In a high-pitched valley girl voice, Clarke says, “I’m getting this video camera so I can finally make a sex tape with my boyfriend!” Raven laughs way harder than Clarke thinks the joke earned, but then the customer clears her throat and Clarke whirls around. The customer raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Um… I… did you? That wasn’t… Hi, welcome to the Nerd Herd. How can I help you?”

Clarke chokes on her tongue a little when she realizes just how beautiful the customer is. She’s wearing tight fitting jeans, a tank top, and an unbuttoned flannel over her shirt. Clarke’s gaydar lightly pings in the back of her mind. Her hair is a mane of curly brown locks. She has a pair of sunglasses perched on the top of her head, and the greenest eyes Clarke has ever seen. When her gaze flicks back up to make eye contact, there’s something… intense about the way this girl looks at her.

“I’ve been having phone troubles. It doesn’t seem to be receiving calls.”

“Can I have a name for the intake form?”

“Lexa.”

“Well Lexa, I’ll see what I can do.”

Clarke fiddles around with the phone, looking for external damage or immediately obvious reasons for malfunction. When she finds nothing evident, she tells Lexa, “It must be something internal, I’ll take it to the back and see what’s going on. Come back in about an hour, and it should be all set.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you…” Lexa pauses waiting for a name

“Clarke.”

“Thank you, Clarke. I’ll see you in an hour.”

As Lexa turns to walk away, Clarke stares at her ass and says a quiet, “Bye Lexa.”

“HEY CLARKE! You telling this customer goodbye or are you announcing that you’re bi?” Raven says a little too loudly for it to not be intentional.

Lexa turns to flash a smile at Clarke, and Clarke turns to Raven and says, “Reyes, I will kill you in your sleep.”

An hour spent tinkering in the repair shop, and the phone is back to fully functional. Clarke waits at the help desk for Lexa to return. This time she ensures that she’s not mid-game so she doesn’t embarrass herself a second time in front of this customer. She most certainly notices when Lexa walks into the store. This time, the flannel is tied around her waist and Clarke stares at the tattoo curling around her bicep. Then she stares at the biceps themselves and considers tracing the lines with her tongue. Scolding herself for being just as big of a perv as fellow Nerd Herders Jasper and Monty, she smiles and pointedly does not stray from making eye contact. Lexa is less successful as she sneaks a peek down Clarke’s shirt that may have one or two fewer buttons done up this time around.

“What’s the verdict doc?” Lexa asks, leaning into Clarke’s space at the counter.

“All fixed,” Clarke smiles.

“How do I know it works?”

Clarke grins, “Aha, watch this.”

She digs her own phone out of her pocket and dials a number. She waits a few seconds until the phone in Lexa’s hand starts to vibrate and “NERD HERD HOTTIE” pops up on the screen.  

“See? Good as new”

“Thank you, Clarke. I really appreciate it,” Lexa says, and turns to leave the store. Clarke’s bubble of hope pops as she watches her walk away. But then, after a few steps, Lexa picks up her phone, scrolls through a screen and lifts the phone to her ear.

A few feet behind her, Clarke’s phone buzzes on the counter. She answers.

“Do you want to get dinner tonight?” Lexa asks.

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They agree to meet at Grounders at 7:00. Lexa arrives 15 minutes early and waits at the entrance. She’s wearing a green button up, tight grey pants, and her hair is done up in a neat braid. She has a stun gun tucked into her jacket, a knife hidden in each boot, and a blade laced within the braid. But this is supposed to look like a first date, not a mission, so she tries to make herself look nervous by shifting her weight from one leg to the other, and gets ready to flirt some information out of her mark.

Clarke steps out of an Uber at 7:06 wearing a light blue sundress that makes her look even more like a ray of sunshine. It’s a stark contrast from the unisex Nerd Herd uniform, and Lexa can’t help but give her a once over. Twice maybe thrice if she’s being completely honest. “I thought you might have changed your mind,” Lexa confesses, looking at her watch.

“Of course not! Just bad LA traffic,” Clarke replies and leads them into the restaurant.

Conversation is easy. They make each other laugh. The waitress comes over three times in 45 minutes before either of them have even glanced at the menu. Lexa assures the waitress that they do, in fact, know how to read, and a few minutes later they actually order their food. Neither can stop themselves from long looks and bashful smiles. Clarke learns that Lexa just moved to town and is still looking for the right fit job. They talk about their childhoods and interests. Eventually, they stumble on the topic of whether or not it’s weird that Lexa asked out her phone repair woman. Clarke immediately reddens at the memory of the first words Lexa heard her say. Clarke apologizes for her having to overhear the game she plays with Raven at the Buy-More.

“Speaking of which, how does a girl as beautiful and smart as you end up working for the Nerd Herd?” Lexa asks incredulously.

“That’s kind of a long story. The spark notes version is that I am one semester shy of a computer science degree at Stanford. My senior year, my former best friend and roommate Costia framed me for cheating and got me kicked out of school. No explanation. Since then I haven’t really had the drive to finish the degree. Or trust anyone. I’ve really just been surviving ever since. No sense in living when everything you loved is gone, right? Sorry, that was probably a little heavy for a first date…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lexa assures. The name Costia did not go unnoticed, so Lexa presses on, “What ever happened to that Costia girl?”

“The funny thing is I haven’t really thought about her in a few years, but the last two days it’s been at nagging in my mind. I actually got an e-mail from her yesterday, but all it contained was a virus that fried my computer,” Clarke shrugs.

The waiter interrupts to fill their wine glasses, and Lexa’s opportunity to press more about this e-mail vanishes as Clarke switches the subject completely, and they fall back into easy conversation, longing and somewhat thirsty looks, and grinning at each other.

Lexa pays their check while Clarke runs to the bathroom, and they have decided that 3 hours taking up this restaurant’s table is probably long enough. Yes, it’s a mission, but Lexa is genuinely enjoying talking to this girl. She’s sweet and funny, and looks damn good in that dress.

“Can I drive you home?” Lexa asks.

The drive is a comfortable silence. Lexa’s hand rests on Clarke’s knee and mindlessly draws patterns on her thigh until Clarke intertwines their fingers. The drive ends too quickly as they pull up to the complex where Clarke lives.

Lexa walks Clarke to her door. Clarke’s walk slows to a crawl, trying to prolong her time with Lexa as much as possible. But the trip from the car to the stoop is only so long, so she settles for pretending to struggle to find her keys. God she wants to kiss her. She wants to kiss her so badly she hasn’t listened to a word Lexa has said because she can’t think about anything else. Lexa pauses in front of the door, and shuffles a bit closer to Clarke.

“Goodnight, Clarke”, she says as she leans in. Clarke closes her eyes in anticipation, and then feels Lexa’s lips land just left of the mark. Lexa places a chaste kiss on the corner of Clarke’s mouth, then turns to walk away. She turns back with a wink and a wave as Clarke unlocks her front door, and melts to a puddle once she’s crossed the threshold.

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Lexa paces outside the front of the Buy-More while on the phone with the General. “Beckman, she’s just a normal girl. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I don’t even think the e-mail made it to her. She said she hasn’t heard from Costia since college!” “Agent Woods, Daniels was one of our top agents. There must be a reason she sent it to her. Now, go find out if she’s just a really good liar, or if she’s actually as innocent as you seem to think.” She hangs up without a greeting or dismissal.

Lexa tries to shake off the conversation, and walks through the Buy-More doors to go find Clarke, who at the moment is helping someone pick out a blender. Lexa pretends to be interested in a video camera and presses random buttons while waiting for Clarke to be free.

“Looking at cameras for our sex tape?” Clarke asks with a cheeky grin.

Lexa rolls her eyes and replies, “No, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi. I had fun last night.”

Clarke lights up with a goofy grin and thinks about how she didn’t kiss her last night. Clarke eyes her lips, and catches Lexa doing the same. She does a quick scan of the floor, hoping to confirm that no manager is there to catch her making out with a girl while on the clock. She’s made it almost a full 360 when it happens.

She sees a man standing in the DVD section. He doesn’t look that much different than a normal customer, but once she sees the scar on his neck, images flash before her eyes. The scar. The man’s name, and seven different aliases. A Russian Prison manifest. A rank within Russian Intelligence operations. They flash before her eyes in rapid succession, pulling the information to the forefront of her brain, and making her a little dizzy with the completely unconscious recall of information she doesn’t remember learning in the first place. The images stop and her eyes refocus

“Lexa, this is going to sound crazy, but that man in the DVDs section is a Russian spy and he

is armed to kill. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.”

 Clarke watches Lexa’s eyes widen in alarm. “Holy shit, you downloaded it.”

“What?”

“The Intersect.” “The what?” “I have to get you out of here.”

Lexa grabs Clarke’s hand and pulls her towards the back of the store.

“Lexa, what is going on.” She doesn’t answer. Instead she goes into the breakroom, punches a series of numbers into the vending machine, and watches the machine slide to the right to reveal a passageway. Lexa pulls Clarke through, ignoring her questions and utter shock at what is going on. Clarke is led down some stairs into a conference room with screens taking up a full wall, a wall full of weapons, and a video conference call happening at the table in the center. An angry looking Asian woman sits at the table talking to the screen with a black woman with more medals on her military coat than Clarke knew existed. 

Lexa interrupts their conversation with, “She’s the Intersect.”

“She what?”

“She’s the Intersect. She downloaded it. She just recognized a Russian operative upstairs.”

The other women in the room and on the screen look shocked and horrified.

“So it works?” the woman on the screen asks. “WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON. WHERE AM I? WHAT IS THE INTERSECT? WHY IS THERE A SECRET BASE IN THE BUY-MORE? WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?” Clarke yells, finally getting Lexa’s attention.

Lexa starts, “My name is Lexa Woods. I work for the CIA.”

“Anya Forrest, Colonel in the NSA.”

“And I’m General Indra Beckman, head of Homeland Security”

Clarke begins to laugh hysterically. “Did Raven put you up to this? She always goes WAY TOO BIG or way too small for pranks. Jeezus how much did she spend on this?!” She wanders the base touching weapons, poking screens, and searching for a hidden camera.

“This isn’t a joke, Miss Griffin,” Beckman interrupts.

The tone sobers Clarke immediately.

Beckman continues, “Three days ago, CIA operative Costia Daniels sent you an email. That email contained every secret the CIA has in what was called the Intersect Project. That information is now in your head. Until a new Intersect can be built, the CIA and NSA’s number one priority will be protecting you.”

“I’m sorry, what now?” Clarke asks.

“You will assist in missions as needed.”

Clarke is, again, much too stunned to grasp anything that was just said. Instead, she asks every question that has run through her mind since she thought she was about to kiss Lexa at work to the current moment. Costia was CIA? Why did she send it to me? How does it work? Can I get it removed? You’re sure this isn’t an over the top prank? Costia is dead?

Lexa, Anya, and Beckman patiently answer every question Clarke has. For the most part, they are very understanding of the barrage of questions. The questions continue for about thirty minutes, but eventually die down. This is real. Clarke will be working with the CIA. Other countries will try to find the Intersect, so she is in danger. She is now their most important asset, and they will protect her at all costs. She doesn’t really have a choice in this.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Clarke states. “We know, but your country is calling,” Beckman answers.

General Beckman hangs up the call, Anya goes back to cleaning an enormous gun, Lexa starts to organize files, and Clarke… Clarke sits at the table staring at her hands. Deep in thought, and too stunned to form coherent thoughts. After ten minutes, she takes a deep breath and addresses Lexa.

“So that date then?”

Lexa reads the implied question and answers, “Was part of my mission to find out what you knew.”

“Ah.”

“Clarke.”

“I don’t know why I thought it was anything else. No one that model hot dates a girl from the Nerd Herd. Is that like a requirement for spy work?”

Lexa cocks her head like a confused puppy.

Clarke glances between Anya and Lexa, and waggles her fingers between the two of them. “You know, the mind-blowing hotness? I mean, it works. Girl that looks like you asks me to jump off the roof and I’d probably do it without asking any follow up questions. Of course it was all fake. You’re probably straight. Really deluded myself into this one. Big yikes.”

Anya looks up from the barrel of her gun and chuffs, “Definitely not straight”

Lexa blushes but doesn’t disagree with Anya. Instead she addresses Clarke directly. “You do realize that we will need to continue dating, right?”

Clarke continues rambling to herself about being an idiot for thinking a girl like Lexa was into her, but then the content of Lexa’s question sinks in. Her brain jolts like a record scratch. “Huh?”

“It’s the perfect cover for why I’m suddenly in your life and may suddenly vanish from it. I can keep a close eye on you when you’re not at work, and it won’t seem suspicious if I stay over. During the day, Anya will work at the Buy More with you.”

Clarke still hasn’t wrapped her head around “continue dating” so instead asks, “I’m dead, right? That Russian operative in DVDs killed me and I’m bleeding out on the Buy-More floor, right? Because there is no way the US government just asked me to fake date a bombshell agent for the safety of our country.”

Anya finishes reassembling her gun, looks up at the newly christened fake couple, and says, “Believe it, babe.”

#clexa #chuck au #lexa #clarke griffin #chapter 2 #slow burn #fake dating #clexa chuck au #cia #formatting is a bitch going from word to this #anyone have recs for how its not?

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 6

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she tells Eileen, and the girl glances over at her. Makado thinks she can detect a little more life behind those dark, sullen eyes, and she offers up a faint smile.

“Yeah?” Eileen asks, and Makado nods, gives her a little shrug.

“Yes,” she says. “I guess - I guess in a way I was always too nervous to.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve seen horses,” Makado says. “They’re enormous. What if the horse you’re going to ride doesn’t like you? It could bite you, or kick you, or -“

Eileen is laughing. Well, maybe not laughing, but it’s definitely a giggle. Definitely a smile, at least. Makado will take it. “No, I’m serious,” she grins. “Horses freak me out! They’re so huge, and -“

“But they’re so gentle,” Eileen says. “The horse I liked to ride back at my grandfather’s place, his name is Dragster, and -“

Makado is laughing too hard for her to continue. “Dragster?” she manages to choke out. “The horse’s name was Dragster?”

“Hey, it’s a good name for a horse!”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Tell me about Dragster, then. Would he like me?”

“Of course he would,” Eileen says. “He likes everybody.”

Makado makes a wry face. “I don’t know, there’s something about me that just rubs horses the wrong way.”

“I thought you said you’d never even seen a horse.”

“I imagine there’s something about me that would rub a horse the wrong way.”

“Have you ever even, like, been close to a horse, or -“

“Okay,” Makado confesses. “Maybe I haven’t. But even so -“

“Can you two quit it with all the horses?” Fitzroy groans. “Ever since Eileen woke up it’s been horses, horses, horses -“

Eileen gives him a scathing glower and Makado rolls her eyes at him. “Yes,” she agrees. “Because you’ve been such a great conversationalist.”

“Whatever,” Fitzroy grumbles. He mutters something under his breath and Makado feels a little spike of anger prick at her, but before she can say anything Eileen reaches over and kicks Fitzroy in the ankle. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For getting us into this in the first place, you shit,” she tells him. “If you hadn’t decided it’d be a fun idea to pick on - “

Makado feels incredibly weary all of a sudden. She lets the bickering fade into the background and instead reaches down, flips her radio to transmit.

“Peter?” Makado asks. She frowns and then pulls out her radio, checks the battery level and the connection. The battery’s fine but the connection screen shows her direct link with Peter was cut. She curses and then switches over to the general channel. “Makado to Peter,” she says. Fitzroy and Tyler look over, then away again.

“Makado to Peter,” she repeats. “Come in please, our link got severed.”

She takes her finger off the call button and waits. With a repeater down, reception will be spotty but at short distances like this Peter should still be able to hear her.

The seconds stretch like taffy. All that she can hear on the radio is squirrelly bursts of static, nothing like a voice or a call.

She can feel the kids’ eyes on her; the static isn’t exactly quiet or innocuous. She counts to ten, slowly in her head, and then at the end of the count clicks the radio off and slips it back into its holster, and then rises from her chair and runs through a quick full-body stretch. “Alright, Mak,” she mutters to herself, eyes flicking over at the kids, voice barely audible. “Hey, guys,” she says, forcing herself to sound bright and cheery. Just like a tour group, she tells herself.

They all look exhausted, Eileen most of all. She’s stopped clutching her wrist so tightly but Makado can see it in her eyes, she just wants to be home in bed and treating this like it was a bad dream.

Makado’s been worried about her. She wasn’t talking much, even when Fitzroy tried to engage her, and even though Makado had gone and sat next to her and Eileen had seemed like she’d been receptive, leaning over on Makado’s shoulder and falling asleep almost immediately while Makado had spoken quietly into the radio to Peter, she’d woken up soon after and gone and sat by herself, staring into space. Makado felt a twinge of dormant maternal instinct somewhere deep in her psyche, looking at the tall, lanky girl. She hadn’t had to take care of her little sister for years, but old habits die hard. She’d rolled her eyes at herself inwardly and then  went over and sat next to her and pestered her and got her to tell her all sorts of things, like how summer school was going (awful), how her mom was making her get a job at the movie theatre for pocket money (yuck) and how her lame-ass dad was taking them all camping in August before school started again (groan).

Makado had felt a little like she were sitting with someone dying of frostbite, trying to keep them from falling asleep, but Eileen had seemed to warm up after a while. She was a horse girl, clearly, and after Makado had found out what her favorite animal was there was a wealth of conversation to dig into.

Makado groans to herself and clears her throat.

“There’s been a change of plans,” she tells them. “I’m going to have to go out and help Peter with something and I’m going to need you all to stay here and sit tight.”

“You’re leaving?” Tyler asks. He looks so young and so scared. They’d been doing alright there in the shelter for a while, now that things had slowed down and the convulsions wracking the Pit had diminished, but Makado knew that that situation could change at the drop of a hat. No point telling them that, though.

“Yes,” she says, “but only for maybe ten, twenty minutes. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I’m not abandoning you. Promise.”

Fitzroy nods; Eileen doesn’t look like she cares one way or another. “What if something gets in?” Tyler asks.

“Nothing’s going to get in,” Makado assures them. “Look,” she says, pointing to the door to the elevator enclosure. “That’s solid. No window, sealed along the cracks. Nothing will be able to see you or smell you from outside.”

“What about the elevator shaft?”

“Those doors take a lot of strength to pry open,” she assures him. “And anything that’s going to be able to wriggle its way past the elevator stuck in the shaft up there is not going to be physically able to open them. It won’t be big or strong enough.”

Fitzroy gives her a blasé look. “Are you just telling us that to make us feel better?”

“No,” she says, giving him a dangerous look. “I’m serious. That elevator door isn’t going to budge. This exit door, take a chair and prop it under the handle once I’m gone if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll knock shave and a haircut when I get back, that way you’ll know it’s me.”

They all look at her with complete incomprehension in her eyes. “No?” she asks. “Shave and a haircut?”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eileen murmurs. Makado makes a face at her.

“Thanks for making me feel old, guys.” She raps it out on the wall. “That. If someone knocks that on the door, let them in.”

“Oh.”

“See. You know what it is, you just didn’t know the name of it. Fitzroy, can I talk to you?”

“Yeah,” he says. Makado rolls her eyes.

“Over here, please.”

Acting like it’s a tremendous burden, Fitzroy gets up and saunters over to her. She leans in close to him. “Look,” she says. “We got off on the wrong foot. I was never going to charge you with anything, I told Peter to take you guys up to the surface and kick you out. We’re on the same side here. Okay?”

Fitzroy stares at her. He has acne scars on his temple and he smells like bodyspray slowly being consumed by several hours’ worth of sweat. His eyes, though, Makado notices, are wide and blue and concerned looking. He has honest eyes. She finds it somehow surprising. “Was that pool really acid?” he asks her softly.

“Yes. The bulb that ranger station is – was in -  that’s essentially a stomach. All that was acid. If Tyler had fallen in he probably would have died or at least been severely hurt.”

“And you aren’t going to charge us for that?”

“Fitzroy. Roy? Do you have a name you prefer?”

“I usually go by my middle name Robert.”

“Robert, you’re a kid. Kids do dumb shit. I’m not going to ruin your life over something where nobody got hurt.”

“But –“

“I’m not the bad guy,” she tells him. “I think after today you’ll probably have learned your lesson.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He looks like he feels a little better.

“I want you to take this,” she says, pulling out her emergency transponder.

“What is it?”

“It’s a rescue beacon, essentially. You break that seal there and then this will come off and there’ll be a button. If you press that, this thing will start screaming for help and somebody will get down here and help you. If me or Peter aren’t back within…let’s say forty-five minutes or so, turn that on.”

“Why not sooner? Or right now?”

Makado thinks about it for a moment. “Because everybody is very busy helping people who need it. Right now, we might be stuck down here, but I promise, I am going to get all of us out of here. Let them help other people first.”

“Okay,” he repeats. He puts his hand around the beacon and puts it into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Remember, twist it to break the seal and then press the button.”

“Easy,” he agrees.

“Yeah.” She squeezes his shoulder lightly. “You’re doing great. This will be over soon.”

“Really?”

“If everything works out, yeah. Now I really need to go. Remember to prop a chair against the door when I leave, alright?”

“Okay.”

And then Makado is running a hand through her curly brown hair, gathering it into a tight ponytail. She slips her helmet on and is out the door without giving the kids any time to doubt.

 * * *

 Even though Peter’s conscious mind is frozen, his instincts kick into overdrive as that giant hand descends on him. He snaps his leg out without even thinking about it and digs the cleats into the tender, vulnerable flesh at the heel of the copepod’s palm, and it makes a loud, angry chittering noise, its multifaceted mouthparts working furiously. Peter tries to pull his leg back in time but he can’t move quickly enough before its fingers snap shut around his ankle and it lifts him bodily from the ground and he dangles there, wiggling back and forth. The thing’s grip is tight and uncomfortable and he can feel his ankle bulge in its socket as its fingers squeeze, shifting lightly to get a better grip on him. Its other hand comes up and grabs at him but he twists and it plucks at thin air, then pulls back.

Makado’s voice has gone quiet; not even the faint hiss of static that undercut their conversations earlier is audible. The earpiece is still screwed tightly into his ear so that can’t be the problem, but the familiar weight of the radio in its side holster is no longer present. It must have fallen out when the copepod picked him up.

Peter has never seen a live abyssal copepod in person. He’s heard stories, of course – any ranger who’s worked the Flesh Pit has – but the copepods have an aura of myth around them despite being demonstrable, understandable creatures.

Nobody knows why they have hands. Even the scientists can’t figure it out; extraordinary evolutionary pressure, one of them had told Peter one time, when they’d ended up sitting at the same table in the cafeteria. The depths and challenges of the Pit forcing them to scrabble for any sort of generational advantage they could find. The older rangers and the miners, the ones who worked in the deepest areas of the Pit, where the copepods could usually be found, whispered of stranger explanations, though, but these were usually so outlandish that Peter found them easy to dismiss.

An entire three-day period of ranger training and orientation was dedicated to abyssal copepods. Everything else in the Pit could be put down with gunfire. True, some things like an amorphous shame or a shamble could take quite a bit of punishment, but if you shoot at a copepod there’s no guarantee it’ll do anything. Peter remembers watching the bits of video they’d played that first day, footage of copepod attacks on mining and exploratory trips deep into the Pit. He’d found it hard to believe the footage was real. The copepods had moved so quickly and had been so coordinated, popping up on one side of the dig site and causing a commotion as a distraction while three of them swept in from behind and snatched up four people, one of the copepods, the largest, carrying off two miners at once. The rangers there on the security detail had opened up on the copepods with the automatics they’d had but it had done nothing, the copepods had simply covered their vulnerable faces with their hands and let the bullets sink into their thick flesh or bounce off of their hardened, nacreous exoskeletons without any noticeable effect.

Earl, the grizzled ranger leading the class, had paused the video there and ushered them all outside, and they’d all walked down in a tight little group to the very middle of the Lower Visitor Center, right in the atrium, where, suspended from wires and perfectly preserved, was the only fully intact specimen of abyssal copepod that had ever been recovered from the depths of the Pit.

The thing had, Earl told them, crawled up the gullet, digging its hands into the flesh of the pit wall, leaving a trail of bloody pockmarks behind it like footprints. And then it had levered itself onto a ledge, a bony outcrop near the surface, where the sun had been shining, and it had laid there and died.

“Why?” someone asked, and Earl shrugged.

“We don’t know much about these things, about why they do the things they do. So I can’t tell you why exactly,” he drawled, “but I can tell you what I think. I think it knew it was fading. And it wanted to see the sun.”

The copepod plucks at him again with its free hand and again Peter twists out of the way. It keeps snatching its hand back after it misses, a telltale indicator that this copepod has run into rangers before. Maybe a miner with a taser, a ranger with an ESD gun, some experience in the past that let it know that humans can hurt it.

Electrical discharges tend to be the best way to deal with copepods. An ordinary taser, the kind the police use, won’t do more than tickle it, but every ranger station carries a rack of overpowered high-voltage tasers that would fry a human to a crisp but will knock out a copepod. Peter’s never had to use one, never fired one except for that day in training when they had to qual on them in order to pass. He’d hit five out of seven shots and that had been good enough. Hit a copepod with one of those, Earl had said, and that’ll put it on its ass long enough for you to take your knife and shove it right there, tapping the diagram of the copepod’s head between its eyes. “Its brain isn’t there, but a primary nerve is. Hit it just there, right in the center, dig the knife around in there, and you’ll paralyze it for the rest of its life, which will probably be about half an hour. Then just walk away.”

He made it sound extremely simple. Peter thought it was kind of sad, thinking about one of the enormous copepods, trapped there in its own body, unable to move, waiting for something to come by and eat it, or maybe for it to suffocate, unable to make its lungs breathe.

Peter reaches upwards to his hips and unsnaps his holster. The service pistol practically flings itself out and Peter fumbles with it for one heart-stopping moment before he gets a good grip on it. If he’d dropped it…

The copepod is drawing its arm back again for another swipe at him. Peter points the pistol at it, taking a moment to line up a shot at its head. The head is just as armored as the rest of its body, but the eyes aren’t, although that shot, hanging upside down in the thing’s grasp, would be one in a million.

The copepod’s eyes shift as he points the pistol at it and then it drops him. He lands heavily but scrambles to his feet as quick as he can. He sees the copepod cringe back, covering its head with one of its hands, the other blindly groping for him. He dodges a swipe and then turns tail and runs, his cleats digging into the floor of the trail and popping free with wet sucking sounds. It takes the copepod a moment to realize he’s booked it but once it does it screeches, sounding like a bucket of nails fed into a wood chipper, and takes off after him, pulling itself forwards on its powerful forearms, its frilled steering vanes beating uselessly against the fleshy ground.

 * * *

 Makado strides down the corridor boldly, one hand on the butt of her service pistol. She’s already sealed her helmet, just in case. No matter how hard she tries she can’t seem to get rid of the bubbling knot of trepidation, tensing in her stomach as she makes her way closer to the Organ Trail. A triocanth is one thing, nasty enough but easy to deal with, but an abyssal? Peter must have been mistaken.

But no, whispers a little voice in the back of her head. Wishful thinking isn’t going to save you.

She’s checked her pockets a dozen times on the way down but she doesn’t have anything that could properly deal with an abyssal copepod. The things are massive, cunning, angry tubes of pure rage, and if you were going to try to take one down without cheating and zapping it with an electro gun you’d have to use one of the big forty-mills they keep in the LVC for emergencies. Makado’s seen the plans, seen the contingencies, even though her clearance wasn’t high enough. She’d laughed at the time. ‘Organized assault by more than fifteen abyssal copepods?’ Give me a break.

Now, though, with the lights flickering and the floor throbbing to a sickly beat, she isn’t so sure.

Alright, Mak. Think. How are you going to take out an abyssal?

She still has no ideas five minutes later when she reaches the point in the corridor where Peter must have ran into that triocanth. There’s a great gout of bacterial fluid there on the grated floor, still wet and dripping, and huge spots of rust where it melted into the steel. She curls her lip; even though the closed-system suit prevents her from smelling it, she knows exactly what it would smell like, sulfurous rotten-egg stench mixed with a horribly biological rot-like odor, like week-old vomit.

There in the fleshy wall, she notices, is the slit that Peter must have seen the copepod reach from; it’s large, but it wouldn’t be large enough to let the copepod come all the way into the corridor without a great deal of squeezing and stretching. That must have been why all it did was reach out and grab the bacterium, she realizes.

For about the third time since she started her journey, she tries to call Peter again on the radio, but with even less hope of a response. Clearly something’s happened; she hopes it wasn’t the abyssal making off with him, but she forces herself to be realistic.

She reaches out to touch the rough-pink edge of the slit in the wall and notices her hand is shaking slightly. She makes a fist and then punches the side of the wall, hard as she can. Her  knuckles leave four little divots in the flesh that fade quickly.

“Alright,” she says out loud. “I’m going to go and I’m going to fuck up that abyssal cope –“

Her words catch in her throat as what she thought was a weirdly-shaped skin tag opens a set of six multifaceted eyes and looks at her. “Uh,” she starts, reaching down to her hip for her pistol, but the triocanth bursts out of the wall, propelled by its well-muscled, springlike tail, trailing slime and venterial lymph like a comet, and has wrapped its tentacles around her neck and constricted her arms to her sides with the rest of its wriggling body before she can even think.

 * * *

 The copepod roars behind him again and Peter ducks; another chunk of flesh with five puckered divots punched into it sails past him and slaps wetly into the wall of the corridor. Peter twists around. “Will you stop throwing shit at me?” he asks the copepod, which responds by digging its hands in again and lunging forward another seven or eight feet, but the sizable lead Peter’s amassed still puts him far ahead of the thing on the trail, close to the exit up to the Campground and the lower gastrointestinal zone. The thing pauses there and once again Peter reflects on the lumbering bulk of it, the banded plates and armor, the hands twitching with what he interprets as repressed rage. It’s getting tired, he guesses; at the start Peter was lucky to have gotten away from it before it was able to snatch him up again and disarm him but the thing was wary of his pistol, even though it wouldn’t really have been able to hurt it. He hasn’t shot at it yet, not wanting to have to, not wanting to reveal that the gun he holds loosely at his side isn’t an electrical stunner but just a puny .45 that wouldn’t hurt the thing if he didn’t nail it square in the face.

The copepod makes a fist and slams it on the floor repeatedly before it flexes and lurches itself another few feet forward. It’s such a human gesture that Peter pauses for a moment and watches it, watches the way its eyes glitter, locked on Peter’s, watches the way its sides heave with the vast gulping breaths it’s taking. He shakes his head eventually. “Fuck you,” he tells it, and then turns and jogs upwards, into the light.

 * * *

“Goddam,” Makado keeps muttering, trying to flex her arms and break the triocanth’s hold on her but it’s no use, the thing is basically all muscle, it’s much stronger than her. It seems to have figured out by now that it can’t bite through her faceplate, after a few minutes of slobbering over her and leaving scratch marks on the reinforced glass of the visor, its three serrated teeth flexing with the effort, and now instead has settled for trying to crush her. She’d only just managed to slip one of her hands up around her neck before its whiplike tentacles had laced over it, but the extra space her arm gave her was enough to let her continue to breathe.

The triocanth’s dull eyes, arranged in two tripled sets on either side of its face, regard her. “Goddam,” Makado repeats. She opens her holster and starts to take out her pistol but the thing’s tail won’t let her move far enough to get it all the way out. She makes a face, straining against the triocanth, and it shifts minutely, enough to let the pistol free.

The triocanth reels back and then strikes her in the face, leaving a smear of venom on her visor, as well as a hairline crack that she eyes with trepidation. She can feel her hands shaking as she angles the pistol up, rotating her wrist carefully. She can’t tell where it’s pointed, if it’ll hit the triocanth if she pulls the trigger. She thinks it will but she also doesn’t want to shoot herself.

It pulls back and batters itself into her helmet again and the glass shatters; Makado shuts her eyes just in time but she still feels several shards dig into the skin on her cheeks and her chin. She pulls the trigger.

 * * *

 When Peter hears the gunshots his head snaps up, away from the map readout on his wrist. “Mak,” he breathes. He’d slowed a little when he’d reached the well-lit corridors above the organ trail, following the map and taking a shortcut back to the elevator enclosure.

There are three different trails she could be down; he picks one at random and sprints down it, careening off the walls when he overbalances, when his cleats stick in the metal grates and don’t come up as quickly as they ought. He’s tired and out of breath but he makes it down to the end of the corridor and turns the corner and finds Makado, limp and prone, the triocanth still wrapped around her, its head inclined downwards and covering her face. “No,” he finds himself saying without any conscious bidding on his part. “No, no no no no no,” he says, pulling his pistol out of its holster and training it on the triocanth. He reaches down gingerly and takes ahold of the recessed groove on the rear part of its exoskeleton, expecting it to whip around and go after him, but the triocanth just lays still. Peter frowns.

“Pete?” Makado asks, and Peter almost falls to his knees he’s so relieved.

“Holy shit, Mak,” he says, putting his gun away and rolling the triocanth off her. He looks at her, laying there, smoke still rising from the barrel of her gun, shards of glass still dug into her face, and she smiles at him and it is truly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I came to get you,” she says breathlessly, sitting up, glass pouring from the inside of her helmet. She pops the quick release and it comes apart in two halves. She lets it clatter onto the floor. “I came to get you,” she repeats, “when your radio went dead.”

“I came to get you,” he tells her, “when I heard the gunshots. I thought you’d died, laying there, I…”

He trails off. Makado is bleeding from a cut on her chin and he watches as she picks a tiny shard of glass from her cheek, lets it tinkle to the floor and then through the grate and down onto the flesh below. He holds his wrist screen out to show her. “Look,” he says. “I have a map. I know the best way –“

Makado doesn’t look at the screen even once. When he leans in closer to show her, she leans into him, and then she reaches up and puts her hand in his short-cropped hair and then she kisses him, and her lips are warm and soft and her teeth nip at his lips lightly and her tongue darts into his mouth for only a moment, running along his teeth and gums before it’s gone, and the kiss feels like it lasts forever but it’s over in only a moment and when she pulls away from him Makado is smiling so hard her cheeks are starting to hurt and Peter is looking at her like he loves her and he opens his mouth to say something stupid so Makado leans in and kisses him again and this time he puts his arm around her and she still smells like peaches and her shoulders are soft and trembling slightly and he can feel her chest heaving as they press together and he can feel her breasts against him and he’s having trouble thinking.

And then there is a sliding, scraping noise behind them and Makado opens her eyes and speaks the words ‘holy shit’ directly into Peter’s mouth, and then she is scrambling away, tugging on Peter’s arm, for at the end of the hallway the copepod has just pulled itself into view and is sitting there, staring at them malevolently, tucking its arms in and trying to squeeze its bulk into the hallway proper.

“You weren’t kidding,” Makado breathes. Peter is only just now regaining proper brain functions and he keeps looking at Makado like he’d still like to keep kissing her even in spite of the copepod and Makado can’t help but smile at him and reach over and squeeze his hand very tight for just a moment. “We’ll do more of that later,” she promises.

The copepod reaches up and knots its fingers into the metal grille covering the ceiling and pulls itself another few feet into the hallway. Peter whips out his pistol and aims it at the copepod and again it sees and cowers back, covering its face. Makado whistles. “This one’s smart, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t shot it yet,” Peter says. “I don’t think it knows this is just a pistol.”

“I have an idea,” Makado says. The copepod rocks itself side to side a little. If it gets a couple feet forward it’ll have moved the largest bulging section of its exoskeleton into the hallway and it’ll be able to pull itself along freely, but for the moment it’s still stuck. Makado leans down and picks up the dead triocanth, grunting under its weight. “Help me with this fucking thing,” she says, and Peter takes it by the tail, trying to still keep the gun trained on the copepod, which is now peeking through its fingers at them, and between the two of them, Makado leading the way, they stagger closer to the copepod. After a moment it puts its hand down and watches them carefully, its arms retracting with their telltale pneumatic hissing noise, putting its hands on the inside of the corridor. “On three,” Makado says, “we toss this thing at the copepod.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

She counts to three, heaving the dead weight of the triocanth back and forth between them to build up momentum, and then they toss it. It sails through the air and lands just in front of the copepod, which looks at them and then at the triocanth. “Now back off,” Makado says to Peter from the corner of her mouth.

They take a few steps backwards; the copepod reaches out and prods the triocanth gently. A few more steps; the copepod takes the triocanth in both hands and, with a ripping noise like fabric tearing, twists off the triocanth’s head and starts to eat it.

Makado and Peter turn and break into a jog. “I can’t believe that worked,” Peter tells Makado.

“Me neither,” she says. “Be glad it did. You know how to get up?”

“Yes,” he nods. One of the old evacuation shafts, the ones they put in when they were concerned about acid overflow. We can climb up and seal it after us and that’ll put us into Bronchial.”

“Lead the way.”

It takes them ten minutes or so to make it back to the elevator enclosure. Makado raps shave and a haircut on the door and Fitzroy takes the chair down and opens the door and practically falls over with relief when he sees Makado and Peter. “Did you get worried?” Makado asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “There were these noises –“

“We can talk about it later,” Peter says. “Guys, we have to go right now.”

It takes a little bit to get Eileen moving; she’d fallen asleep again and it took a little effort to wake her, but they get the three teenagers up and ready to go, and then shuffle off down the hallway, Peter and Makado in the front, referring to the map as they go. It takes them down about half a mile of halls, including a few detours due to failed stents and, in one case, a truly enormous cloistropod protruding from the wall and making a low subsonic buzz that set Peter’s teeth on edge, but they make it to the access shaft. Makado swipes her card and it unlocks, and then they have to spin the wheel and unseal the door, which takes what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The door opens with a foreboding hiss, and Makado clicks on her flashlight and peers up the shaft. “Alright kids,” she says, her voice echoing in the tight space, “who’s ready for a climb? There’ll –“

Before she can get any further, though, the Pit bucks beneath them and roars so loudly that they all clap their hands to their ears. Fitzroy falls to the ground and Eileen screams but although Peter sees her mouth move he can’t hear her. The shuddering intensifies and again he reaches out as best he can, his face screwed up against the noise, and gathers Fitzroy and Tyler to him and takes them down to the ground while Makado does the same with Eileen, and they all huddle there for the short eternity it feels it takes for the Pit to settle. Eventually it does, and the roar peters out into a low grumbling moan that trails on and on. Peter rises to his feet finally, bringing Tyler and Fitzroy up with him. “Jesus Christ,” he says.

Makado looks shaken. “What the hell is going on?” she asks, and then stops. She looks at Peter and he looks at Makado.

The grumbling in the background hasn’t stopped; in fact, it’s only intensified.

Makado turns. At the end of the hallway, far, far down, a torrent of sickly-looking liquid bursts around the corner and shoots towards them, and buffeted along with it, looking almost smug, is the copepod, its arms tucked against its sides, its frilled rudder-like legs churning the stomach acid as it jets forwards, riding the tide.

“Go!” Makado yells, and Peter pushes Tyler and Fitzroy ahead of him and they clamber up the ladder like the devil were chasing them. Peter goes up next, turning halfway, and sees Makado pulling Eileen into the shaft.

Just as Peter reaches the top and Tyler and Fitzroy pull him up, he hears a scream from below and he turns and stares downwards; the acid is slowly rising at the bottom of the shaft and Eileen has lagged behind. For a moment he thinks the acid has reached her, and then he sees the hand extending out of the acid, clenched around her leg, a pale, translucent hand three times the size of a human’s, and he realizes what he’s about to see. “Don’t watch,” he tells Tyler and Fitzroy, but they don’t move.

“Eileen!” Makado screams. “Hold on! I’ve got you!”

But Makado doesn’t have her. She can feel Eileen’s grip slipping even on the puckered surface of her non-slip gloves. Makado, greatly daring, wedges her feet between the rungs of the ladder and, twisting around, reaches down to grab ahold of Eileen’s other hand.

Eileen is crying, the tears are running down her cheeks, leaving streaks of mascara in their wake, but she stays silent, her eyes locked on Makado’s, even though Makado can see the copepod twist its arm and break the girl’s ankle like it were a matchstick. A shudder runs through her and her hand flies open and Makado watches her fall into the copepod’s grip even as the acid rises higher in the access shaft. She can see it reacting with a bubbling hiss as it hits the sebaceous residue left on the copepod’s exoskeleton, the waxy layer of secretions that allow the giant arthropod to slither through tight veins and arteries at high speeds, but only a small part of her mind recognizes this; the rest of her is too busy watching Eileen, up until the point that she hits the acid and the copepod catches her with its other hand and then it’s drawn her below the surface, tucking her up under its armpit like a parcel. It seems to glance up at Makado as she screams Eileen’s name again, and then it wriggles its body like an overgrown lobster and darts off into the rising effluvial muck below and is gone.

It is only because Peter reaches down and takes ahold of her around the waist that he prevents Makado from jumping down into the acid to try and chase down the copepod and make it give Eileen back to her, ignoring the fact that the acid would already be burning its way through her like wildfire, sloughing off her skin like shucking an ear of corn, ignoring the fact that the copepod had probably already started to eat her.

It takes the combined effort of Peter and Fitzroy to drag Makado up to safety, and it’s only when the three-inch-thick safety shutter seals off access to the Lower Gastrointestinal Zone that she stops screaming Eileen’s name and the tears come, and with her shoulders shaking and her hands trembling, she lets the tears fall on the acid-proof steel until she can cry no more.

Continue with Part 7

Back to Table of Contents

#fiction #novel #mystery flesh pit #caving #disaster #michael crichton #romance #acid

[very-grownup]

THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 10

Episode 22.

We're getting an Asuka episode? Well this will be a delightful change of pace, I think, because I am incapable of learning.

The exact details of how wrong I was under the cut.

You know what all the dead mom vibes in this show needed? SUICIDE AND A CREEPY DOLL.

There are flashbacks to Asuka, somberfaced and small staring through a window at her hospitalized mother who is whispering endearment to a doll she calls Asuka. This condition has something to do with Asuka's mother being too consumed by her work to be a mother. This is also why Asuka's mother kills herself: poor work-mom balance. Does Asuka's father, who loudly fucks a doctor in a medical supply closet within earshot of young Asuka, carry any blame for this? Have a great big shrug!

There's a flashback to Asuka and fuckin' Kaji (I will never be free of him) having a very one sided conversation, lying on their backs and looking at the stars, talking about Asuka going to Japan with her EVA and meeting other pilots including A BOY. Asuka declares her lack of interest in boys her own age, even if they also pilot giant robots, and her interest not in men, but in Kaji. Her great interest in Kaji and her willingness to do anything he's up for as part if her bid for his attention and adulthood. Fuckin' Kaji slithers over the bar by turning down the 14-year-old's blatant sexual overture. This is the only boundary he sets and he does it in the laziest way when in a just universe his refusal to fuck a teenager would not need to be commended because no one WOULD. I'm glad he doesn't but I hate that I have to be glad, you know?

This jumble of flashbacks is to establish that Asuka is having a pretty shitty time! Her sync rates with her EVA are plummeting; Misato doesn't know what to do and Ritsuko doesn't care and also seems to be ready to fire this teenage girl for poor robot performance.

Asuka is acutely conscious of being 'beaten' by Shinji and Rei post Shinji's month-long sabbatical being absorbed by his EVA, which is pretty understandable because NERV does a poor job of hiding how ready to write her off they are.

My understanding of the flow of these episodes is becoming increasingly less coherent. At some point there's a shot of young Asuka standing in front of the grave for I guess her mother who had the surname? Middle name? I DON'T KNOW BUT IT SAYS ZEPPELIN ON THE GRAVESTONE OKAY.

There are some shots of the creepy doll having its head wrenched off and being held by its head.

Mainly, Asuka's /so angry/. The coping mechanism she learned in the wake of her childhood trauma was about the ineffectiveness of tears and so everything is redirected into anger. She's angry living with Misato and Shinji. She's angry when Misato asks her to answer the phone. She's angry because she knows Misato and Kaji were a thing (but she doesn't know that fuckin' Kaji is fuckin' dead and Misato doesn't share the information - maybe she can't). She's angry when Shinji answers the phone instead, without being asked. She's angry Shinji's polite.

The phone call is for her, from Germany, from her mother (stepmother, she reveals, after the fact), and a bright, chipper, incomprehensible one-sided German telephone conversation ensues. A flashback to destroying a toy from her 'new' mother.

Shinji watches this conversation he cannot understand (but does any teenage boy feel like he understands any conversation conducted by a teenage girl?) but expresses genuine, sweet longing for what appears to be a functional familial relationship. Certainly Asuka's conversation with her stepmother is probably longer than every word exchanged between Shinji and his father in the entirety of Shinji's life.

Shinji's genuine interest in Asuka's family life prompts a sincere and unguarded response from Asuka about how uncomfortable living with her father and stepmother was before she catches herself and is angry at Shinji for briefly seeing a real Asuka, and herself for being real.

She's angry at Japanese baths, she's angry at sharing bath water with Shinji and Misato, angry at washing her clothes in the same machine that washes their clothes, angry at using the same toilet they do, angry at breathing the same AIR they do. She's angry because she's on her period (and this is brought up by Misato as a possible reason she's having trouble with her EVA and immediately shot down by Ritsuko) and because Asuka's always angry it doesn't feel like clumsy 'girls be PMS-ing'. Maybe more significantly, she's angry AT her period. Angry about it happening, angry about it being something she can't control and that boys don't have to deal with, angry because it's a biological indicator of her ability to do something she has no desire to ever do ...

As an adult, living with grief and depression and my mother's death and my difficult relationship with my father, I feel great empathy for Shinji. But I remember /being/ Asuka. I remember being an angry teenage girl, angry at myself and my body and everyone around me. Asuka's got big Not Like Other Girls energy and for me, that goes hand in hand with the boiling adolescent anger, the desire to goad other teens into fights, because lashing out and physically hurting was more real and acceptable than inner turmoil that couldn't be kicked.

It feels like there's a lot packed into this episode, even though it's full of long, awkward moments like a prolonged, silent elevator ride with Asuka and Rei which culminates in Asuka slapping Rei for her serenity and certainty of her place in NERV.

Maybe it just feels like there's a lot because this glimpse into Asuka's inner life feels like such a direct look at the feelings of my own adolescence. Projection is powerful.

Asuka's EVA sync rates continue to fall and it's just casually dropped that more EVAs are being made, like, it sounds like a good dozen of a new EVAs in different countries and hey that sounds like a terrible idea after one recently went rogue and ate an angel and Shinji sort of. Asuka knows she's fucking up, she finds herself lashing out at her EVA and its weird green bug eyespots. It's a weapon, a doll, and a tool, and it doesn't need a heart to fulfill its purpose (which is how Asuka regards herself). It just needs to obey her (like how Rei obeys). There's this tangle of connection with Rei and Asuka and the EVA here. Asuka hates and envies Rei because Rei performs her duties unquestioningly, which is what Asuka wants from her EVA but also what she wants from herself in her operation of the EVA. But Rei is needed by NERV because of how she performs and Rei appears to perform as she does because she knows NERV needs her. There's a certainty and belonging Asuka longs for, much as Shinji longs for the family connection her projects onto Asuka's German telephone conversation

ANYWAY an angel ... attacks? I guess? But it's not there it's in orbit maybe and it's like someone made a toddler draw a bird in space made out of lightning. It's definitely a thing to throw giant robots at and is some kind of bad time but they don't want to send out Asuka. And they don't want to send out Shinji and it's not clear why, if it's because of the absorption month or the berserk eating of the last angel or Gendo deciding he values his son's life (HA HA HA no it's definitely not the last one don't worry I'm not that confused). So it'll have to be Rei and they'll have Asuka provide backup but holy shit Asuka is not down for that and she decides to try and take out the angel in space herself, launching her EVA without permission and getting ready to do a shooting with her giant EVA gun, but she misses.

And then ... okay ... so ... then the angel in space does some kind of Care Bare Sunbeam Stare down from space onto the EVA while Handel's Messiah plays. But that's not good, that's bad. I know, heavenly music and glowing golden light. But it's bad. It's a psychological attack. The angel is trying to understand humanity with its beam attack which I think is what happened to Shinji with the pancake angel but while Shinji got a weird near death experience and a message of love from his mother, Asuka is screaming, shooting her giant EVA gun until empty.

I'm interested in the contrasting ways Asuka and Shinji's EVAs move when berserking. Shinji's was like a wild animal, a cryptid, unsettling fluid and violent and destroying everything around it in displays of brutal violence and blood. Asuka's ... looks like a headache. Everything is bent and angled inwards, clutching and drawing in and once the gun is out of ammo, it looks like it's hurting itself or trying to fold in and make a smaller target for something outside.

The angel's Hallelujah chorus beam is an awful thing of preventing suppression of bad memories? Asuka remembers all the crying she did as a child and her mother trying to kill her and also begging her mother to let her die with her so they would still be mother and daughter. It's a lot (and also there's lots of creepy doll stuff which you know I'm always ready to be particularly upset by) and Asuka's inner Asuka is, if possible, even harsher to her than Shinji's inner Shinji, because Asuka's self-loathing is channeled into anger and it's easy to be angry at yourself, you know? It's ugly stuff, this perpetual motion machine of anger as protection of self resulting in anger because no one knows the real you but then you're angry because you can't be weak and show your true self ... If your only coping mechanism is anger then everything is anger and everything becomes anger and feeds anger and there's no room for anything else. Anger's big and can grow forever in a bad way and ... Asuka's not taking out the angel in space, obviously.

So Rei is sent to save the day (which will make Asuka angry) but even Rei can't hit the angel in space. So there's only one thing to do, apparently, even though doing it may cause the Third Impact which is what all this angel fight has been for the purpose of avoiding maybe? IT'S TIME TO SEND REI INTO THE ORANGE TANG OCEAN SUBBASEMENT WHERE THERE IS A NERV WARSHIP AND THE GIANT GLOWING RED CROSS WITH THE WHITE MANY EYED DANGLY ENDED BODY OF ADAM TREVOR TO GET THE SPEAR OF LONGINUS. Longinus is removed from Adam Trevor, like you do, and Longinus was the only thing keeping Adam Trevor ... dead? Inert? I don't know but the dangly bottom end bits get all pulsing and roiling and Akira and maybe become legs no time to dwell on this Rei's back to the surface. Rei throws Longinus at the angel in space and that does the trick I guess but she throws it so hard that the spear lands on the moon. I guess they don't have the spear of Longinus anymore and while I don't know why/if they needed it, they definitely seem to have been using it.

There's no more Handel and that's good but Longinus seems like something they maybe wanted to put back in the chest of the upsetting ever growing white figure on the cross in the tang ocean but I guess that's a problem for next week.

Asuka doesn't get absorbed into her EVA for any length of time and post-battle, Shinji tells her hunched form he's glad she's okay. Asuka hates him and would rather be dead than to live having been rescued by Rei.

I'm amazed Asuka had an episode to herself (cultural consciousness of this show is so strange, I'd presumed such importance from her, but she hasn't been in that much, really, and then often as comic relief) and her rage was given depth. This concludes my report on Episode 22 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

#neon genesis evangelion report #fuckin' kaji

[rekutopia]

In which Obi lets Shirayuki sleep

A part of the Flatmate AU (one, two, three, in accidental order)

Jesus fucking christ.

At one point in his life, Obi had decided to restrain himself from cursing as soon as he became a professional and started working. It was only to his benefit if he could quit the bad habit before it starts to manifest itself at work. That’s what he thought an exemplary adult should do.

He entered the working world around six years ago. A couple of years of rude patients and whiny co-workers later he revisited the thought and rephrased his intention to stop cursing as soon as he turned thirty – this time for sure. Changing workplace might also help.

Last year he turned thirty. And he had changed his workplace. Twice. Good thing he never told anyone about this particular resolution, seeing that the amount of cursing was, if anything, increasing. Especially in the past one year and three months, ever since he shared his living space with a certain redhead.

Now, Obi had always been a perfect gentleman towards his flatmate. Never did he use dirty words in any form whatsoever whenever Shirayuki was around. Even when he once stubbed his toe on the new washing machine she had installed into their bathroom he managed to merely let out an incomprehensible sound instead of the usual ‘FUCK!’. Boy, did he patted himself proudly on the back after that.

No. Especially at home, that increasing amount of cursing was inaudible, though not less loud inside his head. These were usually directed towards situations he would never believe could happen if he hadn't experienced them himself.

Right now was a perfect example.

Obi was lying on the couch under the colourful blanket Shirayuki’s grandma had quilted for her. The living space was dark and toasty. Through the window, Obi could see the snowflakes slowly piling on the balcony.

There was cheeky accordion music playing in the background. Onto the wall, the projector was beaming the end credit of Amélie, one of Shirayuki’s favourite movies to watch when she was upset (and when she was happy – actually, it’s her all-time favourite movie ever). Shirayuki herself was lying beside him, under the same blanket, sleeping peacefully.

Would that be reason enough for Obi to curse? Well, half a year ago it would. 

In fact, Obi had cursed when Shirayuki had started to sit closer to him so that their knees touched whenever they did their movie nights. He had also cursed when a couple of movie nights later she suddenly suggested they could just lie down for watching. “It’s more comfortable this way”, she had told him, and who was he to say no when it’s true? 

When she next casually tangled their legs together like it’s the most natural thing in the world Obi thought his curses should have finally reached the heavens’ ears since the torture level didn’t step up further after that.

And so Obi thought he was over it. He thought he had hardened up until all that had become quite a normality. He could finally enjoy Shirayuki’s closeness and body heat without having his heart jumping up and down like a happy puppy in his ribcage all the time.

Until tonight. Tonight was the end of it. He must have done something to awaken the heavens’ wrath that they decided to continue his punishment.

Obi glanced down at his sleeping flatmate, whose head was nestling comfortably on his shoulder. Both her arms were encircling his right arm – in fact, her whole tiny body was snuggling up to him. Her right leg was rested rudely on top of his right leg like it belonged there, her knee dangerously close to his crotch. He could feel her breasts where they pressed way too innocently against his arm, rising and falling softly with each breath she took. She was purring lightly, like a tired little kitten.

What the fuck did I do in my previous life to deserve this.

He had been lying entirely still ever since Shirayuki fell asleep, not even five minutes after the movie had started. That was more or less two hours ago. Despite years of practice, neither yoga breathing nor meditation could make him relax his stiff body. This was just a different level of suffering.

Carefully, Obi turned his head to his right while contemplating whether he should just wake up his snoring flatmate. His nose almost brushed the top of her head and he caught a whiff of her shampoo. Correction. His shampoo. Because when a wet, crying, wrapped-only-in-a-towel girl announced angrily that she was out of shampoo and that she was going to use yours, you nod and let her use yours. No questions asked.

Just, what the hell even happened?

When Obi arrived home that night, instead of the usual ‘welcome home’ he was greeted by a sobbing pile of pillows and blanket on the couch. A bit of prodding and shaking didn’t award him with anything much, only that the pile curled further up into a messy ball.

He was about to leave it be when suddenly his flatmate’s head emerged from the heap – red hair sticking out staticky in all directions, eyes puffy and still leaking. She declared her intent to use the shower in a hiccupy voice and stormed into the bathroom.

After she got out – fully clothed, to Obi’s relief – Shirayuki planted herself back onto the couch. She threw her flatmate a somewhat commanding glare while she patted the empty space beside her.

As much as a wannabe-dominant Shirayuki was an amusing view, Obi schooled his expression to neutral and refrain himself from teasing her. Clearly, she was very upset about something and Obi didn’t want to agitate her even further.

And so he took his cue and rolled onto the couch beside her. Wordlessly, Shirayuki started the laptop, the projector, spread the blanket over them, then leaned back and cuddle up to him when the movie started.

They lay like that for a while, as hundreds of questions raced in Obi’s mind.

What on earth happened? Did someone hurt you? Should I call Yuzuri? Or the police? Since when do you hog me like it’s absolutely nothing? Do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing to me? What the hell is going on? Do I even have any say in this?

What he finally settled with was a soft, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

His answer was a little pout on her lips and a small head shake. Then Shirayuki’s gaze shifted back to the screen. She inched closer to him, making herself comfortable and him even more uncomfortable. But Obi didn’t push. He hadn’t known his flatmate for a very long time, but he knew enough that she would talk when she felt like it. So he held his tongue and let her take what she needed.

Which brought him to now.

Closing his eyes, Obi immersed himself in the fragrance – a unique mixture between Shirayuki’s own scent and his shampoo. If more girls knew how sexy it was to smell masculine, all those girly toiletries brands out there might go broke in next to no time. Either that or Obi was just an exception to be so goddamned turned on by it. 

Again, he cursed inwardly as he felt all his blood rushing south, where he noticed a small tent slowly building up. If he knew Shirayuki was going to throw herself to him tonight he would’ve chosen a tighter pair of boxers.

And maybe have a shower first.

Obi gave himself a mental slap on the back of his head. Surely this was not the time to feel aroused when the little miss was feeling miserable for whatever reason. He must get a grip on himself.

As if sensing that he was thinking about her, Shirayuki stirred, and one of her arms slid up to his chest, clutching lightly on his shirt. Obi’s breath hitched. If the other was awake Obi was sure she could feel his rapid heartbeat under her palm. 

She was so close now she was practically using him as a body pillow. He was helplessly trapped with nowhere to move and no one to hear the silent, frustrated screams in his head. Obi lifted his left hand and pressed the bridge of his nose, sinking his head deeper into the pillow.

Why don’t you just fucking kill me already.

Nietzsche said ‘to live is to suffer’, and life with Shirayuki had given suffering a new meaning. Sure, she first appeared as a timid, cute little miss pharmacist who loves plants. While Obi liked plants, he was not sure how to deal with a green army of 50+ potted plants invading his flat. Especially that one big fellow sitting seemingly unobtrusive in the corner while slowly stretching its long branches until it now almost trespassed the screen boundary of the projector.

Only after a short while, his new flatmate emerged as an online-shopper addict for ‘useful’ household stuff. Some are truly useful, for example, that LED night light with motion detector for the corridor, albeit in the shape of a puppy head. Some, like the egg separator, gave Obi reasons to try out his gentle eye-rolling with her. “I’ll teach you how to separate eggs with just your hands”, he had told her as he hid the abomination in the back of the bottom kitchen drawer.

Before Shirayuki Obi had only ten utensils in his kitchen. Despite being half Japanese, he didn’t even own a rice cooker. You can guess three times who introduced one into the kitchen. It’s the same person who brought the juicer, the mixer, the blender and the waffle iron. Yes, her waffles are a delight on Sunday mornings but that’s not the point here.

To be fair, he was honestly thankful for her washing machine, even though it made their mini bathroom even more cramped. At least he didn’t have to go outside of the flat to do laundry anymore. But he still thought the dishwasher was an overkill. Contrary to other people, Obi liked doing dishes. It freed his thoughts, almost like a meditation. “You could still do the big pots by hand,” she tried to reason with him. Yea, well, when they already have a dishwasher, he’d rather have the machine do the big stuff, thank you very much.

Whenever Obi came home from his late shift he often found Shirayuki fast asleep at the dining table with work materials piled and scattered around her. He was quick to learn that in those cases there was nothing he could to do to wake her up. But of course, the physiotherapist inside him would never forgive himself for letting her just sleep there. Which left him no other choices than to carry her to her bed. 

Speaking of suffering, Obi had always wondered why his roommate always behaved so carefree towards him. Granted, he never gave her any reasons to be cautious around him. He did like to tease her a lot, but never to the point that she was seriously uncomfortable with it. Nevertheless, did it never occur to her that he was a MAN, no matter how tame and harmless he seemed in front of her? Never before had Obi met a woman who was as completely unguarded as she was.

Anyway, the suffering has reached a new level today and Obi didn’t want to know what would come next.

Suddenly, a hum. Obi looked down and was met with two sleepy, half-open emerald eyes.

“Mmm...Obi?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Have Amélie and Nino met yet?”

“Un.”

“Are they happy now?”

“Un. Like always.”

“Good.”

Then silence followed. Just when Obi thought the dream of Amélie and Nino had claimed Shirayuki back to sleep she murmured further.

“What time is it?”

“A little after midnight.” Obi allowed himself to gently place his chin on her head. “Shall we go to bed?”

A grunt. The tiny woman shook her head, nestled herself impossibly closer still to him and wrapped her arm completely around him.

“Mmm...You’re so warm.”

With that, her breath went back to its steady rhythm as she fell back asleep.

Sighing, Obi awkwardly reached to grab the remote control and turned off the projector. Then he pulled the blanket higher and tried to adjust himself to a more comfortable position for all the tangling limbs. He closed his eyes and gradually resigned to his fate. 

Guess that means no shower for me tonight.

Obi took a deep breath in from his nose and released it slowly through his mouth. 

In and out. 

In and out.

I am the master of my fucking cock.

——————–

Note:

The 10 kitchen utensils Obi owned before Shirayuki came to his life were...

a knife

a cutting board

a pot

a frying pan

a kettle (not an electric one)

a spatula

a ladle

a pair of cooking chopstick

a rice spoon

a grater

...just in case you were wondering >:3

#myfanfic #akagami no sirayukihime #obiyuki #flatmate au

[writer-who-wont-friggin-write]

To Soar With Vultures: Chapter One

The Goddess Of Life Is A Bitch Apparently

In the countryside of Itreyan, a great empire by any measure, stood an manor built just at the edge of a forest. Something about the trees seemed to loom over the estate, the trees casting shadow no matter where the sun sat in the sky. If the stone hewn fence that surrounded the property was any indication, what went on in the places the light never reached was not something to be spoken of by any honorable, god-fearing, life-loving man.

Rayla stood deep in the bowels of the caverns below. The dim light of torches placed every fifteen feet was barely enough to let her see the pickaxe in her hands and the cave wall inches from her face. She raised the pickaxe in her hands and pitched it forwards at the rock in front of her with a heaving blow. Fragments of stone chipped away, but the impact reverberated up her arm and didn’t  help with the ache that grew in her bones.

Bad idea little girl! The voice in the back of her head hissed. Stay away! Some things were not meant to be touched.

On a good day, her only company was the Akkator. The cranky little bastard of a god resided in the deep hole where her soul should have been, right along with bits of daemons and a power darker than what radiated through the air of the caverns. Who cared that she’d sold that soul to the same old god so that she could draw her power from the tainted ground and puppet herself around like a living corpse with a body that never died? She certainly didn’t.

“Would you mind quieting down? I’d rather face whatever is beyond this wall than another round of Jvar’s torture when I don’t find it.”

The thing inside her bristled. Was calling it in a thing fair when it had a personality and a few scraps of power to call its own? Maybe not, but the alternative was to acknowledge that she shared her head space with an old, backwater god called death itself, so calling it a thing would do nicely.

Believe me, if that axe swings another time you’ll regret being born. No. You’ll regret not being able to die.

Rayla swung her pickaxe again. To hell with the Akkator’s warning. True or not, it could wait for the long walk through the pitch blackness back to the upper levels that waited for when the torches burnt themselves out as a signal. The shackles on her ankles and collar on her neck were good reminders that whatever she was made of, she was still just a prisoner, still nothing more than a darker sort of pet for a sadist to experiment on. 

And nothing was going to stand in her way of getting out of them. Nothing would get in her way of getting out of this place, tracking down wherever Jvar had stashed her little brother, and finding a nice, quiet little nook to wait for the end of days.

When the steel met stone and chipped away through a surprisingly thin bit of rock, nothing happened, at least not at first. It took a moment , but once the sound of something scraping from the other side reached Rayla’s ears, it was like the world came crashing down upon her shoulders.

Suddenly, the faint moans of those long dead that she’d grown accustomed to were joined by a swirling cacophony of new screams. This, she could be prepared for. More screams meant more dead, but she’d straddled between life and death and survived in the in between for 14 long, long years. 

She’d survive whatever this new threat was, even if it drove her to the edge of insanity.

What she wouldn’t give to be five years old again and sitting in a palace of splendor before it had all burnt up in ash and ruin…

Worse still, when she peered into the small crack that led to more darkness,something looked back. It’s eyes were an empty, milky white that stood out from it’s peeling onyx skin, which would be a visage so incomprehensibly unhuman if it weren’t for one simple fact.

She wasn't exactly human either. There was a time when she was, but that was before Jvar. That was before she'd been made into the black blooded, clawed, creature with a mouth of razor teeth and a tail chained to her legs that stood here.

Humanity was a nice sentiment to cling to though. Not that it was necessary.

“Let me out my darling…” the voice in the crack crooned, desperately trying to stretch a thin, bony finger through the slit in the rock. Its voice was raw yet smooth. Rayla watched as it ran a claw down the shimmer veil filling the crack. Watched as it ran a claw down the oh so fragile veil between this world and all that lay beyond. “Otherwise I’m sure your soul would taste divine.”

The voices of those dead were screaming in warning that whatever lay beyond that veil should never cross it. 

The broken sound of Rayla’s laughter filled the empty tunnel. Whatever that thing was, it was not all knowing, or it would have known one very ugly truth- Rayla Asarova had sold her soul long ago.

The body that simply brushed off death was absolutely worth the power it'd cost her.

The torch struggling to illuminate the catacomb finally sputtered out, signaling that after ten hours mining away at rock and going nowhere, Rayla was free to wander back up through the pitch darkness and rejoin the so-called land of the living.

She took one last glance at the crack. Her eyes, made for darkness, adjusted quickly. Something nasty was oozing out from it, just like a wound gushing blood. On a whim, Rayla waved farewell to that particular nightmare before starting back out of the mine.

“Made another time,” she called back to the thing in the darkness. Could it hear her?

The chill in her bones told her that she didn’t want to know.

Please don’t play games with her. I’ve heard she’s quite the bitch.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “If that ends up being the understatement of the century I’m going to kill you.” The words felt raw on her tongue. Spoken words from her were rare. It was better that way. If she was silent she’d never beg, never plead, and never humiliate herself.

But most importantly, if she never said anything, it meant there was something she could still control. It meant she could never betray her true intentions to anyone she didn’t trust. Jvar had learned to like her silent, to have a whore of a mutt who watched with glassy eyes with nothing going on upstairs. That was all she was, a perfect picture of whatever her enemies wanted to see.

Rayla knew the way back out of the mines so well that she let her mind drift off to the sound of her pickaxe scraping against the ground. Was the sound a risk? Yes. The daemons were always listening, and for most, an encounter with a hungry one meant death.

But Rayla Asarova could not die. So she walked on until she reached the gates.

She wordlessly handed her pickaxe off to a guard and stumbled into the searing, artificial light.

“Long time, no see,” It was another prisoner who spoke. He hovered at the edge of the crowd waiting to watch for the gate to be sealed shut. Just like her, they were all in shackles with collars around their necks. “Was really hoping you wouldn’t make it out this time.”

She drifted her gaze to meet his eyes. They were the same deep navy as his hair, but she knew that even though he loved to deny it, those eyes could cloud over into black pits. Just like hers did.

Go on! Say it. Rasaj, why don’t you drop dead? I heard Hel is particularly nice this time of year! Prick.

She said nothing, but she didn’t hesitate to part her black lips into a sneer. In her opinion, Rasaj needed a glimpse of those razor sharp teeth. Maybe he’d learn that she was with him in the highest security part of the asylum for suspiciously bloody reason.

Besides, the Akkator was playing. No matter what old rumors said, dead people didn’t come back as the daemons of the beyond. No dead person she had ever heard ever mentioned the Hel beyond or daemons. 

Not true. Some of them were killed by daemons and still weren’t over it.

Rasaj stepped over to her and shoved a hand against her chest. She stumbled back a step and then caught her balance to the tune of his laughter. “Do you think Jvar would care if I offed his whore when nobody was looking?”

Jvar’s whore. What a shit nickname. When he'd first dragged her in front of everyone, a new introduction after all the time in near solitude, he'd called her the halival. The reaper.

But whore was the only thing that ever stuck. That was good, in a way. When the world thought she was just an empty eyed doll, a whore for a sadist, that meant they wouldn't be watching. They'd underestimate her, and there was power in that.

Nobody would suspect she played the long game. Nobody would suspect her when bodies started dropping.

 It really took everything to remind herself that Rasaj was not the enemy, just an asshole, and that his russet brown skin was speckled with scars just like her. 

They could both thank one sadist in particular. Jvar Vetrecini.

On an impulse, Rayla reached out a hand and dragged a clawed fingertip lightly across his throat, right above the collar. She didn’t press enough to actually draw blood, just enough to remind him that she was not harmless.

Rasaj jerked back, nearly knocking someone else over. Rayla couldn’t hold back a thin smile. There wasn’t a mirror, but with her wicked blood red eyes, deathly pale skin, and sharp smile, Rayla imagined that to Rasaj, she looked like a particularly vengeful ghost. It was a good visual.

 And sometimes, when the seething craving for blood inside her that came from the daemons bubbled up, her eyes would go black. She didn't lose control, she'd practiced to hold onto it where others had failed. Jvar expected a feral animal. Jvar expected a broken doll. She'd be nothing more. She'd be nothing less. She'd be nothing else.

Otherwise she had her mother’s crimson eyes. 

Before Rasaj could find a way to retaliate, a familiar, booming voice cut through the air.

Jvar Vetrecini was standing on his pedestal. “I have an announcement to make!” She had to admit, he had guts to stand in front of the people he quite literally tore to shred for fun and speak with a smile. Rasaj nudged Rayla’s arm.

“You know about this?” he spat.

Rayla didn’t even bother looking Rasaj in the eye, even as he turned to stand beside her and lean up against her shoulder. Of course she didn’t know.

“To be fair, I have a few announcements, but you guys don’t have anywhere to be,” Jvar said with a laugh and a smile that didn’t reach his opal eyes. “First order of business- fresh meat!”

He gestured to the tall girl who stood at his side. On some level, they looked the same. They had the same coppery brown skin and slender face, with eyes that  actually seemed to shine like jewels, even from afar.

“This is Katara. Nothing too special, but here she is,” Jvar shoved her off the platform, leaving her to face plant on hard ground. Rayla winced a bit.Katara didn’t have it bad as far as “introductions” went, but the sinking feeling of having to crawl to your feet while bound in chains wasn’t pleasant.

Rayla watched someone help Katara to her feet as the crowd clapped and scowled. She remembered standing on the pedestal in a straitjacket with a muzzle on her face. She remembered when Jvar announced her as the Halival and brushed off what she did under the guise that she was lucky enough to be his weapon one day.

4 years was a long time, but not long enough to make Rayla forget what it felt like to be left to scramble off the ground alone while a few brave souls tried to crush her under their feet.

That was her life though. 5 years of getting to be a kid before getting dragged off to Jvar and filled with horrors. 10 years in his side prison being tortured before snapping and showing the guards that she was no child, just a wolf in sheep's clothing. 4 years here, in the asylum that Jvar personally oversaw.

14 years without talking to another person if anyone was counting.

“Second order of business- I’ve heard news from a...classified source that someone discovered a very special...something down in the mines,” Jvar paused for a moment, craning his neck to look around as if he could see into the soul of whoever found what he wanted. Every muscle in Rayla’s body tensed.

How in the Akkator’s name did he know?

Jvar stopped his dramatic looking around. “So whoever did so is going to come forward and describe exactly what they found and where they found it,” For once, Rayla hung on every word like the body of a criminal hung from a noose. He should not know what she found. She didn’t understand why, but something told her that Jvar shouldn’t learn about the thing down below that wanted to devour her soul. “Or there are going to be some nasty consequences that I would love to see come to fruition.”

You're right. Somehow, the Akkator managed to whisper despite being just a voice in Rayla’s head. He should not find what you found. And I would stop calling her an it. She has a name- Mor, goddess of life, and Queen of Daemons and the dark Hel beyond.

Rayla closed her eyes and sighed. There was something fucked about this place. There was something fucked about this world, and there was something fucked about the world beyond too.

Fine. She'd known that for awhile now. It wasn't like it would change.

#To Soar With Vultures #To Soar With Vultures Chapter 1 #original writing #my writing #Rayla Asarova #Rasaj #Chapter 1 #writing

[santalsaburablog]

Adventures of Santal. Chapter 3. This is not a dream!

Humility is the only defense against humiliation.

     Kidnapping! Due to his curiosity, Santal Shan is trapped on the ship of the hitman Cad Bane, responsible for the death of her parents. Now the villain, seeking to cash in on a three-year-old girl, decides to go to the planet Tatooine in order to sell a possible youngling to the one who pays the most. Will the baby be able to escape from captivity? Or will the story end before it begins?

     Santal woke up in a dark room on an old couch. My head ached a little. The girl sighed and sat up.

     What happened to her? How did she get here? The events of the crazy night immediately began to spin in my memory: two white lights, a blue one in a hat, a man in a hood, a conversation, she was grabbed ... Then she pushed the man when he said that he wanted to give her somewhere. But how?! Where does this power come from? How did she do it?

     Most importantly, is she on the couch now? She was in another place. Why was it moved? And why is there some kind of red liquid on the finger?

     Reflections were interrupted by a sound very similar to ... steps! Santal quickly lay back on her left side and closed her eyes. As if sleeping. Door opened. The girl's soul sank into her heels with fear. Santal froze and closed her eyes tightly. She began to wait. Yesterday's man - who else? - went very close to the baby and gently shook her shoulder.

     - Get up, little girl.

     Cad Bane was in the best of spirits. He successfully completed the order and received a reward. Everything as usual. Nothing special. When you are one of the most successful mercenaries and you are constantly lucky, and things are arguing, you get used to it. And you are not very happy about success. You think it turned out the way it should have turned out. No options. But not at this time.

     Even when communicating with the customer, the duros felt that someone was watching him. On the ship, I noticed that something was wrong with the cloak. And when the client turned his back, he looked closely - there was another pair of legs under the cloak. Outsiders. You have to be a complete fool to decide that the other person has two pairs of legs. They are different.

     Interestingly, if you look from afar, it seems as if the cloak is fluttering in the wind. But there was no wind. There were little legs. And, as it turned out later, belonged to a little girl. Cad, guided by the eye, gave her three to four years. Not more. The face is pretty cute. Albeit ordinary, but very pretty. I just wanted to pat on the cheek. And in the end he could not resist. It is immediately clear that the baby will become beautiful when she grows up.

     But appearances are often deceiving. And the Duros knew it very well. So, when dragging the child to the ship, he was careful. Suddenly this child is not a child, but clowd, for example. Or just sent to spy for a fee. Or maybe not. The hunter remembered how the little bastard tried to bite him. It is clear that the girl has character. And, judging by the behavior, absolutely does not pretend. A real child.

     Duros, however, decided to double-check for his own peace of mind. Rechecked. Indeed, a three-year-old human girl. Blood confirms.

     Although I thought at first that this was not necessary. Well, seriously, it doesn't smell like pretense. It is impossible to pretend to be like that. It's played too well. If a spy, then clearly a professional. Dressed in a nightgown and simple shoes. Nothing special. Most likely, she is a homeless girl or just loves to walk at night.

     Another person would question the child and take him home. Or just drove away, at worst. But Duros was not. He didn't need witnesses. Even so small and innocent. None. And you can't help leaving traces. This he learned a long time ago.

     Basically, Kad had two ideas. The first is to sell the child into slavery to the one who pays the most. The second is to demand a ransom from the parents. Not small. If they care about their daughter, they will fork out. If not, you can easily throw it into space or sell it again. Based on reflections, the duros settled on the most optimal option - a sale on Tatooine, Nal Hatta, Nar Shaddaa. Someone will definitely pay.

     Thinking about the enrichment to come, Kad's mood improved as much as possible. The corners of the lips pulled up. Having reached the right door, he opened it and saw that the girl was still asleep. Sitting carefully on the edge, the hunter began to shake gently.

     - Get up, little girl.

     Santal tried not to react to rudeness or touch. Not that it was unpleasant.

     There was a sudden click. The girl jumped up, turning at the sound. The man was holding in his right hand some strange thing called a blaster. Of course, Santal did not know that this thing was called that. But some sixth sense told her that she might be dangerous. On the other hand, Santal really wanted to hold this thing in his hands. Disassemble. But I was afraid to ask. Suddenly it won't.

     - Finally. I was going to wake you up in a different way. Blue-skinned slightly turned the thing and somehow secured it to his thigh.

     - Take what you want! Just don't hit me! Sorry! - cried the girl, frightened to death.      

- For what? - answered the man, genuinely surprised. “You’re not the first one to bite me. Although you're right, you better not rock the boat again.    

  - Well no! Although yes, but ... Sorry to push.      

The Duros was even more surprised at this. Santal thought his brow ridges had risen.      

- When did you push me? You tried to bite my hand a couple of times. And then she fell asleep.      

- True? - Santal asked, completely not believing in what was said.      

- Looks like I'm joking?      

The girl scrolled the information slowly in her head. So she dreamed everything?     

- So it was a dream?      

The man only nodded in response. Santal breathed a sigh of relief. However, the joy quickly faded away. She suddenly remembered that the stranger wanted to "give her" somewhere. Or whatever. So I decided to start the same song again.      

- Please bring me home! Return! Let go! I will not tell anyone! Santal went as far as trying to make her eyebrows a house. I thought it would.

But no. The uncle did not even take an absent ear.      

- I already explained. You spied on me. I don't like that. And further, further, further ...      

Cad had no desire to chew on his principles a second time to some girl. Anyway, he is not obliged to explain the victim's motives! You are the one to blame! There is no need to walk at night!      

On the other hand, it does the right thing. Help one Duros cash in. Ordinary girl or not. No difference. He immediately remembered the test: he carefully pricked his finger and recognized the color of the blood. That's all. Unfortunately, Bane did not have the equipment to make more accurate analyzes. There was no need to buy. As luck would have it! Well, okay. He will earn as much as he can. Spit. There will be many more orders and generous fees in his life.      

Duros walked out the door, not paying the slightest attention to the pleading and crying of the little child.     

 Santal wept a little more, and then went to the door. And yet this is not a dream! The push is a dream, and everything else is not! And why did she just go? I would be at home now. Warm. With my aunt and uncle. And now ... she doesn't know what awaits her! She will be brought to it is not clear where, and then everyone. The end. She will never see her home again! The girl from such thoughts became unbearable to sit locked in four walls. Ah, if she could just be outside for a start!    

  At that moment, a slight electrical impulse passed through the girl's right hand, with which she touched the cold metal. Door opened. As if someone from above heard Santal and fulfilled her request. The girl was delighted and left. Turned left. She decided to first examine everything around and understand what and how. And where is the exit.      

Having no other ideas, Santal began to enter every room. And what can we say, she really liked the excursion, despite the fact that she herself was a guide. But there were also disadvantages. Some rooms were closed. And those that turned out to be discovered contained many amazing things, the names of most of which she did not know. It’s no one's fault that they didn’t tell her anything about all this. Neither aunt, nor uncle, nobody.     

 There was nothing special in the first room next door. Some boxes. In the second it was already more interesting and incomprehensible. It was a very large room. An entire armory. If one of the adults looked in there, he would have decided that the ship belongs to a war veteran, or a spy, or a hunter. In the latter case, he would be right. Blaster rifles, pistols, heavy artillery and other weapons. And most importantly, everything is arranged in a certain order. No mess. Nothing extra.      

Then Santal found herself either in the dining room or in the kitchen. At this moment, the stomach rumbled. Santal remembered that she had not eaten anything since the evening, and decided to look for at least something edible. A can on a table came into view. The girl remembered how the stranger opened and drank from it.      

- What if I have a drink too? Santal said to herself. - Why not? Uncle drank. It will work for him, will do for me. But the smell is awful. Well, okay. Maybe it tastes better. At least I won't die of hunger.      

Another reason for the girl's determination was that her aunt often fed her mushrooms, mold and ricrit meat. Not everyone likes this kind of food. But not the Rylotyanka. Although Santal was not a Twi'lek, she lived on Ryloth from early childhood and managed to get used to the way of life there. Namely, the climate, food and some customs.      

The girl climbed up on a chair, reached for the can and drank a little. Well, disgusting! Santal grimaced and gently spat it back into the jar. The horror is simple! Impossible to drink! As soon as the uncle himself did not choke! Maybe I'm used to it? HM interesting.     

Perhaps repeated use will reduce the effect? It got much worse. The smell is awful. The taste is bitter. The foam is thick, white. Discomfort in the throat and abdomen. This she had not expected, as well as the next problem.      

Nausea began. Santal was already worried, covering her mouth with her hand. It will be good if it gets dirty floor. Most of all, she was afraid that the stranger would hit her. Or worse, she'll never see the family. Despite her difference from her uncle and aunt, she still loved them and considered them close.      

Suddenly a thought flashed through the girl's mind. Restroom! There must be a toilet somewhere nearby! But how do you find it? Itself will search for a long time - it is clear as day. But my uncle probably knows. But the question is - where is he? In the end, everything goes to one. She does not want to be seen by a stranger, and she will not be able to escape quietly. At the moment, he can or should help her.      

There was the sound of a door opening. The girl shuddered. Everything inside went cold. Santal turned around and calmed down. Desires are able to be embodied in reality, who would have thought.      

- You?! How did you end up here ?! - Uncle looked so menacingly that the girl almost had incontinence.      

“The door was open,” Santal replied, seriously frightened and even forgetting where she needed to go. True, for a second. The nausea started to get worse.      Two main thoughts prevailed in Santal's head: she was sick and afraid that her uncle would do something terrible to her. But a moment later, a third, saving thought appeared. Santal needs to somehow distract him from his plans for her. The girl put her legs together and began to dance.      

-What are you doing? “Duros didn’t know what it was at first, but he did it quickly. The pose is too obvious. But this does not mean that he does not know the answer to the question asked.      

Bane already had some guesses to check. But not right now. First, you need to take the child to relieve himself. The man grabbed the girl across the body. It would be better if he didn't!      

Santal felt her long fingers pressing against her stomach. In a few seconds, the hunter's entire face was in vomit. I even got a little hit on my chest. For about two minutes, maybe more, the duros frowned at the girl, who could not stand the ridiculous appearance of the stranger and laughed.      

- Very funny. Duros expressed his opinion of what had happened in a dry voice.  

- Uncle, you are so funny! - the girl explained through laughter.      

At that moment, Cad noticed that the can of beer - and there it was - was not the same as he had left it. Here, in his place, anyone would add two and two. Almost.      

- Did you drink? - The man put Santal on the floor and, taking out a towel, began to dry himself.    

  - Quite a bit. I've been very h-h-h-hungry all the time. And you too d-d-drank I thought it meant that I, too, could, ”the girl answered in a trembling voice.      Duros, upon hearing this explanation, wanted to put his hand to his face. What an idiot!      

- You're an idiot! The words burst out before he realized what he had said aloud. - If you really are a child ... First you go for a walk at night, although you should sleep. You overhear other people's conversations, as if you do not know that you cannot behave this way. And now I drank the liquid left on the table. Don't your parents teach you anything?     

 Santal has never felt as bad as she does now. Not only because she was scolded by a stranger. In her opinion, he had no right to do so! She also felt like a knife had been stabbed into her. Uncle, without knowing it, touched her most sore spot.      

- I do not have parents. They were killed by hunters. That's what my aunt says. But I do not believe. - Tears began to form in the girl's eyes. She wanted to add that they were Jedi, but she remembered that her aunt had strictly ordered not to tell anyone about it. - And generally speaking! Cried Santal with such fervor, as if she thought that the stranger did not hear her. Immediately lowered her voice: - I could not sleep, and then I saw white lights. I decided to see what it was, then I saw you. I wanted to inspect the place where you came from. I am by accident. I wanted to know everything. Forgive my curiosity.      

Santal again tried to build an angelic face. She even got into a characteristic pose. But no! Duros cannot be penetrated by that.     

 “They were the headlights of my ship. Got it? Okay, that's it. We are already approaching Tatooine. Someone will buy you for sure.      

Hearing the familiar word, Santal clung to the man's leg.     

 “Don’t go to Tatooine! My aunt told me that giant evil slugs live there. They'll eat me! - begged the girl. - Lick and eat!     

 - Nobody asks you! And in general, you had to think before! Clear?      

Hearing about the orphanhood of the child, the duros felt like a needle pricked in the chest area. Looking at the girl, Bane thought, “Pretty. Simple and naive so much that I even feel sorry for this silly thing. One can only envy and wish that it stayed so long. Then he will enrich someone else.      

And then he shook himself from thinking. Until that day, in his entire career, the hunter had never allowed himself such ridiculous sentimental thoughts. Except for the last one. So, what is he? Still young, and already beginning to lose his grip ?! Well no! Will not work! Some little Ryloth to pity him! It is not permissible for someone like him to be soft, so you need to make some bloody order to keep your mind clear.      

In general, in general, Duros Santal for all the time managed to get tired of the order with her curiosity and plaintive squeak. Endless “Please! Take me home! Let go! " still rang in my head. The man sighed. The sooner he gets rid of the splinter and gets the money, the better. She wanted to see the lights. No wonder they say: "A curious creature in the market was torn off its head."      

Cad landed the ship near one of the Hutts. To prevent the girl from escaping, the man grabbed her by the collar and carried her to the outskirts of the city.     

 Santal, afraid that something terrible would happen to her again, hung at first at attention. She pretended to submit to her unenviable fate. But after about half an hour she began to rock the boat. Stronger and stronger every two minutes.      I

n the end, Bane got tired of it, and he grabbed the child around the torso, hugging him to him. And in vain. After all, when Santal tasted the beer for the second time, she took too long a sip. So, the girl vomited a second time. Only much less.      

As a result, the man simply held the child's hand. And everything would have been nothing, only Santal separated from the stranger, as soon as they got into the crowd. When the girl woke up, she saw that she was standing all alone. The man in the hat was nowhere to be seen. There are only strangers around. How many different faces. The girl was scared in earnest. His eyes flickered in the hope that the man noticed Santal's absence and was looking for her, calling.      Santal caught herself immediately. He doesn't know her name! What a fool! You should at least give a name! Tears streamed down my cheeks. Covering her face with her hands, the girl ran into some gateway and hid in a corner.      

The situation was truly dire. On Tatooine, in one of his cities, in a back street, under the bright scorching suns, sat a little three-year-old girl, absolutely nothing. She had nowhere to go. She was even ready for her aunt to appear and scold around the clock. Why, she was ready to listen to moral teachings for eternity, just to return home. But it was impossible to carry out the baby's plan. There was only one thing left - to disappear!     

 Bane did not immediately notice the absence of the child. But, as soon as he discovered the loss, cursing everyone and everything, he began to search, while imagining that the piglet was sitting somewhere and crying. In his opinion, all children are like that.      

The man remembered that he did not know the girl's name. However, I was not particularly upset. You can simply describe it and they will tell you whether you saw it or not.      

The comlink suddenly rang. This was a new customer - the head of the Rations Syndicate.      

“Cad Bane, I need your services.      

- I'm listening.     

 The man listened to the video message and went to a meeting with the customer, as he needed details and some necessary things to complete the task. And the hunter forgot to think about the girl in a minute. I got away with it, so be it. All the same, one will not survive, and the information she heard will die with her.      

And Santal, having cried a lot, went to wander aimlessly. The walk was hard, in part because my stomach ached so badly from hunger. She had no money, and she did not know yet that in order to eat she had to pay. Therefore, I was very surprised when, by a happy coincidence, hitting the market, I heard a request for eight loans. Frightened by the unknown word, Santal gave a streak. Moreover, she received a portion of abuse in the back.      

Therefore, the girl came up with another way: carefully grab one piece of something edible on the counter and run until they noticed. It seemed like a wonderful idea to her. Firstly, her aunt never explained to her that she shouldn't do that. And secondly, she was hungry!  

By evening, after practicing, the girl was able to eat a few fruits and something else tasty. Silenok increased, and it was possible to get out. When it got colder, Santal saw several cars, somewhat similar to the one in which she was brought here. Having walked around the place twice, she did not see a single representative of her homeland. Therefore, she chose a ship at random, in her opinion, more beautiful than others. The door was open, and two green-skinned creatures with unusual eyes and lips with a tube walked back and forth through it. One brought in the boxes, and the other - with blue pigmentation - pointed his finger at a rectangular thin piece.     

 Realizing that this was her chance, Santal imperceptibly buried herself in a box and fell silent. They lifted the box and carried it inside. As soon as it became clear that the ship had taken off, the girl calmed down. She will return home! If not immediately, but in the end it will get to Ryloth, no matter how long it takes! She swears it! Or is she not Santal Sabura!      

Only by clearly pronouncing this phrase to herself, the girl realized how proud it sounds! She would have screamed the name out loud, but she remembered where she was and bit her tongue in time.      The girl was glad for another reason. It was not sold. She ran away from the bad guy. It was only then that she remembered that she didn’t know his name either. And she herself did not say the name, and at uncle did not ask. She fled from Tatooine without being caught by the scary evil slugs. Aunt would be proud.       

Santal Sabura didn’t notice as she dozed off.

#cad bane #cad bane x oc

[citysvein]

                *   //    𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴   …   /𝚃𝙷𝙴_𝙲𝙾𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁   :    chloe   kim   also   known   as   zero   is   wanted   for   grand   larceny   .   she   is   a   twenty-three   year   old   cis   female   who   has   ties   to   the   mastermind   because   she   hacked   into   his   private   server  ;   once   at   the   request   of   a   benefactor   and   another   time   for   fun   .   𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳   𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷   :   strawberry   flavored   bubblegum   ,   the   glow   of   a   computer   screen   in   a   dark   room  ,   tattoos   hidden   by   oversized   sweater   sleeves   ,   &   cyber   stalking   your   exes   .   𝙳𝙾   𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴   𝙵𝙾𝚁   :   yoo shiah   .  

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     QUICK  STATS  !

full  name  :   chloe   kim   .

nickname(s)  :   chlo   .

age   :   twenty-three   . 

codename   :   zero   .

role:   the   coordinator   .   

zodiac  :   gemini   sun   ,   gemini   moon   (  click   !  )

sexuality  :   bisexual   .

alignment   :   chaotic   neutral   .

pinterest   :   (   click !   )  

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     BACKSTORY  !    (  tw  :  death  &  car  crash  )

chloe   kim   was   born   in   and   raised   in   ann   arbor   ,   michigan   .   there   was   nothing   truly   remarkable   about   her   childhood   —   she   was   an   only   child   born   into   a   middle   class   family    .    her   mother   was   a   professor   and   her   father   was   a   physical   therapist   ,   and   they   were   very   happily   married   ,   so   she   had   a   stable   life   .   ann   arbor   was   a   fittingly   normal    place   to   grow   up   .   nothing   too   out   of   the   ordinary   ever   seemed   to   happen   .

the   only   anomaly   in   chloe’s   unremarkable   existence   ,    it   seemed   ,   was   herself   .   from   a   young   age   it   was   obvious   she   wasn’t   like   most   kids   .    she   was   decidedly   smarter   ,   an   intelligence   that   impressed   the   adults   around   her   .   her   parents   often   described   her   as   a   highly   curious   ,   if   not   a   little   naughty   ,    child   .   it   seemed   like   she   was   born   with   the   desire   to   know   how   the   world   around   her   worked   ,   and   it   wasn’t   uncommon   to   find   her   tinkering   around   with   her   toys   or   household   objects    ,    taking   them   apart   just   so   she   could   learn   how   to   put   them   back   together   .   

she   graduated   from   high   school   at   sixteen   ,   a   year   early   ,   and   was   offered   a   full   ride   to   MIT   ,   which   she   gladly   accepted   .   moving   to   cambridge,   massachusetts   marked   the   most   interesting   thing   to   happen   to   her   yet   .   she’d   long   dreamed   of   excitement   ,   the   only   thing   she   had   to   entertain   her   back   home   being   her   love   for   computers   .   chloe   was   ready   for   a   change   ,   which   was   exactly   what   she   received   .  

free   from   the   confines   of   being   that   one   smart   girl   in   ann   arbor   ,   she   didn’t   feel   pressured   to   conform   to   the   idea   of   her   that   had   been   carefully   crafted   by   the   people   back   home   any   longer   .   she   didn’t   just   have   to   care   about   school   ,   or   be   shy   about   how   she   unironically   loved   reality   tv   ,   or   pretend   like   pink   wasn’t   the   absolute   best   color   in   the   whole   world   .   facing   comments   from   nerdy   boys   about   how   she   was   too   pretty   to   be   smart   or   about   how   she   was   clearly   in   the   wrong   class   seemed   like   a   small   price   to    pay   if   she   could   finally   be   herself   .

MIT   ,   however   ,   did   feel   like   the   wrong   place   for   chloe   most   of   the   time   .   she   realized   very   quickly   that   while   she   was   gifted   and   bright   ,   she   had   no   passion   or   drive   to   pursue   typical   careers   the   way   most   people   in   her   major   did   .   she   also   had   a   knack   for   using   her   skills   in   unconventional   (   if   not   illegal   )   ways   ,   like   when   she   started   charging   a   pretty   penny   to   hack   boyfriends   suspected   by   their   girlfriends   of   cheating   ,   or   hacking   into   the   local   police   database   to   browse   through   people’s   criminal   records   like   it   was   the   equivalent   of   reading   gossip   magazines   .

at   the   end   of   her   junior   year   ,   after   voicing   her   concerns   about   whether   or   not   university   life   was   for   her   to   her   parents   in   one   of   her   weekly   calls   back   home   ,   they’d   made   the   decision   to   go   surprise   chloe   .   after   flying   into   massachusetts   from   michigan   they’d   rented   a   car   and   were   on   their   way   to   drive   up   to   her   dorm   when   they   got   into   a   fatal   accident   .   there   had   been   a   nasty   storm   that   night   ,   and   chloe   can   still   remember   how   she’d   gotten   a   severe   thunderstorm   warning   alert   on   her   cellphone   moments   before   she   got   the   police   call   informing   her   of   what   happened   .

in   the   blink   of   an   eye   her   life   had   gone   from   average   to   tragic   .   she   couldn’t   process   the   death   of   her   parents   —   there   was   no   other   driver   to   blame   ,   nothing   faulty   about   the   rental   car    they’d   been   driving   ,   only   the   weather   and   the   slippery   roads   .   chloe   would   have   surely   flunked   out   from   MIT   had   her   professors   ,   who   mostly   harbored   soft   spots   for   the   girl   and   were   especially   sympathetic   towards   her   situation   ,   not   given   her   the   few   credits   she   needed   to   graduate   that   spring   .

armed   with   an   IT   degree   but   not   much   else   ,   chloe   went   back   to   ann   arbor   for   her   parent’s   funeral   and   the   selling   of   her   childhood   home   .   realizing   she   had   no   place   to   go   afterwards   ,   she   became   a   bit   of   a   vagabond   ,   spending   the   entirety   of   her   19th   year   living   out   of   motel   rooms   in   various   cities   .   not   in   the   head   space   for   a   full   time   career   ,   and   with   her   mind   still   foggy   from   mourning   ,   she   started   picking   up   where   she’d   left   off   in   college   in   terms   of   odd   and   illegal   ways   to   make   money.   

when   she   was  20   she   caught   the   attention   of   someone   she  quickly   realized   was   important   ,   a   client   with   a   request   and   a   payday   like   nothing   she’d   ever   seen   before   .   all   he   wanted   chloe   to   do   was   hack   into   someone’s   private   server   ,   and   so   she   did   .   she   didn’t   ask   questions   but   she   did   snoop   around   ,   a   small   act   or   curiosity   that   would   forever   change   her   world   .   what   she   found   was   almost   incomprehensible   ,   a   network   of   some  sort   with   the   most   detailed   plans   and   profiles   .   never   having   been   motivated   by   any   sort   of   moral   compass   before   ,   chloe   couldn’t   explain   why   she   lied   to   the   man   who   had   hired   her   ,   claiming   she   hadn’t   been   skilled   enough   to   get   through   .   

he’d   bought   her   excuse   ,   another   man   who   couldn’t   see   past   a   pretty   face   to   the   brain   behind   it    .   for   months   afterwards   chloe   tried   to   forget   about   the   things   she’d   seen   and   read   ,   that   exciting   world   she’d   only   discovered   by   chance   ,    but   she   just   couldn’t   let   it   go   .   she   was   inexplicably   drawn   to   whoever   was   behind   it   all   ,   proving   it   when   she   hacked   them   a   second   time   around   ,    this   time   for   her   own   entertainment   and   satisfaction   .   she   couldn’t   explain   it   —   especially   not   when   she   left   behind   a   trail   this   time   around   ,   wanting   to   be   caught   ,   wanting   so   desperately   to   be   contacted   .   

when   chloe   is   recruited   by   J    ,   it   feels   like   the   first   blessing   since   her   parent’s   deaths   .   it   wasn’t   the   money   she   was   interested   in   ,   but   him   ,   the   way   he   makes   people   feel   special   and   needed   filling   a   void   she’d   never   let   herself   admit   she   had   in   the   first   place   .   she’s   loyal   to   him   ,   and   so   she’s   loyal   to   the   crew   ,   and   for   the   first   time   in   her   whole   life   it   feels   like   she   might   have   found   the   place   she   truly   belongs   .         

━  ˙ ˖  ☆     PERSONALITY  +  TIDBITS  !

thats   right   ...   i   made   her   a   double   gemini   baby   !   😈   its   just   chaos   all   over   as   u   can   imagine   ...   gotta   love   a   sexy   sign   aha   no   im   not   biased   <3   she’s   got   a   pretty   good   balance   of   intelligence   &   curiosity   in   her   ,   so   instead   of   coming   off   as   a   know-it-all   she’s   more   likely   to   come   across   as   nosy   .   she   just   loves   to   figure   stuff   out    .   whether   it’s   code   or   people   she   wants   to   know   how   things   work   .

generally   speaking   ,   she’s   pretty   easy   going   !    when   it   comes   to   her   relationships   with   people   she’s   not   that   high   maintenance   ,   in   fact   sometimes   it’s   easy   to   mistake   her   easy   going   attitude   with   aloofness   or   disinterest   ,   which   isn’t   the   case   at   all   .   when   she   does   get   annoyed   though   she’s   not   shy   about   letting   you   know   how   she   feels   ,   and   she’s   got   a   BIG   potty   mouth   ...   it’s   like   when   people   have   road   rage   SJDBWJDBJW   she’ll   curse   you   out   in   a   short   burst   of   anger   then   decide   she’s   over   it   before   you   even   have   time   to   process   what   happened   . 

since   she’s   been   on   her   own   pretty   much   her   whole   life   (   no   siblings   ,   no   set   group   of   friends   )   it   was   a   bumpy   adjustment   to   go   from   having   no   one   to   being   part   of   a   team   .   she   definitely   wasn’t   upset   by   it   ,   but   chloe   can   get   into   trouble   sometimes   because   she’s   got   a   knack   for   always   saying   what   she’s   thinking   without   filtering   herself   first   ,   so   she’s   definitely   started   some   arguments   or   hurt   some   feelings   on   accident   </3   

loves   to   joke   around   and   treat   things   like   they’re   no   big   deal   ,   even   when   they   are   .   this   is   especially   true   when   it   comes   to   her   own   abilities   .   she’ll   casually   mention   hacking   into   a   number   of   high   security   facilities   and   servers   and   how   she   bought   a   new   sailor   moon   hoodie   in   the   same   sentence   like   it’s   nothing   .

almost   always   either   dressed   in   pink   or   black   ,   or   a   combination   of   the   two   .   she   swears   she   owns   clothes   in   other   colors   but   those   two   are   definitely   her   defaults   .   switches   between   more   casual   street-styles   and   girly   attire   on   a   day   to   day   basis   .   owns   many   sanrio   themed   articles   of   clothing   ,   accessories   ,   and   plushies   and   will   accept   zero   criticism   about   it   !    

chews   gum   a   lot    ,   but   especially   when   she’s   working   on   her   computer   .   she   claims   it   helps   her   focus   but   who   knows   for   sure   maybe   she   just   likes   chomping   and   blowing   bubbles   ...

she’s   a   serial   dater   .   chloe   finally   had   to   force   herself   to   swear   off   tinder   because   she   kept   doing   extensive   background  searches   (   hacking   )   on   the   people   she   was   going   on   dates   with   .  still   cyber   stalks   her   exes   but   she   swears   it’s   purely   an   act   of   public   service   since   they   were   all   insane   (   in   her   opinion   ,    which   is   never   wrong   )   and   she’s   just   trying   to   make  ��sure   they   haven’t   committed   any   major   crimes   aha   x   

not   very   good   at   being   romantic   or   emotionally   vulnerable   SDBWJDBJW   truly   the   thought   alone   is   terrifying   enough   but   when   she   watches   pride   and   prejudice   alone   at   2am   she   cries   so   your   girl   has   it   in   her   she’s   just   not   there   yet   <3   physical   intimacy   she   has   no   issue   with   it’s   just   the   serious   stuff   that   makes   her   want   to   eat   glass   ...   or   so   she   says   .

has   questionable   drinking   habits   .   can   she   out   drink   a   man   twice   her   size   ?    sure   .   should   she   be   putting   that   to   the   test   at   10   am   at   a   chili’s   after   a   night   out   ?   absolutely   not   but   it   100%   happened   and   she   would   probably   do   it   again   because   she   simply   pretends   her   mistakes   never   happened   in   the   first   place   and   that’s   why   she   never   learns   !

absolutely   refuses   to   talk   to   anyone   about   her   life   and   what   happened   to   her   parents   .   she   still   hasn’t   fully   grieved   or   processed   it   ,   and   honestly   speaking   she’s   been   using   the   crew   and   J   as   a   coping   mechanism   almost   .   chloe’s   adamant   belief   in   the   heists   they   do   and   their   capabilities   as   a   unit   has   less   to   do   with   the   real   chances   on   whether   or   not   they   can   pull   something   off   and   everything   to   do   with   the   fact   that   she   needs   things   to   work   and   she   needs   them   to   be   together   .   that’s   why   she’s   usually   one   of   the   first   ones   to   pep   talk   people   when   there   are   doubts   .   she   can’t   risk   losing   a   second   family   /: 

low   key   addicted   to   getting   tattoos   .   it   started   with   tiny   ones   on   her   fingers   and   wrists   and   now   she’s   thinking   about   getting   a   sleeve   ...   if   only   she   could   decide   on   what   to   get   tattooed   #AirSignThings   x   don’t   ask   her   to   make   decisions   if   you   want   an   answer   before   this   decade   ends   .

strawberry   is   her   favorite   fruit   and   flavor   !   if   she’s   not   chewing   strawberry   gum   ,   she’s   drinking   strawberry   milk   .

once   started   an   instagram   to   review   different   mozzarella   sticks   after   lorde   was   outed   for   running   an   onion   ring   reviewing   instagram   .

won   a   goldfish   at   a   fair   when   she   was   in   college   ,   named   him   stinky   ,   then   cried   for   a   week   straight   after   she   found   him   floating   dead   in   his   fish   bowl   the   next   day   ...   she   hasn’t   had   a   pet   since   </3   

if   you   ever   tell   chloe   good   job   she   will   act   cool   in   the   moment   but   at   night   when   she’s   trying   to   go   to   bed   she   will   look   like   this   🥺   never   forgets   a   compliment   she   loves   them   even   if   she   pretends   she   doesn’t   need   them   ...

told   myself   i’d   make   this   short   by   not   adding   a   plots   section   and   it’s   still   a   novel   truly   i   hate   this   life   .   once   again   i   am   asking   u   to   add   me   on   discord   glo lovecore ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172   and   plot   with   me   💖   also   my   intros   are   always   winged   so  if   i   start   writing   as   chloe   and   her   personality   does   a   180   like   dua   lipa   said   PLEASE   mind   ur   business   that’s   why   i   made   her   a   gemini   ok   😭😭😭   pls   enjoy   this   meme   chloe   has   probably   sent   to   ur   muse   at   least   once   ...

#♡ ╱ 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒕 ━━ ooc . #nocte:intro #no words..... #absolutely none .

[rotzaprachim]

the closest to heaven that i'll ever be (Kanej Guardian Angel AU)

From @elorcaning‘s prompt of Kaz just being an idiotic human getting in trouble all the time and inej is his guardian angel just trying to keep him from dying while doing stupid shit, which I thought was a BRILLIANT idea and kinda ran with. At 1 AM while on jetlag so I Apologise. 

Props to @kettvrdams for not killing me when i sent an incomprehensible WIP for her to beta. All accidentally unfinished sentences and spelling errors are entirely My Own Fault 

On AO3 - 1816 words, Teen

In her illustrious career as a guardian angel, Inej has learned several things. The first is to believe in the fundamental good of all people- well, almost all people. Almost. But really, she likes to think the best.

The second thing is that no matter how hard she tries- and damn, she really tries hard- humans will still find ways to screw their own lives over, and even if her role is supposed to be more hypothetical or spiritual than anything, she always finds herself getting involved in more practical ways.

But still she thinks, as the poor Dutch farm kid tries to eat fertiliser from the container for the third time, only to be shooed away by his older brother, that this is going to be a challenge.

--o0o--

“Organised crime? Really?” sneers a figure in the corner of the precinct station with their dark hood pulled down low. Kaz glances around. There isn’t anyone else around aside from the beat cop who’s just let him out of the holding shell with a glare and a kick to his good shin.

The figure pulls their hood down. It’s a girl about his own age. Looks like a university student, with a purple jacket and a rain slicker.

She holds out a plastic Albert Hejn bag. Ah. So this is what it’s about. Per Haskell, Pekka Rollins, whoever the fuck it is this time, want him to move something. Cash, drugs, fucking tulip bulbs for all he knows. He doesn’t really care, as long as he’s alive on the other side of it.

But it isn’t really heavy enough to be either of those things.

“You haven’t eaten anything in over twenty four hours.”

He doesn’t know how she could possibly know that, but when he looks inside, what he finds is a cheese sandwich and a bottle of orange juice. Sealed, so it would have been goddamn hard to hide a USB or whatever it is Pekka wants out of the country inside.

“Who sent you? Pekka? Ferry Bouman? Sonny Castillo?”

“Are those the only things your mind goes to?” Now the girl just sounds annoyed.

“I’m not in the habit of beautiful girls meeting me in police precincts without having some other angle they’re working. So what is it? Who do you work for?”

Beautiful girl. He didn’t mean to say that. He’s a lot of things, but a flirt isn’t one of them. Yet even in the yellowy light of the precinct, he can tell that's what she is, with her heart-shaped face and the fan of her oil-dark hair.

“Eat your damn sandwich” she says, and is gone before he can say anything else.

--o0o--

“Don’t get too involved,” says Zoya.

“The job description is guardian angel, ergo, I guard.”

--o0o--

Organised crime. Really. Perhaps not in the highest echelons, and it’s fucking Amerstedam, but still, organised crime.

Sometimes she really doesn’t think he’s organised enough to get mixed up in organised crime.

--o0o--

“Genuine Givenchy. Also got Rolex watches, Hugo Boss shirts-” he offers the middle-class housewives out on a girl’s trip to Amsterdam. The back of the florist’s he’s operating out of is packed with genuinely decent-looking fakes. It’s also on Sonny Castillo’s territory.

“Best space brownies in Amsterdam,” he promises a group of tipsy Erasmus students from Manchester with a smile that’s the image of sincerity. The coffee shop is on Ferry Bouman’s territory.

“Now this is a real Vermeer,” he tells the new-money-oil-don looking for a bit of old-school, Cultured, flash for his new penthouses in Dubai and London. The art gallery is on Pekka Rollins’ territory.

--o0o--

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Inej tells her boss.

--o0o--

“You think I can’t smell a rat, Brekker? You don’t fucking think I can’t tell when some bastard ratfuck tries to fuck me over?”

There have been many points during which Kaz thought his ass to be well and truly cooked. Almost drowning in the harbour in Rotterdam when he was twelve was certainly one of them, but it was also far from the last.

But now he’s got a gun to his temple and there’s no more talking he can do, not one more trick more trick up his sleeve or one more secret he can leverage into five more minutes, ten more minutes, another day to make things right.

There’s just him and a dark alley at the edge of the city and the freezing rain, pelting down and soaking him to the bone. And the angry hands slamming his face into the alley wall, over and over again, until blood runs down his face and chest and the rainwater tastes salty.

“Please. A week. No, a day, I’ll make it up-”

“Like last time you promise me, huh? Promise me twenty thousand? And then I find out you shelling out ten thousand Euros to Ferry Bouman to keep selling on Pekka Rollin’s turf. He ain’t gonna forget this, boy-”

“Ten thousand. I can get you ten thousand, you know I can-”

He sees the flash of a gun being raised, can almost feel the air change as the man pulls back the trigger, and then-

Like a flash of lightning, the moment after the fireworks go off. Light everywhere, the snap of sound of thunder, condensed, and then-

In the moment after the light, Kaz can’t see a thing. And then he can: the three grunts Pekka sent after him, lying in an alley, and the remains of several guns, incinerated to crisps. And the flash of something, a person maybe, going around the corner.

“THE FUCK ARE YOU?” He screams into the pouring rain, but no response comes back.

--o0o--

Sometimes, Inej wants to scream at him so loud he can hear it.

“And what were you expecting, exactly? Why can’t you just. . . .” she thinks of the words she hears people using, these days, “stay in your darn lane? You waste your mathematics scores dealing. You waste your German scores on conning tourists. You just . .. you waste your life.”

He’s had the pinched face of a businessman, and an older man, since his parents died. Since his brother died, and he spent his youth pinballing between foster homes and getting increasingly involved in things that the Korps Nationale Politie tend to take a rather dim view of. In all that time, though, she’s rarely seen fear on his face like this. She almost wants to reach out, across the train, tuck the edges of his carefully slicked-back hair back behind his ear, but she doesn’t.

“Why couldn’t you have just . . . stuck to selling overpriced marijuana to tourists or designer knockoffs from behind a tulip stand? Forging Vermeers? Stealing actual Vermeers?”

--o0o--

It’s only when he gets off at Utrecht Centraal that he notices an unfamiliar weight to his jacket pocket.

A neatly folded wad of cash. He flips through it gingerly. Twelve thousand euros.

--o0o--

“You can’t save his ass every time. Otherwise, he’ll never learn, and he’ll go beyond the point where you can save him.”

“But if I don’t save his ass now, he’ll die before he can learn.”

“Ah. That’s the eternal conundrum, isn’t it? Of the teacher and of the guardian angel.”

--o0o--

It’s not a particularly big country, but every time the train ride seems to last all day, and stretch into the night. Inej, at least, doesn’t need to buy a ticket. He buys flowers at Amsterdam Centraal. Changes trains at Maastricht and then again to a rural line, until he gets off at a station that’s nothing more than a strip of concrete alongside the track in a rain-soaked wheat field. There’s no taxis, no buses, only a long road through the countryside and the remainders of a life he’s tried to forget about at the end of it. He unfolds his walking cane and gets a move on.

On a hill, on a farm where the apple orchards have gone to seed and the roof of the house fallen in:

Annemarie and Jawad Rietveld. And a scratched out stone for Jordaan Rietveld.

He leaves the flowers, not particularly giving a fuck about the fact that he could be shot, right here and now, by Pekka Rollins, because this is Pekka Rollins’ land, even if it was Jawad Rietveld’s land first, and then Albert Rietveld’s land before that, even if, on a day so far removed from Kaz’s present life that it feels like someone else’s life entirely, Kaz thought that it would be Jordaan Rietveld’s land in the future.

He feels, in a way, her presence before he can see her.

“I know you’re there.”

She sighs and makes herself visible.

“It’s you. The girl on the train.”

“I don’t think so-” she says, taking on a heavy Flemish accent just in case he remembers her from the police precinct in Groningen. “I’m from Ant-”

“You. Your face.” I could never forget you face, he thinks. The police precinct, and then the train to Utrecht Centraal. A rare sunny day in this pit of gloom and rain, and the way that the sunlight hit her lashes, the curve of her cheeks, the splash of her dark hair, made him think that it was impossible there wasn’t something divine and benevolent in this life, and this world. “Police precinct up North. Gronigen. Train. Amsterdam. Everywhere i go you’re always-” He thinks about pulling the shiv from his pocket. Anyone so interested in following him certainly has ulterior motives, and yet-

“What are you? Why are you always- there?”

“I don’t think, Mr. Brekker, that your . . . theological opinions would permit you to believe me when I tell you what, exactly, I am.”

He shrugs. “Grandson of lapsed NHK’ers and Javanese Sunnis. No god helped them a whit. I don’t think God, if they ever existed, ever looked at this drowning spit of dirt.”

“I think there are many who wouldn’t disagree with you. Some of them, like myself, being of a divine persuasion.”

“Why are you here?”

She doesn’t answer, just turns towards the graves. A light rain has started to fall.

“Do you think you’re following the path they’d be proud of?”

--o0o--

“You know I count as a fucking mature student? Mature.”

Even she has to laugh.

“I’m fucking twenty three. Twenty three. I got carded trying to buy a beer yesterday.”

“But now a student.”

He flashes his new, shiny plastic student card at her. The photo on it still looks like a mugshot.

“What are you studying?”

“Politics. International Relations. How different can the European Council be from the mob, really? Common Agricultural Policy, pay off Europol, work some backroom deals to get shit done.”

Inej resists the urge to burrow her forehead in her jacket sleeves. There are, it turns out, many, many ways for a human to get themselves killed, on this world.

#my writings #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #six of crows fic #guardian angel au #modern au

[newgeht]

The Witching Hour

Geez guys... I got a little obsessed with Netflix original’s Sabrina the Teenage Witch and look what happened vkjsbre

Welp... I have managed to post for erzajane week, even if it’s a day late. The prompt being: Spellbound

Enjoy everyone!

Summary: No one said going to the prestigious witch academy, Fairy Tail, was going to be easy. Good thing for Erza, she never drifted through anything. Including the day she summoned a demon… Pairings: Erzjane, Erza & Lucy, Kagura & Lucy, Erza & Kagura Characters: Erza Scarlet, Kagura Mikazuchi, Lucy Heartfilia, Irene Belserion, Minerva Orlando, Sting Eucliffe, Mirajane Strauss Words: 7,320 Rating: M (for violence)   AO3 | FFNet

11:50 p.m.

The veil between the world of spirits and the realm of mortals was the thinnest on the day of Hallows Eve. Even thinner at the witching hour. For months Erza had planned on summoning a spirit for the academy. She would prove that once in for all she was better than Minerva Orlando. That witch was more like a bitch in her eyes, and Erza wasn't going to stand falling into her shadow any longer. Not today and the days following after.

The digital alarm clock on her bedside let her know it was five minutes before the stroke of the new day. She laid her head back on her pillow, still baffled by her idea. She had to do this, otherwise Erza wouldn't gain the recognition she wanted.

Still in dressed in her school uniform, she slipped from the sheets in her bed. Her dorm consisted of two other girls: Lucy Heartfilia and Kagura Milkovich. They were the best roommates she could ever ask for, giving her space and privacy when she asked. And they were never privy to her more personal life, especially Lucy.

The girl lay snoring and sprawled out on the middle mattress, yellow hair standing in tufts on her pillow case. A smile of fondness crept over her mouth as she picked pulled the coarse sheet over her slim frame. She made a note internally to check on Lucy's eating habits tomorrow, the blonde had a habit of passing meals when she was stressed.

Lucy was the top student of the witching academy. Erza was always proud of how the blonde managed to memorize spells and ingredients for summonings, but that was mostly due to her own photographic memory. Though it was hard for her to execute said spells, she wasn't as gifted as the rest of them (magic wise). Even without it, she was sure that the blonde would still be toppling over the rest of the girls.

But her other roommate was a completely different story. Her eyes passed over to Kagura, she looked almost dead. No, a sleeping beauty. Not one single strand of her obsidian hair was misplaced, the sheets tucked around her frame in a precise manner. Her face positively glowing in the moon's light, Erza wouldn't lie to say she hadn't crushed on her friend at some point.

Kagura only had one issue; she simply didn't want to play the devil's hand. Erza wished she had the courage of the girl. Had the gall to practice sword fighting techniques instead of working on her studies.

But as she looked closer, another ghastly shape sat at her bedside table. It was Kagura herself, the girl flipping through the pages of one of their textbooks. She must really be behind if she was using an astral projection to study. Without looking up she monotonously stated, "Go before I get the head mistress."

She could feel the tips of her ears get hot as she finally left the room. It was unnecessary to try to make any conversation, especially at this time. She had so much to do in such a little frame of time.

The head mistress was done checking rounds at this point in time and it was time for Erza to make her move. She didn't bother to wear shoes as she padded through the dormitories hallways. On the tile her heels would click and that would wake up her other classmates.

The only problem was that to get to the classrooms, she would have to sneak through the warlock's dorms. She absolutely dreaded this as she pushed through their double doors. Silently she closed those steely doors behind her tiptoeing down the rest of the hallway. But as she got closer to the next turn, she could hear hushed voices. Erza pushed herself up against the wall, taking in a very large breath.

She could feel her heart speed up, the voices not coming any closer. A very hushed whisper, someone haughtily whispered. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be here. You know what my father wants of me."

"I don't care, Minerva. You can decide whether or not you stay, you have a choice. I can't stand..." The rest of his words were incomprehensible, she needed to get closer. It was one she didn't recognize but she knew it was a man's voice. It held a doopy timbre, yet it was laced with compassion. Erza dared to inch closer to the corner, her ears straining to listen to what was happening.

"Hear thy truth and know thy tongue, lift my senses, sacrifice will be given later." As the last word fell from her mouth, Erza's ears picked up on so much more. Even the hard breathing of the couple right around the corner.

Inching closer to the corner Minerva's voice was taut. "Just get out of here Sting. Leave before the Mistress comes and finds you, I'm not going to save your ass-"

A door on the far end of the corridor slammed shut, Minerva's words strangled. "Leave now."

Their feet thundered against the wooden planks, coming right for Erza. She pressed herself up against the wall, closing her eyes shut. In the pocket of her suit coat, she frantically wrapped her fingers around a cool marble. Minerva's foot stepping right around the corner as she crushed it within the palm of her hand.

Her whole body flattened against the wall, Minerva rounding the corner with a great speed. Right behind her the teen she had called Sting. He had very fair locks that were brushed haphazardly to the side, his clothes resembling that of the mortal school down the road. Erza had so many questions but for now she couldn't make a peep, holding her breath as Minerva's hazel orbs stared right at her.

Her hawk eyes never acknowledging Erza's existence, only staring at the wall that lay behind her. She gave herself a pat on the back as the two retreated to the girl's dormitory, her nemesis's hand wrapped around the one of a mortal boy. Minerva never looked back once, dragging that boy to possible safety. He could get killed if he was found here.

But now Erza had a completely different problem -whoever was coming down the walkway. She could still only hear steady breathing, not a single footstep. She finally dared to take a step into the archway of the hallway, coming face to face with a color of hair she knew so well.

Red.

Her mother, otherwise known as the head mistress, stood right before her. Her brown eyes fleeting, a typical cruel grin set upon her face. Those orbs looking every which way, never discovering who was standing before her. Erza was frozen, afraid that the Marble of Baal hadn't worked; the chunks of marble in her pocket sending a chilly fray into her skin, her hair fleshing to stand on end.

She was scared to breath in the face of Irene Belserion, the woman standing tall with her infamous stave. The wood unruly and scathed by the marks of time, sashed down with tattered clothes of the witches and warlocks who had held it before her. Her mother huffed, the butt of her staff colliding with the floor. Sparks erupted from the hit, her lip curling.

"Your little tricks has fooled me, for now, but I will find you. Whether you be the best, banishment will be your fate." Her decree was final -Erza new that. But the eyes she shared with her mother had bored into her own, almost red as Irene stepped by. "Return to your bed and the devil may hold mercy."

Those words ringing in her ears, the spell Erza spake earlier still in effect. She bit her lip to restrain her own words, her nails digging into the skin of her palms. Her mother taking her sweet time as she sauntered down the hall.

Not a single click escaped from her black heels as her mother made her way into the girl's dorms. Erza letting out a small breath as the doors shut behind her. She didn't have anymore items to save her tail now. She had to be extra wary of the time and of her own restraints.

Looking down at her hands, the tips of her fingers began to reappear. The weight of the glass shards in her pocket disappearing as the cloak of invisibility began to recede. Making quick work of this opportunity, Erza made her way down the hallway.

12:15 am

It was odd to hear the soft echos of her classmates as she walked down the hallway of the boy's dorm. Erza was surprised to hear how late the misfits stayed up, not even doing homework from the sounds of rock music. How did they get away from her mother's clutches?

Though the rules had always been more lenient against the warlock population. Their contracts with Zeref had differed much than their own. And she was jealous of it. Her baptism at the age of sixteen had been painful, a deep and discolored line stained on the palm of her hand from the depth of the blade. She had sworn that her mother had been trying to cause more harm than good that fateful night.

She shivered involuntarily as her feet finally padded against the tile of the school's front wing. Only the top floor oddly containing the porcelain white tiles. Mainly because no one would want expensive mahogany being ruined by the pure nature of witches -destruction. The headmistress did not like having to replace her lavish floorboards.

The top floor used for laboratories and training rooms for spells and conjuring. The same exact floor in which Erza Scarlet would execute her summoning.

She looked down at her scarred palm, gritting her teeth. She stayed close to the blank walls as she tottered down the hall, trembling as she took each step. A current of doubt pushing against her as her feet carried her to room 333.

A fear settled within the depths of her stomach, suffocating her as it struggled to burst free from her mouth. She gulped it down, the urge to scream dawning on her. A small line of sweat breaking free from her pores, taking a long and slow trek down the curve of her face. It had lain on the edge of her jawline for but a moment before breaking free, falling to the tiles.

Erza grasped the handle of the door, the gold knob her sanctuary. As soon as the pads of her fingers touched it, the cloak had gone. Erza gasping for the air she so desperately needed.

The presence had lifted but caressed the a stray lock of hair. We will be back for you.

1:00

She had been frantic. In a daze. She had packed ingredients and hid them in cracks and crevices of this old a misused lab but within their hiding spots some had been damaged. Erza had worked to stitch back the broken arm on the small burlap doll. Tearing string from her own skirt to fix the limp arm. It was a waste of time and she could feel the room heat up. Or was it just her?

She huffed as she kneeled on the floor, all the ingredients lain before her. All except for the goat's eye. There was no way she could replace it in a hour's time. Well, never say never. There was a supply closet on the first floor. The biggest pantry of witches goods in the entire coven, but her heart was against leaving the dim room. The beats ricocheting at the thought of stepping from the small safe space.

Though the room was very dingy with its broken desks and glass cabinets missing their panels or cracked with the sheer mischief of time, it had always provided her with an area to breath in. A space in which she could act freely. The place in which she swung her sword, studied from ancient texts, and where she spent her time in procrastination.

She gripped her knees, staring at the ingredients in contemplation. All five elements of the star illuminated by their own special qualities. The edge of her skirt tattered from the small bit of string she managed to pull. The effort had most definitely been put into this small plane of hers. Why not just go get it?

She weighed her choices on a scale. First she put it simply. If she didn't go fetch (simply, remember) the goat's eye, there would be no summoning. If she were to go grab it, then she would have all the tools necessary to summon her little demon. But what were the consequences of each situation? This was the tricky part.

The possibility of being caught would put her career as a witch to an end and her family's name would be shamed for life. The last part sounded good to her but then the Wrath of Irene would ensue. But if she successfully broke into the closet, then she would rise to fame in this academy of magic!

She looked down at her cheap wristwatch. The smallest hand mocking her as it ticked by the twelve.

1:05

This night was going to get her crucified or make her rise like the sun. The thought of not wearing shoes was nice but her feet were freezing. And the cool temperatures of the tile were starting to seep into her bones.

She briskly stepped by the hallway that led back to the dorms. Those slim rectangular windows of the doors gleaming in the moonlight, eyeing her carefully. Erza's jaw was still clenched shut, afraid to utter a single sound -a single exhale. No one would know she was here. Not a single trace of would be left.

Her ears perked up and she stood still in her tracks. A silent whoosh from behind creeped behind her. A eerie creak resounding. Followed by the quick patter of footsteps.

A hushed yet chirped voice peaked, followed by straight silence. "Erza…"

She quickened up her pace, those same footsteps coming right behind her. They were coming. Her breath stalled for a moment, breathless.

"Wait… Scarlet, come back here. It's me."

She stilled, her feet urging her to leave; her only sanity recognizing the loo of a feminine presence. Slowly she turned, meeting the viscous honey-brown eyes of her very own roommate. The stark platinum hair she knew so well somewhat combed through, leaving soft curls around her face. One hand raising to wipe the guise of sleep from her eyes; rose pajamas adorning her figure. Just as her, she bore no shoes on her feet.

"Heartfilia…" Her friend was a relief. Lucy would know exactly how to help her, she always did.

1:20

Erza briefly explained what had happened and her current plan. Lucy had tutted, muttering under her breath as they silently stalked through the school's hallways. The blonde had not been happy with her choices thus far. Most specifically the decision to do this all by herself. As many would say, she was a lone wolf.

Lucy groaned as they walked down the last flight of stairs, looking as a penguin as she wobbled down the grand staircase. The wisps of sleep still about her as her zombified state made her trip down the last step. A small squeak elicited from her lips during her fall. Erza rolled her eyes as she landed flat on her stomach. She was surprised that the thud wasn't loud, the girl but a featherweight.

"Geez, Lucy…" Erza cringed as she emitted a moan. It was apparent stealth was not her strong suit. "You must be quieter, we are already in jeopardy."

With a grudging effort, she pulled Lucy up to her feet. Her tone scolding as she began to escort her down the hallway, tugging her by the elbow. They had absolutely zero time to waste in this matter. The Pantry was going to be a very challenging to find, the door hidden by some relatively high level enchantments (her mother's fortee).

The walls, just as the ones above, looked precisely the same. The difference in that fact that the first floor was the nicest in the education wing. The walls donned with red velvet wallpapers, the darkest barren wood that man could buy -the ultimate eye catcher being the golden fixtures that hung from the ceiling every ten feet or so. But right above all, was the jewel embezzled chandelier that hung right under the staircase. The red rubies glistening within their entrapment in the obsidian frame.

Lucy yanked her arm free, rubbing it with a sore pout on her face. "Yeesh… You don't have to tot me around like a child."

"I sure do when you fumble like one." She snapped back curtly, immediately placing her hand against the soft wall. It would be hard to sense the enchantment as magic flowed ceaselessly throughout the academy; an overflowing chalice that the modern world would never see nor touch.

A mere grumble came from Lucy. The silence overwhelming as their search began. She wasn't left to her devices -far from it, but she couldn't help but feel the darkness of this hallow night pull her under once more. Erza could hardly focus as she drummed her fingers against the wall.

By this point they had excavated the entire left side of the bottom floor, nothing to be found. Not one string of an unfamiliar magik or the possibility of a small rune. Nothing was ever going to be that easy, right?

She breathed steadily, counting as she drew the stale air in. One, two, three… Steadily pushing it out. Her fogged mind lifting its drawn curtain only a bit. Her cogs turned as she reached for this presence. Though in from one moment to the next all thought vanished. The recesses of her mind channeling the darkness that had come for her earlier. Those spirits taunting her and soon enough the world wasn't the same anymore.

A hand lightly cupped her shoulder. Her breathing faltering as bony white fingers crawled down from their position, gripping the lapel of her jacket. The plaid sash tugged. She violently turned. A whirlwind of frantic intentions as she held her hands up to defend herself.

Erza grasped the appendage. Her hand reeling against the bony wrist. A high falsetto ringing in her ears as she met familiar light brown eyes.

"That hur-Erza," Lucy cried out. The brim of her long lashes wet as her stomach panged. Erza released her grip immediately, a red circle forming around the porcelain skin. There was surely to be a bruise soon.

"!- On the Dark Lord's name… Lucy." The girl backed away from her ever so slightly as she tried to coddle her into her arms. "It wasn't me… I- The spirits are slipping through."

She only acknowledged her with a small nod. Her eyes still wet but she made no move to wipe them. At the pace of a snail, Erza lifted her thumb. The smallest of motions made to swipe the stray tears from under her long lashes. The salt stinging the pad of her thumb, making Erza quake with uncertainty.

Time was ticking away but it wouldn't be wasted. Her friend more important than some silly demon. Even as Lucy pulled her wrist from Erza, she still managed to latch onto the silk fabric of her top. "Let me see," she requested tentatively. Already knowing how much she had overstepped her bounds.

Lucy's arm falling limp as she lost the effort to struggle. She had already spoken to her roommate about her morals. The first of her set commandments stating that she would never harm a fellow witch. Mainly those within the bounds of their coven. And much later down her list one outlining her duties to those who were her friends. Erza had already promised (not to Zeref) that her witchdom would go under the pretenses of knighthood in order to honorably protect those close to her. Those she roomed with most definitely included.

Erza gave a small smile as she looked over the flamed ring. Being perfectly honest, she knew nothing of anatomy of the physical body. Frowning at the damage she created.

"I'll teach you how to fix it once we find The Pantry. It's just some major bruising," she rolled her wrist with hesitance, "nothing feels or looks broken." Lucy squinting with displeasure at the small pop from her wrist. "Y-Yeah… We'll be good for a short while."

"Are you sure there isn't just a spell-" She was cut off by the shake of a head.

The upward turn of her lips was hardly noticeable as Lucy gave her a stern but earnest scolding. "You should know by now that any spell needs some sort of ingredient in order to work properly. If we didn't use the earth, then Zeref would not be happy."

Erza was sure to scold herself again later. How could she forget such a simple fact? She sighed, still frustrated over the loss of time. "If only we could find the damned closet."

"There has to be something we're missing. A simple clue… Headmistress Belserion placed the runes down, correct?" Brown eyes fleeting to the wall with curiosity alight; searching for an unanswered question.

"Yes but she redid it for a reason. Remember the last time it was broken into?" Erza was not privy to the thought of those intruders, that entire night a blasphemous mess. Witch hunters were always a fly to swat.

Lucy rolled her eyes, crouching down to the floor. She cradled her damaged wrist to her chest as her other hand feathered over the floorboards. "Let's not speak of it… But our keeper isn't to be underestimated. Come feel, Erza."

"The floor?" She was most certainly vexed, stubborn to Lucy's request.

The blonde merely tugged on her skirt, the fringes pulling from the mess she made earlier. With another sigh, Erza complied. She stopped down to her level, placing her palm against the floor. It was cool but a completely different twinge of cold she knew. It clicked, as she understood Lucy's request. Each floor board she touched, full of an abundance of the magik any witch knew as enchantments.

Her lids slid shut as she relished in the newfound energy -a satisfaction deserved through this arduous task, thus far.

"Now we must find its origin… The main source will be where the door is at." Lucy stood up, turning her head down the long corridor.

Erza followed, lulling over the new information. "We don't have the time to search every single floorboard."

"I know. Hence why I need to ask one more question." Erza was alert, more than willing to answer. Lucy's jaw tightened, going lax as she spoke quickly. "I need to know where Headmistress Belserion would put the door. Only you would know."

The strings had most definitely been pulled as Erza felt herself close off. Lucy's brown eyes widening to observe her as an owl -all knowing. "That's what I thought. Don't worry, I'm not one to tell."

Or pry, she thought. She slid her foot against the floor, the mysterious energy seeping into the soles of her feet. The power familiar, harsh -just as the wiles of her own mother. With her fortitude of stone and sheer isolation, it was hard to believe that Irene would have wanted a child in the first place. But here she was, taken back in for her mother's own desires. Whether they be selfish or instinctive, Erza had hardly known.

"We're not close…" The whispers of her classmates speculations filtering through her mind. Questions never coming through for the simple fact of the Headmistresses wrath. The witch never taking kindly to rumors of any sort.

"You're closer to her than the rest of the school's populus. Just think about it Erza. Where would the Headmistress hide the door?" Lucy's voice was held above the smallest of whispers, encouraging her. The blonde pushing her up on her own pillar.

Erza directed her attention down the hall, a stony figure calling for her. It was the woman of justice, scales held within the wraps of her hands. The blade of her sword glistening with specks of marble, the gold that lined the pedestal she sat upon hardly visible.

Justice was one of the foundations of this school. One of the most important things to Irene Belserion as she sought out the miscreants within their populus. Erza nodded toward the statue, triumph lining her words. "Right there, Lucy. She's protecting it."

They both proceeded down the hallway. The protection that lay near the stony woman, filtering about their steps. It grew as they neared; a sickly captivation over the two of them. Now they just had to sift through the inner workings of the spell.

1:25

Lucy had been kneeling in front of the statue for about five minutes. Erza holding her hand over the ancient symbols so that her eyes may see. There was two things they had discovered: one, the door was most definitely here -the energy they had identified as enchantment (and Irene's) pouring from the ground and Lady Justice herself. Two, this was going to require much more time to hack than Erza would have preferred.

She let out a huff, the pink silk of Lucy's night shirt pulled taut. "I'm going as fast as possible, Erza. The wording of the enchantment is odd and I can't switch it around so mindlessly. Unless you want a consequence."

The blonde was dignant as her finger brushed over the chipped scrawl. Some of the text had flowed from one place to another as Lucy worked her own magic. A small line of sweat breaking out over her forehead. Her very own magical energy being drained.

"Sorry," she grumbled. Erza made more of an effort to shine her hand over Lucy's meddlings. Only to get in the girl's way more than she had been previously.

Lucy was hyper focused on the wrought marble before her, pressing her manicured nails down on the lifted text. By now she was nearing the end of the stone's passage. She switched one more letter through the text. The small text brushing past all the others to be put at the top.

Erza did not recognize a single word as Lucy spoke. Her tone changing from one to another, eyes glowing golden as she read the new passage aloud. Erza stepped back from the flurry swirling around the girl's body, the spirits of tonight crying with a new change. The front of the stone shifting and changing mercilessly before Lucy's tongue.

The front of the statue fell with a resounding boom. A yellow yet artificial light billowing from the entrance just made. A small and square hole in which they wouldn't be able to walk through, but the passage short enough to see the entirety of the room.

Shelves upon shelves of glass jars full of living organisms and baskets billowing with plants and flowers alike. Lucy sighed with content, shaking as she looked on. Her eyes darted to Erza for a moment before laying her body onto the floor. Her face serene in the sight as her orbs were far away.

"I can only keep this open for so long. Go in and fetch what you need but bring back frankincense and aloe. Be steadfast, Erza." Lucy went limp as her eyes stayed open, the shadows dancing around her form.

The sight made Erza's guilty conscious grow but she would come back quickly. Lucy wouldn't suffer for any longer. She reeled from the brightness as she made her way through the small hole, holding her hand up from the magnificence.

There wasn't a directory of any sort as she meandered through the aisles. Each row she shited through only pushing her farther from her goal. She had found various animal ovaries, lavender, oils of various plants, even the heads of ancient peoples. There was no limit to the stock a witch or warlock may need.

She tapped against the cage of a mouse, chuckling as it scratched at its entrapment. "I'm sorry, you're not the one I'm here for. You know where I can find any eyeballs? Goat ones, preferably."

It squeaked, it's nose rising high into the air. Erza was confused as to why anyone would want to use a mangy rodent for a spell. Or any sacrificial endeavor. The things were dirty and scampered about, tarnishing whatever they thought was food. She was glad all the animals caged in The Pantry had been placed in plexiglass instead of a simple iron cage. If they had a way, they would nibble through it too.

Erza continued on her way, brushing her hand against the woven handle of a basket. She had soon found some aloe, the small leaf mingling with the broken glass in her pocket. Erza hated to admit, but she had no idea what frankincense looked like. This place lacking labels galore in order to find it. Maybe she should have paid attention in Witch's Necessities 101.

She had soon found the goats eye, reaching high for the dusty jar. The glass tipping over into her hands, as some of the formaldehyde splashed free; suffocating in the aroma of alcohol. Almost as if death were a liquid.

The beady eyes shined within the container, apathetic toward Erza's hand. The small cloth consumed in the formula as she reached for one. None of the numerous parts drifting into her hand, only slipping about the container. A small squelch erupting from one. The tissue lining her hand, viscous and murky -almost retching from her mistake. Clearly she had underestimated how hard it would be to the slitted eye.

Her hand froze in the jar as the floor beneath her thundered. Metal ringing nigh as the crackling of glass tumbled. Heavy breathing accompanied by the drag of pieces. The creatures chittering stall by stall as the steps neared her.

"Who shall I punish today?" A dark tone accompanied by the shuffling of feet. The next phrase muffled by a large crash, a knock of wood.

Through the shelves, they began to fall like dominos. Each one toppling straight for her as she stood in an incapacitated state. The fear of the night overwhelming her so.

Her hand held the jar to her stomach dashing down the aisle; sliding as the shelf beside her creaked. Jars fell and shattered, leaving the remnants of the goodies left inside. All pooled in the acidic bath of embalming juice and oils.

Erza screeched as an iron disc flew by her head, a chuckle coming down the crooked lane. "Found you."

She quickly pocketed the slimy orb, making it lie within her breast pocket. She scrambled backwards, tripping in her attempt to stand -blind to her new opponent. Erza stood in the middle of the room, the small crook in the wall beginning to close.

"Dammit…"

Her heart palpated as she looked for the last item. There was no way she could leave without it, she needed it. Lucy needed it. The frustration bubbled in her throat, scanning the ground for any leaf or plant. All the colors blending into one as she frantically scanned the ground.

A small sheath of silver flasheshed from the heavens. Too late she realized it was a sword, the blade arching down for her. She backed away, the frustration freed as a cry of pain. Her shoulder hot and flamed.

One foot locking with another, gravity pulling her back to the ground. Her vision blurred, the stone slab in the wall shutting.

Before her stood the same beautiful marble statue that Lucy had tampered with. The thin stone lips sharp as they quirked to the side. The blade dripping with a dark coat of red, tainting the white floor. Her scales missing one of the sides, the balance offset.

"There will be no mercy for intruders, especially you. Scarlet." The voice was too deep for a woman's, poisoned with wrath. And yet wrought with guilt. Her head bowed, her blindfold poised in Erza's direction.

The short sword was angled right above her. One hand holding the weapon, small fissures braking in her hands as she wavered. The blade dove straight for her heart but she wasn't so motionless.

She barreled toward the door. Speeding on her hands and knees to the closing slab, reaching aimlessly. In pain and in distress, she cried out once more. "One more second!"

The door still closed, feet clambering behind her. She didn't dare look behind. Another bronze disk winding past her head. "Lucy!"

Erza dipped her head low, the breeze of the academy calling for her. She wiggled under the stopped door, pulling herself against the floor.

An unnatural hand latched onto her ankle, yanking harshly. Another screech was unleashed as she kicked back, her sole smashing against brittle stone. Her hands pasted against the floor as she was pulled back once more into oblivion. The stone beginning to press into the back of her thighs.

Familiar dark tresses were a curtain and long pale arms wrapped around her own. Dark orbs full of disappointment as she was saved from the woman of justice.

2:10

Erza seethed as a special ointment was applied to her shoulder. Not only had she ruined her only uniform but there was no frankincense to be had.

"I told you this was foolish," Kagura's voice held in a monotone fashion. She wrapped her shoulder tightly, her blazer and button down set on the floor.

Her face was red as Kagura finished wrapping the bandages around her bosom. "You weren't supposed to get involved."

She only shook her head, throwing her soiled clothes into the garbage can. Erza opened her mouth in protest, "You will not soil those wraps with dirty garments."

Erza huffed, standing from the bench. Lucy was conscious but lost. Kagura had tended to the girl far before Erza had returned from The Pantry. The inflamed ring around her wrist disappeared, returning to the smooth skin before.

"Then give me your jacket," Erza demanded. She stood from the bench with her hands on her hips. Her stomach taut in the cool hall. She dove back into the trash can for one reason only -the slimy yellow goat's eye; surprised that it hadn't been squashed like the other.

Kagura's eyes rolled as she shrugged out of her own school uniform. "Ungrateful," she muttered.

Erza caught the blazer with ease, buttoning it up. "Don't think I'm not thankful…" Lady Justice's voice boomed in her ears, still making her unsteady. "I am… I just- You two weren't supposed to be here. And look at the mess you two will be thrown into."

"There won't be as long as you summon that demon," Lucy interjected. Kagura's hand forming into a small fist as the blonde continued. "Even the Mistress isn't capable of summoning one, there won't be any consequences if you do. There will be praise instead."

"Or expulsion," Kagura drawled.

Lucy pet Kagura on the head, already on her way for the stairwell. "You never know then but we must go. The witching hour is upon us."

The two were on the opposite side of the coin but Erza couldn't help but agree. What type of mess had she gotten herself into?

2:50

They had made it back to the third floor without a single stop. Well, Lucy did stop to take a small bathroom break. The idea to powder her nose in the middle of the night seemed senseless to them, but neither said a word. Their friend looking much better once she exited the east hall girls bathroom, her pink pajamas straightened and her hair much more neatly combed through. A new fire set as she found herself once more.

Kagura had happily picked the door open and then locked it shut. A small grin set upon her lips the entire time. Even during the time they spent setting up the redstone pentagram. And even as the three of them gathered and readied their ingredients.

They set up each of the elements at the five points. An lamp of oil alight, saltened water, a feather of a raven, and a blue sapphire. The top point of the star holding her small burlap doll.

She walked round the circumference taking a thoughtful look to everything -even down to the smallest details. Her toe prodding at the powder that has settled deep within the crevices of the floorboards. Erza looked between the two girls, nodding.

"Get ready… The hour is nearing."

Kagura grumbled once more as she stood at the point of the earth. "I never said I would participate in your silly charade."

"And yet you set up a perfect star," she shot back.

Kagura paused and she felt victorious. Though she feared for her friend's safety, the three of them would be the most powerful together. She wouldn't take this accomplishment for herself if the spell succeeded. They would all bask in glory.

Erza stalked to the center of the circle, unfolding the small handkerchief. She handled the eye with the utmost care as she placed it in the middle of the circle. Even more cautious as to not disturb the maroon lines. Even the fine powder could not be misplaced for this ceremony. Perfection was key.

She stood at the highest point -life. Erza bowed her head toward Lucy and then Kagura, raising her palms face down to begin the proper incantations. A small silver blade settled in the band of her skirt. The metal chilling against the front of her hips, ready to jump out.

The match in the blonde's hand set alight as she kneeled down. She quickly set the lamp ablaze, a small flame rising from the nozzle. The copper tray a dizzying sight as the flame lifted higher, those passing already doing their work.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a synchronous breath with her roommates. One of her hands dropped as the other lifted, spreading her fingers wide. She could feel her own magic mingle with the warm essence of Lucy's and the mysterious strings of Kagura's, pinching her brows together as she searched for the beginning of the incantation. The words lost to her as those of Hallows Eve, rumbled with excitement around them.

Erza's muscles slowly began to bunch up. A presence like no other filling the room and her mouth opened. Her eyelids popping open to the bright glow of the pentagram. A blood red filling her vision as they brushed the cusp of Tartaros. Her voice low as she chanted on, thanking Zeref for his merciful grace and the powers bestowed upon the three.

A prayer of the thoughts and musings running about their minds. A flash of a sharp smile and everything went dark. The room a deep abyss of negative thought but she still held on, holding out her palm further -closer to the middle. Her fingers stretching to reach the presence that sat in the center of their star.

Zeref had delivered.

Now it was her turn to fulfill the bargain. Her mind racked with the spell, her tongue moving with ease. She flicked her palm upward, the star flaring brightly with red. The largest line crossing over the threshold of three.

On this Hallow's Eve, I deliver thy

Zeref's creation and servant

Come forth unto me deimon with the binding of scarlet!

In one quick motion, she presented her blade. Metallic glinting across the black walls; swirling with the deep hues of crimson to make pink. Another movement across her scarred palm. It burned. Drops of mars falling down onto the sad little doll.

The seconds ticked by. She fisted her palm, the red running from the wrinkles in her hand. She felt a sense of euphoria washing over her, dazed in her stance. A fog lifting until she stared deep into the depths of dark and mirthy pools of blue and porcelain skin.

3:02

Her breath fell short as a woman lain within the pentagon of the star. She was nimble and voluptuous. Her curves outlined in the skin-tight dress she donned. Lips plump with shined gold, accented by her silver hair. The waves proceeding down and down, laying atop her bottom.

Had she summoned a queen instead? Erza stared in awe, much like her roommates.

The demoness blinked, observing each of them. Her gaze merely flicking over Erza's appearance. Maybe she should have dressed up a bit more, made her face and had her hair done. Her heart fluttering in a way she hadn't known possible.

A long pink tongue swiped over her lips, curving over her angel's bow. "And which one of you is my treat?"

Lucy's jaw dropped and Erza only reciprocated her feelings. She stood up straight, clearing her throat. "I'm afraid there's no 'treats'. You will not be eating any humans or witches during your stay."

A small pout flounced over her painted lips. Her long legs peaking from the slit as she sauntered over to Erza. Her breath felt strangled in her throat as she neared, the frown turning around -a dangerous curve leering. The blue glinting with mischief.

Her hand was a blur as it wrapped around her wrist. "I think you'll be my treat on this fine day."

She winked and Erza froze as her bloodied hand was brought to her mouth. Grinning before her tongue slipped out once more. The pink muscle curving over the fine line in her palm; pressing flat against it. A sultrous moan rumbling from the demon's throat. Next thing she knew, those golden lips were pressed against her palming. Gently sucking against the wound she made.

Erza bit her lip. A small whimper emitting from her mouth as she pulled away. The demon's mouth encased with red as she let out a small sigh.

"And Zeref let you be my master?" She merely nodded, wishing that she would take her back into her hand -no, be wrapped in her embrace. The woman before her bursting into a fit of laughter. "I'm going to have much more fun than I did last time then. Seems like you're still hurt, Mistress."

Her eyes darted to her shoulder, the blue fabric darkened by her shoulder wound. Her slim digits smoothing over the fabric sending an involuntary shiver through her. But the moment was stolen by Kagura. "And who may you be?"

The demon was obviously offended, swirling around aggressively. Her hand held over her heart, batting her long lashes. "And who am I you ask?"

Her nod was dismissive. The demon continuing on her small rampage. "To some, I am the Mother of the Darkness itself. Others I am known as Zeref's concubine, mistress. The one who took a bite from the forbidden fruit -lead men astray from the righteous path."

Once again they were all thrown into awe. The demoness standing straight with pride, hands settled on the swell her hips. A small smirk settled on her lips as Kagura bowed her head in a form of apology.

"I am Mirajane -Zeref's first creation."

And with that, she left in a dark portal. A small paper left on the ground.

-I'll fix you later. (Love Mira)

The golden lips plastered onto the paper. If this night was good, the morning would be glorious. Erza looked between her two friends, a wide smile on her face. Unnoticing her healed injury and the missing scar.

They retreated to their room for the rest of the morning. A hard knock on the door throwing the three from their slumber.

Depending on the response I receive, I may continue this. 

#erzajane #erzajane week #erza x mira #erza scarlet #mirajane strauss #lucy heartfilia #kagura mikazuchi #irene belserion #minerva orlando #sting eucliffe #fairy tail fanfiction #fairy tail #ft #horror #suspense #my writing #the witching hour

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 30: Erinn're Dich! Keine Macht trennt uns - außer Zeit und Raum

Title: For The Love Of A Princess

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

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Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28; Chapter 29

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Okay... First of all, I need to apologise that there was no new chapter last week. Between the holidays, school holidays, and a general lack of motivation/writer's block, I didn't manage to write anything. This week is a little better, even though I'm still not really happy with this chapter.

Because I hear you. And I feel you. You're ready for things to happen, for action and real drama... Believe me, so am I! But this is what I was talking about at the beginning of the second part. It's about development, on many points, and might become a little boring... BUT! We're almost through. I can't/won't say how many chapters are still to come in this second part, because I never know if a plan of three or four chapters stays that way... But know that we've almost reached the end of this part, and part three will be much more interesting...

But yeah, not entirely happy with this chapter... because I wanted to add so much more here, but simply didn't manage to write it all. I mean, in the end, this chapter reached a decent size, so it's fine. But yeah, things tend to get longer than intended, and I'm sorry.

Either way, this chapter is dedicated to @poppysfanworld . It was your birthday last week, and I'm so sorry that I missed updating on that day of all days. Although, this chapter would have been dedicated to you anyway. For those who don’t know: a couple of weeks back, she drew a fanart for this story, and, without her knowing about it, the scene she drew is in this chapter! So, yeah, Poppy, this chapter is yours. I hope it’s okay ._.

This week's title... is probably nothing but incomprehensible babbling to most of you. It's from the German version of "Think Of Me" from The Phantom Of The Opera, and means something like "Remember! No force can separate us – except time and space". Now, I could have simply used the English lyrics instead... But here's the funny thing: The English lyrics at that point are "Remember me, once in a while, Please, promise me you'll try" – which, as you hopefully agree, is not quite the same... xD

. o O o .

"So... is there anything you want to do?" Hiccup's voice was low, rough even, as he spoke into her ear in-between kisses. Those kisses had started intense from the first he’d given her, only moments after she’d arrived at the stables, and had only grown more heated since then.

Astrid sat across his lap, having landed there after a stormy greeting, and couldn't really think about anything except that she wanted to keep kissing him, wanted to feel his hands and mouth, his hot skin against hers again. This last day spent with her brothers had been great, but spending the night with Hiccup was even better. "I don't know," she gasped after a few more kisses that left her breathless. She hadn't even gotten around to take off her cloak yet, so what gave him the idea that she could think properly? His hands on her waist and around the small of her back felt wonderful, like a promise of happiness, but she'd rather they took off her dress and his tunic again. "Show me more?"

Hiccup chuckled, a deep rumbling that vibrated through them both, but obliged nonetheless. His kisses grew even more intense, his teeth nibbling and tugging at her lips, and his hold on her became rougher as he pulled her closer until her chest was flush to his. There was still too much cloth between them for her taste, but the way he made the fabric rub against her breasts was still enticing enough. For now.

When his left hand moved away from her back, she wanted to protest at first. She wanted more, of him, of those forbidden sensations, more explosions and more softness afterwards. But then she felt his hand on her thigh, beneath her skirt, and forgot any complaints. His touch on that unexpected and ridiculously sensitive bit of skin made her gasp, her wide eyes meeting his as he retreated and looked up at her.

"Is this okay?" he asked, and the husky tone in his voice made a pleasant shiver run down her spine. His hand on her thigh moved a little, slowly wandering higher up her leg to emphasise the meaning of his question.

Astrid felt dizzy, a small flicker of fear rising as his touch brought back the memory of Harold touching her. But that flicker disappeared just as quickly as the other one last night had when Hiccup had cupped her breast with his large and work-rough hand. Those memories had no power over her anymore, and the fact that Hiccup asked was the ultimate difference. Because Hiccup would never force himself on her, would never do anything she didn't want him to. With him, she was safe.

A little overwhelmed by this renewed realisation and the sheer difference of how Hiccup's touch felt, she wasn't quite able to form any words. Instead, she nodded, and choked a little when his fingers suddenly brushed over her sex. He started with slow and light touches, soft strokes over the thin fabric of her underwear, only teasing her sensitive body beneath. But it was enough to make her shiver, made her clutch at his shoulders for an anchor, and with his dark eyes avidly taking in her every reaction, she felt simultaneously exposed and cradled, caught in this wonderful whirlwind of emotions and sensations that made her dizzy.

When his hungry mouth resumed kissing her, it made everything more intense, and it didn't take long before his hand became bolder, too. The press of his finger against those hidden folds or that hot spot at the top let everything else fade into the background until all she cared for was feeling more. More of his tongue gliding along hers, more of his touch. Occasionally, he slowed down, a proud grin pulling at his lips when that made her grind herself against him in search of more sensation, and at some point, Astrid couldn't remember when, he must have slipped his hand beneath her underwear, because suddenly not even that bit of fabric was between her and his hand anymore. It should have made her cautious, but she trusted Hiccup not to tear what had to remain intact, trusted him with everything.

Gods, he looked so beautiful as he gazed up at her in what looked like awe, even with how silly she had to look, pathetically grinding and rocking against his hand as she was, mewling, her face surely flushed and covered in sweat. But he didn't look as if he thought her silly, not even as another one of those explosions tore through her body and left her twisting and screaming. If anything, he looked as if he honestly enjoyed watching her.

"Was that what you wanted?" he murmured into her ear. His hand was soothingly rubbing her back after she'd sacked against his chest and panted against his neck with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Mmmh, yes," she hummed, giggling as another of those small but pleasant waves ran through her body. Gods, how had she ever thought she wouldn't like this?

Hiccup's embrace, which felt like it was all that was keeping her upright at this point, tightened for a moment as he pressed a loving kiss to her temple. Then he guided her soft and so wonderfully pliant body down onto the blanket before he stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked, confused and not really able to think yet.

"I... I'll be right back," he muttered. "Everything's fine, I just..." He swallowed, bit his lip, shrugged, and then left the stall.

Too dazed to give his strange behaviour much thought, Astrid basked in how relaxed she felt, how comfortable here in this simple stall surrounded by Hiccup’s scent. Eventually, she wriggled out of her cloak and tossed it to the side before burrowing into the blanket, giggling. When he returned, however, he still seemed oddly tense.

“Are you okay?” he asked, anxiously. He kneeled down beside her, and looked her over. “Did I… Gods, did I hurt you?”

Astrid blinked up at him, puzzled. “No, you didn’t. I’m fine.” She reached for his hand and wanted to pull him down toward her, to cuddle and kiss. But when she touched him, she noticed that his hand, cool and damp, was shaking. “Hiccup, what happened?”

“I…” he stammered, his gaze darting around, to her eyes, their hands, and around the stall as if those wooden walls held any wisdom. “There was… blood on my hand just now, and– Gods, I thought I was careful enough, but… but…” He broke off, his gaze now pleading, desperate.

Astrid, however, relaxed. “Oh, that,” she murmured as she shuffled to make space for Hiccup beside her. “It’s the time of my moon blood. It’s almost over, but…” she trailed off, shrugging. Then another thought occurred to her, and she grimaced. “Is that… a problem?” She hadn’t thought about that, but with how little – practically nothing, really – she knew about how all this worked, maybe it was?

Her answer visibly appeased Hiccup though. He relaxed, shoulder slumping in relief, and he finally lay down next to her with a heavy sigh. "No, it's not a problem. Not for me,” he clarified, expression relaxing into a soft smile now. “I just… well, I feared that I... had accidentally broken your maidenhead, even though I'd been sure to be careful enough, and..." He gulped, but then shook his head and burrowed deeper into their comfortable embrace. “But no, not a problem. Some women become overly sensitive during that time, sometimes even painfully so, but as long as it felt good for you, everything's fine.”

“Hmm… yeah, I’d say it felt good enough for me,” she hummed, making Hiccup chuckle.

“That’s all what’s important,” he sighed, and brushed his lips against her forehead.

For a timeless while, they lay in silence, lost in their cosy bubble of warmth and comfort, the only sounds coming from occasional light kisses or one of them humming happily.

“How was your day?” Hiccup eventually asked. His fingers traced an invisible line up her bare arm, and it made her giggle.

“It was good,” she replied, stopping his hand by carding her fingers through his. “But I'll miss these days. Once Daniel left, I don’t think I’ll be able to get away with so much free time anymore, and in a few weeks…” She trailed off, biting her lip until it stung. She didn't want to think about the months to come; Daniel would be in Westhill organising their defences, Dagur would return to Southshore to learn how to keep nobility and overambitious merchants in check, and Eret would be back in Eastervale to take care of their horses–and Hiccup would leave with him. And then it would grow even worse when summer would arrive, when they’d all go to Westhill to actually fight, and leave her behind with no other option but to pray for their safe return.

The thought made her heart beat faster for another reason for once, and Hiccup seemed to notice the difference immediately.

“Hey, it'll be okay,” he murmured soothingly. “Everything will be fine. We’ll be careful, and between Daniel’s personal guard and the Gods apparently needing us for their plans…  I’m not really worried anything will happen to us.”

Swallowing thickly, she forced a smile onto her lips, and nodded. “I know,” she breathed, almost inaudible. “But I'll miss you nonetheless.” She pressed closer against his chest. “Gods, I wish we could get married already. I don't want to be apart from you, ever.”

Hiccup sucked in a breath, his fingers at her back twitching. “Believe me, I know what you mean,” he muttered hoarsely. “But even then I'd have to leave to fight eventually.” He retreated, and curled his hand around her jaw, tilting her head upwards so their eyes met. “But it'll be worth it in the end. You'll see. In a few years, we’ll be sitting beside a warm hearth fire, wrapped in a comfortable embrace after the day's work, and laugh about all this.”

“Mmh,” Astrid hummed, closed her eyes and nuzzled against his hand. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” he mumbled, then let his free hand drop to her chest, over her heart “But we'll never be apart, remember? Not really.”

. o O o .

The following day was somehow boring and stressful at the same time.

Even though she’d again had an unbelievably restful sleep in Hiccup’s arms, it still had been barely more than a handful of hours. They’d talked a lot last night, about their future, how their life would be – and had completely forgotten the time.

Some things still made her smile whenever she remembered them, like how they agreed on hopefully having enough space to keep horses, as riding was something neither of them wanted to miss. But at the same time, she hoped their life wouldn’t be too pompous, too formal. She wanted to be able to literally spend nights rolling in the hay with her husband, just like they did now, without it being a scandal due to their high status.

Hiccup hadn’t been quite as forward with what he hoped or planned; instead, he’d agreed with and occasionally elaborated on her suggestions, rather than offering his own, and there had been something like a sad shadow crossing his face every now and then. But those never lingered, and he’d kept asking her questions and listened avidly to every single one of her – occasionally silly – lines of thinking.

“It’s not silly,” he’d said after she’d told him that she hoped for a relatively simple life, far away from politics and intrigues and fighting, that she wanted them to raise their children themselves, peacefully and without the rules of decorum demanding them to engage a governess. He’d cradled her face in his hand, one of her favourite touches by him, and had looked at her with so much warmth and love in his eyes that she’d thought she would melt then and there. “No, not silly at all… Gods, I can’t wait for this future to come true, the vision we had. You, with our son on your arms, our home…” He’d swallowed, and Astrid had been sure that he felt the same longing she felt too, the sheer yearning for the years to hurry by until their life together would start for real.

But all that had been last night, had kept them up far longer than intended, and today, she almost regretted staying up so deep into the night.

No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t regret that they’d talked for hours. It had been wonderful, phenomenal, incredible. But that didn’t change how tired she was, how she was barely able to keep herself from yawning every now and then or her gaze and mind from drifting away from conversations and greeting their guests.

“What’s the matter, little sis?” Dagur nudged her arm with his elbow after she’d missed replying to some duke’s greeting. “You look tired, and not just today if I may say so. Is something bothering you? Keeping you awake?”

They stood in a neat row, the King, the Grand Dukes, Daniel and she, Dagur, and Eret, to greet and welcome all the highborn lords and ladies that had come to the capitol for the grand blot tonight. From experience, Astrid knew that this reception would go on for hours, which was why they’d already started in the morning.

Dagur’s question made her smile though, Hiccup’s warmth in her chest spreading at the memory. “Yeah, somehow I haven’t slept all that much lately,” she admitted, but then quickly changed the subject. “And this reception doesn’t exactly help with keeping me awake either. How much longer is this going to go on?”

Dagur grinned, and Astrid could practically see how he forcefully kept himself from cackling out loud. “I think we’re almost through.” He glanced at the ceiling-high windows to their left. “See? It’s already past noon. We should be through in another hour at the latest.”

Astrid sighed, and nodded. This year wasn’t the first time she’d participated in pre-blot ceremonies, including the grand reception, but the particulars of the rituals all tended to blur together for her, mostly because her part in them was only as a glorified accessory.  Meanwhile, her brothers all had direct parts to play, and had since they’d been boys old enough to understand.  

She remembered years when she’d sneaked into the hall and had hidden behind curtains or underneath tables, drawing faces at her brothers until they burst out laughing and she’d gotten thrown out. She almost wished she could do that now, too. Play some prank, leave the hall, and roam freely over the castle’s grounds. But she was part of the official party now, and no matter how much she wanted to just run and leave everything behind her... she couldn’t.

Sighing, she put back on her mask of a smile and greeted a baron and his wife whose names she’d forgotten already with a curtsey. Only one more hour, then food would be served and the afternoon would be filled with mingling and chatting, before they would all ride in a slow procession to the Temple for the grand winter blot.

Astrid sighed again. The holy ritual to pray for the return of light and warmth and to ask for a good harvest and peaceful times was actually one of her favourites. But all the pompous affectations around it made these days nearly unbearable.

. o O o .

Hiccup let out a groan as he stretched, and let his gaze wander over the small team of horses in front of him. With him having spent the day cleaning and scrubbing saddles and bridles – and working on Astrid’s music box whenever he had a spare moment – the day had flown by in what had felt like a heartbeat to him.

But now, it was all done. Six of his seven charges stood groomed to perfection, tacked in their polished and shiny saddles and bridles, ready to go, and his Midwinter gift for Astrid was wrapped in cloth and safely attached to Cassie’s saddle.

Not that he was actually allowed to give a present to the Princess as, customarily, only family members gave each other gifts. And he knew that, even though the King and Grand Dukes considered each other family, Daniel, Eret, and the rest of them didn’t really exchange any meaningful gifts either.

But this was different. The Crown Prince himself had asked him to do this, and if coincidentally he could give back the repaired music box to the Princess on this of all days… so be it. Nobody ever had to know that it was meant as a Midwinter gift to his future wife – or that there was a second, more personal present hidden in that bundle. Nobody but her.

Smiling, he walked from one horse to the other, patting their necks and humming to keep them all calm, while his thoughts whirled around nothing but her. As always.

Last night, she’d been amazing. He’d expected her to become more active over time when it came to their lovemaking, given her confident nature. Coaxing her into trying to seek her own pleasure last night had been meant as a first step toward the vixen he assumed she’d eventually become, confident in her own sexuality, with the scars of the past having healed and faded. But, Freya, the reality had been so much more overwhelming than he ever could have anticipated. He’d done barely more than teasing her a little before she’d bucked and ground against him, had positively ridden his hand, and watching her fall apart like that had been one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

It meant he would need to be careful though, if he intended to spare his clothes – sneaking out to jerk off instead of spilling into his trousers every time she came over. But that was a small price to pay if it meant he could watch her curiously and confidently explore her own body, could hold and kiss and cuddle her, could dream with her about their future – even though the picture she’d drawn of their dream life had made him melancholic. It had been an almost picture-perfect description of the life they could have had, if only…

Trembling, he chased these unwanted thoughts away, just as a small voice broke the silence. “Milord?” the boy said carefully, eyeing the Grand Duke’s stallion Hunter behind Hiccup with an undeniably scared expression. “We’re done cleaning up and are ready to go.”

Hiccup nodded at the boy, one of the sorry lads Lavo had sent over to help him today. “All right. Have you decided yet who gets to ride which horse?”

The boy gulped, eyes still fixed on the stallion, and nodded. “I lost.”

Hiccup had to suppress a chuckle at the boy’s expression, and instead decided to put his mind at ease as best he could. “You don’t need to be afraid of Hunter. I know you’ve learned how to treat these horses, or Master Lavo wouldn’t have sent you.”

The boy bit his lip, but didn’t seem convinced. “Yes, but… but Wulf warned us about Hunter. He said, since he’s a trained war stallion, it’s very likely that he’ll throw us off because we’re not his usual rider, and–”

The boy broke off as Hiccup couldn’t keep from laughing now after all, even though he fought to keep it quiet to not agitate the horses. He felt at ease between them, as always, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t turn deadly at the right – or wrong – provocation. “And you believed him?” Hiccup asked, shaking his head. Wulf was an older stable boy in Lavo’s retinue, known to play pranks on the younger boys on every occasion he could. “Even I learned not to take everything Wulf says seriously, and I’d only been at the stud farm for a few months.” The boy’s face turned an entertaining shade of red, and, taking pity on him, Hiccup rectified, “Yes, Hunter is a war stallion, but a seasoned one. He’s used to different riders, as long as they know how to keep him calm. And between Crusher, who isn’t trained as a war stallion and by far not as aggressive, and Markor and Cassie, the only horses you’d need to be careful with are Squish and Trample – and I’ll be taking care of those. You don’t need to worry.”

The boy only looked partially convinced, but so long as he didn’t panic, everything would be fine. And Hiccup knew he wouldn’t. He’d been serious, after all; Lavo wouldn’t have sent him these boys to help if they couldn’t handle the horses.

A few minutes later, the three boys sat in their respective saddles, and Hiccup gave them the sign to start their way to the castle. Crusher and Hunter went ahead, probably the easiest to handle, while the third boy rode Cassie and led Markor on a rope behind him. It surely would have been easier to just place a fourth boy on Markor’s back instead, but as used to horses as these boys were, they were not used to ride on a side saddle, especially not one with decorations they could ruin with the tiniest motion.

“Don’t get too close to the stallions,” he warned the boy on Cassie’s back, signalling him to follow the others with a bit of a distance. “Markor gets a bit skittish around them sometimes.” The boy nodded, paling a little as he probably realised at that moment that he hadn’t gotten the easiest task after all.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Hiccup followed, riding Trample while leading Squish on a rope beside them, leaving a small distance as well, but still close enough to keep an eye on the boys and the horses. All in all, he was grateful to Lavo for having sent the boys, as getting all six horses to the castle for the parade all on his own would have been quite a challenge. But taking care of the boys in addition hadn’t been all that easy either. Although, it hadn’t really been Lavo’s idea anyway, and the main reason hadn’t been to help him with the horses either.

The slow ride to the castle was thankfully uneventful, and they arrived just in time, with the sun just beginning to set. By the front gates, Hiccup and several other grooms from the main stables stood ready with the horses for the Royals and their highest guests to lead the slow procession toward the Temple. He shifted a little uncomfortably in the formal outfit he had to wear, as he was to ride at his master’s side, but all in all, he was more filled with eager anticipation than with anything else.

During the last couple of years, he hadn’t really participated in any Midwinter festivities, but at home on Berk the ritual to pray for the sun’s return had been, like everything else, a relatively formless affair. Oh, sure, they observed the rites themselves, but beyond that, there had been lots to eat and drink, and by the time the sun set and everyone headed for the Temple hardly anyone was still sober. But from what he’d heard so far, here at the capitol, things went differently. It was a grand event; the long procession that would grow bigger the longer they rode through the city toward the Temple alone was worth it.

And the grand blot itself would be equally impressive, the beautiful plaza he’d admired the other day entirely filled with people and lights. It would surely be an overwhelming sight and worth being a part of at least once.

And then there was the fact that he would be able to celebrate this day with Astrid. Sure, he couldn’t be at her side, couldn’t hold her hand and show the world that he belonged to her. But as Eret’s squire, he at least could be near her, and that was worth every bit of discomfort he might feel in these excessive clothes.

They didn't need to wait long until the grand gates to the castle opened. King Osmond was the first, of course, with Daniel and the Grand Dukes right behind him, and many more following. It was a bit of a chaos, really. The place had been relatively full with countless horses and grooms before already, but now that the noblemen came in addition, all looking for their steeds, it was madness. Hiccup was just glad that, since he was in charge of the Prince's and Grand Duke Eret’s horses among others, he had one of the more advantageous spots on the plaza, close to both the castle entrance and the gate.

“Thank you, Hiccup,” Daniel said after he’d held Trample for him to mount the horse, and was about to do the same for Dagur. “How was your day? Did everything work as planned?”

A smile tugged at Hiccup's lips, even as he fought to keep a professionally composed expression. It had been on Daniel's suggestion that Lavo had sent him some helping hands – to help with the horses, yes, but Hiccup guessed that, in the end, that had only been a beneficial side effect. As far as he understood, Daniel was intent on returning the music box mended and repaired to Astrid before he left on the day after tomorrow, and, as he wasn’t capable to do it himself, was more than willing to accept every help he could get. “Yes, your Highness,” Hiccup replied, formally bowing his head. “I got everything done. Thank you for the assistance.”

Daniel nodded, beaming, but before he could say more, Eret greeted him with a clap on the shoulder. “You should be thanking me for not insisting on you accompanying me,” he groaned. “Seriously, this day of socialising was the worst. I wish I could have helped you instead of spending all afternoon with the Countess of Whitevale and her daughters.”

“Well, you survived,” Daniel commented dryly. “And let’s be honest, when it comes to ridiculous and unwanted proposals, we all got off easy today.” Both Eret and Dagur snorted, clearly in annoyed agreement, but before Hiccup could place any question as to what had happened, Daniel shook his head. “Let’s just be glad it’s all over,” he sighed. Then his gaze flickered away, past them, and his expression grew tight. When Hiccup followed his eyes, he spotted Astrid standing next to Markor, her posture tense with shoulders drawn up, and clearly unhappy.

Daniel huffed quietly, the leather of the reins creaking as his hands tightened around them. He looked around the plaza, then from Dagur to Eret, and back to Astrid. “Hiccup?” he eventually murmured, an odd tension in his voice. “I normally wouldn’t ask you, but we’re all already mounted, and it wouldn’t be appropriate to…” He trailed off, and slightly shook his head, teeth gritted, before he went on. “Could you go assist the Princess with mounting her steed?”

Hiccup’s eyes widened a little, but he quickly fought not to show his surprise – or his nervousness. “O-of course, Highness,” he replied, bowed again, and retreated. Even with how formal he usually behaved, doing so now was different. It was real – had to be real. But luckily, it came rather naturally, because he wasn’t sure if he could have pulled off the act otherwise.

He was about to publically interact with Astrid, on an open plaza and surrounded and possibly watched by countless noblemen and the King himself, was even to touch her. And even though it happened on the Prince’s request, it still made him nervous.

“Your Highness?” It was weird to use this form of address for her, but the only appropriate one right now. As she turned – her gown of dark blue satin with silvery detailings woven into the fabric looking as if the night sky itself was flowing around her – he was once more struck by just how beautiful she was. And the way her expression softened slightly at his sight only added to that. But no matter how much her sight warmed his heart and her presence gave him reassurance, he was acutely aware of their audience. “Please excuse me approaching you, your Highness. But the Prince asked me to offer you my help?” He let his words end in a question, asking her permission, as he indicated toward Markor behind her.

Astrid directly caught herself again, her usual mask in place as she glanced at her brother and then nodded at Hiccup. “Of course,” she replied, voice calm as if they were talking about the weather. “That is very kind of you.”

She took a step to the side to give him space, but Hiccup hesitated. For a moment, he considered offering her his hands or his knee to step on, or going to get a mounting block – there were a few around for the shorter people in the crowd. But that wasn’t how Daniel or Eret would do it, and it wasn’t what he wanted either. Not that he was too squeamish to get his hands or clothes dirty, or had forgotten that they weren’t alone... But frankly, he didn’t care what whoever was watching them thought. He knew that she wouldn’t mind his touch, and he acted on official request. Screw what anyone might think.

He heard Astrid’s breath hitch as he stepped closer and placed his hands on her waist. It took him barely more than a second to lift her lithe form up onto Markor’s back, their contact ending far too soon for his taste. As he retreated, he let his hand glide along hers, Astrid too surprised to pull back, then the moment was over. He took a further step backwards and bowed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Thank you,” Astrid said formally, having caught herself quickly again. When he lifted his head, she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. She’d already turned away, overlooking the crowd, and gave a pretty convincing show of ‘business as usual’.

But Hiccup knew better. He noticed the slight rosy hint on her cheek, saw beneath her mask of composure. She had enjoyed the small contact just as much as he had. Smiling slightly to himself, he walked to where the last of Lavo’s boys still held Cassie ready for him, and, after climbing into the saddle himself, took his position at Eret’s side.

He’d just drawn up next to his cousin when Eret muttered quietly, “That was a damn bold thing to do.”

Hiccup glanced up at him. Between Eret’s own height and the height of his steed, there was quite the height difference, and Eret was looking straight ahead. It was clear, however, that he was talking to Hiccup, even if it didn’t look like it. “Bold and foolhardy. Odin, Hiccup, you can’t just– You’re lucky that Swanja is tougher than Daniel gives her credit for. Friends or not, he would rip your head off if he thought you made her uncomfortable. You better keep that in mind, I’d rather not stand between my family and my best friend…”

Hiccup didn’t say anything to that. What was there to say anyway? He was ready to do whatever it took…

But did that also include pulling others into the line of fire?

. o O o .

So, here’s another important bit: I'll be honest and say I expected this question to come up sooner. But now, finally one wants to say, the question about their age came up (Over on FFnet). All information is woven into the story, but I also know especially Hiccup's age is not explicitly mentioned, so here are the ages of the characters.

Daniel: 23

Eret: 21

Dagur: 21

Hiccup: 21

Astrid: 17

Now, I expect there to be an outcry, calling me a paedophile and this story a horrible example for children and all that blah blah... And no matter what I write here, those outcries will come. Know that I will read them, laugh about it, and forget them. And for those who care about what I'm going to say about it:

In this world, the legal age for marriage is 16. It's only noblemen who have this custom of marrying their daughters off at 20. An age gap of four years (three actually if you take into consideration that Astrid is close to 18) is not 'problematic'. And this story isn't meant for children anyway ;p

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#FTLOAP #for the love of a princess #hiccstrid drabble #Hiccup and Astrid #hiccstrid fanfiction #Hiccstrid smut #Hiccstrid fluff #smut #lemon #fluff #httyd #httyd fanfiction #httyd fandom #medieval au #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #royalty au #hiccstrid royal au

[carrietrekkie]

Surprise!

@virtu-s Here is a little birthday gift for Aurora! I hope you like it and it fits her!

Enjoy

„Sir your delivery has arrived.“

“Thanks Chief, to the bridge please.”

“Aye Sir!”

 Pike smirked lightly than entered his quarters. He found Aurora on the couch, reading a book.

“Up Cinderella, I´ve got something for you.” Chris didn´t wait for her answer, grabbed her arm and guided her out of the room.

“I´m not in the mood for birthday presents. “ She twisted her eyes. “Anyway I don´t want them and you know that!”

“Yes, Yes I know but I found the perfect one so please, just this time.” His hand on her back they entered the turbolift.

“I was perfectly fine with the beautiful bouquet of daffodils you give me in the morning.”

“Yeah but I guess you like this one even more.” He smiled at her. “It´s just arrived, had a long journey and waits on the bridge. In my opinion it talks too much and it´s Captain was too willing to leave it here for a few days.”

“What?”

The door opened and they stepped upon the bridge.

“And I bet she refused to wear the ribbon I handed her.”

“It was a screaming pink, glittering monstrosity made of tulle.” The commando chair turned around and Aurora made an unexpected funny noise. “You didn´t really think that I put it on my head.”

“For me?” Pike raised is eyebrows.

“Certainly not, pumpkin.” She tilted her head slightly to the side.

“Angelina!” On Auroras face spread out the brightest smile since weeks. “That’s not true?”

“Oh it is.” The Betazoid woman, dressed in gold, ranked as Commander raise from the chair, her smile as bright as the one in the face of her long missed friend.

And how she missed her. Five years of unsteady and rare subspace communication let her fear that their friendship would get through it and now she was standing right in front of her, that imperturbable optimistic view in her black eyes and an aura around her that let Aurora guess she was the Captain of this ship, not the wonderful, lovely man next to her.

“Can I get a hug or will you continue staring at me?”

Still speechless Aurora stepped forward, throw her arms around her and closed her eyes as Angelina replied the gesture in the same warmly way.

“Happy Birthday Rora.”

******

Many years ago, the same date

Splashing footsteps, followed by a funny curse get Auroras attention to her left side.

“Okay, if this is the result of a little malfunction in the weather control systems, I don´t be keen to know what happened if it fault out completely.”

“I like the rain.”

“Oh me too, but I don´t like thunderstorms.” She jerked as the next thunder rumbled through the sky, leaving Aurora a little smirking. “Damn, that was loud.” The woman, Aurora guessed she must be at her age smiled at her. Even in the twilight she recognized her completely black eyes. “Hey, did we know each other?”

“Not personally I guess, but you are in my astrophysics class.”

“Oh yes.” Her eyes brightened. “You´re Aurora Desruisseaux.”

A little impressed about the flawless pronunciation of her name Aurora nodded. “Angelina, right?”

“Angelina Devereaux.” Ah, that explained a lot. “How about.” She pointed over her shoulder. “It´s almost five o´clock, let´s have a tea together.”

Ten minutes later the two women warmed her cold hands on her teacups, already involved in a conversation like two old friends.

“Oh wow, linguistics!” Angelina face showed totally impression. “I´m so bad in learning foreign languages, I still stuck at French.”

“If you into it, it comes with itself.”

“Oh no, I believe you must have some talent for that especially for that amount of languages!”

“Thank you.” Aurora was sure she was getting blushed. “What´s your major subject?”

“Space technology and astronomy.” She smiled a little shy. “Don´t reveal it but I think my place is in the commando chair of a spaceship.”

“I don´t know you very well but something tells me that you will end up there.”

“That´s nice from you.” Angelina leaned back in her chair. “The first Betazoid to command a Starfleet Ship.”

“I bet that only makes you better in it.”

“And I bet you ask yourself since I stepped beside you if I read in your mind?”

“I didn´t.” Aurora shrugged on shoulder. “Okay, maybe a little bit. I never meat a Betazoid before, I mean personally.”

“It´s okay, really.” Angelina smiled and Aurora felt a tone of stones felt from her heart. “I would do the same and to answer your question, which I have looked at the tip of your nose by the way, I didn´t read your mind, just your feelings, but that’s something I couldn´t control.”

“And?” “Your nervous, like everyone that I meet here but you not afraid of me.”

“Why should I be afraid?”

“I have no idea.” She smiled a little sadly. “But that’s the normal reaction when I meet people, they forced themselves through some not binding word and then bring as much as room between me and them as it is still politely.”

“That´s mean.” And absolutely incomprehensible. “I find it fascinating.”

“Yeah.” She looked up as something catches her attention. Aurora turned around and starts smiling.

“Are you following me pumpkin?”

Aurora’s eyes got bigger as she heard that nickname that Chris hated so much, turned around and stared at her new friend.

“What?” Angelina stared back.

“Oh no, that’s you?” She pointed at her, trying her best to hold herself together.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Pike got Angelina a funny look before he leans toward Aurora to place a shortly kiss on her lips. “I hoped I didn´t see you till Monday.”

“I hoped for Tuesday.”

Both smiling brightly and Aurora was still amazed about the situation she found herself in.

“That´s unbelievable!” She shocked her head. “That is the girl that you told me about?” “Did you tell me now that Christopher Pike is your boyfriend? I mean there is no needs for this you’re both feelings are talking for you.”

“Yeah.” Chris curled his nose. “Are you two friends?”

“Since an hour or so.” Angelina stood up, still smirking at Chris. “You never told me that you have such a wonderful girlfriend.”

“I was sure you know it.” He squinted at her. “You mostly now everything.”

“I´m just pretending to know everything.”

“Oh that’s gold.” Aurora grabbed his hand. “Why did she call you pumpkin?”

“I don´t want to talk about it.”

“Please, make it my birthday present!”

“It´s your birthday?” Angelina tore her eyes, than looked form Aurora to Chris. “So I´m crashing your date right now?”

“No you didn´t! Stay!”

Chris wanted to appeal but as he saw the look on Auroras face, he bited his tough. That glimmer in her eyes, in both of their eyes makes him instantly clear that he had no chance against this newly growing friendship and by knowing both women it was clear that it was destiny that they met.

“The hell I do!” The Betazoid smiled bright. “But I have a propose. You and I have breakfast together, tomorrow and you two know have your date.”

“I would like that.” Aurora raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” She pointed at Chris umbrella. “Can I borrow that?”

Pike handed it to her, his silent Thank you in his mind.

“I wish you both a lovely evening.”

Aurora got up and hugged her new friend shortly.

“Happy Birthday Aurora.”

Then with a smile and a wink Angelina disappeared and Aurora was sure that she found a friend for life.  

*****

Now

 “It´s so good to see you.” Aurora glanced at Angelina. “It was so long ago.”

“Feels a lifetime ago.” The Commander looked around, than squinted at Chris. Aurora knew what comes next, what has to come.

“Don´t say it!”

“Orange.” There was an evil grin on her lips. Aurora giggled already.

“Somehow I know it was a mistake to invite you.” Pike twisted his eyes. “It should have made me wonder that Captain Roberts was nearly happy to get you of his ship a few days.”

“You´re still on the Atlantis?” Aurora pushed Chris softly away. They two could make enough fun of each other later. “I am and I stay there a much longer than I have planned it.”

“Sir, hails form Captain Roberts.”

“On the screen.” Pike turned around, a look at Devereaux. “Already longing?”

She woman shrugged her shoulder than she also turned around.

“Chris, sorry for the interrupt.”

“No problem Charles, what can we do for you?”

“Is my Fist Officer in reach?”

“Sir?” Angelina smiled at him.

“Ah Devereaux.” He seemed a little embarrassed but only for trained eyes. “When is my appointment with Dr. Simpson.”

“Midday Sir.”

“Yeah right.” He nodded. “He´s

“His wife had a boy a week ago, his name is Tobias and I stored a baby blanked at your ready room.”

“Oh yes, thank you.”

“I have been admitted Lt. Commander Johnson to everything that’s in need till the next days and wrote it down on a PADD placed on your desk.”

“Good Commander, thanks again. Then I could only wish you a nice spare time.”

“Thank you Sir.”

“I want her back Chris.”

“Oh you get her back Charles.”

Than the screen turned black and Aurora gazed at her friend. She knew the symptoms, even the Captain hided it nearly perfectly. Alzheimer´s disease.

“When?”

“Four weeks.” The Betazoid smiled a little gloomy. “It was diagnostic a year ago. But he accepted it very well, planed a long vacation together with his daughter. He made his peace about it and asked everyone to do the same. Only jokes about it are allowed on board.”

“What means.” Chris placed a hand on her shoulder.

“After my return to the Atlantis I get promoted to Captain and took over the command.”

“And that’s mention by you in a subordinate clause.” Aurora nudged her. “Why didn´t tell you?”

“It´s your birthday, it should be about you, not about me!” Angelina looked at her. “So, we talk about later!” She made a movement that made clear, she didn´t want to talk about it anymore. “First, I want to know what´s up in your life and do not think of dropping something! And I must see that ship!”

“Your released from your duties today Commander.” Chris smiled at Aurora. “Enjoy your day.”

Before he knew what happened Aurora throw her arms around him and hold him tight.

“That was the best gift ever.” She placed a kiss upon his cheek. “Thank you so much.” “I hoped you like it.”

He released her and the two women turned around to leave the bridge, arm in arm, like only one day has passed by not five years.

“Commanders be decent.”

“Shut up pumpkin.” Angelina looked back.

“For the next day´s it´s Captain pumpkin to you!” He winked at her. “And just for the protocol I burned that shirt, long ago!”

“Did you know that he never allow me to call him that nickname?” Aurora threw a hand kiss towards him.

“I had a clue.” Still over her shoulder she looked at him and he knew what come and hoped he still was able to do it.

Did you screw up the surprise party?

I didn´t but if you couldn´t distracted her for the next two hours it will be screwed up.

That should be no problem.

Good.

I´m impressed you still know how to do it.

I got a good teacher.

Smooth talker.

Let us stay to pumpkin.

They winked at each other.

“You know it is unfair when you do this?” Aurora laid her head on Angelina´s shoulder.

“Yeah but you such an incorrigible sniffing nose that we have no other way.”

“Okay I got the message.” She laid an arm around her. “So, how do we start?”

“It´s almost teatime and I´m so hungry.”

“Good, mess hall.”

#star trek #star trek discovery #aurora #star trek discovery fan fiction #chris pike/oc #pike/aurora #it´s auroras birthday #christopher pike/oc #star trek discovery oc #captain chris pike