#/ woman straight up taught herself a fucking trade

[vanaglcria]

Far from in-depth, but a rough progression of events for Carmilla, from arriving in Hell to where she sits now :

Upon her arrival in Hell, Carmilla is horrified to discover that her daughters ( for reasons yet unknown ) are there with her. Clara and Odette did not remember the exact circumstances surrounding their death, believing the wreck to be an accident. The three find housing in a less-than-ideal apartment complex, and search for employment. Clara and Odette have more fortune in this regard, as Carmilla struggles to adjust to the bodily changes she's undergone.

Within the first handful of months she is Hell, Carmilla witnesses an Extermination up-close. Surviving by hiding and making herself as small as possible, she vows to never allow herself to be as weak in death as she was in life.

Following the Extermination, Carmilla notices how many weapons are left where the dead have fallen, include angelic weapons not retrieved by those who had wielded them. Seeing an easy way to turn a profit, she starts collecting the abandoned weaponry to sell. This starts as a small, quick turnaround run out of her apartment, selling all that she had collected within the span of about six weeks — save for one angelic spear that she keeps for herself.

Over the following year, she learns. Studying Sinners and what makes them tick, observes the social hierarchy of Hell, learns who and what to avoid. She also learns more about the Extermination, the angels, and the relevance of the weapons they kill with : that a weapon forged of angelic steel is capable of killing a Sinner, and perhaps even Hellborn demons.

Over the next four-to-five years, Carmilla gathers the fallen weapons of angels and demons during and after the Extermination.  During this span, she studies metallurgy and forging, and begins experimenting, testing the melting points and durability of angelic steel when it has been reforged. Using the money made from selling weaponry, she reinvests, until she's able to rent a small space to turn into a metal shop.

Out of this shop space, Carmilla sells primarily blades made from recycled metal. Her eye for craftsmanship makes her products well-received in Pride, and soon she is turning a good profit, enough that she is able to have Clara and Odette quit their jobs to help her. During this time, she crafts her first repurposed angelic steel piece, and is able to move herself and her daughters into better housing. It's around this point that Carmilla learns of soul contracts and what they entail.

As business improves over the following years, Carmilla continues to put money back into her work : keeping as low a profile as one can in Pride, not wasting her money on extravagant displays. Over these early years, she begins hiring more employees, creating a larger space for her work, and continuing her experimentations for new weaponry. The majority of her workforce are women or battered spouses, given a second chance and an escape.

Years pass, the business grows, and Carmilla begins to collect souls : it begins as a way to keep track of her employees, those who sign over their souls with no hesitation, and then as a method of payment for those who don't have the money to hand over for her weaponry. These numbers add up quickly, perhaps more quickly than would have been expected. Then, comes the acquisition of other arms dealers and the souls under their control, competition that is swiftly crushed beneath her heel.

It's at this point that she gains the title of Overlord, a title she is determined to hold onto. A power she will not lose, determined to never feel so helpless every again.

#✦ —— 𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑨 𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑬 : headcanon #/ this is just a bunch of disjointed rambling #/ but i wanna highlight how hard she fucking WORKED to get where she is #/ woman straight up taught herself a fucking trade

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs Bhaal Cultists

With a few other things done in the meantime...

Gale: So ... let me get this straight. I have a chunk of the Kharsite Weave stuck in me and Mystra's letting it feed on the normal Weave for awhile. But now we know how to reforge the Netherese Crown and she wants it for herself and if I get it to her ... she can pull this out of me and I'm free.

Astarion: You could just keep it for yourself, you know. Phenomenal cosmic power ... all right, probably doesn't entirely suit you, but I couldn't imagine giving that away to some god who has too much power of their own to truly appreciate it...

Gale: And why do you think you have a say here?

Astarion: I did help get the thing, didn't I? Of course, that means I also helped Alisaie get the ability to summon the Thayan dead if required. ...Where is she, anyway?

Gale: Note who else is missing.

Astarion: Aaaah. I wonder if I should go track them down. Just to ... keep an eye on them. You know. Dangerous place, Baldur's Gate...

Alisaie: *from the window* If you were looking for a show--

Astarion; Gale: GAH!

Alisaie: Astarion, my dude, you're not the only one who can sneak, you know. Anyway, if you were looking for a show, you'd have been disappointed. It was just talking about the future and stuff.

Astarion: ...It would have been a disappointment without nudity, true. Gale, on the other hand...

Gale: ...I would have invited Wyll and conjured popcorn.

Alisaie: .........Why? I mean, I get Astarion, but--

Gale: I'm a sucker for a romantic story, alright? As is Wyll! It's the one place where he and I can truly bond! ...Well. That and go-to cantrips. We've done quite the trade. He's taught me Eldritch Blast, and I'll be teaching him Fire Bolt. Maybe he'll even be able to keep it when Mizora cuts him loose.

Alisaie: ...Right. Okay. If that works for you, cool. Now, get some sleep, those of you who do sleep; big day tomorrow. We're going to hit Felogyr's Fireworks and find out why the fuck they're giving refugee kids exploding teddy bears. Sure you don't want to come, Astarion?

Astarion: I dodged quite enough fire in that stupid repository, thank you. There are some things that even the most delectable neck won't make appealing. It's a vampire thing; fire is not our friend.

Alisaie: There might not have to be that much fire, you know.

Astarion: You're going to be attacking a fireworks shop. With Gale.

Alisaie: ...Allow me my delusions, okay? I have very few and they aren't usually that harmful.

One massive amount of property damage later...

Gale: ...I'm amazed that I didn't do the most damage with fire for once.

Wyll: You did a pretty sizeable amount of damage with fire. That wall of fire you used to block reinforcements went right through a box of fireworks, you know.

Gale: That was accidental! Alisaie firing a fire arrow at barrels full of smoke powder, on the other hand...

Alisaie: Oh for-- Look, it got the place cleared out fast. We've got way too much to do to waste time just stabbing them all. Besides, better on purpose where we can be clear of the explosions than by accident. Or have you forgotten that thing with the kobolds?

Gale: Fair enough. Not sure what was worse; the burning alcohol, the burning debris, or the cooked kobold giblets.

Alisaie: All three were a nightmare to get out of my hair, I'll tell you that much.

Shadowheart: So what now?

Alisaie: Over to the local cemetery to see about a murder-cult.

Over at the local cemetery

Shadowheart: Well ... that was a detour... A good one, mind you.

Alisaie: What can I say? I can dig out the best in just about everybody. Office In Charge Of Deep Mining Operations, that's me.

Wyll: Much like the ... um ... priestess woman over there, I'm wondering what by the hells that noise is.

Alisaie: It seems to be coming from ... that metal tube ... stuck in a grave oh you have got to be fucking kidding me! *starts digging*

Wyll: Waitwut--

Gale: *who actually has an INT score worth talking about* Oh, no.

Alisaie: *digs up Gothric*

Gothric: Thanks for that! Those arseholes stomping on Nine-Fingers' turf are arseholes, seriously. I haven't any money but you've already started grave-robbing so why not finish? Bye!

Alisaie; Gale; Wyll; Shadowheart: ..............................

Alisaie: Yeaaaaah this is one of those days, isn't it. C'mon. After this, infiltrating a murder cult will at least make sense.

And, down in the basement of a certain coffin-shop

Sarekov: You have delighted us with your bloodthirst. Now, ascend by killing this celestial being!

Valeria: What? No! Don't do that! Kill this unholy fuck instead!

Alisaie: Calm your ... trunk, I guess, Valeria. That was the plan all along.

Sarekov: ...wut.

Alisaie: I lied. Dolor killed the guy whose hand I waved around, and he probably enjoyed the hell out of it but honestly? Even here, all I'm getting is the satisfaction of making you actually dead like you're supposed to be, you uppity corpse!

Gale: Oh dear. Um ... time to bring out the powerful spells. *Casts Blight*

Blight: *does not work on undead*

Gale: Oh. Right. Undead. ...Shadowheart?!?

Shadowheart: Right! *Turns Undead*

Turn Undead: *does not work either*

Alisaie: *casts Heat Metal on Sarekov* Make up your fucking minds, you murder-happy assholes!

Stabnation: *ensues, with a lot of AoE and CC sorts of spells, until...*

Alisaie: *reapplies Heat Metal damage to Sarekov*

Sarekov: *cooks to proper-death*

Alisaie: ...I really need to remember I have magic more often.

Gale: So. What now? And please say it involves some rest...

Alisaie: For you, probably. Buried-alive dude had things to say about Nine-Fingers. Or I should probably look for Mol first because that's going to be a thing, and probably put some prepwork in place for robbing the House of Hope, but if you want some rest we could probably bring Astarion along on a sweep-and-clear of the rest of the mausoleums in case of free-floating cultists and--

Wyll: Shadowheart ... when we go to pick up Astarion...

Shadowheart: Bully her into a meal and a sit-down, I know.

Wyll: You two are so amazing together, you know that?

Shadowheart: Still envious?

Wyll: Not really. I couldn't deprive anyone a love story this epic.

Shadowheart: *punch to shoulder* You're just saying that so we won't complain when you and Gale eavesdrop with popcorn.

Wyll: It's one of the high points of our day!

#Faerun!Alisaie #Thess liveblogs Baldur's Gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

#team fortress 2 #team fortress #tf2 #fem tf2 #tf2 heavy #tf2 spy #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 pyro #character design #art #i'm very happy with how these turned out

[lovingmyselfcore]

i can go anywhere i want just not home

A fic based on My Tears Ricochet!! Highly recommend listening to the song while reading. Very angsty, it's if something happened and Aelin was forced out of Terrasen and had to fake her death. So yeah. I'm working on my Illicit Affairs one so that should be soon? No promises

**Not beta-read or anything we die like men here and I think I'm allergic to editing after 8pm so I can't be blamed if it's really bad

“Do it,” She spat, staring up at him - at all of them. Rowan was the only one who met her eyes, he didn’t flinch away from her, he never flinched away from her. Until recently, at least. There was a sort of comfort in knowing that she was horrible enough that Rowan Whitethorn had finally flinched.

She felt that achingly familiar lick of flame, starting at the base of her spine slowly curling up, lighting the hollows in her spine and bones, in her soul.

Something must be smoldering in her eyes because Rowan shifted, almost imperceptibly. Only being his mate and carranam did she recognize it for what it was. He’d shifted enough to have placed himself between them. Between her, Chaol, and Dorian.

With a bitter laugh, she spat again, “It’s come to this? You’re protecting them from me!” Her voice got shrill.

“Fireheart,” Rowan started but she cut him off.

“No. No. Don’t. You. Dare. Call me that.” It took all her years of training in hiding herself, of becoming other people, that allowed her to keep her voice steady.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up in her massive bed, half sprawled against the comforting warmth of her husband, with Fleetfoot resting in her lap and a good book in one hand, the delicious chocolate hazelnut cake an elderly woman in town had learned to make just for her in the other. She wanted to go home.

But home was a long way from here.

Dorian shoved forward, elbowing past Rowan, ignoring Chaol’s muttered warning, and stopped once he and Aelin were nose-to-nose.

“We didn’t want to do this.”

She just hummed, not backing away from him.

Those flames still curled, ready for her to wield.

“This is better than the alternative,” Chaol spoke up and she and Dorian both moved to look at him.

She arched a brow and schooled her face into that indifferent arrogance she knew made nearly everyone see red. “The alternative? What was the alternative to forcing me to flee my kingdom I have fought so hard to keep and fake my own death with only,” She jabbed a finger at each of them, “You three knowing the details of what happened.”

“The alternative was taking away the fake part,” Dorian said, cold water to match her own burning flame.

She started, and against her better judgment, looked at Rowan. “You were going to,” She swallowed and tried very hard to ignore the agony in his gorgeous eyes. “Kill me?”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anybody voted for that.” Dorian offered.

“Voted?” Her voice went shrill again and she saw Rowan twitch. “You all voted on what to do with me?”

“You couldn’t stay in Terrasen anymore, not after what you did, so yes. We voted.”

“And you three are the lucky bastards who have to force me out.”

“Force is only needed if you decide to fight us, Aelin,” Chaol said.

She ignored how pointed the words were, how they angered those festering embers.

“So Lorcan didn’t volunteer? I was sure he’d be the first to want to force me out of my own home and fake my death.”

“Nobody volunteered, Aelin. Nobody wanted this to be the way it went.”

“Hmm, well it seems someone did. Since we’re here, and all.” Her voice dropped low and she was suddenly talking only to Rowan. “Was what I did so unforgivable that you don’t love me anymore?”

He couldn’t look at her, this man, who used to look at her like the stars were born in her eyes, now couldn’t look her in the face. “I’ll always love you, Fi-” He cleared his throat, “Aelin. Don’t ever think I stopped but-” He looked like words had become too hard and merely stared at whatever his eyes were fixed on, somewhere behind her left ear.

Chaol and Dorian were both looking anywhere but at the two of them.

Looking at him in the dying sunlight filtering through the web of branches formed from ancient oak trees, the way his eyes glittered, the hard lines of him all highlighted, and his hair ruffled from the autumn wind, her resolve broke. She took a step, then another, then she was running. He caught her, swept her up, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

It was oddly reminiscent of a time long ago, in Adarlan. That, however, was a reunion. This was a goodbye.

Tears streaked down her face and he held her closer; as if trying to further commit all of her to memory. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” She whispered.

“I know. I am too.”

She pulled away first. He wiped her tears away with painstaking gentleness and kissed her forehead, “This may not be the end.” From his tone and the way he was looking at her, he believed it as much as she did. Which is to say, this is the end. “Promise me you’ll stay alive.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Take care of Terrasen for me. They need you.”

He nodded, his hands still resting on her face, making no move to leave. “Where will you go?”

She shrugged helplessly, “Maybe I’ll bring Lillian back. I don’t know. I’ll just stay in the shadows for a few centuries, try and build a life where nobody knows me, nobody knows Terrasen.”

He nodded again and slowly dragged his hands from her face. She was the one that was ‘dying’ but he looked ready to keel over himself. He took a few unsteady steps backward and stooped to pick up a backpack they’d brought. He tossed it to her and she caught it easily, slinging it along her back.

She turned and looked at Dorian and Chaol, biting her lip. She wanted them to hurt, she wanted them to feel the betrayal she felt. Not a sting, no, she felt like she’d been stabbed. And as someone who had been stabbed many times before, she felt confident in her analogy. But they were her friends, once.

Make them hurt a voice whispered deep from inside her. She clenched her fists and felt the flames bubbling up.

Aelin. Rowan. In her head.

She breathed in deeply and nodded to them once, they nodded back. She acknowledged the pain in their eyes with not a small amount of satisfaction.

She took off sprinting into the forest and didn’t look back.

~~~~~~

They were walking back to Terrasen, they’d let Aelin off at the border.

“Rowan,” Dorian laid a hand on his arm, “Are you-”

He shrugged the young king off and shifted, taking to the skies, as far from them, from anyone, as he could get.

“We made the right decision, right?” Dorian’s voice was so strained it cut at Chaol’s heart.

“Yeah, yes. This was the right choice. The only choice.”

He nodded, but Chaol could tell the doubts lingered. As long as Aelin was out there, on her own, free but never allowed to return home, the doubts would always linger.

~~~~~~

Her knees buckled not far from where she’d taken off running from the three of them. She flew forward, throwing her hands out and scraping her palms along the rocks as slid to a stop. She tried to breathe, ragged, shaking breaths, as she tried to calm her mind. The world blacked-out around the edges and a whimper fell from her mouth. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t fucking do this.

A weak scream ripped from her throat and she dug her hands harder into the rocks, they sliced her palms open, warm blood trickling into the grass.

She tried to wrangle the fire, she tried to use the tactics Rowan had taught her what felt like lifetimes ago, but just like it had which led to her being here, she couldn’t control it.

It didn’t explode like she thought it would, it bubbled. Like lava in a volcano, it bubbled out of her, hot smoldering fire, trickling down her face like tears, tracing lines along her body like blood. It covered the grass around her and spread, her cry was futile. It burnt straight through some of the ancient oak trees, bringing them down and melting them entirely into the earth.

Despite the chaos around her, despite that first anguished cry, she knelt in the dirt. Wind ripped her hair away from her face as she burned the world around her, nobody could say Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius went out gracefully.

~~~~~~

Despite the initial burning at the border, no sign of Aelin had surfaced. He had to give her credit, the woman knew how to disappear. The thought sent an ache through him, intensifying what was already there.

He’d been like some kind of ghoul, Lorcan and Fenrys traded shifts watching over him, making sure he bathed and ate. Someone always sat at his bedside with him, waking him when the nightmares took him. Nightmares that Aelin was still held captive by Maeve. When they resurfaced, the first night his hand had shot out, seeking a warm body that wasn’t there. He’d flown into a fit of panic until someone had brought someone in. One of the women, Elide, maybe? They had calmed him enough to tell him Aelin wasn’t with Maeve. They weren’t in the war anymore. He remembered where Aelin was. That he didn’t know where Aelin was, only that he had sent her away. In some ways, that hurt worse.

Most of them had moved into the castle and would stay until most of Terrasen, until Rowan, settled enough to be left. Most of them were Lords and Ladies, however, so they alternated. One week Elide would stay at the castle, the next week Lorcan would. The same went for Aedion and Lysandra. He knew it hurt them, being separated like that, but they never once complained. Rowan hadn’t entirely been paying attention when they had decided how Aelin’s ‘death’ had happened, but they’d fabricated a story and spread it. Today was her funeral, nearly a month after she had left - since they’d made her leave - and Terrasen’s people had been in mourning ever since. They would be for a long while, but not nearly as long as Rowan would be.

He wasn’t sure what woke up, it wasn’t even dawn, but his eyes fluttered open. He oriented himself with what - who - surrounded him. Fleetfoot, that damned dog, was at his feet. She hadn’t taken Aelin’s spot, as if hoping she would be back. There was another animal asleep near the foot of the bed, on the floor, Lysandra or Fenrys, and he watched their chest slowly rise and fall and matched his own to it. His heart had been racing. Maybe that’s what woke him, an unseen nightmare.

He crept past the sleeping figure, probably Lysandra then, not as attuned to his every move like he knew Fenrys was.

He slipped out onto the balcony and was struck with the memory of the time Aelin had woken him and he had found her staring with tear-filled eyes at the Kingsflame blooming across those rolling hills.

He surveyed those same hills, the sleeping town below, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the railing until he was close to tumbling off the edge and stayed there in silence for a long while before speaking. “Damn it Aelin!” He was nearly sobbing, he had no idea when the tears had started. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight harder? Gods,” He broke off and slumped down, unable to speak thanks to the sobs wracking through him. “Please stay,” He nearly whimpered. “I know it’s too late but please, Fireheart, I need you. I need you.”

He fell asleep there, on the balcony, soothed by the beat of his heart. A beat that sounded suspiciously like an echo of Aelin’s fingers dancing along the pianoforte, drawing out a sound she commanded while quietly singing a lullaby she had told him her mother sang to her when she couldn’t sleep.

His eyes closed and he could’ve sworn her voice carried on the wind, that lullaby, followed by a nearly inaudible, “I love you, Rowan. I love you.”

~~~~~~

Half the time she slept in the forest like some kind of wild animal, the other half of the time she disguised herself and found some disgusting tavern to sleep in. She had no idea where she was anymore, she was just wandering aimlessly. She was currently sitting on the roof of one of said taverns. It reminded her painfully of her days as an assassin. She stared up at the stars, unblinking, the night wind was cold and stung her face but she was past caring. Up here, she took off the glamour, becoming Aelin again.

“Do you miss me, buzzard?” She asked the stars. “I hope you miss me as much as I miss you.” She shook her head and laughed angrily. “You became everything you didn’t want to, didn’t you? You bastard.” Her voice was getting louder with each word. “To whatever end? Right.” Angry tears streaked her face for what was definitely not the first time. “I’ve listened around enough that I learned my funeral is tomorrow.” She didn’t even know what she was doing anymore, besides pacing on a roof and shrieking at the sky. “Maybe I’ll stop in, I’ve always wanted to see my own funeral.” She jabbed an angry finger at a star she had deemed was Rowan’s stand-in. “I hope you make it worthy of me, you bastard. Gods, I hope you know me enough to make it as me as you can.” She blew a kiss at that star and something in her cracked, “I love you, Rowan Whitethorn. I shouldn’t, not anymore, but I do.”

She pulled her glamor back on and jumped down from the roof, landing on her feet with practiced ease. “Let’s see if I can make my own funeral, hmm?”

~~~~~~

It was as outrageous as Aelin would have wanted. Everyone was miserable, even those within the inner circle who knew what had really happened. Most everyone was here, except for all the royals within Erilea, and every other land Aelin had touched.

Music flourished from every corner, musicians from all over had come to play pieces for her, in honor of her. It was like some kind of twisted wedding, the way everyone turned when the royals entered. The leaders that Aelin had not known as personally entered first, stopping individually to give impersonal speeches about her. Then Galan entered. He knelt before the basically-shrine honoring her. “You were one of the greatest Queens this world has ever seen, cousin.” He cleared his throat, “You were so much more than all your titles give you credit for, and that’s saying a lot. You were so full of life and energy and,” A broken laugh. “Fire. You burned bright, Aelin. And now that you’re ash, we’re ash too.” He cleared his throat again and stayed kneeling next to the other leaders, murmuring words meant only for him and his cousin.

Manon entered next, she knew the truth but despite that, her eyes were rimmed an angry red. She stood next to Galan, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.” She went silent for a moment before sinking to her knees. Everyone gasped. Family knelt, but other than that no leader, especially not a witch, knelt. “You-” She broke off and bowed her head, curling her hands into fists at her side.

When it was clear Manon wasn’t going to finish, Dorian entered. He knelt beside Manon (cue another gasp) his mouth moved, but it was only for him and Aelin. The goodbye he hadn’t had the chance to say in that forest.

Nesryn and Sartaq strode in, Sartaq didn’t speak, but Nesryn did. Her voice carried, unwavering. “No King or Queen is perfect, but Aelin was pretty damn close. She and I were never the closest but,” She hesitated and Sartaq reached for her hand, “She believed in me. She never looked down on me because I was human, and wasn’t in any huge position of power, and that faith in me never changed even when I became,” She gestured at her and Sartaq, at her dress, “Aelin mattered in a way that not many people have ever mattered. She will be remembered, for her fire and power, for what she’s done, but also how she has a soft spot for dogs and chocolate,” A few wet laughs, “How she loves music and theater, how kind she is to everyone.” The crowd nodded their agreement, there wasn’t a soul that wasn’t crying. “You did it. You made your mark.” She bowed her head and it was clear she was done.

Rowan was last, Goldryn in his hands. He laid in with pain-staking gentleness at her shrine. He stepped back and opened his mouth as if about to speak. His fingers fiddled with the ring on one finger. The ring Aelin had given him that he hadn’t taken off. That he would never take off. “Damn you,” He said finally. “Damn you, Aelin.” He bowed his head to hide from the crowd and someone moved, Elide. She came up to him, murmured a few quiet words, and led him to kneel next to Sartaq. She waited a few moments before returning to her spot.

The music rose as everyone knelt, heads bowed, before their dead Queen. It was ghostly, the way they knelt in total silence, besides their tears. Aelin was going to haunt everyone, for a very, very long time.

If anyone had been looking, they would have seen a female figure in the trees, slipping away as quietly and quickly as she could, tears flowing freely at the love everyone held for her.

“Goodbye,” She whispered. Well, looks like she could make a graceful disappearance after all.

#throne of glass #tog fic #rowaelin #dorian havilliard #elide lochan #lysandra #fenrys #aelin's court #aelin galythinius #chaol westfall #lorcan salvaterre #folklore #my tears ricochet #folklore fics #sjm fic #sjm fanfic #manon blackbeak #aedion ashryver #galan ashryver #nesryn faliq #sartaq #acosf spoilers

[captainjimothycarter]

For prompts: We dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town

i’m sorry i got carried away.

--

There was something familiar about the woman waiting in line. Something Steve couldn’t quite make out. Maybe it was the curve of her body or those almond-shaped eyes that are tugging on a memory long tucked away. No, it’s defiantly those eyes. He knew those eyes anywhere.

They were the same shade of dark brown, with flecks of hazel and honey swirling in them. He knew how they looked when the sunlight would hit them, how they looked when she was furious when she was upset when she was beyond happy. He knew every emotion that she’d been able to give without saying a word through those eyes.

He’d loved those eyes. They filled his sketchbooks, even now two years after high school. He still loved her.

As the crowd cleared with their baked goods and hot coffee, Steve was finally able to draw himself up to full 6’0 height and smile down at her.

Her. Peggy.

Oh. She wasn’t alone.

His smile faltered at the sight of a little blonde boy clinging to the backside of her leg. He looked to be almost two years old, if Steve had to put an age to him. He looked just like Peggy with her nose and dimples. He had the brightest pair of blue eyes.

“Hello there,” he breathed to the shy, little boy, giving a wave of his hand that only caused the boy’s face to flush and hide. He turned to look up at the boy’s mother, his heart lurching in his throat. “And hello to you.”

Peggy’s laugh is just as he remembered, bright, and full of life. She reached over the counter to hug Steve, pressing a fond kiss to his cheek. “Hello to you.” She looked nervous as she dipped down to pick the boy up and put him on her hip. “You look amazing, Steven. This place…told you it would pick up.”

She knew Steve had a desire to work in his ma’s bakery after he graduated. He had an amazing hand when it came to decorating cakes and cupcakes. He loved to experiment and made beautiful baklava and cinnamon rolls that still lingered on her mind with a taste for them.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around at the busy place. He could hear his ma in the back, Bucky was out delivering their daily orders. Sam had just left after opening for them. “Yeah, you’re always right. Who's this?”

He felt too awkward. They’d dated in high school until she left just after graduation to return home in order to help her mother with taking care of her brother who’d suffered a career-ending injury with the military. He loved Peggy. He just never got to tell her that and seeing her here before him, it made him want to gush but become aware she had a child now, it seems. She was most likely married or at least dating, knowing her.

“Michael,” the little one said proudly, curling his h’s the way Peggy did when she was excited. “My name’s Michael and I’m two.” He held up three fingers, making Steve laugh. “And mummy and I just moved here cause she said she missed News Yorky.”

Oh God, that was adorable. Steve found himself smitten with the little boy.

“You’ve had a son?” He turned his eyes to Peggy, nodding his head at Michael, not really good with kids.

Peggy looked almost nervous as she held the little boy close to her chest, eyes fluttering towards the door. “Can we…talk?”

--

Michael sat in the little corner Steve had designed and painted for kids to enjoy themselves while their parents drank coffee and talked. He could hear the little boy humming loudly and playing with the art supplies. He turned to look at him and back to Peggy who’d nervously wrapped her hands around the blue coffee mug.

“When I left, I was distraught. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was broken up about having to say goodbye to you and my brother. I didn’t know his condition. I didn’t know what happened and no one would tell me a thing until I got home because of the secrecy of the matter.”

Steve’s broad hand slowly laid over her own, rubbing the pad of his thumb against her wrist. “You did what you had to do, I don’t blame you. I only wish we stayed in contact.”

“I do too. I got so busy with Micheal and my mother and my career, I-I…” She sighed and closed her eyes, her fingertips curling around the mug to the point Steve thought she was going to break it. “At the time, I thought it was stress…missing my cycle, the sickness. Having to see your brother like that, I-I…”

Steve frowned as she stuttered. This was hard for her, but this was Peggy. Strong, confident Peggy. He unwrapped her hands and took both of them into his own. “Peggy,” he’d never sounded so serious before. “Were you…hurt?”

Her eyes snapped to his and she frowned, opening and closing her mouth. “What? No, Steven, I was pregnant!”

His hands dropped hers and he sat back, staring at her.

Oh.

Oh.

“He’s…mine?”

Peggy didn’t need to say yes. He knew. Steve knew in his heart that she wouldn’t lie about this. No one should. And he could see it in the way Michael held the pencil with his right hand, the way he looked when he was concentrating on scribbling on the paper.

“Why didn’t you call?!” Steve furiously whispered, turning to look back at her. She almost looked close to tears, but he couldn’t help the betrayal he felt. The hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?! An email. A text. Fuck, Pegs, even a letter!”

She sat there, looking impossibly small. Blinking harshly and Steve’s throat was tightening. He could feel his heart-shattering. When she didn’t reply, he continued, “I would’ve been there for you! I would’ve been by your side through it all! I would’ve supported you! Done everything I could! I would’ve moved there to be with you. I love you and you couldn’t even tell me that you were pregnant with my child?!”

If Peggy had an answer, Steve didn’t hear it. He was storming into the back of the bakery to clear his head. He needed to think. He felt incredibly guilty for yelling at Peggy but he was right in these feelings. He was betrayed. He was hurting. He had a goddamn child that he didn’t know of, who grew up so far not knowing him, and thought of him as a stranger and why?

Why hadn’t she told him? Did she not feel the same way? Was he that horrible of a boyfriend in high school that she didn’t trust him? Was she ashamed that her boyfriend had been American? The father of her son was some Yank?

A string of curses in Galiec left his lips as he rolled a piece of fondant out on the table, his hands shaking. What had he done so wrong that he’d not been allowed to be there for the birth of his son?

--

“Youse can’t say those words. Bad words. Stave?

The soft voice caused Steve to look up from where he was still bending over the metal table. He could feel the tears running down his cheeks, trying to dry his face off. For half a second, he thought it was Peggy but no…no, it was her son.

His son.

Back in this kitchen, where he wasn’t allowed.

Had Peggy taught him Gaelic? It was important to him, to cling to that part of his identity that his mother had taught him. That he loved his heritage and wanted to share it. She taught him that?

“Hey, buddy, whatcha doing back here? You can’t be back here.” He knelt down to look at the kid, seeing now how Michael had his freckles and his hair. Oh and that smile, that was his ma’s smile right there.

The boy thrusts a drawing at Steve’s chest with a bright smile. It was what he’d assume was the outside of his bakery, with its pretty fairy lights and potted plants. “I made dis. For you! Cause you’se got a pretty place and yummy cupcakes.”

His lips twitched into a smile as he rubbed his fingertips over the crayon. “It’s beautiful, buddy. Tell you what, I’ll put it up on the counter for everyone to see. Here, let’s get you back to your ma.” He picked up a sugar cookie, still warm, and passed it to the boy in trade for the paper.

Steve was a little stunned to see Peggy talking to his mother. His mother loved Peggy and said she was the daughter she never had. Her leaving had hurt his ma just as much as it had him. He was a little more stunned at seeing the sun setting. How long had he been back there crying and cursing?

“Look, mummy! Look!” Michael waved the multi-colored cookie at Peggy as he ran over to her, climbing into her lap.

“I see, Michael. Did you thank Steve?” The boy’s head nodded, shoving a bite of the cookie into his mouth. Her eyes slowly looked up to Steve before dropping back down. She whispered something to Michael and then Sarah before slipping Michael into her vacant seat.

Crossing over to Steve, she stood with a foot between them, looking up. Her eyes were rimmed pink, a telling show she was crying. Peggy hated to cry, especially in public.

“I fucked up. I can admit that. I have no grand story to tell you. I have no excuse beyond my own failure and my own fears.” She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands clenched behind her back to stable her emotions. Steve knew that sign. “When I realized I was pregnant, I panicked. My mother panicked. My brother panicked. My mother was a traditionalist and forbid me any contact with you. I allowed her to get into my head. I allowed her to control me in times of panic. I wanted you. I loved you. Hell, Steven, I love you. I should’ve come straight back home but I did not know what to do. Between Michael being dependent on me, my mother being dependent, and-and your career here. I couldn’t ruin any of that and I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. It takes away none of the damage I’ve done and I will forever be apologizing for that. I am not asking your forgiveness because I do not deserve it. I am not telling you to go bond with a-a boy whose a stranger to you and vise versa because you deserve to make that choice, I am-”

Steve cut her off, mid-sentence by closing the distance and capturing her mouth in his. By no doubt he was hurt, crushed, betrayed, still crying even but he couldn’t hear Peggy tear herself apart one more time.

“You talk too much, English,” he teased her, cupping her face. She opened her mouth and he shook his head. “Don’t. Am I hurt, betrayed, crushed? Whatever the hell you want to use, yes. God, yes I am. I won’t lie about that. But you have a child, you have my son and you went through all of that alone. You should’ve contacted me but you didn’t and now we both have to go through the consequences of that together. We have to work on that together. But I can understand why you didn’t with your mother…”

He sighed out of his nose and pressed their foreheads together, aware Peggy was crying at this point. Fuck, so was he. “I love you and never stopped and want to continue to love you. I want to get to know my son and…and…work on this. On us.” He pulled Peggy’s hand to his chest and squeezed it gently. “Let me take you to dinner – both of you.”

Peggy let out a blubbering sob and pressed her face into Steve’s chest. She sobbed to the point Steve’s entire weight was supporting hers, her arms wrapped around his waist and his around her shoulders. He rocked her side to side, kissing her temple. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you and I will forever be making this up to you, Steve.”

Yes, Steve was hurt. Absolutely betrayed. This wouldn’t heal overnight either, but he was relieved. He knew how manipulative Peggy’s mother could be, always controlling her daughter and her desires and reflecting them onto her. She threw a fit when Peggy moved to Brooklyn and lived with the Rogers family for years for an international program. She was finally home, away from her clutches, and he could help take care of his son. Get to know his son. This would a while to heal from but Steve would. They’d heal together and find a perfect balance between them.

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #Peggy has a child #I mean they both do #Comfort/Hurt #angst/comfort #kinda terrifying #sorry nonny this isn't what you want

[melissanovels]

♡ Chapter 4 of TRANSIENT TIME TRAVELLER is out! ♡

○ Read on my Website ○ Read on Tumblr (below) ○ Read on Ao3 ○ Read on Royal Road  ○

TTT  is an LGBTQ+ historical fantasy novel about Aida, a time traveller hellbent on proving the innocence of a 1,200-year-old dead queen, and Lorian, an escaped princess-turned-officer who wants to drain the royal blood from their body, & the two coming together with the help of their mischievous future selves.

♡ Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Read Chapter 4 Below:

She flipped through the third history text she’d finished that week, trying to spot any more clues she’d missed. It was lunch time, so she’d yet again found herself in the campus library instead of the dining hall or open piazzas with the other students. She’d tested the librarians and found that not many of them came around this corner of the ancient building. It let her eat her lunch of bread and butter in peace.

She pushed up her glasses as she leaned over her spine-broken books. It’d been two weeks since the semester started and she’d already finished all of the reading and had a head start on her essays and future projects, giving her ample time to read up about her new country’s history. One of the key aspects of wanting to get into Durante Academy was this library. More than 40,000 books were archived here. Everything from pre-classical recipes to first editions of history texts. She’d discovered a new biography on Eve’s life. Her favorite color? Burgundy. Aida couldn’t wait to buy a dress in that deep shade of royalty.

But she was getting nowhere today. Not only did this volume not have the answers she was searching for, there was a bug burrowing into her brain.

She hadn’t spoken to Lorian since the day they first met. It shouldn’t have mattered, being that he’d only done her a favor. She couldn’t remember a lot about what happened because she’d gotten completely baked, but she remembered that they’d bonded, right? That’s what people did, right? Or acquaintances at best. Her sisters often talked to one another about school, boys, girls. Their favorite actors and which ones they wanted to marry, what they wanted to be when they grew up. They’d never asked Aida what she wanted, never cared about her passions, but this boy had. That had to account for something, didn’t it?

So why hadn’t they talked since?

And why the fuck did it bother her so much?

Someone giggled. Down the aisle of books, three girls from one of Aida’s history classes were hiding. They had their hands cupped to their mouths as they whispered and pretended not to be looking at Aida. As a distant grandfather clock chimed for one, they ran off, their black dresses catching on their long legs.

Aida bit hard into her bread and chewed the tough crust so she couldn’t hear her thumping heart.

It didn’t bother her.

They didn’t bother her.

Her stomach growled in upset, so she organized her borrowed books and readied to leave. All she’d managed to find today was a new spelling of Queen Eve’s name—“Eta,” though scholars said this might’ve been a nickname used only by her loved ones—and, unfortunately, a new drawing of the Colosseum’s interior.

She didn’t know why she put so much time into these dead monarchs. Who were they but people who started and ended wars, who fucked and died vigorously and left palaces as their tombstones? The crown was now tolerable at best. No ruthless killings of Visatorre in the Colosseum, none that were publicized. She was able to go to school now, it wasn’t banned anymore. So why put all this time and energy into a system that didn’t give a damn about you in the first place?

“Aida?”

She started. She recognized that voice, and all of her nagging suspicions and fears suddenly disappeared with her upset stomach.

Lorian bounded up the library steps two at a time to meet her. He was waving, like she wouldn’t see an officer coming at her. Well, officer-in-training; she couldn’t let him get a big ego around her. “There you are!” he said, and took off his hat in a bow. “Good afternoon. Did you have lunch yet?”

She shuffled her books together and wiped any sort of emotion from her face. “How do you keep finding me? Are you spying on me?”

“Of course not. I’ve heard from the teachers that you enjoy spending your afternoon’s here, and I had a free afternoon to myself, so I decided to come find you.” He looked around without his eyes catching on anything. “A little medieval here, is it not? Different from the newly upgraded buildings.”

“A building built two hundred years ago with history dating back to the Classical era is medieval? No.”

He smiled that smile of his that irked her. “You have me there. So, have you learned anything more about Eve?”

She was surprised he remembered that. “Not much, only that—”She checked her notes. “People who loved her called her ‘Eta’, like how some Aldaían call their spouses ‘ama’ for ‘beloved’. That’s not well-known.”

“I didn’t know that, and I’ve been taught a lot about Roma’s history. You know, I didn’t know that she’d killed King Julius II’s wife. I was taught she’d killed him.”

“He’d killed himself a few days later. That’s what the books say, anyway. What books did you read from that? I’d like to research that topic. Most books say the opposite.” She started putting away her books. “Back when we were indulging in unfavorable substances, I pegged you as someone who didn’t know much about Eve.”

“I was…incapacitated at the time. Do forgive me if I said anything too obtrusive to you. I don’t remember much of what happened.” He looked around the now empty floor. “Please keep that night confidential. I don’t want it to harm either of our reputations.”

“What, two young people enjoying one another’s company with a natural reserve akin to morphine?”

“I mean two young people spending their time in…a woman’s bedroom. At night. It’s highly provocative, and I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“It was my dorm room, but sure. I’m sure that Roman standards suggest you spending your time elsewhere.”

“Please, don’t think me immodest, Miss Mirko. Aida,” he corrected when Aida gave him a look. “That had been my first day on the job. I’d…left my home quite suddenly not too long ago, and I was still getting my bearings when I was allowed entry as an officer for this prestigious Academy. I sought only to do the right thing, though I did enjoy our company that evening.”

“The evening spent with me talking at you for three hours straight about shit only I find interesting.”

“On the contrary. I found much of what you told me quite interesting. I was true on my word about never meeting a person as outspoken as you are.”

“Because the upbringing was that bad?”

He only nodded. “Very.”

“Then that’s something we have in common.” She stood on her tiptoes to put away a book on a high shelf. Lorian went to help but stopped once he realized she had it.

“Were you taught history in school?” Aida asked.

“In my teachings, yes. I didn’t really go to school, I was more so homeschooled. Why?”

“Because not many of us were lucky enough to be taught history. The good stuff, anyway. The shit that makes you think. A lot of what’s done in Bělico is taught orally. That’s how it was with me before I pushed for secondary schooling. Some of the schools don’t accept Visatorre into the school system. They’re still stuck in the past. I was the only one in my graduating class. It’s why I care so much.”

“That’s quite admirable. Not many people our age are adamant about getting the word out like you are. Most people just learn what’s needed to pass and carry on.”

“It’s the stuff that everyone should know about. What else we gonna learn about? The current royals? Gag me, I can’t stand them.”

Lorian offered to place one of the books on the high shelf. Aida tried it herself before giving in and lending it to him.

“Do you know if…the Bělico queen has done anything?” Lorian asked. “You’re from Bělico, right? Is she alright?”

“Queen Beatrice?” Aida asked. “Fuck no. I haven’t even seen the queen in person and I lived there all my life. She’s just like the queen here.”

“How so?”

Aida gave him a curious look before carrying on. He was a part of the royal guard, how did he not know about political affairs? “All they do is sit on the sidelines while their husbands do all the work, and it’s terrible work. Absolutely dreadful. If I were queen, I’d be like Queen Eve, who got shit done during her lifetime. Irrigation? Reconstructed. Trade routes from here to Aldaí? Reinvented. She’d helped to fund the first school for the blind, did you know that? She was interested in eyesight in a time which eyeglasses hadn’t been invented yet. Roman scholars would lead you to believe the good and loyal Romans did all that, but no. It was done by a queen whose city no longer exists. I’d honor her by doing everything she couldn’t do and more. I’d rework the entire system of Lyrica.”

“Will you now?” Lorian asked, leaning down to meet her eyes.

She tasted a sense of sarcasm on his tongue. She fought against it and stared into his eyes. It was hard, doing that with some people, but not so much with him. “Yeah, I will.”

“How—”

“I’d fix the school systems first. All children deserve to be taught, and it’d be the easiest change from a financial standpoint. Aldaí is progressive when it comes to this, so we can leave that to Prince Zaahir and that new princess he married. What was her name again? Beatrice and Lu…”

“I-I don’t recall,” Lorian said quickly, “but I agree with you. Aldaí is very progressive.”

“So then, if we can work out some type of stronger alliance with them, we then get to work on local modernization through the help of showing that the crown actually gives a fuck about us. We never see the royals, ever.”

“They do make public appearances from time to time,” he defended.

“Yeah, bullshit, I’ve never seen them. If anything, they only visit the biggest, strongest cities that’re pouring lyria into their pockets.”

Lorian shrugged in agreement. He looked like he had more to say on the matter but kept quiet so as not to interrupt her.

“So, I’d make them do more public showings. It might make the extremists angry, maybe make them more targets than they already are, but the monarchies have to show the people that they’re fighting for them. It’s exactly what Eve did in Siina. She was such a vocal, public figure, always visiting street markets and meeting with the people. And how do they do that?” She pointed at Lorian.

“I haven’t the faintest—”

“By listening to the people, yes, thank you. Open up more administrations and city councils so the people can be more in charge of their fates than the fucking officers and Constables frightening us into submission. No offense.”

“None taken.”

She looked down at one of her history texts. “We’re in a golden age of the world. No one is fighting one another. We’re not wasting hundreds of gold lyria on war strategies or extra officers. The last one was back in, what 1137? Twenty-two years ago? Back when we were babes? And that was just a fourteen-month fling where important Bělican crops weren’t being properly regulated across the sea because of unforeseen trade agreements. It left Roma without sugar for nearly a year. You see, I could change the world if I was given the chance, but I can’t do that because I have a fucking circle on my forehead!”

Her voice travelled across the library, skipping up the stairs and across the aisles of hidden knowledge. Lorian pressed his thin lips together, pretending he was an officer for the crown and did not enjoy breaking the rules.

Aida cleared her throat. She was getting ahead of herself again. She was going to push him away by being herself. She dialed it back. “The only chance I have is to become a historian. I might not be able to get a job right away, but when I graduate with a diploma from this Academy, I know someone out there will take me seriously.”

Lorian gave that considerable thought before nodding to himself. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I take you very seriously.”

“Course you do. The first time we met, I was fucking naked.”

“E-excuse me, I averted my gaze. I have values.”

“Like a true gentleman.”

Lorian opened his mouth to say more, then caught on whatever she’d said and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

She smiled back at him. She didn’t know what she had with this officer-in-training and why they clicked as well as they did—he was charismatic, helpful, charming, kind, easy-going. Everything she wasn’t. She hadn’t seen him in action, but he was probably good at his job, and had more friends than he knew what to do with. Total opposites in every regard, aside from the fact that they could share a blunt and be perfectly content with simply being near each other.

She frowned, not knowing why that made her so sad.

The heavy, wooden double doors leading to the main halls opened, and one of Aida’s advisors, Mister Omar, came out. He had a note in his wrinkled hand and his balding head was sweating from getting from his officer to the library before lunch period ended.

Lorian stepped back from Aida, self-conscious about how close they were to someone’s eyes. “Well, I should be off, then.” He bowed and put on his hat to cover his eyes. “Farewell, Miss Mirko, Mister Omar.”

“Farewell,” Mister Omar said, and watched him leave before whispering to Aida, “Miss Mirko, I just received a letter from the dean. He said he wishes to speak with you as soon as you’re available.”

“What does he wish to speak to me about?” Aida asked. “I was just getting back to my classes. You can’t fight me for choosing to spend my lunch here.”

“I don’t believe it’s about your elongated breaks in this great Rosalia Library,” he said, trying to be funny and failing. “Uh, no. Well, here. You can read it for yourself, but it came with a message saying to come to him before the end of the day.”

Aida took the letter.

In Regards to the Termination of Aida Mirko’s 6-Year Scholarship

She covered her mouth. Something inside of her split open and was releasing a foul rot in the pit of her stomach. Her hands went cold, her face hot. She strained her eyes to see if anything more had been written on it, but that was it. A simple declaration that had taken all of her hopes and dreams into bettering herself and the world and throwing it out like an unwanted child.

She ran. Fighting on her cane to make her go faster, she broke around the corner and ran out of the library. She wouldn’t read the rest of the letter. There wasn’t any time. She’d go to the dean and fight. She’d demand her right to be here and fight. They wouldn’t take this knowledge away from her, not now.

She pushed through the pain and trotted down the wide marble steps from the cloister into the open courtyard. Here, students in black and white uniforms continued their lunch in peace. Girls decorated flower crowns and boys tackled one another to the grass like toddlers. A couple flirted with one another near the well in the center of the yard. Aida ran past them all. This was all a mistake. It had to be.

The dean’s office was one of the older buildings covered in ivy, right beside the church that students seldom used. At the front gates, two statues of lions acted as guards for the door. Two actual officers stood watch over the building at all hours of the day. The leather holding the rapiers on their hips were worn from use.

Aida forced the wheeze back into her throat. “I have…a letter from the dean. Open the gates. Please,” she added, wondering if these grown men would care for novelties like “please” and “thank you.”

The two men looked at one another, then shrugged and went to open the gate.

She barreled in before they fully opened the door and knocked furiously on the knocker. Beside the dean’s home was his personal horses and carriages. Aida had locked-on to his carriage, as she’d thought about egging it multiple times, but beside his carriage were two other carriages she didn’t recognize. They had the King’s Lions engraved on them in gold: a Constable carriage.

“Fuck,” she cursed, then shook the thought out of her mind and knocked louder. “Dr. Falco!” she announced. “Dr. Falco, it’s Aida Mirko. I’m a freshman who just started this year. You called to speak to me. May I please come in?”

The door unlocked twice, and one of the dean’s maids welcomed her with a bow. “Hello, Miss. What was it that you wished to—?”

Aida let herself in.

“Excuse me, Miss!”

It was a magnificent house that smelled of syrup and old collections. Books on shelves she could never reach and busts of naked men and women from a tainted royal line. Walking around a terribly gaudy zebra pelt, Aida snaked into the main room and knocked on the door.

It opened upon her third knock.

Dr. Falco was sitting in a large chair behind a mahogany table. Around him were papers and texts, and behind him, a map of the world was centered between two windows. Bělico in the west, Aldaí in the east, and Roma centered amongst it all, even though the Earth was, in fact, a sphere, and nobody was truly in the center of anything.

Between Aida and the dean stood three men. Two wore the same uniforms and pants as Lorian, but their ages and medals told her they were actual officers, not ones training to please the king and queen.

The other man, one with curly brown hair and golden aiguillettes and sashes across his jacket, indicated who he was immediately.

The Constable looked down at Aida with hollow eyes. They were cold and dark, as if he was looking at a sheep ready to be slaughtered. He set down the document he was reading and turned to face her. One hand went to his waist belt, to his rapier handle which shone gold in the sunlight.  “Welcome, Miss Mirko,” he said.

Aida gulped at him knowing her name. Constables were leaders of twenty, sometimes thirty men in Roma, and with the air of stuffy egoism on him, this man was probably high in rank.

She swallowed back her fear. “Why was my scholarship terminated? What have I done wrong?”

“That’s the thing. Have a seat, my dear.”

She didn’t.

The Constable waited. “My name is Carmello Carmine, right-hand Constable to Her Majesty the Queen.”

She didn’t blink.

The Constable narrowed his eyes, then focused on her cane. “I’ve been informed that your scholarship to this school was for six years based on the principles of your excellence in history and language as well as your race and upbringing.”

“And?” she said, itching to fight him for how he said that.

“And a law has just been put into place to make amendments to that initial proposition. Under the new, current law—”

“What law?” she interrupted. “I never heard anything about that in the paper.”

“The law,” he pressed, “indicating that it is unjust to allow a student any favorable outcomes when it comes to the acceptance rate to any Roman academy.”

Aida looked over the letter about her scholarship expulsion. “So what does that mean? I’m still enrolled into the school, aren’t I? I earned it. I left everything I had for—”

The Constable picked up his paper again. “The dean and I were going over your academia records and attendance rates.”

“I’ve been to every class!” she said. “I even started doing extra credit!”

“And,” he said, ignoring her, “unfortunately, we’ve concluded that your grades do not meet the qualifications to earn the scholarship for the next six years. Unless you can come up with the funds to attend this coming year, which we’ve estimated that someone who’s living on-campus would come up to 510 gold lyria, we unfortunately cannot enroll you into Durante Academy at this time.”

Aida tried doing the math in her head, hating herself with how long it was taking her. She thought it cost 450 gold lyria per semester, not 500 and change. Her mother didn’t even make that in a year with the farm. For six more years, at 500 gold lyria a semester…

She dropped her head. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

He lowered his paper. “Then I’m sorry to deliver the news—”

“But that’s not fair!” she exploded. She tried digging for any sort of advantage to keep her at his level. It was like fighting with her mother. Her eyes were watering.

“—that after this semester—”

“No!”

“You will no longer be able to attend Durante Academy as a student.”

Aida tried to read her letter again, searching for a loophole that already made her acceptance to this Academy shaky, but she couldn’t think. No matter how much she fought these people to be seen as equal, it’d never happen. It’s what Queen Eve had tried to fight for and failed. It’s what people like her had fought for for centuries and failed. All because of these kings and queens and these rules they bent to make their world more hateful.

She grit her teeth. In history, they said that the Visatorre queen had killed the king’s wife. Others said she’d killed the king. Aida had never believed either statement, but now, feeling the anger pulse in her ears, her eyes water in front of four men aiming to hurt her, she wouldn’t have blamed her for wiping people like this off the face of the fucking planet.

Holding back tears, she threw her walking cane at the Constable, scattering their papers and spooking the Constable backwards. “Fuck you! Fuck you and the crown you serve! All of you deserve to be buried in the Catacombs for the amount of shit you do for us!”

“Good God, Miss!” he said, staring down at her thrown cane. “Control yourself!”

The other officers unsheathed their rapiers, but the Constable held out his hand to make them put them away. “Miss, do you realize what you’ve just—”

She spat on the ground, cursed their mothers, and left, tears steaming from her bloodshot eyes.

“Miss!”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. She’d worked for years to get here, she’d dedicated her life to this cause she believed in. She was to learn all this new information she was hoping to uncover about Eve and for this stupid bullshit country, but she hadn’t done shit.

Her mother was right about her.

She left the house through the back, through the gardens and near the horse-drawn carriages. She didn’t want those damn officers seeing her like this, and she didn’t want to be seen leaving the headmaster’s home in tears.

The chickens in the nearby coop clucked at her. The hens pecked at the ground while their rooster counterparts watched from the top of the coop.

The door to their coop was left open, letting them roam the contained land.

Aida cast a seething glare at the house behind her, then at the carriages left unattended.

Then she crawled into the chicken coop and started collecting her throwing eggs.

#Transient Time Traveller #art #original characters #lgbtq #cottagecore #queer #aida #lorian #and we got *drumroll please* #the constable #!!! #fantasy #original #original art #oc #novel #writing #ttt #royal road #ao3 #archive of our own

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (1)

She was twenty when she died.

She’d just graduated with a double first in Literature and Preservation from Exeter. She’d been accepted into a prestigious master’s school in London.

She’d moved into a basement flat with her best friend and a couple of his friends. She’d been glad to escape her childhood house, where her mum and dad traded vicious words over who was getting how much in the divorce.

She’d promised her brother she’d get him out too, once she had a stable place that the courts would approve of. She had been due to interview for a job at a big bookstore chain next week.

And then someone had broken in while her flatmates were out. She shouldn’t have grabbed the knife. That just made the armed man freak out.

The last thing she remembered was a bang, and the blubbered words “I didn’t mean to!”

She wakes up as a baby.

She waves her arms around and cries as an unfamiliar lady with brown hair and brown eyes bends down over her crib, hushing her with more urgency than is really warranted.

Rain hammers down outside and thunder rumbles directly overhead.

Then a man with blue hair and grey eyes arrives. He stinks of copper, and that makes her wail harder.

The man and woman confer, words too fast for her to understand.

Then the man gently presses a cloth which smells chemical and awful to her face, hushing and looking at her with sad eyes while the woman strokes her head.

She struggles, but eventually swirling red circles dance before her eyes and she succumbs to sleep.

She grows, and learns that she is not anywhere remotely like her home anymore.

She looks in mirrors and sees grey eyes like the man’s, brown hair like the woman’s, hair too straight, eyes too angular, skin too pale.

Her new name is Ketsugi Mayu. The woman’s name is Ketsugi Chie, the man’s is Ketsugi Jirou.

They live in a little house, on the outskirts of a village that’s nothing like the village she previously grew up in. It’s too big, too bustling, with large compounds with symbols decorating the exteriors and brightly painted buildings, flat roofs alternating with asian-style pagodas.

Faces carved into a mountainside like a bastardization of Mount Rushmore. Huge trees everywhere, though she couldn’t tell you the type. She never was any good at biology.

Her “parents” escaped to this village from the rainy place before. Both of them work, but the woman takes her with her, or comes back first.

She gets the feeling their neighbors don’t like them very much.

Despite the electricity for lights and plumbing and cooking, there are not electronic communication devices, not like she knew them. Photography, but no video or animation.

Calculators and computers are unheard of, abacus and notebooks in their place.

The food is good though. Fresh and flavorsome, with meals that are usually served in what she mentally called “plate-2-bowls” style, a bowl of rice, a bowl of soup, and a meat or vegetable dish in the center.

The woman she is supposed to call her “mother” scolded her for ages the first time she dumped the rice out of the bowl onto the plate and tried to eat it that way.

The man she is supposed to call her “father” just laughed and said how lucky they were to have a daughter who would eat everything given to her.

And she did. Even if she doesn’t like the flavors, she eats it all and leaves no scraps.

One Piece taught her that those who waste food are scum, after all. She’ll never learn how the series ended now, so she does her best to live up to the ideals of her favorite characters in its place.

She probably should’ve seen it coming in the end.

The story she was read at bedtime was called “The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi”. There were constantly people dressed in dark clothes jumping across the roofs.

There were stalls in the market that sold throwing knives and stars and japanese swords.

But she didn’t realize exactly what world she’d been reincarnated into until she sees a little boy around her age, with blonde hair and blue eyes and three familiar lines like whisker marks across each cheek.

He’s racing away from a severe woman dripping with orange paint, cackling even as she screams, “GET BACK HERE NARUTO, YOU LITTLE DEMON!!”

She’s four, so she promptly bursts into tears and remains in a strop for the rest of the week.

Naruto doesn’t have food.

It’s dumb and doesn’t involve her and she shouldn’t care because she never even read this series because it was stupid and sexist and dumb and pirates will always be better than ninjas no matter what stupid morons on the internet who have no interpersonal relationships say—

But Naruto doesn’t have food.

She saw the food vendors at the market slap away his money, yell at him for trying to steal from them, chase him away from their stalls with rotten produce.

And he goes away empty handed.

Every. Damn. Time.

Sanji wouldn’t let him go empty handed.

Fuck.

She buys three lunch boxes and an “easy cook recipes” book from a lady who coos at her.

She buys extra rice and ingredients so that she doesn’t use up her “family’s” food.

She decides on a sweeter, more protein-focused meal for breakfast, and presses rashers of bacon and scrambled eggs between slices of crusty bread, filling the compartments with orange slices and strawberries and a plain yogurt.

For lunch she tries and fails to recreate Ketsugi Chie’s perfectly triangular rice balls filled with salmon, but consoles herself that the cucumber and seaweed salad turned out okay, To make up for it, she sticks a packet of gummies in the dessert bit.

She shadowed him the evening before, and so wakes up obscenely early, tugging on the clothes she wore yesterday.

She deposits the food outside his door, checks the sticky notes with “BREAKFAST” and “LUNCH” on them are secure.

Then she raps on the door with all the power her little fists can muster and bolts.

She’s about halfway down the street when she hears the overexcited whoops and fights to keep a smile off her face.

That night, when she comes bearing a thermos filled with miso soup and a box with rice, baked salmon with mushrooms, and dango, the other two are stacked neatly outside the door, licked clean.

She deposits dinner, grabs the other boxes, knocks again, and bolts so she can make curfew.

Here’s her routine.

She goes to bed and falls asleep instantly after preparing that boy’s breakfast and lunch.

She wakes up early and runs through the village while the streets are still asleep and deposits his food, collecting his dinner box and the feedback sheet, knocks and goes, avoiding any traps he’s set up to try and catch her on his endless quest for her identity.

They’re harmless, more intended to snare rather than hurt, and she’s gotten good at dodging.

She gets home in time for her “parents” to wake up, washes up the box while they shower, and goes upstairs to get ready for the day.

Ketsugi Jirou makes her run through katas before breakfast. Sometimes he lets her practice with the wooden sword he carries, and laughs when she falls over, kissing her bruises.

Ketsugi Chie serves breakfast and corrects her table manners and posture. After Jirou has kissed them both and left, she is given lessons in calligraphy and etiquette.

Sometimes Ketsugi Chie takes her along to her job at a tearoom, and she has to observe as her “mother” elegantly serves the patrons and makes polite conversation.

Sometimes she’s left to clean the house and study the books on the history of her family. There are many, but more are missing, references they have no source for.

At lunchtime, she reviews the feedback sheet, making notes of what worked and what didn’t.

She’s supposed to play outside after lunch, so she runs laps. Once Ketsugi Chie’s shift is over, the woman either collects her from home or goes with her straight to the market for food.

She begins making Naruto’s portion the moment groceries are put away, serves it hot and runs it over. She picks up the empty lunch boxes and paper, deposits the dinner, knocks, and runs away.

She eats dinner with her “mother” and “father”. Jirou quizzes her on what she’s learned.

After dinner she washes up the dishes and makes tomorrow’s lunch and breakfast while her parents tell her a bedtime story.

Then she cleans up after herself, and goes to bed, falling asleep instantly.

It’d be nice if this could last.

So of course, the next time she deposits breakfast and lunch, an adult dressed in black with a white mask tackles her to the ground.

She barely avoids spilling the food, clutching it to her chest with one arm as the other is twisted viciously behind her back.

She screams, tries to kick out, but her legs are too little, she can’t hurt the bastard—

The lunchboxes creak ominously under her.

“Who sent you?!” The adult hisses—there’s no way that’s not a man, not with that baritone— “Drop the henge and tell me, or I’ll—”

Something twangs.

A mass of rope drops onto them, followed by chalk dust.

“HAH!” Comes a much higher-pitched yell. “I told you I’d get ‘em, believe it, I told—wait, what the heck?! Jiji, mask-guy’s hurtin’ my friend!”

The click of a cane and the sound of an old man’s voice. “Hound-san.”

The pressure on her arm lessens and the adult gets up, though he doesn’t let go of her. She wheezes, feeling her eyes watering now she can breathe properly.

She hiccups once. Twice. Bursts into floods of noisy tears.

A blurry figure of orange comes into her view. “Hey, hey don’t cry, don’t cry! It’s okay, mask-guy won’t hurt you anymore, Jiji won’t let him, believe it! Yo-you’re the one bringin’ me the food, right? It tastes really good, believe it! M-my name’s Naruto, wh-what’s y-yours? Plea-please don’t—”

The blur of orange begins crying as well.

“Oh dear.” The old man sighs.

The old man takes them to the tower in the center of the village, drawing curious stares at the sight of two wailing children, one bleached white by chalk dust, following him.

The tower is scary. It reminds her of government buildings, with lots of people in green or grey jackets or white masks moving from one place to the next like fire ants, ready to turn and bite intruders to their nest at a moment’s notice.

She doesn’t work out who the queen ant is until the old man sits behind the big desk in the room at the top of the tower, and another mask brings her and Naruto water at his gesture.

“Now, let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?” Says the old man, smiling genteelly.

A shiver goes down her spine.

The questions should be easy. What’s her name, how old is she, where does she live, who are her parents, where do they work, does she have any siblings, what are her hobbies.

But her tongue is stuck to the top of her mouth and when she tries to speak, she just makes a pathetic little croaking sound, no matter how much water she swallows.

The man who hurt her gets more and more tense with every failed answer.

The old man just looks sadder, like she’s failing a test, like he’s going to let the mask hurt her again—

Naruto asks, “Can you make ramen?”

She swallows. “I—I’ve never had it. I don’t know the ingredients. Is, is it like miso?”

“It’s WAY better than miso, believe it!” Naruto yells. “It’s got noodles and green onions and fish cakes and pork and tofu and chicken and fish and seaweed, and sometimes the broth can taste like miso but better and sometimes it can be spicy and Ichiraku’s is the best, and I’ll take you there so you can have some, believe it!”

She frowns. “How can it have pork and chicken and fish? That doesn’t work. Those meats go with different flavors—like chicken katsu and pork katsu are served with different toppings.”

He blows a raspberry. “They’re not all in the same bowl at one time! There’s different types.”

Her mind ticks over the possibilities. “...So a dashi broth for miso could work? What type of flour are the noodles?”

He shrugs. “I’unno. There’s different types?”

“Of course there are!” And she tells him about wheat vs buckwheat vs rye vs rice flour, and how flour mixed with water can serve as food in a pinch but isn’t sustainable for him because he’s malnourished—

“I’m not mal-no-ished, believe it!” Naruto protests.

She scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. Look, try to touch your thumb and pointer finger around your wrist.”

He looks at her warily, but does as she says easily. There’s enough space between his hand and his wrist that she could wriggle her little finger in there, if she tried.

“See?” She says, holding up her own wrist where her thumb can’t quite reach her finger. “You’re too skinny, because you don’t eat enough. You need to bulk up, and eat to get your vitamins, or you’ll grow up weak and feeble.”

The boy pouts. “S’not my fault the stupid jerkwads in the market won’t sell to me.” He grumbles.

“No, it isn’t.” She replies. “But they sell to me. And those who let people go hungry are scum.”

There’s a wounded noise. She looks up at the forgotten adults, tensing again.

The masked man has vanished. The old man just looks tired, but also...happy?

The old man walks her and Naruto home, and she glimpses many more white masks in the trees. The idea that any one could hurt her at any time has her trembling, fists clenched.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Naruto asks, clutching his lunchboxes close.

“Mayu.” She replies after a moment’s hesitation. “Ketsugi Mayu. I’m five and ten months.”

“I’m Uzumaki Naruto and I’m six, believe it!” He cheers. “Imma be the Hokage one day and take over from Jiji, believe it!”

She frowns up at the old man. “What’s a hokage?”

He laughs. “It’s the ninja entrusted with the safety of the village and all those within. The Hokage specifically is the leader of this Village Hidden in the Leaves, Konoha.”

She looks around.

“This place is way too big to be a village, no matter how you look at it.”

Her parents burst out the door just as they arrive at her house, her father clutching his bokken, her mother still in nightclothes.

They blanch when they see her, the woman reaching out with an abortive hand.

The Hokage bows to them. “Ketsugi-san.” He says. “May I congratulate you on raising such a fine daughter?”

Ketsugi Jirou bows hesitantly back, eyes not leaving her. He has to press a hand to Chie’s shoulder to get her to do the same. “You honor us, Hokage-sama.”

The Hokage smiles and gently pushes her. She totters forward and is swiftly captured in a crushing hug, both adults muttering “Mayu, Mayu.” Like she’ll disappear if they let go.

Her eyes begin watering again, because she’s escaped. She’s safe. For now.

“Otou-sama.” She whimpers. “Okaa-sama.”

She mentally apologizes to her parents in her past life, and the brother she left behind. In their memory, her new family will remain “Otou” and “Okaa”, never “Mummy” and “Daddy”.

“OI, MAYU-CHAN!!”

She half-turns in the hug, sees Naruto and the Hokage some distance away.

“COME GET RAMEN WITH ME TOMORROW!! ICHIRAKU'S IS THE BEST, BELIEVE IT!!” He yells, with far too much volume.

She sniffles. There’s something wrong with Naruto. He lives alone and borderline starves, but the ruler of this village visits him enough that he calls the man “jiji”. People in the street call him “demon” and “monster” openly, but the masked man attacked her for approaching him.

The smart thing to do would be turn him down politely. Thank you, but no thank you. She’s his food provider, she’s not under any obligation to be his friend.

So, of course, she yells back, “EAT YOUR FOOD AND I'LL BE THERE!”

He pumps his fist and whoops, cheering loudly as the Hokage smiles and guides him away.

Mayu Ketsugi and her parents tense as the accusing, silent stares pierce them.

The neighbors never liked them much anyway.

#naruto #one piece #but i like one piece #my writing #reincarnation #isekai #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #hiruzen sarutobi #pirates vs ninjas #konoha #fandom rivalry #naruto oc #ketsugi mayu #food #cooking #straw hat pirates

[artificialqueens]

In Sickness and In Health Ch7 - shalaska - pureCAMP

A/N - It’s been a looong day without you my friend…

Oops. I’m sorry. I am a busy busy bee and I love you all!!

Last time: Under Yvie’s control, Alaska forced Sharon to leave without her. She starts an ill-advised plot to feed her a taste of her own medicine.

This time: That won’t happen (CEO of changing ur mind xo)

“I need your help, urgently. I cannot do this alone.”

Three pairs of eyes. One narrowed slightly, almost squinting, silver-blue and filled with desperation. The other two curious, eyebrows furrowed, calm and yet intrigued.

“What an odd greeting. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“No one has. But I need you, both of you. Please.”

A pause. Two pairs of eyes regarded the first, each watching for something different. Nothing but sincerity lay within them, the pain and honesty laced within her voice.

“I had heard you were unwell, is it true? You seem to be in good health now.”

“It’s true. I’m well again, at a terrible price. I have lost something dear to me, and I have every intention of getting it back, but I can’t do it alone. I have a feeling I’m not the only one to have suffered this fate.”

Sharon sat rigidly straight as she spoke with the other two women, her hands folded in her lap to keep them from shaking. Ever since she was a little girl, she had been taught not to express emotional extremes to anyone outside of the palace, just in case they should turn against her. Even some of the palace staff should be spared from such moods, she was told, in case they might gossip. Only Miss Michaels knew the true extent of her temper. The thought of bearing her heart in front of two different kingdoms - it was scandalous. Her father would’ve thrown a fit, ironically, if he could see her behaviour.

There was a certain level of respect that the other women needed, Sharon knew that. Their three kingdoms were not currently the greatest of allies, but Sharon was working on it and planned to even more once she had been crowned. An allyship would be greatly beneficial to all three of them, and Sharon saw no harm in starting early, even if she was still just a princess whilst they were queens. Never mind that it was highly unorthodox for Sharon to even ask two queens for a personal favour.

Queen Brooke was very charitable and a pleasure to talk to at a ball, but in the setting of a meeting between three royals in her own parlour, she was a little intimidating. Her blonde hair was swept into a neat bun, silver tiara resting atop, and her cold grey eyes stared impassively forwards. In front of her, an ornate teacup sat on a dish, undrunk. 

Queen Scarlet was a totally different story. Her coronation had been more recent than Brooke’s, and whether formal or informal, she was a calamity of a person. Sharon’s father had warned her that partnering with Scarlet’s kingdom was a no-go, given that they were ruled by a young woman who had once been incarcerated and treated for hysterical madness, but Sharon had always quite liked the strange queen. Having recovered from her insanity, she was a fairly successful and friendly ruler.

“Your letter was distressing. I thought perhaps our kingdoms were on the brink of war, and we needed to negotiate.” Brooke’s voice was level, measured. Sharon decided she would be a fantastic person to emulate once she was a leader.

“No, not at all. I’m here about something much more serious. Her name is Yvie.”

At once, the atmosphere shifted. Previously in control, Brooke’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly and she drew in a sharp intake of breath. Next to her, once carefree and kindly concerned, Scarlet looked as though she had seen a ghost.

Thank fuck, Sharon thought to herself. A reaction. If any of her research and guesswork had been incorrect, she might as well have kissed goodbye to her kingdom, her alliances, her family and her life.

“What… What about her?” Scarlet winced, the terror in her voice painfully evident. It was clear that she didn’t want to hear that name, or she hadn’t for a long time. Something about it arose memories that she had most likely tried to forget.

“She cured my sickness. She brought me back from the brink of death so that I can sit here before you now as healthy as I ever was. Not a single physician could cure me, but she did in an instant.”

Brooke’s eyes were glassy. “At a price.” The words left her lips without a thought, drawn out as though in a trance, or by force. She swallowed roughly and hardened her gaze.

“What price?”

Sharon closed her eyes, her mind filling with hazy memories. A sweet common girl with her hand stuck firmly in the air, stood up in front of everybody. Alaska, with her joyful laugh and fighting spirit. The feeling of safety as she slept in her lap, her arms, by her side, comforted with the knowledge that if she died, she would have died alongside somebody who really cared.

“The price of a loved one.” Sharon equalled Brooke’s stare, confident now that she was armed with facts that would ensure Brooke’s cooperation or the ruin of her kingdom. “I believe you wanted prosperity for your kingdom in the midst of a crisis. Your commerce and trade had dwindled to almost nothing. Your people were dying, it was necessary. You needed Yvie’s help and the price was Vanessa.”

There was no stopping her now. “Vanessa, a commoner who worked as a lady-in-waiting for you whilst you were a princess, and continued when you became queen. The two of you were in love and so she accompanied you on what appeared to be a perilous journey. Yvie demanded her as a commodity and you gave her up.”

Perhaps her attack was a little harsh, but Sharon had no time to worry about that. Brooke’s face was flushed crimson, though with anger or shame, she couldn’t be sure. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white, and it seemed the more stoic queen was losing her propriety with every word that came out of Sharon’s mouth.

“How do you- How do you know about that?” She demanded. “I never told a soul.”

Scarlet was watching the exchange with an expression of sheer melancholy, saying nothing. Sharon knew her turn would come, but she needed to focus her attention on Brooke, and it seemed that Scarlet was content to listen and say nothing for the time being.

“Gossip, rumours, and a little bit of research assistance from a kindly witch. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is, I can help you or hurt you. You can have your lover back, or have the reputation of your kingdom shattered. It seems like an easy choice.”

In hindsight, delivering such an outright threat to a powerful Queen when Sharon herself was still only a princess… was a little risky. But there was no time to back out, and judging by the way Brooke’s nostrils had flared, her face pinched in abject fury, the damage had already been done.

“I don’t know who you think you are, Princess, but I-”

Sharon prepared herself to be sentenced to execution, or to be exiled from her land, or to have a cup of hot tea thrown at her, but instead, Brooke was cut off by Scarlet, who placed a gentle hand on her leg and looked forlorn.

“Yvie… She didn’t want them to take me away. She wanted to help me herself.” Her gaze dropped into her lap. “I went crazy. It’s not fake, it’s not rumours. I was insane. The facility helped me. But Yvie…” Scarlet blinked, her eyes filling with tears. “She was so angry that I went with them. I wasn’t in control, but she felt so betrayed by it… Is this what she’s been doing? Taking people’s loved ones?”

The story started clicking into place, and Sharon’s heart sank. She had questioned Max within an inch of her life about everything relating to Yvie, naturally, but she hadn’t made the connection that Yvie’s hard bargains were inspired by her perceived betrayal.

“Yvie has been doing these kind of deals for years, that always come at a price. My sickness was my parents’ price. But it seems people are the currency now, since she lost you, Scarlet. We need to go to her, get them back, and… Scarlet, maybe you and Yvie can work something out.” She paused. “My family don’t know I’m here. They think I’m still on the journey to the witch who can heal me, or perhaps still with her being treated. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Brooke frowned, her eyebrow furrowing. “Your kingdom?”

“It’s not mine yet.” She shrugged. “I don’t even want to rule it without Alaska there. I don’t think I can.”

A silence settled over them. There was nothing else to be said - three noblewomen having shared their sorrows in the unlikeliest of situations. After a moment, Sharon picked up her teacup and held it before her, offering a solemn, unspoken toast. Brooke and Scarlet joined her.

“Please.”

-

Alaska folded her arms and flopped back down onto the ground, where Vanessa lay beside her. They had schemed a million times by now, it seemed, and nothing would work.

“You were right. It’s not like we can trick her into drinking her own truth serum that she made us brew! She’s not that stupid.”

Vanessa puffed her cheeks out. “She’s fuckin’ smart, it’s the worst. I’m startin’ to think I’m never gettin’ outta here, and maybe I shoulda figured that out a while ago.”

Alaska shook her head. “Yeah. This might be it, for us. But at least we have each other, right?”

“Sure. You’re all I got, now.” She hummed. “Your princess seemed pretty set on coming back here, though. Must be nice.”

A grimace made its way onto Alaska’s face; it was the only thing that could hold her tears back. “I hope. I hope she’s fighting for us.”

In the beginning of her time with Yvie, Sharon had been all she’d thought about to get through the day. Those few minutes that she had been able to see her in full health and beauty again, when she had seen a flicker of the righteous anger of a queen instead of the feeble protestations of a princess. Even dwelling on the way her eyes had filled with furious tears and heartbreak was better than nothing at all, as something of a comfort to remind Alaska that once, she had known her.

Still, the memories got more painful as time went on, and she soon decided that perhaps it was best to not think about her. As much as she wished Sharon was out fighting for her, amassing an army to storm Yvie for her return or maybe bargaining and charming her way back, she doubted it. Princesses had to adhere to strict rules.

She missed Willam, and Courtney. It had been forever since she’d thought about them, and she wondered if they were anxiously waiting for her to come home. What she wouldn’t give to see their faces again.

“Let’s just get back to work.” Alaska sighed, feeling miserable. “If we haven’t cleaned up Yvie’s mess by the time she comes back, we’re done for.”

Vanessa nodded. “Alright, Blondie, let’s go. We got fuckin’… books to shelve, or whatever. I didn’t listen to what she asked.”

Reluctantly, Alaska pulled herself up and made her way into the centre of the cottage. The room was cluttered and messy from Yvie’s musings, and she had ventured out into the surrounding forest a short while ago, leaving her two servants to clean everything up. At least it was a distraction from the boredom, Alaska thought, even as the spilled potion she wiped up with a rag started to burn her hand. It was better than nothing.

Yvie returned with a bag slung over her shoulder and an irritated expression, meaning that no doubt, she would take out her anger on Vanessa and Alaska.

“That’s the last time I listen to Raven, stupid fucking creature.” She hissed, throwing her bag down upon the newly-swept floor. “And now this isn’t even done! Do I have to do everything myself, you imbeciles?”

Alaska bowed her head. “We’re working on it.”

“I’ve a half mind to-”

Yvie trailed off abruptly, freezing in place. Vanessa stared at Alaska in confusion, the both of them watching Yvie to see if there was a reason for her unusual behaviour.

“The wards.” Her voice came out hardly a whisper above silence. “She wouldn’t dare…”

She turned suddenly. “The two of you, out. Now.”

As before, they were all but shoved back into the small room they shared. Vanessa scrambled towards her small pile of belongings and produced two strange-looking opalescent lenses. She handed one to Alaska and pressed it against the wall.

“I took these fuckin’ forever ago because I thought they looked pretty, but you can see through shit with ‘em. I wanna know why she’s so fuckin’ rattled.”

Alaska did the same, shuffling as close as she could to look through the wall. The lens focused just in time, as Yvie graciously opened the front door and offered a chilling smile.

“Sister.”

Yvie laughed. “Ha! You have a lot of nerve to walk down my path, let alone to address me as your sister. Most inferior witches tend to avoid associating themselves with superior witches, do they not?”

Max stood, tall and unwavering in the doorway, her short silver hair moving in the wind. “Perhaps they do, sister. You know I care little for which of us is better or worse. But I have been incited to care about which of us is good or bad.”

“A truly wonderful philosophical concept. I’d invite you in to debate it over some tea, but I don’t trust myself not to poison yours with belladonna.” Yvie’s voice was dripping with sickly sweet venom. Alaska shuddered at the sound of it. “Why do you dare to come to my door?”

Max remained still. “See for yourself.”

Almost at the exact same time, Alaska and Vanessa sprung backwards from the wall and darted towards the door, seemingly sensing the same thing. Anticipation and fear wrestled angrily in the pit of Alaska’s stomach, but she had to see if her hunch was right. The two all but fell over each other as they stumbled into the centre of the cottage once again, gazing open-mouthed out of the front door.

The sight that met them could’ve been an illustration from the beautiful book Sharon had read to Alaska in the carriage. A few feet behind Max, two proud stallions pawed the ground, their riders equally as dignified and powerful. Alaska didn’t recognise one of them, a pale blonde wearing regal purple riding gear, but the other was a face she could never forget, even in the deepest of nightmares.

Sharon’s face was resolute, her body language firm and unmoving. Like the other rider, she wore jodhpurs and a shirt, an outfit unbefitting for a queen or a princess but perfectly suited to a courageous storybook heroine. The other woman held Sharon’s hand and lifted their arms into the air, at the same time as Vanessa and Alaska clung to each other in disbelief.

“Oh my god. That’s my Brooke.”

Alaska couldn’t muster speech, but she didn’t need to. Behind the two, cavalry reinforcements waited for their command, leaving Yvie well and truly outnumbered.

“Let them go.” Sharon climbed off her horse, Brooke doing the same. As they approached the door, where Yvie looked dumbfounded and furious, she shot Alaska a brief, reassuring gaze. “That’s an order.”

Yvie kept her cool in spite of the army facing her. “Oh dear… someone seems to have forgotten that we made a deal.”

Brooke smiled. “Do you have it in writing? What happens if we take them?”

“This.”

Yvie snapped her fingers, and in an instant, she and Vanessa were hoisted into the air, suspended by thorny vines. Alaska could feel that one of them had drawn blood, but regardless she strained and struggled against the bonds. They had to win this. Freedom was so close. 

“We thought you might do something like that.” Sharon crossed her arms. “Your Majesty?”

Brooke stepped closer. “Another deal, then. Make a new deal with us to overwrite these previous ones. We have something you won’t wanna miss out on, and your sister here as a witness in case you try to fuck us over. It’s that, or we take them by force and destroy our offer to you.”

Yvie snorted. “Sure. A failure of a Queen and what, some pathetic little Princess have something I would want? I have power, the more you’re indebted to me, the better. Why should I agree to this? Why shouldn’t I just…”

She snapped her fingers again. The vines tightened, smaller ones creeping their way around to Alaska and Vanessa’s throats. They choked and coughed, the vines only squeezing more as they tried to resist. Tears came to Alaska’s eyes, the pain and fear overwhelming her. Whatever this power play was, it needed to work.

Sharon’s glare was murderous, but her jaw was firm and resolute. “Fine.” She unsheathed the dagger hanging from her belt, which Alaska immediately recognised from their visit to the palace from what felt like years ago. “I was loaned this dagger by another kingdom. We could wage another several wars by me desecrating this blade with the blood of another royal, thus pitting kingdom against kingdom against kingdom, which surely means a lot of deals made in your favour…”

With a tiny nod, both Sharon and Brooke stepped aside at the same time, allowing a third woman to step forward between them. Her head was held high, regal, but her pretty face was marked with disgust.

“But that also means killing Queen Scarlet here. I’m sure you won’t have an issue with that if you get so much power from it, right?”

She levelled the dagger at Scarlet’s throat, just below her chin. All three royals stood defiant, while Yvie’s face went slack. Without warning, the vines receded and disappeared, and Alaska and Vanessa hit the ground with a thud. It hurt, and Alaska’s hands went straight to her neck as she tried to catch her breath, but her gaze remained firmly on the spectacle in front of her. It was unparalleled - Yvie, silent, dumbfounded.

“Sc… Scarlet?”

She nodded, and Sharon lowered the blade, sheathing it. “It’s me. But I’m not sure you’re you. I don’t remember the Yvie I knew being this cruel.”

Yvie swallowed thickly. “They took you away. I could’ve fixed you but they took you away and you let them!”

“I needed to go!” Scarlet grabbed Yvie’s shoulders, steadying her. “But I’m back, and I’m fine, and I’m successful. You don’t have to do this. The old you would never do this.”

“She wouldn’t?”

“She wouldn’t. Don’t forget how well we knew each other, Yves.”

“I couldn’t forget. You’re unforgettable.”

“Let them go.” Scarlet’s voice was gentle, but commanding. “You have to let them go.”

Yvie whirled around, her eyes landing on where Alaska and Vanessa were crumpled on the ground, recovering. They still clung to one another, and her eyes seemed to widen at their desperation, as though she had no idea that she had caused it.

“How can I? Give them over, face trial, go to the dungeons, lose everything?” She was growing frantic.

Scarlet held out her hand. “No trial. No dungeons. I’m taking you home. Let them go.”

There was an ever-so-slight inclination of Yvie’s head, but that was enough. Both girls got to their feet without wasting a second, and whilst Alaska was sure Vanessa had run straight into Brooke’s arms, she didn’t bother looking to check. Every fibre of her being was pulling her towards Sharon, some kind of invisible magnetic connection forcing them together. She gave in to the impulse, almost throwing herself into her lover’s waiting arms.

“I’m so sorry it took so long I’m so glad you’re safe,” Sharon rushed out in one breath, her lips pressed against the top of Alaska’s head as she buried her face in her blonde hair. Alaska could hardly breathe, pressing herself into the crook of Sharon’s neck, just letting the feel of her skin against her own say everything that she couldn’t articulate.

“You came back.” Alaska’s heart was pounding. “You really came back.”

Sharon clung to her. “Of course. I could never leave you behind. You risked everything for me.”

It felt like centuries ago that Alaska’s only motivation had been the money. The reward was still a tantalising offer in the back of her mind, but almost all of her other thoughts were consumed with nothing but bliss. She had taken on a seemingly impossible task to find a cure for a cursed princess who wanted nothing but to die, and would return with the princess alive and well, and madly in love.

Willam and Courtney were going to lose their minds.

“How do we proceed from here?” She asked, her voice muffled against Sharon’s skin. “What happens now?”

Sharon tensed for a moment, but she relaxed again so quickly that Alaska thought maybe she’d imagined it. “Well, Her Majesties Queen Brooke and Queen Scarlet will come to the kingdom with the two of us, as they deserve equal credit and respect for removing the witch problem. You’ll receive your reward. I’ll deal with some business and then… I don’t know what. But I want you to stay in the palace, if you accept. You don’t have to, if you’re more comfortable in your home with your friends, I just thought maybe-”

Alaska silenced her with a kiss, and then smiled. “I’ll think about it. Let’s get home, yeah?”

-

The journey back to Sharon’s kingdom was pleasant, and uneventful. Scarlet and Yvie left together in a carriage, already discussing plans for a formal pardon and perhaps even to instate her as an apothecary in Scarlet’s kingdom. Alaska wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea, but she knew better than to argue with a queen, and since it didn’t affect her own kingdom, she held her tongue. Brooke and Vanessa took a carriage together too, seemingly too wrapped up in each other to really notice anyone else. As Alaska helped Sharon into their carriage, she was pleased to find that the dread that previously filled her chest was gone. 

It was still awe-inspiring, how miraculous her recovery had been. Alaska swore her hair had never been so dark and glossy, her eyes so bright, her lips so pink. She could spend hours just looking, taking her in, if only she could resist the urge not to kiss her whenever the sunlight hit her face.

With Sharon’s life no longer hanging in the balance, the journey seemed to pass much faster than it had before, although the days and nights stopping and starting still grew a little bit tedious. By day, they did everything they could to distract one another - Sharon had been reading fairytales with her again, and Alaska felt shyly proud of being able to muddle her way through a couple of pages at a time. Sometimes they sang, Alaska showing off the lewd, patriotic, and always drunk songs that people sang in the tavern to make them both laugh. Or they would just talk; endlessly, for hours, with comparisons of their lives and general excitement for the future.

But at night, things were different. They would both curl up to sleep, often leaning against one another, but Alaska kept noticing how Sharon’s eyes would stay open long after she’d fallen silent, staring out as if in thought. She didn’t probe, but it concerned her. She sincerely hoped Sharon hadn’t sacrificed anything for her - she couldn’t think of anything worse than the whole cycle repeating again.

As they approached the edge of the kingdom, Sharon drew the curtains shut around the carriage to give them a little more privacy, and they made their way into the centre, towards the palace. Brooke and Scarlet had stopped for a few days in another kingdom, and would be following in a week or so once life had settled back into a normal pace with Sharon’s return. Excitement was starting to take hold; Alaska’s life was about to change forever.

She still hadn’t decided what she would do, yet. A life in the palace sounded tempting, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to get mixed up in all the politics of royal life. A part of her wondered about taking the money, buying a decent sized home somewhere nice in the kingdom, and living with Willam and Courtney, working only because they wanted to, not out of necessity. Sharon could visit anytime as an escape from the difficulties of being a leader, and they’d be in love just the same.

Alaska loved Sharon, but she didn’t know if the palace was somewhere she’d thrive. After all, she’d spent her entire life humble, or in other words, dirt poor. She wondered if it would be too big of a change.

When the carriage came to a stop, Sharon took a deep breath, and started to laugh.

“My god. I just realised I have so many apologies to give. I was such an asshole when I was sick.” She giggled nervously. “I hope Laila forgives me. Being her age is rough.”

Alaska nodded. “Honestly. I know they’ll all forgive you, though. It wasn’t like you could control it.”

It didn’t feel like Alaska’s place to intrude into the palace, or even to step out of the carriage first, so she smiled and waved her hand, allowing Sharon the first glimpse of her home since they’d left. For a moment, just briefly, Sharon hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure, and then drew the curtain back and moved to step down. It struck Alaska right in the chest - she hadn’t expected to be coming home. When they’d departed, seemingly forever ago, she had been on the very brink of death and expecting it to take her. 

A part of her wondered if the reason she had even agreed to go on a treacherous journey to find a witch had been solely to allow her family the privacy to mourn her without having to witness her death within the palace walls. It was a dark thought, and she shook it out of her mind. The what-ifs didn’t matter, not anymore. Sharon was safe and well, and she glowed with life.

The palace was much less intimidating without the entire royal family welcoming her into it. Around her, members of staff were busily cleaning and scurrying and working, almost paying no attention to their special arrival, although Alaska swore she could see a few nudges and smiles as they undoubtedly gossiped. Sharon made to start walking inside, only to stop in her tracks as a woman ahead of them did the same thing.

Miss Michaels was working by the palace gates, sweeping the leaves and dust from the ground, but the moment she locked eyes with Sharon, the broom fell from her grasp with a clatter. Her face twisted with a mixture of sorrow and relief, an expression that could only reflect a mother’s love. She all but ran towards them, enveloping Sharon in her arms.

“My girl… my sweet, gorgeous girl…” Alaska could hear the thickness in her voice, in turn making her well up at their reunion. She pulled back only to hold Sharon by the arms, taking in as much of her as she could before resuming the embrace. “Oh, look at you! You look like a summer’s day! Oh, darling girl…” 

Sharon sniffed, not too good to hide her tears. “Mother Dust… were you worried I wouldn’t come home?”

“Not at all,” Miss Michaels told her. “Just infinitely glad that you did. Come on, we have to get you inside this instant. Your family will be overjoyed, dear. And you too, Alaska! The hero of our story.”

Alaska blushed, pretending to herself that it was from the compliment, and not from how easily Sharon took her hand as they started walking. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit.”

“Yes she can,” Sharon butted in, “And she should. She gave me a reason to keep fighting.”

Miss Michaels raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing on her lips. Alaska felt as though her heart was going to beat right out of her chest.

“Oh, she did?”

Sharon laughed. “I didn’t say you could tease me.”

“My dear. I’ve changed you, bathed you and fed you. I don’t need permission to do a little light teasing.”

“I love you, Mother Dust. So… let’s go console my grieving family, right?”

Sharon’s hand slipped into Alaska’s so naturally as they made their way up the palace steps, and yet it almost took her breath away. She didn’t know what the royal family would make of this - hell, she didn’t know how Sharon was going to play it. They were in love, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a complicated situation. Future queens were rarely seen marrying commoners, let alone female commoners.

Once they were stood just outside of the doors into the throne room, they came to a stop. Miss Michaels had tears in her eyes.

“You’re crying?” Sharon sounded perplexed, but her expression was kind. She pulled her maid into a hug. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s - It’s a real life mir-miracle, seeing you walk so far without losing your str-strength.” She managed, her voice wobbling. “Standing upright… not coughing at all…”

Being back where it all began, Alaska wondered about who had been hit the hardest by the illness. Miss Michaels was doing everything she could to swallow back her tears, overcome by the sight of Sharon healthy and flushed with life. She had cared for the princess ever since the onset of her sickness; she had most likely watched her rapid deterioration with a heavy heart, and sent her away in a carriage feeling sure she would never see her alive again. Hell, beyond that, she had raised Sharon since she’d been born, and what a horrible way she’d been led to believe it would end.

“I’m not ready to do this.” Sharon faltered. “I don’t- I don’t know if I can go in there.”

Alaska squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“You’re right. Especially when I have you by my side.”

tags - purecamp, in sickness and in health, shalaska, sharon needles, alaska thunderfuck, yvie oddly, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, scarlet envy, scyvie, branjie, chad michaels

#rpdr fanfiction #purecamp #in sickness and in health #shalaska #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #yvie oddly #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #scarlet envy #scyvie #branjie #chad michaels #lesbian au #royalty au #submission

[projectomerta]

Kindred Souls - Chapter 2: Meetings

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed 

Words: 1775

Miriam arrived home around noon. After the deal with Mr. Lepley, she wandered around town for a bit and took the opportunity to eat by herself for once. She loved her family, but she felt like celebrating a deal gone well by herself. 

As she entered the house, the maids were all leaving in a silent frenzy. She let them all walk out, before walking in herself. She took one look at her family in the living room and she had a clue on what might be going on.

From the entrance of the living room, she could see her father sitting at the end of the long rectangular table in the center of the room. The sunlight shone through the window on the left side, right on to Francis’ and Layla’s backs. Robbie was sitting on the right side of the table with his back facing the huge brown cabinet with all the cutlery and plates, decorative or not.

“What happened?” Miriam asked, with a confused tone.

Her father was staring at the table, with a familiar and serious expression on his face. “Miriam, sit down, while we wait for Kevin.”

“Well you’ve obviously told everyone else what’s going on, why no-”

“Miriam, I said sit!” 

This time he looked straight at her. Not into her eyes, but through them. Addam Rhodes was just as intimidating as he was a good father and Miriam respected him very much, so she sat next to Robbie. When she did, she noticed her little brother was shaking and she put her hand over his. He was the youngest of the family, with only seventeen years of age, of course he was nervous. 

Do we have another target? But we never meet during the day… Not when it comes to this matter, we don’t… 

The front door opened with what sounded like a blessing to Miriam, and probably everyone else involved. Kevin came bursting into the room and he sat at the end of the table, directly facing their father. “The maids told me to come home, I came as soon as I could, father.”

Addam took a deep breath and looked at each one of them with a sense of pride in them. Although they were children from two marriages and an affair, their relationship was strong. Not only were they a close family, they had proof - their eyes. All of them, from Francis to Miriam, from Layla to Kevin and Robbie - all of them had the same dark brown eyes as their father.

“I will not mince words,” he looked at Miriam and Kevin, “We have assignments for tonight.”

Kevin was taken aback. “Wait, more than one?” 

Layla stared at him, as if she were begging him to shut up, and her brother took the hint. 

“We received a letter earlier, from our usual source,” Addam continued, “He wants us to take out four targets…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers while he let out a long sigh. 

“Well, that’s nothing new, we’ve killed m-”

“They aren’t normal people, Kevin.” Robbie’s voice cracked. 

Kevin was perplexed. “What do you mean, they aren’t normal?” 

Addam took the wheel, once more, “They are people of high standing, but we have been informed that they are corrupt and as you all know, our source is trustworthy.” He took a deep breath and finally regained his usual posture. “The Assassin trade has been lost in the eyes of most, but it is our duty to continue it!” 

Miriam and her siblings were all convinced at that moment. So much so, that Robbie let go of her hand, and stopped shaking. She looked around the room, seeing that Layla looked worried about something that wasn’t a dress and Francis was looking at someone other than a woman. Miracles do happen! Miriam thought to herself, sarcastically. 

Both Miriam and Kevin listened closely to their father while he told them who their targets were. The other three had already heard it and were still shaken by the information. They all knew their targets from events their father was invited to or hosted - some of them in that same living room. 

After all was set in stone, the Rhodes siblings got up from the table and walked to their rooms in order to get ready. 

Miriam’s room was the only one the maids didn’t clean, by her request, so it was in the same mess she had left it in the morning. She once more walked over to the trunk in her room and threw her uniform on top of the bed. Fortunately, the trunk had nothing in it besides what she was looking for. She took her black assassin robes out from the trunk and put them on. She still remembered the day she was told about the family secret. After Francis, she was the first one to be told. It was like a rite of passage for the siblings. 

Having put on her robes, it was time to get her weapons. She walked up to her bedside table and crouched down, reaching in the direction of the wall, with her hand. Eventually, she found something wrapped in silk. “Got you!” She shoved some clothes aside from the top of her bed and laid the silk wrap on top of it. Two hidden blades, a bow and arrow, along with her quiver, and, finally, the tomahawk. 

She was ready to go, and so were her siblings. The plan was for Layla, Francis and Miriam to each take out one of the targets and for Robbie and Kevin to team up against the other one. Their usual code of conduct was to act alone, but no efforts could be spared that night. They all knew their father would gladly join them if he could, but his age didn’t allow him to.

Miriam left the Rhodes manor and took off to her beloved roofs of New York City. Even at night their bright color made her comfortable, but there was no time to admire them that night.

She jumped from roof to roof, in the dark of the night. It wasn’t that late, people should just be done with dinner, so she had to be twice as careful. Though she had more than a decade of experience as an assassin, she wasn’t the best at sneaking around - she had never been. Even when she would hunt animals for her and her mother she would scare them away sometimes.

She knew exactly what her target looked like and where he lived, so she just went to his house after looking around town for a short while. 

When she got close to the house, Miriam noticed a few lights flickering softly behind the curtains. I’m gonna have to break in… 

Miriam walked away from the house to take a better look at the windows of the second floor. She wanted to confirm that it was her target who was home, after all he was married, so it could just be his wife or their maids. 

Suddenly she heard something, which startled her. It was a carriage. Without panicking, she quickly turned the corner and started climbing the house. Miriam heard the carriage stop before she got to the top, and then heard two men talking, as the carriage went away. When she finally got to the roof of the house she started understanding what they were saying.

“Thank you for letting me stay here, Mr Collins.” Said a man with an Irish accent.

“Oh, me and my wife welcome your company, don’t worry about it.” The other man replied.

She immediately recognized the second man - it was Vergil Collins, the merchant and Templar sympathizer she was meant to kill. What her father had told her was that he had been shipping children away as slaves. When she saw them about to enter the house, she knew she had to act quickly.

Miriam instinctively drew an arrow from her quiver and moved to the edge of the roof, pointing her bow down at her target, as soon as she could. She held her breath to stabilize her aim and finally… She let go.

“Watch out!”

The Irishman’s warning scream made Collins jump, so the arrow missed.

“Fuck!” Miriam whispered, as she looked straight at the Irishman. He’s a templar. With no other options left, she put away her bow and jumped. Miriam herself didn’t know who she was aiming to kill in the moment she jumped, but it became very clear to her that she had chosen to kill the Irishman first. 

Miriam could feel the wind in her skin as she was going down. She readied her arm to end the Irishman with a single thrust of her hidden blade, but just as she was sure she was going to succeed, right when she thrust her blade at him, the Irishman parried her strike with a hidden blade of his own and pushed her away from Collins.

Miriam was on the ground and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She was scared like she had never been before. She had been taught that the hidden blade was the signature weapon of the Assassins, and if her family were the only Assassins around, who in hell was that man? Why does a Templar have a hidden blade?! 

“Who are you?” He asked.

Miriam didn’t bother responding. She pulled out her tomahawk and lunged forward at the Irishman, who dodged the swing with ease.

“Wait!” Said the Irishman.

Miriam wasn’t thinking straight, from the adrenaline. She hadn’t even noticed how Collins had gone inside the house already and was seeing everything happening from the window. “Die, Templar!” She yelled.

She once again lunged at the templar in an enraged state. All of the doubts in her head had stirred everything up to the point where she couldn’t think. At that moment, she wasn’t Miriam Rhodes, she wasn’t an assassin, she was merely an animal, fighting purely on instinct. 

The Irishman parried all of her strikes, some with more ease than others. Miriam wasn’t weak by any means, she was simply outclassed. As she wound up her arm for a swing of the Tomahawk, the Irishman saw an opportunity to strike back, as the swing was far too wide. He pulled out his cutlass and struck her arm with the blunt part of it, disarming her. With a swift movement he pulled her by the arm, twisted her around, and struck her in the back of the neck with the pommel of his sword.

Miriam felt dizzy, and suddenly… Darkness.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed rogue #original character #oc #fanfic #fanfiction #see?

[ahoperekindledrpg]

The Start

[NSFW, 18+, Graphic Violence and Sexual Content]  ( 1 Day Before Present Time – “Bear” The Raider – Outer Rim Planet 223 )

  They had killed them quickly and it had been good. Bear had been right in assuming the mercenaries guarding the merchants caravan were carrying unloaded weapons. Few guns that he saw upon the road were loaded now. The firepower lay within the towns, guarded carefully, and those that wandered for trade or better fortune could not find ammunition or failed to conserve it.  This was the Outer Rim.  His men had carved through them, bathed the battered asphalt of the road in their blood, and begun the celebration that followed each hunt in earnest.

 “Strip ‘em?” Asked Lizard, named for his sun-scaled skin and the look of his eyes through the small sun-goggles he wore.  This world was sick with radiation.  A stripped atmosphere leaving it naked to the abusive rays of a massive sun.

 Bear nodded.  “Be quick.  That was an Imperial shuttle that went over us.”

 They had no use for the clothes. They were well-clothed. Their armors, patchwork, were already threaded with bits of metal and cloth. He watched as Lizard bent and slashed a nose from one of the mercenaries and threaded it to the necklace he wore. Bear had the most noses and ears of any in this troop. It was why he lead them. It was why he needed to watch them now.

 The merchants had lead four skinny banthas behind them, loaded heavily with goods. Bear watched as those packs were opened. Cigarettes, Imperial Credits (the Imperial Republic’s currency), and dirty water. Fresh water was hard to find now and unnecessary. The radiation did not hurt in small doses. A man might piss blood or lose some teeth but he would not die. Drugs helped with those things and they liked them anyways. On the right dose of smack Bear could rip most men apart with his hands. The Merchants did not carry it but their cigarettes would help him get it from the Black Skulls across the hills.

 It had been a successful morning.

 “Bear?” Came a voice. Cracked and feminine.

 Bear turned and saw Bird there, gangly as she was, on all fours with her pants thrust down. The pale skin of her backside was dirty from the road and sweat ran down the small of her narrow back and vanished between her cheeks. His prick swelled. Hard suddenly. He’d almost forgotten her in the high of their success.

 It took a moment to move her with his big hands. Pushing her down, lowering her as he claimed a place on his knees behind her. He coughed up a thick wad of phlegm and spat it on the head of his dick, closed his eyes, and sank into her. She gave a rough grunt of discomfort that he ignored. Pounding into her.

 She braced herself against his weight with her small hands for some time, pushing back against him, and then it was as though the air went out of her lungs and she went suddenly and abruptly quiet. The strength left her hands and she crumpled beneath him. Bear did not care. He kept pumping, feeling his moment on the horizon.

 A shot rang out and he opened his eyes. A big, booming, distant shot that sounded almost as though it came from across the ridge and upon the otherside. So far off that at first he did not feel concerned.

 Then, as he looked across his men as saw them return to their work, he saw Lizard. For a moment, Lizard was looking into the hills, and then he was lifted from his feet as though struck by some imaginary fist. It picked him up and rolled him across the roadside, where he landed, absolutely still. The sound of the shot rolled out a short time later. Followed by another as SoreFoot, to his left, crumpled.

 “Bird.” He said, and cinched a fist on the back of her vest. She was light and he was strong and even with his body aching with his oncoming climax she offered no resistance.

 “Fuck, come on!” But she did not move. He looked down and saw a neat hole behind her ear on one side and a hole the size of his fist on the other. Her brains were splattered in a wide arc across the asphalt and her eyes were pinched closed, features twisted in a grotesque and feral mask of a woman being roughly and unlovingly fucked.

 Bear pissed himself. A hot jet of urine arced from his softening prick as he stood ram-rod straight upon the road. He saw the last of his men, Wolf Moon, turn toward him in blind panic. Their eyes met and then Wolf Moon’s head exploded. One moment it was the man’s bearded face and the next it was just a shower of blood and pale bits of bone and flapping flesh. The body went down in a pile, arms twitching grotesquely.

 Looking up into the hills, Bear searched for the men who had snuck up on them. He saw nothing. It was not the Black Skulls or more Boot Thiefs. It was only the barren desert hardpan and the broken, rocky ledge. He raised his axe, terrified, and shook it. Then, impossibly far away, Bear saw the flicker of a muzzle flash. He had time to think that nobody in the Outer Rim could make that shot before everything went dark.

 ( 1 Day Before Present Time – Simultaneous – “The Mandalorian” Garrus Stark – Outer Rim Planet 223 )

 It stretched beyond the limit of his eyes and forged itself into an uneven and craggy horizon some miles ahead. Experience had taught him to measure those miles, one after another, in a scale of hours. Time was a more precious currency than miles. Value in the Imperial Republic’s Outer Rim was determined by a survivor’s measure. Imperial Credits and fresh water had become more invaluable than diamonds or gold. Even corpses, the fresher the better, had their worth in trade. This world did not always have time for the rituals and rights to which humanity had at one time been accustomed. This world was an angry, red world. The sand shifted coarsely across the hardpan on hot breezes by day and billowed against the raging, chilled winds of evening. Beneath his feet, cracked and sand-swept, a broken road stretched on like a long dead snake. Dunes had slid across large sections of it, hundreds of feet at a time, and there were places where the breeze had brushed back the sand and revealed uneven, glossy black glass where the world had been melted under the poisonous blanket of nuclear fire that had swept away the civilization that had once owned this world.  Planet 223 had become an example to the galaxy at large.  

 He walked on and squinted against the sun, despite the power mask that he wore. Beskar and Titanium, the mask gave him the look of some nightmarish haunt. His eyes were green, inhuman slashes that ran jagged down the front of his mask. His nose and mouth were veiled beneath smooth, tactical and featureless metal. The mask took hot air and filtered it into something cooler. It veiled his voice into a low, raspy mechanical growl. In the mornings when he rose from his camp and pulled it into place it turned him from a man, fair-haired and sharp-featured, into the monstrous apparition that the raiders of the road and even the brave Caravaneers from the east had come to fear.  Something all feared.  Even the Imperials.  Looking now, he let the automated computer sharpen the lenses like binoculars. The horizon immediately grew into focus, swelled up to reveal the broken and ruinous cityscape of Dodge City. He was close. He would not camp for the day. He would not stay upon the road.  His ship waited and it was finally time to get back to the planet where he had found love and destiny.

 Turning, he cut his way from the asphalt and onto the hardpan. The sand was not soft. His boots did not sink or leave impressions. This was a desolate place. It was an unforgiving and calloused place. The sun was high and merciless in the sky. Unprotected skin burned quickly here, burned near to the point of blistering within two afternoons of exposure. The experienced travelers of the road covered themselves and he was no different. Dust clung to his coat, it invaded all spaces. It took a great deal of oil to keep the leather from cracking and drying and still, in the folds where the skin of it bunched, the sand found places to hide. It was discolored now. The deep, charcoal gray was now thinner. That suited him fine. He was no carpet bagger. The trenchcoat had the unenviable job of taking the beating of the hardpan. It hid the armor beneath it, the weapons, and all else that would have made him such an obvious and easy target. The high collar of his coat, the cut of it, and the helmet were what defined him. They were his face.  The only face the Galaxy would ever know.

 The road lay in a depression between two rocky hills and he climbed the one to the left. Few people braved the hardpan at all on their own. Fewer still were brave (or foolish) enough to stray from the road. His Geiger counter buzzed gently within his mask, numbers scrolling abruptly in the Heads-Up Display it provided. This place was familiar to him and he did not startle. Radiation was a frequent danger on this planet but the hill only provoked the meter to spark a soft, pickle green. The crescent Geiger was metered into three sections. Green, which while irradiated was not inherently dangerous. Yellow, where prolonged exposure to any area or deciding to eat a material registering this high could bring on minor symptoms of Radiation Sickness. And Red, which if not avoided quickly and entirely could rapidly ruin an otherwise survivable day.

 He slowed on account of the terrain. The hardpan was unforgiving in every account. A slip could plunge him into a crevice filled with mutie snakes. It could cost him a broken ankle. Time had ensured he would not take his footing for granted and he had taken to measuring his experience in years. He had spent far longer than most travelling the Outer Rim planets . Countless years surviving in hard worlds.   This was not the first world slagged by the Empire, left broken and dead, inhabited by drifters and desperate deplorables hungry for freedom and the way to survive.  He slowed and that experience paid itself back to him. The display of his helmet flickered to alert him of movement two-hundred meters ahead of him. He picked his way across the boulder-strewn hillside as quietly as he could manage and settled upon its crest. There, under the slits of his helmet’s eyes, the ruins of a Caravan lay strewn across the black skin of the road and the hardpan.

 A pair of merchants had passed not long ago with an accompaniment of mercenaries. They wore patchwork armor and hardened faces and each lead a pair of skinny banthas burdened with bundles of material for trade and sale. The banthas were large and grotesque, as unthreaded as could be, but docile and capable and toilless as they moved along. This was the Outer Rim. The mercenaries carried blaster carbines but not one of them looked as though they were a capable shot or practiced. He had appraised them from the ridge, low and quiet as they passed, with the same scrutiny he afforded all strangers now.

 Now, strewn upon the road, the ruin of their caravan lay open as a group of eight began pillaging through it. The banthas, too far from threaded to be eaten, had been butchered crudely regardless and would be left to rot in the desert sun. The mercenaries had formed two loose lines against the ambush and been cut down where they stood. It had been fast. Not a single man had survived long enough to lose his nerve and make a break from the road. They were riddled with horrible rents and their patchwork armor was cleaved over and over. Bodies upon the hardpan did not make pools of blood. The desert, hungry for the wet, drank it up so quickly it was as though it had not been there at all. A waste for raiders, most of whom were cannibals, so survival and bestial ingenuity had taught them to line their wagons in plastic. They dragged these behind them. The raiders were dressed in clothing stitched together with the prizes of their kills. Teeth. Bones. Ears. Noses. They were festooned across their chests and necks in horrible necklaces.

 They were armed with a variety of weapons. Spears fashioned from sign-posts and machete cleavers. The truth, sad and ugly, was that few men brandishing blasters had ammunition for them. Raiders, often drug addicts with a predisposed taste for mayhem, were notorious for charging at groups of armed men. Blaster power cells were expensive and difficult to find, harder to conserve, and so the Raiders had descended upon them and ignored their lofted firearms and weak threats. A few heads lay in the sand, eyes wide with the horror of inevitability, seeing nothing and echoing the moment of grim realization that fell upon them. A few had drawn their knives. Too little. Too late.

 The man looked down upon the carnage dispassionately. His eyes counted and recounted the Raiders numbers and took stock of the ridges nearby. None of the men looked up from their pillaging to search the roadside for signals or to give any. The eight were alone. Two of them, a particularly well-decorated man and a small, stringy woman, were fucking like dogs beside the road. The Imperial Republic had not been kind to the Outer Rim planets.  Some had been slagged in the purges that followed the Emperor’s succession. This planet had gotten it worse than most because it had harbored the Rebellion. The man unshouldered his rifle and laid its long barrel on the sun-blistered surface of stone. The helmet was synced with the weapon’s scope and allowed him to magnify the scene. The ruined caravan’s strewn loot drew his immediate interest. Cigarettes, which were being gathered in a small heap at the roadside, and a few small rations were being piled into a wooden cart took his immediate interest. Drinking water was being stacked more neatly beside the Raider’s carts and he studied the big plastic jugs. It looked dirty. Unclean. It did not interest him.

 Despite eight blaster rifles there appeared to be no ammunition in the loot. The firearms had been left where the men holding them had fallen. They were in fair condition. Most likely, either through neglect or time’s course, a few would not fire. Still, in his mind, he saw the potential for parts. Repair or trade, it did not matter. There were pans, pots, and playing cards. The Raiders ignored them all. They could not trade with towns and did not care to. They traded only with the gangs that existed miles away. It was a grim exchange. The loot of the dead for drugs and liquor. This was not the humanity many had envisioned. The man frowned, took aim, and exhaled.

 He squeezed the trigger and felt the rifle kick, too focused to register the booming retort of the high-caliber round exploding from the barrel. The woman, her twisted and sallow face blistered from the sun, crumpled beneath the large man thrusting roughly into her. His eyes were closed and he did not register the sound of the shot. Two shots took two more of the men while the Raiders began to take notice and stare up at the ridges that flanked them.  He was unwilling to use Disruptor or Disintegrator rounds on petty raiders. The massive slugs were overkill as it was.  The first took the impact hard and was much lighter than he expected, lifting clean off his feet and rolling across the road. The other crumpled immediately, one hand lifted to point (wrongly) to the hill opposite where the man firing at them still crouched, and went still. He fired on until the eight was reduced to one bewildered and frightened man with pants half-done and his pecker shriveling. For a moment he though the Raider saw him. His horrible features tightened in a crude, ugly grimace up towards the proper hill. He lifted one hand, carrying a rusty and carnage-stained axe, and shook it. The last shot struck true and did not quite remove his head. Instead, as the man in the mask looked on, the top of the Raider’s skull evaporated in a puff of red and pink mist as the large-caliber round turned his head into a canoe. The body fell straight back, stiff as a board, and the booted feet twitched madly.

 The planet had been a nightmare.  Thirty days prior he had landed on its surface with Corbin Cross, one of the boss’ least favorite men, Garrus had sensed the ambush from the start.  But Corbin, while a good gun and dependable man, had not listened.  They had shot their way out, barely, as an entire two platoon formation of Storm Troopers opened fire.  Corbin had been wounded and he had left him after it was done, well-armed and hidden, before he’d taken the cargo skiff they had driven out to the rendezvous and ran it out towards the spaceport several days away to draw them off.  The Imperials had given chase, taking the bait and leaving Corbin to hide and wait for him to rescue him.  But, they had managed to disable the skiff, nearly killing him in the crash.  He’d left them dead on the hardpan and been walking since, evading their scouting parties, killing those that could not be avoided.  And now, having come across the Raiders, he had found his way back to town. The single speeder bike, veiled behind the skiff, was a ruinous thing.  Dark smoke belched from its exhaust – signs of leaking manifolds and broken exhaust trim valves.  But it ran. And it would do so – long enough for him to get back to his ship.

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

( 1 Day Before Present Time – Two Hours Later  – Corbin Cross – Outer Rim Planet 223 )

 Don’t try comms.  They’ll be listening for signals.  

               The Mando had, thankfully, not said much.  He had never said “I told you so”.  He’d never said, “You nearly got us killed.”  What he had said, two brisk sentences, had been designed to keep Corbin alive and Corbin had listened.  They had never gotten along much.  Mando was a tough one to connect with.  It wasn’t just the helmet, or the mythos, or the legend.  It was his silence.  The man spoke so little that often standing with him was akin to standing alone.  It had always felt arrogant to Corbin.  And now, suddenly, it did not.  

                 When the ambush had sprung itself – nearly all Boss Jewel’s hired hands were killed in the first few seconds.  Blaster bolts had ripped through the air and torn through the men, lightly armored or unarmored entirely, punching searing holes through their bodies and throwing them back onto the cargo decking of the spaceport.  The stink of singed flesh and blood had quickly filled the air.  Dockhands, civilians, anyone close was gunned down. Imperial Stormtroopers were remarkable shots.  They moved as units.  Silent, coordinated, fearless.  They overwhelmed you with numbers and firepower.  Corbin had scuffled with squads before but never entire platoons.  The experience was sobering.  The difference between a talented gun and experienced soldier was immense.  

 And then there’d been The Mandalorian.

                 He moved steadily from cover to cover, leading with the muzzle of the blaster rifle he carried.  Each shot that Corbin had watched him take had found a Stormtrooper. And while, so far as Corbin could tell, the Mandalorian’s blaster rifle could penetrate the Stormtrooper’s armor at this range, he always seemed to land a shot in the gaps that the armor did not cover.  Under the arms.  At the neck. They crumpled heavily under the impacts. Most were dead, Corbin reckoned, before they hit the ground.  He’d returned fire, too.  But he’d mostly found himself pinned by some crates.  Unable to move without exposing himself.  The Mandalorian had moved constantly.  In and out of cover.  Taking angles that Corbin would never have seen that minimized his exposure – turning the entire battle line of Stormtroopers so they could never all get angles on him.  Corbin watched him lean from a stack of crates and gun down an entire squad in a few short seconds, only to displace and move again, getting close to the Imperials and throwing confusion into their formations.

                 He moved more like a soldier than any mercenary that Corbin had known.  But he moved more fluidly than any soldier.  The Mandalorian never appeared frustrated, afraid, or anxious.  Instead, the armored figure had effortlessly moved through them.  He cut them down with cold, ruthless efficiency.  Gavin watched as he shot a man in the chest and dropped him to his knees, only to move past him and put two more rounds into the back of his head along the way, blowing his helmet and brain out through the front of the trooper’s visor.  Another had been too near, and the Mandalorian had swept the Trooper’s barrel aside and in the same, fluid movement drew a vibroblade and passed it along the unarmored throat until the trooper dropped gurgling, bleeding out. It was a veritable ballet of death.

                 The grenade that nearly killed him had been thrown to flush him out of his position.  Corbin had seen it too late, mesmerized by The Mandalorian, and only turned to watch it strike the deck nearby.  It’d landed a few feet behind him before going off with a massive “BOOM” that knocked him off his feet and sent him spinning to the ground.  The Mandalorian had found him there after beating the Stormtrooper’s back into cover and that’d been when he’d said those first sentences to him.  Told him not to forget.  Then, he’d given Corbin a few spare power cells for his blaster, some rations, and removed the large piece of shrapnel in his side before binding it with a bacta infused dressing.  The drainage culvert Corbin had selected was cramped but it was dark, hard to see from the outside, and it’d have to do.  And it had – for days.

                 The Imperials had not left.  Instead, through the mechanical filtered voices, he’d learned a few precious and important things.  The first was that they were hunting The Mandalorian and had not found him. The second was that, for all his maneuvers, Marlin Jewel had stumbled upon a hornet’s nest with several of his last deals in contraband and brought the wrath of a young, eager Imperial Moff named Yannix upon his head.  The show of force on this desolate world was a fraction of what would fall upon the estate if the Moff was not appeased.  They had to get back.  And this, hiding in a culvert, was not helping.

                 The Bacta had healed him.  Mostly.  It was not as efficient as a proper dip but he’d never have anticipated one.  The wound had closed and the flesh had knitted together in pale scar tissue.  It still hurt to move – but it would not be a danger to reopen.  He slid his blaster pistol, an Imperial model DL-17, infront of him.

                 The drainage culvert was mostly empty and stunk of mildew.  Corbin began to shuffle his way forward, inching along, leaving behind the mess of waste and wrappers that would leave evidence of his grim existence here.  He had not slept well in days.  The cramped quarters, the stink of the pipe, the constant presence of the makeshift Imperial Garrison being set up above his position did not lend itself to sleeping.  He wanted a shower.  A bed. A meal.  But it all seemed so impossible.  He’d made a life out of surviving, in finding a way through hard situations, but this was the hardest he had known.  His best plan was to get onboard one of the Imperial Shuttles undetected.  There, he could seal the bridge, and hopefully get off the ground.  Once he was airborne he could purge the oxygen in the rest of the craft and kill those inside.  He’d try and find the Mandalorian if no TIE Fighters were scrambled to intercept him.  But they likely would be.

 He found himself pained at the thought of leaving his savior behind.  Surprising, really.  

                 At the mouth of the pipe he fought the urge to loudly suck in fresh air.  The sweetness of it was so sharp it made his head spin and he gathered himself, here in the dark, grateful to be here.  If they found him and killed him here, at least, it wouldn’t be in that forsaken pipe. His clothes were covered in a thick layer of grime.  It was a surprise he did not feel the urge to wretch.  Instead, inspired by his thoughts of the Mando, he simply slid his blaster forward and checked it.  It looked operable.  The Power Cell inside fully charged.  It was not an impressive pistol but it was common, dependable, and did the job for a sidearm.  It was a shame that if he found cause to use it here his plan had failed and he was most certainly dead.  There were too many.  Maybe forty or more of the Troopers moving around.

                 Getting to his knees set off a fierce ache in him – and he remembered suddenly he’d been holed up in a drainage culvert for days and had not stood, or even brought his knees up bent, in as long as a week’s time. They did not respond as he was used to. It would take time.  Time he did not have.  And he realized suddenly that getting to the shuttle would be a much harder proposition than he first believed.  Two crafts loomed on the landing pad.  The first was not his target.  A Sentinel-Class transport was too large, too slow, and too hard to pilot alone. It was also still functioning in some ways as the home of the Platoon of Stormtroopers currently nearby.  His target was the Lamda-Class shuttle further along.  And now, looking at the near 100 yard stretch between his position near the pipe and the shuttle, he felt his heart sank.

                 Corbin dragged himself to his feet.  The 100 yards he had to cross was cluttered with containers, both Imperial and otherwise, and it was dark.  The Storm Troopers had no idea anyone had survived at the Space Port besides a few locals, which were human, and had treated them dismissively as cattle.  That was good.  He had areas of cover and the area wasn’t entirely locked down.  Skilled fighters, or not, the years since the Rebellion’s collapse had made Imperial Forces a far cry from the paranoid police force that so many remembered.  It was strange how he could always summon up the optimism.  It was something others had always thought was wild.  And still, even as that confidence filled him again, he felt a sinking ache in his gut at the prospect of crossing to the shuttle.

                 The blaster pistol had always been a comfort to him – it was not one now.  There were easily a dozen, or more, blaster rifles and pistols between his position near the drainage pipe and the shuttle that represented life.  He was underfed, weak from days spent in the pipe, and alone. Still, he had to try.  There was nothing but for him to try.  Corbin liked his life but had long suspected the luck would run out.  When he was younger, of course, he’d all the confidence of youth.  Death happened to those more foolish, less talented, and less lucky than he’d been.  Now, he knew better.  Death simply happened.  It didn’t consider who, or when, or where.  He checked the pistol one last time.  He flexed his legs.  And then Corbin, feeling more aware of his own mortality than he ever had, made up his mind to cross to the shuttle or die trying.

 ----------------------

( 1 Day Before Present Time – Same Time  – The Mandalorian – Outer Rim Planet 223 )

 “Query:  Master, Corbin Cross has proven to be fairly useful for a meatbag, but retrieving him seems an unnecessary risk.  Are you certain we should?”

                 The droid looked disarmingly similar to a protocol droid – tall and bipedal.  Two rectangles for eyes glowed gold, a narrow profile of features that held the vague structure of a humanoid face, but there was something cold and empty in its lack of expression.  Still, Garrus felt a smile tug at his lips beneath the expressionless mask of his helmet. Six One’s disdain for organic beings was something he’d come to find humor in.  It lightened an otherwise grim moment.  Still, he did not answer the droid, and instead fed a fresh cell into the HD-507a Blaster Rifle with a metallic “CLACK!” as his palm shoved it into the receiver.  

 “Resigned Statement: Very well, Master.  Are you going to attempt a quiet insertion?”

                 It was his preferred method and he was not surprised the droid had made the assumption.  Still, partnerships were about compromise, and The Mandalorian could not refute the cold-blooded truth that he hated the Imperials.  Now, more than ever.  A hard exit, or an easy one, did not matter.  In his mind he saw two paths converging to the same impossibly true end.  It did not matter.  Either end drenched in blood.  They all did. And so he turned to leave the cockpit and head into the hold, rifle in his hands, and spoke without looking back to the droid.

 “No time.  Come in firing.”  He said.

 “Delighted Exclamation: Oh, yes, Master!  I will be sure to eliminate all of those filthy IR meatbags.”

                 The droid’s reply was filled with audible excitement.  And, almost as quickly, he heard the familiar tones as the console echoed preemptive warm-up commands for The Unbroken Promises’ various weapon systems.  The ship’s corridors were familiar haunts. It had been his home for many years. The durasteel decking gave metallic clicks beneath the weight of his purposeful strides.  Under the leather duster his armor moved with him, flawless in fit, molded to the powerful stretch of his body.  Atop it, crossing his back and flanking his shoulders, his bandoliers were presently empty.  He turned into his quarters, spartan in décor, and moved to the far wall where his fingers made familiar movements over the false wall’s hidden keypad until it retracted.  Within, veiled in an internal vault, he found what he needed to fill the pouches of his bandolier with spare energy cells for his blaster rifle and projectile cylinders for his sidearm.  A few grenades were hung on the leather sling as well.

 Inside his helmet, through the onboard commlink, he heard the droid’s voice.

 “Preemptive Statement: Master, thirty seconds until we are in weapon’s range.  We are, so far, undetected on their scanners.”

 “I’ll be at the port loading ramp.  Engage their vehicles first.  Make it loud. Drop the ramp when we’re in position.”

 “Affirmative, Master.” The droid responded.

                 Moving, Garrus found his way to the cargo bay. His gloved hands cleared the weapon hot. The familiar weight of it in his arms, the familiar strength of his hands closing around it, and the way he shouldered it.  All at once they closed into weapon’s range and he felt the familiar sounds of The Unbroken Promises’ twin missile launchers unload their ordinance. “THUMP” went the starboard tube. “THUMP” went the port.  And briefly in the hold a flare of heat as they sent the high-explosive concussion missiles streaking towards their targets.

 “Six One, give me the feeds.”

 “Affirmative, Master.” Came the reply.

                 And at once, within his helmet, he saw Six One’s perspective as the missiles flashed out across the hardpan of the ruined planet. They elevated as they neared the spaceport, coming on quickly now, as The Unbroken Promise sped full tilt towards the spaceport.  The missiles arched swiftly down.  Striking, savagely, the Lamda-Class Shuttle amidships and detonating in a plume of fire and molten steel.  The shuttle lifted briefly off the pad, as though it was attempting to take off, before it erupted from stem to stern in a mushroom cloud of heat and fire.  It was gone a moment later.  A fin from its tail went spiraling across the spaceport, crumpling as it went.  He saw the white shapes of troopers scattering in confusion.  The other missile struck the larger troop transport in the nose.  The explosion broke the ship’s back, lifting the tail nearly thirty meters into the air, before it fell back heavily and buckled on the decking.  Men died as they were consumed by the flames and shards of steel and armor as it splintered in all directions.  A larger, secondary explosion rippled across its back to the stern as fuel lines ruptured and the sublight engines cooked off in spectacular plumes of flame and fire.

 “Master, ten seconds.”

                 It was all gone then.  The feeds from the ship’s cockpit, the noise and the thoughts.  All at once he toggled his helmet’s display to feed him with targeting data.  How familiar it was.  The sterile oxygen fed through the scrubbers of the helmet.  He was not like those Troopers.  Not like the smugglers, the farmers, the settlers, or the politicians. He was heir to a legacy.  Forged of steel.  Forged of blood.  Forged of battle.  The oath lived in him, as it had generations before.  This was the way.  The way it had been for all those who had given their life for a cause, for honor. For the countless men who had died in battle besides brothers he would perhaps never know.  They were all but extinct now.  Scourged from the galaxy by the Empire.  Broken.  Ruined. And all those had given their lives. All of those had poured themselves into battle for one another, for the creed, for the timeless bonds of brotherhood forged in war after war after war.  They were gone now.  Ghosts forgotten to time.  But they were not.  

 ----------------------

( 1 Day Before Present Time – Corbin Cross – Outer Rim Planet 223 )

                 He had made it half-way to the shuttle when he was spotted.  And they’d opened up on him.  He’d barely made the crate for cover before blaster bolts lanced crimson death through the air, cutting past him to strike the duracrete decking and strike the large loading crate he’d tucked himself behind.  He’d simply been too slow.  There’d simply been too many.  In truth – he suspected most wouldn’t have made it nearly as far.  His number came up and Corbin did what he could, cleared the pistol a final time with a quick glance, and leaned out.  The first two Troopers had moved up on him quickly, closing the distance, not respecting his ability to defend himself.  He used them to send a message.  His first shot caught the left-most trooper in the throat and torn it out, sending him backward to paw feebly at it as he bled out on the landing pad.  The other had snapped a panic shot off that had missed him.  Corbin flinched, but recovered quickly, firing a shot in reply. The blaster bucked gently in his hand before his bolt hit the Trooper square in the chestplate and staggered him, absorbing the impact.  He fired two more times.  The first glanced off the Trooper’s helmet and whirred harmlessly into the night sky. The other caught him in the much thinner armor near his underarm and punched deep, burning through him, a lethal hole that clearly took some lung with it and the trooper sagged heavily before going to the ground.  

                 The others began to take tactical positions that pinned him where he remained.  He barely made it back behind the crate as they returned fire.  But none advanced.  Wary, suddenly, now that he’d killed one of their ranks and potentially mortally wounded a second.  This was it, though.  He knew that. With grenades, maybe, he could fight his way to one of the shuttles or a nearby speeder to try and make a break for it. But he had none.  And this was not a good position to be stuck in.  Sooner, not later, they would begin to use suppressing fire to keep him pinned before flanking him.  The only question was where they would flank from first.  His guess, the most accessible position they had, was to his left.  And so, dropping to a knee, he levelled the blaster and trusted his luck.

 He saw movement and fired. His bolt didn’t land but the trooper turned to consider where it came from.  He’d chosen correctly.  The next shot struck the trooper in the belly, soaked by the armor, but he landed two more that knocked it on its back and it did not move.  Unconscious, or dead, Corbin did not know.  The second trooper was trying to run past and he fired a volley that missed him.  Cursing, Corbin immediately replaced the pistol’s power cell and unloaded the entire thing on the Trooper’s position.  In cover, the Trooper was not in harm’s way, but he couldn’t fire either. Corbin reloaded.  He had two cells left.  

 And then he felt something pass overhead.

                 The blast knocked him off his feet.  He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened until he landed on his back and turned, taking note of the fireball lifting into the sky where the Lamda-Class shuttle had just been a moment ago.  Now, all that was left was a swirling mess of twisted steel and flames, a few dead Troopers littered the landing pad. Corbin was beginning to rise, his eyes darting to a few of the cargo skiffs and speeders at the far end of the dock, his gut telling him this was his chance.  But the second explosion knocked him flat again as the Troop Transport bucked off the pad under the force of a missile strike that tore it asunder and broke its back.  Secondary explosions began to belch fire from its belly hatches before the engines cooked off and Corbin, for the first time, took a moment to recognize what was happening.

 “Mando?!”  He shouted into the commlink.

 “We’ll cover you.” Came the cold, mechanical voice of The Mandalorian.

 “I’m moving slow.”  He reluctantly confessed in answer.

                 The Unbroken Promise was unspectacular looking form the outside.  The Corellian Disc Freighter was a design from the middle of the Galactic Civil War, a YT-1930, and its flanks were painted an unimpressive grey trimmed only in red and green.  It looked battered and aged.  And, while maintained meticulously (he knew) did not appear nearly as dangerous as it was. The ventral quad cannon opened up as it descended side-long in a skid-like maneuver to the pad.  It moved rapidly, selecting vehicles as targets, and cycled through dual blasts of heavy laser cannon fire that ripped targets to pieces.  From hidden compartments two repeating blasters dropped, moving by the Droid’s command he knew, and opened up on the Troopers beginning to recover and respond to this new threat.  

                 A virtual torrent of repeating blaster fire opened up as both ventral cannons machine-gunned down Troopers caught in the open.  Their bolts passing entirely through men and their armor as though they were paper, knocking them aside with murderous ease.  Corbin was moving already, abandoning his cover, struggling forward in the open as the docking ramp opened.  The Mandalorian had his rifle at his shoulder and was firing.  Corbin didn’t bother to look back.  He did not need to.  All he knew was gratitude.  And surprise. The Mandalorian had returned.

                 The armored figure leapt down and in an instant Corbin felt lighter.  The Mandalorian had curled an arm around his back and lifted, displaying an almost unnatural strength.  The world tilted, grew fuzzy, but the last he knew was a sense of being lifted off his feet entirely.  And the vague, absent sense of relief.  

 He was saved.

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

(Present Time – “The Mandalorian” Garrus Stark - Jakku )

                 She circled to her right, away from his own right hand, with footwork much improved since their previous turn together. Here, upon the empty pad, they were free to train in the ruinous shadow of abandoned buildings and docking facilities. The morning sun was only just rising to spread a slow blush of crimson and gold along the horizon, bathing them in fresh morning light.  She circled to her right, and he cut her off, forcing her back the way she had came. She switched her feet to compensate and her left hand, predictably, lifted to afford her vulnerable jawline its protection.  It was sound technique.  And that pleased him.  She’d learned the hard lesson of passive defense and taken it to heart.  But his challenge of her path to his left hand forced her back, revealing her intent, allowing him to once again pin her on her heels.                Boxing was, between them, the most brutal of courses.  She lacked reach, size, and strength.  She lacked experience.  In their other endeavors of training she had found ways to adapt, overcome, and compensate with skill or precision.  But here, now, she retreated too readily with both feet and thought. The lesson that she would learn was a hard one.  They had been sparring for twenty minutes and already her body wore a new host of bruises. She had not, as of yet, mounted any real offense.                Respect did not keep them from this.  He did not spare her his correction.  The world was a cold place and she had asked, insisted, that he give her the means by which she might one day defend herself.  Her independence and freedom so ferociously hard-earned that it provoked her to desire to keep it by any and all means.  But, to wandering eyes, what followed would have been hard to watch.  For, in his estimation, she required a reminder of failure’s cost.                He popped her with a left-handed jab that caught her glove, skipped off it, and deflected against the top of her head.  She moved through it easily, her left hand raised, but he doubled the effort and she stepped away, trying to create space and distance. Between them, in styles, she had long ago learned to adapt to the difference in their physical prowess.  In Judo, and other aspects of training, she had moved more quickly.  In fencing she had rapidly shown promise.  But boxing was a difficult problem for her to solve.  And now, abruptly, he punished her.  Her attempt to claim space forced her to step back and to her left, avoiding his left hand, and circling her directly towards his right. He unloaded, savagely, a brutal hook that her glove mostly caught but sent her staggering.                  And he was on her then, digging his glove into her lean ribs, thudding blows that sought soft tissue and to drive the air from her.  Patient, relentless, digging as she weaved, covered, and weaved again.  Trying to keep her left hand by her ear, protecting her head, and using her elbow and arm to “chicken wing” her ribs and keep them covered.  His punishment was savage.  Relentless.  And here, here the dichotomy between their nights together and others seemed most stark. It was not a fair fight.  His size, his power, and more importantly a life within Mandalorian culture had honed him for this.  He took his time, buying space, until at last her left glove slipped down to try and cover her ribs after a particularly rough blow cut past her arm and struck her solidly.   “Oof.”  She grunted as the air nearly left her.                And then there was a low “thud” as his gloved right hand smashed brutally into her temple, driving her down into the deck and ending, for now, their brief but brutal contest.   “You defeat yourself before you begin.” He said steadily.  The blunt nature of his criticism often riled her. He did not console her with the encouraging sign of her lifted hand.  Nor did he address that the job had taken him away from her a month, returning him only the day prior, or any rumors as to it she may have heard.  This was the way it had always been between them.  And, more pressingly, she had not found a way to beat him by hand.

                 Jakku was, in a strange way, beautiful.  The bleak purity of it stretched out beyond, endless, in the shifting and rolling tides of dunes.  It was home, of course, to the usual scum and less-fortunates that the galaxy offered.  It was a hard life here.  But there was a purity in it, he found, which was why he lingered here rather than the seductive promise of Nar Shaddaa.  The girl had never seen his face.  None had since he had sworn to the code.  All she knew of him was the mask’s cold visage, pale green slits where his eyes should be, and unchanging beskar forged around him.  The voice she heard was filtered through a vocal modulator.  And, still, there was some fondness between them. She did not look capable of living alone in this place but she had, and had been doing so for long before he had helped her improve her martial arts.   “But you kept your left up this time.” He said steadily, watching her rise, his hands working the padded gloves off.  This was the most she had seen of his skin.  Hints of the man beneath.  His hands were bare, scarred, and broad-palmed with long, capable fingers.  The bulk of his armor lay aside, resting on the walkway of The Broken Promise, the ship that was his home.  An old Corellian disc freighter, The Broken Promise looked every bit as rundown and hard luck as the planet that currently held her.  Pale grey armor plating had been coated with slate grey paint once, long ago, and now showed fading and peeling from wear and tear.  The edges, chased in Crimson, had faded to a well-worn burgundy.  The massive exhaust port for her ion engine loomed over them and they retreated under the port-side of it into the shade and towards the ramp that lead into the cargo hold.                  The armor, a rig of matte black plates and nano-weave fibers, lay crumpled there.  And the Mandalorian, wearing his helmet, wore only a slate-grey body glove that veiled all his flesh (save for his hands) from view.  She was the only human, for as long as he could remember, that had even seen him in this much undress.  The bottom half of his body was still clad in armor.  Tactical leggings with tactical knee pads, greaves, and beskar thigh plates. “I got a deal for you.”  He said then, changing topics, watching her through the mask of his helmet.

#@reyjustrey

[ravennawritesfanfiction]

Souls of Time- Danny Gallagher

Chapter Summary: We see the life of Danny Gallagher and Dani Quin; two friends and the first reincarnation of Eomer and Rohana.

Taglist: @schatzi-89

It was countless lifetime before they were seen again. When they did finally reappear for another life together, it was in the form of Daniel “Danny” Gallagher, a Narcotics detective and Danielle “Dani” Quin, a beat cop who worked closely with Danny and his partner Charlie. There wasn’t a romance between them; rather, they worked well together and she had a knack for being in the right place at the right time in order to help him.

Charlie and Danny both took Dani under their wings; both men were sure that in time, she would be a killer detective. She had all the skills and a killer instinct that wasn’t something that could be taught. Whenever Dani worked with the men, Charlie lovingly referred to the duo as the “Danny and Dani show”.

It started out that Dani would help their street rep but “arresting” them for crimes in front of drug bosses. They had a predetermined fake 10 code that she would call and then dispatch would “confirm” that the two were to be brought in. Sometimes one of them would “resist arrest” in order to sell it, but in the end, it always worked out. Another fake 10 code was called when they needed to be extracted from a bust before being made. That was her job. She kept the stings going.

Danny and Dani were as thick as thieves. Rarely a weekend went by where they didn’t meet up for beers and cheap bar food. Dani is even good friends with Danny’s on and off girlfriend Kate, who would occasionally join in the merriment. Neither woman felt threatened by the other. Kate always made Dani promise to bring Danny back to her; it was a promise both women would take seriously.

When Charlie and Danny killed the other undercover cop and Charlie got killed, Danny was arrested for the mess. Dani knew he hadn’t done it and more importantly, she knew that he hadn’t been bent. Kate moved on after the other cops harassed her and forced her bar closed. Dani made detective to fill in the gap left by Charlie and Danny. Her partner was an idiot who was likely to get everyone killed. Kate and Dani didn’t have much reason to speak to each other and fell out of touch. Dani was told not to visit Gallagher in prison or risk losing her job and never working as a cop again.

Jimmy was there when Danny got out. No one else in the department would speak to Danny aside from the records clerk who had always been madly in love with him. Dani wanted to be there, but she had been forced to sign a document that restricted her contacts.

Danny had been able to prove that he and Charlie hadn’t been bent and that he had been attacked by the other undercover who had been killed. Against all odds, he was let back on the force, but all officers treated him like he had the plague. With his badge in hand, the contact restriction went up in flames.

Danny didn’t have a partner and no one would trade to work with him; well no one but Dani. It was approved and they set out together. She had made lots of ground in the Drug underground while Danny had been out of the game. She had shops and garages set up all over the city. She rivaled the drug lords for ground controlled. She was on the verge of the biggest sting in the country.

The challenge that faced them was introducing a new associate and explaining the disappearance of the former partner. Danny at least looked the part, so he sold the lie beautifully. Her former partner had been a spy for another gang and had been dealt with, Danny had risen through the ranks, though no one remembered him.

When Charlie and Danny had been partners, Danny always drove. It used to drive Dani crazy. Now that she was in charge, she drove everywhere. She had garages located throughout the city so she couldn’t be tracked by her vehicle. Her driving was straight out of “Fast and Furious”. Danny couldn’t help but be impressed.

It was about a year into their partnership when the dreams started. It was a time long passed, but it was her point of view. She worked in a palace as a Lady in Waiting and an Advisor to the King. She was friends with a pair of siblings who she loved dearly. The dreams progressed and she finally saw the man’s face. He looked exactly like Danny, but with long blond hair. She loved the man and she couldn’t explain her feelings. She knew that there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do for him. It all felt so real. Eventually, she saw herself in the mirror. She looked much the same, but she too was blond and she wore a crown. Danny-look-alike came up behind her in the mirror and kissed her neck. It was like a movie playing on mute. She smiled as two little kids ran through. Each child was a mixture between her and her King.

Waking up was hardest after one of the dreams. She couldn’t recall being this happy in her life, but the closest she had been was with Danny. The dreams didn’t make much sense to her and she hadn’t told Danny about them. She found herself being drawn closer and closer to him and she knew only after the dreams started, that she would die or kill for him; just as she had felt for the man in her dream.

Dani was met the next morning by a man she did not know. He looked friendly and there was a twinkle to his eye that was so familiar yet so foreign. He wouldn’t tell her his name, but deep down she knew it; it just refused to come to mind. For the longest time, no one said a word. He sat there like he expected her to tell him about her life, but she wasn’t about to spill her guts to a stranger. He spoke first. His voice sounded like a man who enjoyed lighting up a pipe on the front porch. Very grandfather-y.

“Have you had the dreams yet?” it was a simple enough question that affected her like an earthquake to the very center of her being. All air left her lungs like she had been hit by a train. “When Rohana chose to remember in the form of dreams, she thought it would be more calming then someone telling her. Then again, dreams held more power then. People believed that they learned important things from worlds unseen through dreams. Éomer had disagreed, but Rohana insisted that she knew herself.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t know anyone named Rohana or Éomer! My name is,” the old man wasn’t interested in where the conversation was heading.

“Of course you do and don’t,” as if that was supposed to answer all the questions swirling in her mind. “You are Rohana or at least this incarnation of her. Your friend outside, who has walked past that window a dozen times since I walked in, is your version of Éomer. Whether you feel romantically for him or not, he is your soulmate. The dreams were designed to remind you of that. You don’t have to love him, but you are tied to him in ways you had yet to realize. Tell me, do the dreams have sound?”

“N…no they don’t. How could you possibly know all of this?” Dani was on her feet, not wanting to be sitting if this went south.

“I was there when Rohana and Éomer were married and crowned King and his Queen. I am the one who determined that they were soulmates. I took it upon myself to help you through each of your lives. Have you told Daniel yet?”

“Not going to tell him. He won’t believe it and he doesn’t need the distraction”

“Won’t tell who what?” Danny had come in when he noticed she wasn’t so at ease anymore. He was her partner, therefore he was allowed in for closed-door meetings.

 “Nothing, Danny. Just someone who has us confused with people from his past. I’m sure I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Lying to Danny was useless, but for whatever reasons, she thought that she could get one past him without him noticing.

“Bullshit. Danielle, what the hell is going on?” He never called her by her full name, just as she never called him Daniel.

“Allow me to explain. Danielle here can fill in the blanks that I miss. She has been having flashbacks to a life you two lived long ago. I am merely here to help her make sense of all the new things she is learning. In the other life, you were married and King and Queen of a realm known as Rohan. You are technically soulmates; which is why you are so in tune to each other. You are under no obligation to love each other. It just explains why you are drawn to each other.”

“Is… this true? Danielle?” He was mad, furious even. He had been parading Kate around, having reunited with her, thinking that the one he loved was unobtainable; now he finds out that they are meant for each other and each other alone.

“Yes. But you can’t possibly believe the old man. So what he guessed right about the weird ass dreams I have been having; so what?” she was on the defensive.

“You promised that there wouldn’t be any secrets between us, Dani. Fuck! I had to hear from some random person that the woman I rely on and care deeply for has been having dreams that could be important for me to know! What do you want me to say?” he picked up his empty coffee mug from the morning before and threw it against the wall. Shards sprayed everywhere. Dani kept her eyes on her shoes. The nameless old man stayed where he was, unbothered by the show of anger. Danny stormed over to Dani and grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. It wasn’t rough enough to hurt her, but enough for her to yelp. “We are partners. We. Are. Partners,” for reasons he couldn’t understand, he was hit with emotions so strong he couldn’t stand. His knees gave out and he was at her feet crying. It was intense love and drowning loss. The feelings were not his own. He clung to her legs; afraid that if he let go, he would lose her again.

“Ah. There he is. I’m glad Éomer had come to his senses! Maybe we can get this all squared away.”

There was a loud bang as the door frame splintered as a rival gang leader barged in Danny had just gotten to his feet and thankfully, he didn’t look like he had just been crying. The old man had vanished and they were left in a room alone with ceramic and wood shards scattered across the floor. Danny grabbed her arm to pull her out of the way when he saw the gun, but he was too late. It hit Dani center in the chest. He caught her as she fell, lungs filling with blood.

“I’m glad…I…found you.” Choking on blood, words were hard. One last cough and she was gone. Sobs shook though Danny’s body, but they were short-lived. The rival gang boss approached him with a .45 and put it to his head. Everyone in the warehouse knew that their bosses were dead.

Two police badges were found in the locked drawer of the desk. Narcotics Detectives. The warehouse was vacated and set on fire. Flames spread through the building and approached the small office at the top of the stairs. The bodies of two detectives, partners, still holding hands; the only sign that anyone had been in the building in years.

The smoke swirled in patterns. First, two halves of a heart joining together. The second was of a long-haired King and his beloved Queen. The last was two detectives overlooking the flames, still holding hands.

The fire department put out the flames. Homicide took over when two bodies were uncovered from the debris. The Narcotics chief came in to identify his detectives. They had been protected from the flames. Neither had a family of their own. They were cremated and Kate took Danny with her after the funeral. Dani was taken back to the station, where she sits on the chiefs bookshelf; the constant reminder of the dangers his officers face on the streets. The remainder of the warehouse was torn down and cleaned up. Danny and Dani watched it all, smiling.

The gang boss who had killed two cops was turned in by Danielle’s warehouse manager who took a plea deal. Confess to the manufacture of drugs and give the name of the killer and he got a greatly reduced sentence. No drugs produced by Danielle while undercover was ever distributed.

The two soulmates awaited another chance to be together “until they meet again”.

#danny gallagher #bent #series #soulmates

[coeus7]

Preuzeto sa literotice - za 5 :)

To the reader: This story is a bit of a slow burn, it serves as a set to part 2 of the story. In the author's humble opinion, stories about human sexuality are more intense and gratifying when they are both believable and involve characters who have some emotional depth. Every day, people somewhere partake in what many would call extraordinary sexual adventures. How they came to it is as at least as interesting as what they do. This is a complete work of fiction. The characters are wholly made up, as is the premise of the story. However, the general nature of the sex scenes are somewhat consistent with some of the author's personal experiences although enhanced by poetic license. The resort where the story occurs is likewise fictitious but loosely based on the amalgamation of resorts which the author has visited. ***** Hi, my name is Tim. I consider myself an average guy. At age 52, the body is holding up okay. I try to keep in shape, but I will admit I'm a little bit soft in the middle. I am not bad looking, but then again, a modeling career is not in my near future. Unfortunately, I wasn't blessed with a huge a dick, just an average one. My wife tells me I am good looking, I suspect she is prejudice in my favor, she also says I have an unusually attractive penis. I've seen a few dicks in my life and finding one attractive is unlikely. I think attractive is a word woman use when big is not on the table. She also says its thicker than average, so I guess I got that going for me. In general, I am the guy down the street, or next to you at work. Hell, more than likely I am just like you. So how does an everyday average Joe end up in a tropical paradise with his cock buried in his 28-year-old sister in law while she is going down on a 35-year-old goddess? That my friends is a story. It all begins about 10 years ago when I joined the ranks of the happily divorced. I dated a little for about 3 years before Providence introduced me to Joanne. We dated, fell in love and much to my surprise, I remarried. She's six years younger than I, but it looks more like 10. For my money, she's the perfect woman. She's smart, articulate and a successful business owner. She is also easy on the eyes. She has light brown hair, high cheekbones, and warm brown eyes. At 5'10" and one hundred and forty pounds she looks fit and healthy. She is in the gym 3 times a week and does yoga at night. She has that sexy muscle tone that gives just a bit of definition in the abs. She has pert A cup breasts, and best of all, she has quarter sized areolas with prominent nipples. When cold or exited those "pokies" are unmistakable. Best of all, like many women her age, she has grown comfortable with her body and sexuality. Jo is fearless in bed. She lacks inhibition, she likes what she likes, she wants what she wants, and she is without shame. Early on I was thrilled to learn that she enjoys a rich fantasy life and loves to talk dirty before and during sex. On many nights, I was amazed as my sweet, reserved JoJo rode me while whispering about imagined group sex, exhibitionism, or a lesbian fantasy. Sometimes she would give me a "self-love show." As she touched herself, she would talk about blowing one of our friends while I fucked her or sharing me with one of her friends. When she is inspired, my sweet girl can get as raunchy as a drunken sailor. She can practically talk herself, and me, into an orgasm. To my everlasting joy, I discovered she wasn't just all talk. My first exciting discovery was that she is a bit of an exhibitionist. Soon after we started dating, we took a trip to the Caribbean and discovered the joys of nude beaches. On the second day of our first trip to Jamaica, she agreed to give the au natural beach a shot, and we have never looked back. Now, we only go to resorts that have a nude beach. If you talk to nude beach enthusiasts they will tell you it's not a sexual thing, it's about freedom and being comfortable in your own skin. This is true; being naked in nature is both liberating and self-affirming. And I agree that you do get used to being around nude people, and you come to accept them for who and what they are, and how they look. Surprisingly, folks on nude beaches are much more friendly, talkative and social than their textile counterparts. Social nudity is a shared experience that builds a sense of community. People on nude beaches are just a lot of fun! But at least for me, there remains a small underlying current of sexuality When I am standing next to and speaking with, a nude woman, I cannot help checking her out. I also have to admit that it's kind of a turn on when I catch other men ogling Joanne. And, make no mistake, JoJo likes the attention. She likes to see naked people, and moreover, she loves to be seen. More than once, I have seen her wiggle a little extra as she strolls by a man, or her legs casually open a bit when she notices a man or women sneaking a peek. Perhaps, the sexual undertones come from the fact that the fantasy of sex with nude strangers and the reality of it are not as far apart as some of the more avid naturists would have you believe. My experience over the years has taught me that more than a few naturists are also exhibitionists. They like being nude, and many find a little thrill in being seen naked. Let's face it, to jump into communal nudism requires a certain adventurist nature and a heightened awareness of the body. I am not suggesting that the folks on nude beaches are all getting their jollies, they certainly are not, but many are a little more sexually liberated than their textile friends. If you read literature on nude beaches and resorts, you find that sexuality is dismissed as unwelcome and a non-occurrence. Don't believe for a second that libidos are left at home when vacationers make their way to the nude beach. Experience has says otherwise. Although we are not swingers, Jo and I have had a few occasions where we have explored a little vacation eroticism. Like many couples, we have enjoyed some romantic interludes during moonlight visits at the nude beach or hot tub. It is not uncommon for couples to migrate to the beach hot tub at night with a bottle of wine and romance on their minds. Being naked in a hot tub at night is not only romantic, its erotic; and making love in the open air is electrifying. All the better is "playing" in the presence of a likeminded couple. Being watched while you play naked with your spouse is a form of "safe" naughtiness. It's Certainly not "typical," but every now and again the moonlight, the wine, and the nudity conspire to lower inhibitions. Sometimes fooling around in front of other couples, can lead to more adventurous behavior. It happens a lot more than you might guess. Joanne and I have had the pleasure of sharing each other with a few new vacation friends and even strangers. In these encounters, Jo has learned that her fantasy life mirrors her real passions. She has found that she occasionally likes to "play" with girls. Like me, Jo loves the feel of a woman's body and, the taste of it. Mostly she revels in the taboo. She also loves to suck a strange cock once in a while. She tells me it isn't the cock she loves so much as the rush of being with a being with a stranger. She loves the complete naughtiness. I suspect there is a bit of a bad girl lurking in many women. Absolutley, there is a wicked woman in my sweet wife! This has led to a couple of partner trades and even threesomes involving some soft swapping. We limit our fun to oral sex, and we have never brought our fun and games home. It's more of a guilty pleasure that we allow ourselves on vacation than a part of our lifestyle. Still, nothing spices up a getaway, or for that matter a marriage, better than a little naughty fun once in a while. Memories of watching your wife go down another woman or blow another guy while his wife is sucking you off can fuel an intense sex life at home. Of course, there is also the thrill of new adventures. Let me tell you, if you have never experienced having two women giving you a blow job at the same time, you are missing out. I am a lucky guy! Naturally, I've come to really look forward to our annual trips to the nude beach resorts in Jamaica and Mexico. I love warm weather, blue water and sand on my toes but let's face it; what guy doesn't want to see naked women all day and maybe get into a threesome! Last October, I eagerly booked us into our favorite Jamaican resort for a late December trip. Because sometimes I am more frugal than smart, I opted for a great deal on a prepaid, nonrefundable vacation. Two weeks before our departure Joanne dropped the bomb. She had to opt out of the trip. Susie, her assistant manager, was due for surgery. Susie is the only other person in the world that Jo would trust with her business for 8 or 9 days, and so travel was just not gonna happen. On getting the news, I was not sure what upset me more, missing the vacation or losing more than $6000. I suggested that perhaps I could find someone to buy the vacation at a discount, but I was not optimistic. There are not just that many people who can drop what they're doing for an extended vacation on two weeks' notice and can also lay their hands on several thousand dollars for what amounts to a last-second whim. A few days later Joanne dropped bomb number two. She looked me in the eyes, and in a sincere voice suggested that I take her younger sister Sarah along with me to Jamaica. As always, my response was decisive and articulate, "you want to run that by me again?" She patiently repeated the suggestion followed by, "there's no use in wasting all that money. If you take her, you still get to go to the Caribbean, and you will be out of my hair for a week while I deal with work. Just as importantly Sarah will get a chance to go on once-in-a-lifetime vacation; that she couldn't otherwise afford." I replied, "let me get this straight, you want me to spend 7 vacation days plus a couple of travel days with your sister. Your sister with whom I have nothing in common, barely know, and who rarely says more than 4 words in any one sentence. Is that about the size of it?" With a slightly evil grin, her reply was simple, "yup." "It will be good for the 2 of you to spend some time with each other, and I would like for you to get closer." I was truly surprised by Jo's attitude, "you realize that the resort only rents to couples, no single rooms, and no double beds. Just how close do you want us to get?" I expected her to say that she trusted me. I thought she would say "it will be fine." I hoped she would say "let me rethink this." What I got was, "you're both grown-ups, you'll figure it out." I thought, What the hell does that mean? "Look," I said, "I'm not sure how comfortable I would be in such close quarters for a week with your sister. That's a lot of intimacy." With a wry smile, she replied, "what do you think is going to happen? Do you think she's going to see your cute little ass and attack you?" Internally my mind flashed to, it's not her I am worried about. I said, "No, just the opposite. Pardon my French, but your sister sorta of has a stick up her ass. Sharing a small room and even a bed with me is not going to turn out well. I have no doubt I am going to say or do something that's going to upset her." "Look, play it by ear and be patient. Sarah was not always so uptight. When we were growing up, Sarah was fun loving. She even had a little wild streak. That was before Nick fucked her over." At this point, my idiot light was blinking, and I decided it would be smart to drop this line of conversation. JoJo was getting a little defensive of her sister. I thought I'd mess with Jo a bit. "Well, maybe I could get her drunk enough to go the nude beach with me," She laughed, "They don't make that much rum! Still, a week in Jamaica wearing a swimsuit is still better than a week in an Indiana winter. Besides, you might get lucky. I know it doesn't sound like her to go to the nude beach, but she may work up the nerve." She added, "Frankly, I'd encourage you to take her, it wouldn't hurt her to loosen up a bit. Since the divorce, she's been a bit of a hermit and little on the fussy side." Stunned, I said, "you're telling me you're okay with me taking Sarah to a nude beach?" "Hey, why not?" she said, "you're the one always going on about it not being a sexual thing. Besides, you're going to be spending a lot of time in a small hotel room with her, it might make the whole thing a little less awkward." I shook my head, "this is crazy, in what world is seeing each other naked going to make anything less awkward? I have some real reservations here; your sister and I are not what you call close." "I know," she said, "that's kind of the point. I think it will be good for her to get away, I think it'll be good for you to get to know her better, and it would be good for me if you two got closer. Seriously, it would really make me happy if you did this." You may be wondering why I was so resistive to taking Sarah on vacation. First, Sarah and Joanne have a complicated relationship. Jo is 44 and Sarah is 28. Because of their age difference they never really spent that much time together growing up. Sarah was a bratty toddler when Jo was trying out for the cheerleading squad. After their mother had died the two became much closer. But, it was a relationship that was built as much on friendship as sisterhood. Still, there was also a little mother-daughter element to it too. Also, because of the age difference, they could frustrate the hell out of each other. Joanne worries about Sarah, she feels responsible for her welfare. Sarah has no desire to be mothered. Because Joan and I hooked up late in life, I am sort of along for the ride. While we get along, Sarah and I are cut from different cloth. To understand this, you must understand Sarah. She is a 28-year-old divorcee who seems to be going on 18. Nick, her idiot ex-husband, left her without much money and even less self-esteem. We suspect he physically abused her, and we were sure he did so emotionally. Since the divorce, she seems to have been drifting, and she is a little bit bitter. She's a sweet kid in her own way, but her personality ranges between snarky and just plain cynical. She has a smartass comment for everything and doesn't seem to like anything. As best I can tell, her only interests are in her ever-present cell phone, the occasional video game, and reality shows. I don't think we have ever had a serious conversation, nor could we. We are from different worlds, and I don't understand hers. Spending 9 days with her would be a challenge. There was another concern as well. Frankly, I was not sure I completely trusted myself around her. While her personality was a bit annoying, the rest of her was very attractive. Sarah is about 5 feet 5, and probably around one hundred and fifteen pounds. Although not tall, she seems to be all leg. She has shoulder length sandy blonde hair and a few freckles that suggest almost a sort of redhead's complexion. Sarah is not classically beautiful, but seriously cute with a touch of the wholesome girl next door thing going on. In fact, she sort of reminds me of Kirsten Dunst. To her credit, for a thin woman she's got a plump round ass, and although I did not know it at the time, she has gorgeous (maybe a B-Cup) tits that are remarkably round and pert. I had seen her in a bikini once, and she could do it justice. But, it was her eyes that really drew your attention. They were an incredible shade of dark blue and very expressive.   I was concerned that my thoughts were not always as wholesome as they should be. Frankly, she sometimes showed up in some of my more explicit fantasies. So, I had to admit that while the idea of sharing a room with her had some lecherous appeal, I also thought it held some risk. Logically I knew that nothing would happen between Sarah and me. After all, I was more 20 years older than her. Still, if I said the wrong thing, or she caught me staring just a little too long, it could get real awkward real fast. All I needed was to convince Sarah, and by extension Jo, that I was perving after her. Still, the vacation had some appeal. I would still get to go to Jamaica, and I would feel I got something for my money. Most importantly, Joanne said she wanted me to do it, and Joanne is almost always right. If I had any lingering doubts, Jo blew them away that night. I was in my den working when Jo came in gave me a peck on the cheek and announced that she was going up to bed. She warned me not to work too late and pattered off up the stairs. About an hour later, I went into the bedroom and found her sound asleep. I tiptoed into the bathroom and took a quick shower before going to bed. When I came out of the bathroom, I was thrilled to see my lovely wife stretched out nude on the bed enthusiastically pleasuring herself. Her heavy breathing, the fine film of sweat covering her chest, and look of pure lust on her face told me she was close to orgasm. I said, "baby, you look so fucking sexy. What brought this on?" She partially came out of her trance and said, "I just had the most erotic dream. Someone had tied me to a chair, and I was being forced to watch you with Sarah. You were licking her pussy, and she was coming so hard. I called your name to get your attention, and Sarah hushed me and told me to wait my turn. Then after she came, she was sucking your cock, and I was begging for one of you to untie me. You came all over her face, and then the two of you walked over to me and started kissing me. I could taste her pussy on your lips, and your cum, on hers. You started rubbing me down there, and then Sarah put her breast in my face and made me suck her nipples. I kept begging you to untie me, but you kept telling me that I loved it, and I did love it. Then you said that the two of you were going to use me as your toy. That's when you came in and woke me up." During the telling of her dream, she continued to finger her herself and her voice was growing increasingly raspy. Jo then looked at me lustfully and beseeched, "baby lick my pussy, lick my pussy like you licked Sarah's pussy. Make me come like you made Sarah come." I knelt and moved my face to her open legs. I started gently nibbling and licking my way up her thigh. But JoJo was not in the mood for gentle seduction; she grabbed my hair and pulled me into her. Even inches away from her pussy I could feel her heat. The smell of her sex was intoxicating, I drug my nose through her incredibly wet lower lips. Even that simple act elicited an urgent moan of pleasure. I ran my tongue up her swollen outer lips and around her clit being careful not to touch it. I wanted to tease her. She raised and moved her hips trying to force contact with her hot button. She groaned, "don't tease me, baby, lick me. Finger fuck me, get me off please." I slid 2 fingers into her hot wet tunnel, and her hips rose up to take them. I then circled her clit with my tongue. "Yes Tim, like that. Mmm, think about Sarah's pussy. Do You think I taste like Sarah? Do you think I smell like Sarah?" She panted, "Show me how you would make her cum. Make me lick her pussy off your face." As she said this, I flattened out my tongue hard against her clit and licked with long firm strokes. She came; she came hard. I could feel her pussy tightening around my fingers. She let out a guttural noise that I couldn't understand. She ground her hips against my face. I then felt the spasms deep in her as she peaked. But this was not climax, this was prelude. I gently started licking her outer lips, then probing her hot wet vault with my tongue. Soon I moved to lightly flicked the tip of my tongue against her for clit so as not to over stimulate her. I inserted two, then three fingers and curled my index finger to rub her G spot. I slowly brought her back to the precipice. I felt her pussy tightening again, and again she began moaning, "Timmy, oh God I love you, make me cum, please make me come baby." And, cum she did. JoJo's clitoral orgasms are usually brief and intense when I bring her to orgasm via the g-spot she has what she calls 'rolling organisms." Not quite as intense but protracted and often multiple ones. Unlike some women, she does not squirt, but when she comes hard, she floods, releasing a surprising amount of honey. I was rewarded with a sweet musky explosion that covered my face and ran down her crack to the bed. I rolled off of her to catch my breath. But no sooner had I done so that I felt her warm mouth engulfing my cock. I looked down and saw those beautiful brown eyes staring at me lovingly. She took her mouth off of me and said, "do you like the idea of eating Sarah's pussy? Would you like her to suck your dick like I am now? If she saw this beautiful hunk of meat, she would want to put it in her mouth. She would want you to ram it in her. She would ride you until she came and came." She then engulfed my cock again. Between the expert work of her tongue, and the images she put in my head; my load exploded down her throat within just a few minutes. With an evil grin she said, "my my, it seems that my big boy gets a little-excited thinking about my baby sister." "From the sound of it, I'm not the only one" I replied. She then gave me a big kiss, rolled over, and said "Don't try to embarrass me," Soon she was sleep. I laid there awake with thoughts flashing through my mind. What the hell was that? Is she giving me permission to play with Sarah? Is she messing with my head to get me warmed up to the idea of taking Sarah with me? Is she having erotic fantasies about her sister?" One thing was for sure, I was suddenly more intrigued with the idea of a vacation with Sarah. Joanne called Sarah a few days later and had her come over to the house. We made our generous offer, and true to form, Sarah's response was underwhelming. She thought about it for a few minutes and said, "yeah, I guess that it would be cool." Joanne made it clear to her that she would be sharing a room with me and wanted to know if she was comfortable with that. Again, she thought a few seconds and said, "yeah, that'll be weird, but we can make it work." She then smiled and said, "I've always wanted to go to the Caribbean. This will be fun, although going with Tim wouldn't exactly be my first choice. But, what the hell." What she did not say was "thank you." I said, "yay, I'm thrilled too!" If Sarah got the sarcasm, she did not show it. Jo did though, and I got the look. The three of us spent the rest of the evening going over the trip itinerary and stressing to Sarah what to pack, what she was not allowed to take through security, and of course, things to do while we were there. I stressed the importance of not over packing. "It is way easier to get through the airport and customs without check bags. You won't need a lot of clothes, so you should be able to pack everything you need into a personal bag and a carry-on." Sarah smirked, "I won't need a lot of clothes huh, perv boy? Are you going to try to get me to go native?" Embarrassed, I said "I meant that the resort is casual, shorts and T-shirts are good for almost everywhere we will go. You might need just one or two nicer outfits." A long second passed, and then both women broke out laughing. Apparently, Jo had briefed Sarah on the resort's nude beaches. Not for the last time, I thought to myself, this is going to be a long trip. Day 1. "The long and winding road" the Beatles Because we had a 6 AM flight and lived 2 ½ hours from the airport, I booked a room at a hotel offering free long-term parking. The plan was to drive to the hotel the day before the flight, turn in early and be at the airport by 4:30 or 5 AM. During the time between our invitation for Sarah to join me in Jamaica and that the day that we were to leave, she repeatedly made it clear that she thought a 6 AM departure time was ridiculous. I had explained that it gave us a nonstop flight and would get us that the resort by early afternoon. My rationale did not impress her, and she groused about it in a couple of texts to me. The upside was that I made her text list! Departure day came, and Sarah met me at the house. We threw our bags in the car, and I was happy to see that she took our advice; she had only brought a small backpack and a carry on roller bag. When we were ready to leave Joanne gave me a big hug and a nice kiss, "have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do." "I don't know, I have seen you do some pretty naughty things," I said. She gave me a more passionate kiss and said, "when you get home you'll see me do some more naughty things!" Sarah chirped in, "okay let's not get gross." Our car trip consisted of 2 ½ hours of me trying to start conversations which quickly fizzled out, while Sarah sent out a constant stream of texts, tweets, and snap chats. We got to the hotel around 4 o'clock and checked in. The desk clerk confirmed my reservation for a standard room with a king size bed and 8 days parking. On hearing this Sarah said, "Hold on, we need separate rooms." I told her that I made the reservation before Jo had canceled. The clerk said that there were rooms available and we could get one for one hundred forty dollars. I told Sarah, "if you want to spring for a separate room, that's fine, it won't hurt my feelings." She frowned, "I was kind of hoping you'd pay for it, but if not, can we at least get separate beds?" The clerk assured us that rooms with separate beds were available. On the way to the room, I couldn't help but think, She going to be pissed when we get the resort and realizes that separate beds are not an option.what have I got myself into? Once in the room we dropped our bags, and I suggested that we should grab something to eat around 6 o'clock and try to be in bed by 8 or 9 at the latest; as we had to get up by at least 3:30 AM to get the shuttle over to the airport. She informed me, "unlike you senior citizens, I don't go to bed until midnight. I Don't think I can get any sleep going to bed that early." Slightly annoyed, I replied, "Suit yourself but tomorrow is going to be a grind, and 3:30 in the morning comes fast." With a grumble, she agreed. After supper, Sarah announced that she was going to grab a shower. With that, she disappeared into the bathroom. Just then my phone chirped. From JoJo: "how's it going?" From Tim: "Argh" From JoJo: "Be nice... what's she doing now?" From Tim: "shower...getting ready 4 bed." From JoJo: "ooh la la" From Tim: "cool off... separate beds.. luv you." From JoJo: "give her a chance. you'll have fun, I promise... luv you 2... goodnight." From Tim; "Goodnight," I have to admit the "ooh la la" started the wheels turning. I began to wonder what Sarah's bedroom attire would be. I imagined her coming out of the bathroom in a little nighty, or maybe her underwear, or maybe underwear and T-shirt. Maybe I would hit the jackpot she would come out nothing but a towel. I was inwardly embarrassed by these thoughts, but after all, she is an attractive woman, and I am a guy; which means that I am a horn dog. I reminded myself no matter what she was wearing, not to stare and keep my mouth shut. In other words, enjoy the show but play it cool. As it turned out, playing it cool was pretty easy. Sarah came out of the bathroom wearing a ratty T-shirt and even rattier flannel lounge pants. I guess you could say she was kind of sexy if you're into that I don't give a shit homeless look. My disappointment quickly evaporated when other thoughts intruded into my head. I came to the realization that I had a problem. You see, I don't wear pajamas at home, and it did not occur to me to pack any. I looked at Sarah and said, "I'm going to grab a shower too." She flicked on the TV, "It's all yours." "Here's the thing," I said "Jo and I don't wear pajamas and it didn't occur to me to pack any. Are you going to be weirded out by my sleeping in my underwear?" She cocked an eyebrow, and chuckled." I think I can handle seeing you in your boxers." Then she added, "if they are tighty whities though I am so going to barf." This is when two more realizations hit me. First, I don't wear boxers, and tighty whities would have been a blessing. A few years ago, Jo had talked me into wearing long legged athletic briefs made out of that shiny material that supposedly wicks moisture. If you're familiar with these you know they fit skintight and leave very little to the imagination in covering your package. The truth of the matter was that Sarah was going to get a pretty accurate view of my junk. Just as troubling was problem number two. Because of the nude beach thing, and the fact I go commando allot, I don't bring a lot of underwear while on vacation. The truth of the matter is I only packed 4 pairs. Somehow, I was going to have to make those few pair work nine days as both underwear and now sleepwear. The irony of the situation did not escape me. A few minutes earlier, I was secretly letching over the idea of Sarah prancing around in her panties, but as it turned out, she was fully dressed, and I was the one doing the prancing. Such is karma. Again, I thought, this is going to be a long vacation. I took my shower, dried myself off and put my underwear back on. By the way, there is no worse feeling in the world than putting on used underwear after a shower. I looked at myself in the mirror, and there was my bulge prominently silhouetted in detail. (well, bulge may have been a generous word.) The thought of Sarah seeing me like this was a little unnerving, but also a little bit exciting. Let her look she might just like the view, I thought, and with that idea, Mr. happy started to swell a bit. Then panic set in. Crap, I thought, all I need is for her to see me walk out with a chubby. The embarrassment of that thought took some of the enthusiasm out of Mr. happy. As I prepared to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom and strut my stuff for Sarah, I thought, this is weird, I don't believe I am doing this. By the time I walked out of the bathroom I was only half aroused, which actually worked in my favor! As my bulge and I walked out in my suddenly uncomfortable underwear, I caught Sarah sneaking more than one peak. "Well," I thought," that's kind of interesting." As I got into bed, I heard "Hey Tim, cute butt!" "Shut up," I said, and I turned off the light, and we tried to get some sleep. Day 2. "A Hard Day's Night" The Beatles Anyone who has flown to Jamaica knows that it can be a long and grueling day. We woke up at 3:45 AM and took turns getting dressed in the bathroom. We then hustled our way down to the lobby and on to the shuttle. The trip went smooth enough, but as always there was the grind of getting through TSA lines, and then sitting on your ass for an hour and a half waiting to get on the plane. Then there is the joy of a four- hour flight in a stuffy, overcrowded plane. On landing in Jamaica, there is the long walk to immigration then standing in line for an hour. After immigration, you get to stand in line for another hour waiting for customs. Sarah was tired, and so sullen and quiet. By the time we made it into the departure terminal we were both wrung out and hungry. I was not looking forward to a two-hour bus ride. But I reassured Sarah that the ride to the resort would have a lot to see. Although she was exhausted and obviously cranky, she did perk up when we got into the departure terminal, and she got her first feel of the warm tropical air. It also helped that we got some snacks and a couple of beers. One of the first new discoveries I made about her, was that Sarah liked her drinks. She quickly pounded down to glasses of Red Stripe. It was the first discovery, it would not be the last. On the bus ride to the resort, we met Mike and Tammy. They were a young couple, likely close to Sarah's age, from Wisconsin. Mike seemed like a nice enough guy but was pretty quiet. Tammy, on the other hand, was one of those people who never met a stranger. She immediately struck up a conversation with Sarah and I and pretty much talked from Montego Bay to Ocho Rios. Tammy explained that this was their second trip to the resort and they just loved it. She then went on to give us the lowdown on the resort, and what to do and see. I did not have the heart to tell her I had been there several times before. At one point, she asked if we were going to try the nude beach. With just a touch of dismissiveness, Sarah said she didn't think so. Tammy excitedly explained that the nude beach was the highlight of their first trip. They'd worked up the nerve to try it last year and absolutely loved it. Sarah, who typically has little to say about anything, volunteered that she couldn't imagine having the guts to try that. Tammy said, "you really should give it a shot. I was nervous too, it took us five days to finally work up the nerve. I really regret waiting that long. You really should try it your first day. If you don't like it fine, but you will." Tammy then assured her with all the passion of a newborn nudist, that it was a wonderful, and so liberating. She then tried to relieve Sarah's obvious apprehension, " it's like jumping into a chilly pool. The fear is worse than the reality. If just you just jump in you find out it's great. Within 15 minutes I felt so good and free!" Sarah replied, "I think I'll have to take your word for it." With that Tammy changed the subject. "If you don't mind me saying so, I would not have guessed that you 2 were a couple. Are you married?" Before I could answer, Sarah volunteered "no we're not married, we just work together. He's my boss, and he offered to take me on this trip." With a confused look on her face that slowly morphed into surprise then disapproval, Tammy said, "oh that's cool." She then promptly turned around and started talking to Mike. I leaned into Sarah and whispered, "what was that bullshit about?" She chuckled, "I thought it sounded weird to say that we were going on a vacation as brother-in-law and sister-in-law." I shook my head, "so you thought it would sound better for me to be a dirty old man who was into sexually harassing his employees." She chuckled again, "yeah that sounds about right. And besides, it shut her up didn't it?" I asked, "so do you think we will run into Tammy on the naked beach?" "Dream on brother-in-law," was the reply. We finally made it to the hotel and checked in. During check-in, Sarah asked, "do you have rooms with two queen beds?" The desk clerk laughed, "no my lady, this is a place for romance. Did you and your man have a bit of a fight on the way here?" Sarah replied, "no, it's all right." "Well then make up and enjoy our hospitality!" "Thanks," she said, but there was definitely a pensive look on her face. When we got into the room, she looked around and then looked out the windows. The views were breathtaking, and the room was beautiful. She looked at me with a huge grin on her face said, "Wow, this is awesome." I was happy to see her so animated and replied, "I told you that you would love it." Then she frowned as she looked at the bed. "It's going to be weird sharing a bed, I wasn't ready for that." Trying to be funny, I said: "just keep your hands to yourself, and we'll be fine." It was about 1:30, so I suggested that maybe we should grab something to eat and maybe take a tour the resort. Sarah replied, "I'm all for getting something to eat, but I am too tired to tour anything right now. How about we just go crash on the beach this afternoon." We had a great lunch at the buffet and went back to the room to change into our suits. As expected Sarah went into the bathroom to change. As I waited for her, I wondered what kind of swimsuit she would come out with. A lot of women will wear an extra daring suit when they are on vacation under the assumption that they are among strangers. But, since I was there, I expected Sarah to wear a normal bikini. I was surprised when she came out of the bathroom. Here was a very shapely young woman wearing a very modest one-piece swimsuit. I laughed, "did you borrow your aunt's swimsuit for vacation?" With hands on hips, she retorted, "don't give me any shit, I use this suit when I swim at the YMCA. It's the only one I own." I put my hands up in a defensive posture and said, "No, no it's all good. Let's go to the beach, Mildred." My charming wit earned me a scowl. We packed a beach bag with sunblock and towels and walked down to the beach where we found a couple of open lounge chairs. We lazed around for about 40 minutes and 3 mojitos each, then decided to take a walk on the beach. During our walk, we passed people of all shapes and sizes. We saw modest (older)women in one-piece swimsuits and many women in various bikinis. Happily, I noticed more than a few extremely tiny bikinis and even some micro thongs. As we passed a particularly daring women, Sarah said: "I would never have the guts to wear something like that." "Why," I asked. "First, I'd be afraid of what people would think. Secondly, I don't have the body to pull it off." I looked at her and said, "I don't really think she cares what people think, and why should she? And secondly, don't sell yourself short. You are a bit of a hottie, and you would look pretty good in almost anything you wore." She gave me a funny look, and I immediately regretted the comment. After an awkward silence, she punched my arm, "so you really think I'm a hottie?" I smiled and said nothing. As we got to the far end of the beach, we came across a clutch of braver sun worshipers. A few men were wearing Speedo's, and several of the women were topless. In fact, one woman was walking out of the ocean wearing an incredibly tiny bikini bottom that looked more like shoe laces and nothing else. Sarah frowned and turned on her heel to head back the other direction. She muttered, "I thought the nude beach was on the other side of the resort, what the hell are they trying to prove." I'm not sure why, but her comment bothered me. I should've let it pass, but I didn't. I said, "The nude beach is full on naked only. This is the regular beach. Besides, they're not trying to prove anything, in fact, I don't think they really give a shit what we think. They feel good about their body, and they're comfortable in their own skin. They are enjoying themselves, why should we care what they do." I added, "Don't hate on them just because they are braver than you." Sarah looked at me defensively and said, "I don't see you wearing Speedo." I replied, "I think they're goofy looking. I'd be more likely to just go naked." Sarah laughed and said, "yeah, like you would go naked on the beach." I smiled back and said, "would, and have." With a look of shock on her face, she exclaimed "you've been on a nude beach? What did Jo think of that?" "She was there too," I said. Sarah just shook her head and muttered, "I'll be damned. Jo told me there was a nude beach, she didn't say you tried it." "Truth is, we damn near live on it when we are here." She studied me closely and then started walking again. We stayed on the beach until around 5 o'clock and then headed back to the room. We took turns using the bathroom to shower and change and then had a few cocktails on the balcony until supper time. After we ate, we had a few more cocktails at the bar. After several rounds, Sarah looked at me and asked, "so you and Joanne have gone to nude beaches?" I kind of felt guilty about revealing personal details about Joanne to her sister but replied, "yes, every time we come to Jamaica." She looked at me thoughtfully and said, "what you said earlier, it's not that I'm judging people. It's just that I can't imagine myself doing that. I almost wish I was that brave. If I had a better body maybe I would." I told her, "you should never do anything you not comfortable with. But, it really saddens me that you're so body conscious. You should be happy with whatever body you have. A woman's body is a work of art, including yours." She smiled sadly and said, "Nick sure didn't think so. He constantly reminded me that my butt was too big and my boobs were too small." I put my hand on top of hers and said earnestly, "I have news for you, your ex-husband was a dick head. The whole family thoughts so. The only reason he ridiculed you is that he was an insecure little baby man. He could only feel good about himself by tearing you down. He knew damn well that he was an overachiever by marrying you and probably was afraid that you would realize it one day. Sarah, you are incredibly beautiful, and you have a great figure." I'm not sure, but I thought I saw her eyes tear up a bit. "If I'm such a catch how come I haven't had a date since the divorce?" I told her, "because you go to work, come home and sit on your couch. Unless the pizza delivery boy is the man of your dreams, you are not likely to meet anybody locked up in your house. And if you don't mind me saying so, you come off as a little aloof." She rested her head in her palm, "you're right, I need to make some changes and put myself out there. But it is hard, anyway this week I am going to have some fun!" I couldn't help but think to myself, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with her. She may have a personality after all. "Tim?" I looked at her, "what?" She smiled and said, "Thanks for the ego boost, and thanks again for bringing me here. It's really beautiful." Hmm, I thought, maybe there's more to her than I would've guessed. After drinks, we went back to the room. Sarah went into the bathroom and emerged in her T-shirt and ratty flannel night pants. I shucked off my shorts and shirt and headed towards the bed in my underwear. "Gosh," she said, "I thought Mr. naked beach man would be sleeping in the nude." I shook my head and said, "sorry to disappoint, but I don't want to freak you out." With that, she pulled the covers back and took the long decorative pillow that had been sitting propped against the headboard and laid it out between us as a sort of protective wall. She chirped a friendly good night, and we both fell quickly asleep. Day 3: "She Got Me Half The Way There" Day Tripper, The Beatles We woke up the next morning, changed and hit the beach. After lunch, we caught a shuttle to Dunn's River Falls. I have to admit that it was a very enjoyable afternoon. First, the falls are always fun and, at least in my opinion, one of the most beautiful places on earth. Also, much to my surprise, Sarah had come out of her shell a bit more. She seemed to be in a good mood, and we laughed and talked quite a bit. If you've ever done the falls, you know that you spend a considerable amount of time scrambling up slippery rocks and it is important to help each other along the way. The climb along with conversation the previous night did much to break down barriers. I couldn't help but think to myself that JoJo was right; this trip was bringing Sarah and me closer. She was definitely getting more comfortable around me, and I was surprised to find that I starting to enjoy her company. After we got back from the resort, we had a couple of hours to kill before supper. We planned to clean up and then have a few cocktails before going to the restaurant. We sat out on the back patio and had a couple of rum and Cokes. When Sarah finished hers, she announced that she had to get her wetsuit off and was going to go take her shower. I followed her into the room and turned on the TV. I heard the shower running, and I heard her using the blow dryer. I was stunned when a few minutes later she walked out the bathroom in her bra and panties. I was also pleasantly surprised by her taste in lingerie. I'm not sure why, but I sort of assumed that her underwear was just the typical everyday variety . But the vision that walked out of the bathroom was more like a Victoria's Secret ad. Both her bra and panty were a matching vivid red with black detailing. The bra was obviously a push-up that created some impressive cleavage. The panties, what there were of them, were obviously made of a very lightweight, almost flimsy fabric. The tiny patch of fabric did not so much cling to her as it just hung on her hips. Although not see through, they left little to the imagination. The overall effect was mesmerizing. She noticed me taking her in and said, "you've been walking around in your underwear, I guess I can too, right?" Trying not to appear overly enthusiastic, I said: "sure whatever you're comfortable with." It was hard not to stare. Her long shapely legs transitioned into the gentle curve of her hips, with only a small piece of red fabric loosely hanging on them. It was obvious Sarah was well groomed because her panties barely covered her mound and no hair was showing. Her tiny waist led the eye to her breasts which were practically pouring out of the bra cups. When she walked past, I discovered that her aversion to thong swimsuits did not extend to panties. There in plain site was that lovely ass I had fantasized about so often. It was round and firm and perfect. I get that underwear is really not much different than a bikini and seeing a woman in underwear should not be a big deal to a grown man; but seeing an attractive woman walking around in lingerie, especially in a bedroom, makes an impression. In this case, that impression was acknowledged by a swelling in my shorts. Here was shy little Sarah, openly parading around in her underwear, especially such sexy underwear. To her it was probably no big deal, to me, it was a very big deal. If I stayed in that room I was going to embarrass myself, so I excused myself and headed for the shower. It took 20 minutes to shower and, shall we say, relieve some tension. When I came out of the bathroom, I expected Sarah would be dressed and ready to go. But I was pleasantly surprised to find her still in her panties and bra stretched out on the bed watching TV. Lying there, she looked so long, so languid and feminine. To my embarrassment, my dick began to swell again. Standing there in my too tight underwear she had to notice. I turned away and found my shorts. If she saw my reaction to her, she did not acknowledge it. Either fortunately or unfortunately, on seeing me, she said: "I'm hungry, let's get dressed and get going." With that, she jumped off the bed and slipped on a sundress, and off we went to dinner. In my head, one word was repeating over and over... Busted! Dinner was once again followed by drinks. To my surprise, Sarah visited with several people in the bar. She was coming out of her shell! I suspect some of her newfound social confidence may have been alcohol fueled. Frankly, we were both more than a little drunk by the time we stumbled back to the room. On the way, we passed one of the pools. It was a beautiful night, and the gorgeously lit water looked inviting. Sarah suggested that we put our suits and go for a late-night swim. The idea sounded good to me, and so we had a plan. While Sarah went in the bathroom to put on her swimsuit, I quickly changed in the bedroom. After a few seconds, I heard a loud "fuck!" "What's wrong?" I inquired. "I just tore my suit dammit" was the reply. She came out of the bathroom in her robe holding the suit. I asked, "How the hell did you do that?" She replied, "Da, I'm drunk dammit, and when I tried to step into it I lost my balance. I tried to catch myself, and my foot ripped crotch out of it. Now, what am I going to do?" I said, "relax, we can get you another suit tomorrow." She pouted, "but I wanted to go for a swim tonight." Smiling, I halfheartedly threw out the suggestion "we still can." Sarah thought about this for a second and said, "I am drunk, but I'm not that drunk. I'm not going skinny-dipping with you." I was encouraged that it took her a few seconds to say no to skinny dipping, even though I had not suggested it. I pointed out," just go in your underwear, it sorta looks like a swimsuit. Besides, I doubt anybody will be there but us." She didn't say anything, then turned and went back in the bathroom. When she returned in her bathrobe, she announced: "I'm ready, let's go." When we got down to the pool, I told her that I wanted to get in the hot tub before swimming. She liked the idea, and we walked over to a secluded little spa tub surrounded by plants. I hopped in and noticed that she was hesitating by the edge of the tub. I asked, "what's the problem?" "I'm not sure how well I'm going to be covered when I get wet." I told her, "it's just us, and I won't look." With a smile, I added... "much." Like a little girl she raised on her tiptoes and said 'promise not to tease?" I solemnly gave my word. She dropped the robe, and happily, I saw she was still in the same red and black lingerie from earlier. She eased her way into the tub. I noticed that when she sat down, she kept a respectable distance between us. We soaked for about 5 minutes before fate intervened. Another couple made their way to the hot tub and joined us. As soon as they got in the tub, Sarah slid over close to me with a panicked look on her face. I liked the feeling of her body next to me knowing how nearly naked she was. But I was worried about how she must be feeling; she was trapped in a hot tub practically naked in the presence of s strangers. I whispered, "don't worry about it, you look fine, and besides you'll never see them again." They seemed like nice folks, maybe in their mid-50s. She was quite friendly and small talk quickly ensued. The husband was keeping up with the conversation, but obviously, his attention was focused on Sarah. I think he tried his best not to be obvious, but he was constantly trying to catch glimpses of her. Sarah must've noticed and apparently, she was not as mortified as I thought she would be. After about 10 minutes she announced that she was getting too hot, and to my utter amazement she stood up and then sat on the edge of the tub. When she stood up, the look on our companions' faces was worth a picture, especially his. Sarah's panties were practically sheer, and they slid down to the point where they were barely covering the top of pussy. In fact, a wisp of pubic hair was showing over the top of the panty. Her bra was holding up better, but even it had slipped down enough that a small portion of her left areola was peeking out. Her dainty bra was poorly disguising her very prominent erect nipples. She adjusted herself as best she could and then brazenly sat on the edge of the pool on full display and continued the conversation as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I'm sure that our friend had a hard-on, God knows I did. A few minutes later, Sarah suggested that we hop in the pool and cool off. We said our goodbyes grabbed our robes and walked over to the pool. I have no doubt that our new friends got quite a few of Sarah's thong-clad ass as she walked away. Incredibly, she did not bother to put on the robe, and I detected a little extra sway in the hips as she walked. There were two couples at the pool lounging by the sides chatting. Sarah moved to the opposite end of the pool, dropped her robe and jumped in. We enjoyed the pool for a few minutes, just floating and immersing ourselves. It seemed that Sarah was having a hard time keeping her bottoms on and was continually adjusting them. After a few minutes, we decided to head back to the room. Sarah worked herself to the edge of the pool and pulled herself out. When she came out of the water, her panties slid halfway down her thighs. I was off to one side and could only glimpse a bare butt cheek. However, I am sure that the folks across the pool got quite an eyeful if they were looking. She stood, pulled up her panties, put on her robe and hurried for the room. When I caught up I said, "who are you, and what have you done with shy little Sarah?" She replied with a grin, "that was a little naughty and a lot of fun." I chuckled," I'm pretty sure you're going to be in at least one guy's fantasy tonight." To which she replied, "only one?" The implication did not escape me, and again I felt my cock starting to swell. When we got back to the room, we took turns getting ready for bed. I went first and used the bathroom to change out of my wet suit, dry off and put on my sleepy time underwear. Sarah followed suit, only this time the funky flannel jammies were replaced by a crop top and panties. She explained that her jammy pants were getting a bit ripe. She climbed into bed and told me to sleep well. I could not help but notice that there was no pillow between us. After a minute or so, she giggled "I like Jamaica!" I thought to myself, I would never have thought I would hear her giggle, I liked it. Day 4: "When I saw her Standing There" the Beatles I awoke the next morning I found myself spooning a warm breathing body. My face was buried in her hair, and I found the smell of it intoxicating. During the night my hand had found its way to her breast, and a morning erection was pressed against her buttocks. Against my will, I moved my hand away from her breast and to her tummy. She sighed and stirred. I apologized, "sorry I didn't mean to wake you." She nuzzled a little closer to me and said, "it's okay, I've been awake for a little bit." As I lay there enjoying the moment it occurred to me that she did not move my hand when she woke up, nor had she pushed away from my morning erection. Almost as if she was reading my mind, she said, "it has been a while since somebody was holding me when I woke up. It's nice. She snuggled closer, "I don't miss being in a relationship, I don't even miss the sex that much. I do really miss being held in someone's arms. This isn't too weird for you is it?" My only reply was to gently stroke her hair for a few seconds pull her closer. She wiggled her ass a bit, "ok, maybe lied, I do miss the sex a little." And then we drift back to sleep. When I woke up again, I was alone in the bed. I heard Sarah moving around in the bathroom. I got up and saw that the door was open, so I pattered in to get a drink of water. She was standing at the sink in a pair of extremely cute yellow underwear and a matching bra, brushing her teeth. As I downed my water, she spit out her toothpaste, wiped off her mouth and asked, "did I act too stupid last night? Did I embarrass you?" I laughed, "are you kidding? Last night was great. I enjoyed every second of it." I chuckled and added, "I can tell you for sure that married couple will never forget you." She said, "I felt a little slutty." I shook my head, "don't sweat it" She cocked her head, "I said I felt slutty, I didn't say I felt bad about it." We dressed and went to breakfast. Afterward, we went to the resort gift shop to look for a swimsuit. In the best of circumstances, swimsuit shopping is frustrating for women and absolute hell for the men who go with them. In this case, it was also also fruitless. The suits were expensive and generally very racy. After looking at several, she announced that there was not a single suit that she would wear at home, and she did not want to pay $100 for a one-timer. I suggested a duty free mall near the resort. "Maybe we could go there later that afternoon and have better luck." She thanked me for being so patient, and we headed back to the room. It was about two hours until lunch, and she asked what we should do. I told her I would really like to go sit on the beach for a while. "Well without a suit I can't go swimming, but there is no reason I can't sit in the sun," she said. So, I put on my suit, we grabbed our towels and our beach bag and went down to the beach. We camped out in some loungers at the far end and ordered drinks. It was getting hot, so I took off my shirt to get some sun. An hour and three rum runners later a lady just down from us took off her top. Sarah looked at her for a long second, then announced: "this is stupid if she can go topless, I damn well take off my shirt." And off it came. It was hard to believe that this woman who wore jammies to bed was now laying on a public beach in broad daylight in her bra. Even more surprising is that a few minutes later off came the shorts as well. The sight of her lying there in some very sexy lingerie for all the world to see was a turn on. There were some women with a little less on than she, but the idea of her being in her underwear in public was exciting. Seeing any woman in her underwear in public would be exciting, but especially Sarah. It so out of character, it seemed so erotic because it was so daring for her. Even more exciting was the fact that once again, her bra was vainly attempting to restrain aroused nipples and her panties had a distinctive wet spot. Obviously, she was turned on by displaying herself, and she was doing it in front of me. I developed a full-fledged erection my swimsuit could not hide. She looked over at me and said, "this is kind of sexy being exposed like this." I answered, "I have to admit, you look pretty hot." She looked at my crotch and said, "are you hard because of that topless woman over there or because of me?" I put my hands on my lap and replied "no comment." "Don't sweat it, it's okay either way." Later, we ate lunch and went swimsuit shopping at the mall. It actually was a good day for knocking around, and we had fun. Just as importantly, she found a suit that would work; and because I knew that she couldn't afford it, I bought it for her. I was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. That night the resort held a special buffet on the beach. They had numerous tables set up each accommodating three couples. After getting our food, we were waved over to the table by Tammy and Mike from the bus. Sitting with them was a couple Tammy introduced as Diane and Darren. She told us that they had recently met them on the au naturel beach. Diane was nothing short of stunning. She had dark brown eyes and dark hair that cascaded halfway down her back. She had olive skin that gave her an exotic look. Although she was sitting, it was obvious that she was tall and well built. I could not help but notice that she had very prominent breasts that had that gravity-defying quality that only augmentation can produce. She and her hubby appeared to be in their mid-30s and from her dress and jewelry they obviously had money. When they said hello I picked up an accent and asked where they were from. They said they were from San Antonio Texas but had just moved to Chicago. He was an investment banker and was an interior designer. I liked them both, and apparently so did Sarah. It was a lovely evening, and we all chatted throughout supper and the evening's entertainment. The conversation was, of course, was dominated by Tammy who raved on about the resort, the food and of course the nude beach. She suggested that we all go over there for the after-hours party the resort was throwing after the dinner. Diane and Darren said they were in, but Sarah was obviously hesitant. She said, "I don't think I could handle a naked dance party." Tammy laughed and said, "no, the party is at the nude beach, but everyone will have clothes on." Sarah brightened and nodded yes, "Sweet, I could use some dancing." And so, we headed off to the pool at the nude beach to go party. The Music was great, and everybody danced. Not surprisingly, the warm Jamaican night inspired serious drinking. After a few hours the crowd thinned out and as the band shut down. Most of the guests headed for their beds. Suddenly there was applause. One of the partiers had stripped off her clothes and jumped in the pool. She was being joined by several others. You gotta love it when normally reserved folks let loose, and there was suddenly a lot of attractive flesh appearing. Tammy squealed with delight and began to strip. Tammy had a few extra pounds on her, but she was attractive in her own country girl way. She was not what I would call overweight, just fleshy. She was heavy breasted and wide-hipped. Like so many other women on nude beaches, she was completely without any body hair. She looked good naked, that was for sure. Tammy had caught my attention, but it was quickly stolen by Diane. While other women were pulling and yanking off various clothing items, Diane simply pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Suddenly there she was fully, beautifully, perfectly nude. She was evenly bronzed without a hint of tan lines anywhere. Diane could have been an actress, model or a centerfold. She had large perfectly round breasts with large dark areoles punctuated by pert erect nipples, long muscular legs, a flat stomach and perfectly shaped hips centered by a beautiful bald pussy. There is a common belief that all pussy's look the same. Anyone who has spent time on a nude beach knows differently. When standing up, many women have no pussy showing at all, or perhaps just a hint of the top of their labia may rise into view. Some women, however, have pussies that extend up and forward so that their labia are clearly visible while standing. This was Diane. Unfortunately, my view of her was to brief. She no sooner disrobed than she jumped into the pool. Watching everyone undress sort of made me forget about Sarah, and without thinking, I pulled off my clothes and jumped in too. Once in the water, I realized I had abandoned her. I looked back up on the pool deck, and she was standing there looking rather indecisive. Then, once again she surprised me. She pulled her sundress over her head. I half expected her to stop there and perhaps jump in and her underwear, but she did not stop. She slipped her bra off, and for the first time, I laid eyes on her beautiful breasts. They were smaller than Dianne's but natural, and no less beautiful. They had a roundness and firmness belonging only to the youth, and small busted youth at that. They were decorated with a few light freckles, and light brown areola's. Incredibly, she had the same pronounced puffy nipples as her sister, and they were fully erect; standing out maybe a half an inch. She was looking right at me, our eyes met. With a just moment's hesitation, she slipped off her panties and presented me with an incredible view of her lovely body. She watched me closely as I took in the whole of her. Although not tall, her legs were long for her height. This coupled with her slight build gave her a languid feline quality. She had the tiniest of landing strips on her mound, which was otherwise waxed clean. Like so many thin women, her vulva rose like a small hill above hew most intimate self. She too had lower lips which were visible standing up even with her legs together. She was gorgeous, that sexy little body coupled with her fresh, girl next door face was captivating, and at that time in that place, I was feeling pure lust. I wanted her, and I wanted her badly. She stood for a moment, as if letting me take in the sight of her, then she gave me a tentative smile and slid into the water. By my side. She came up to me, she leaned in close and said "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm naked in front of a bunch of people. I can't believe I'm naked in front of you." I was aware of her breasts touching my chest as she whispered to me. Not knowing what to say, I slipped an arm around her tiny waist and whispered back, "you look incredible." About 20 people were in the pool splashing around like children and having a great time. Eventually, a few of them moved to the hot tub, and Sarah and I joined them. Soon many couples got into the tub, to warm up, and be sociable. It became pretty crowded, and wives ended up sitting on laps. It took a few minutes, but without any coaxing from me, Sarah climbed on my lap. It was unbelievable, here I was with my naked sister-in-law sitting on my lap. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with my hands, so I wrapped them around her waist and rested them on her thighs which were pressed together. As I was pondering the beauty of it all Mr. Happy started to wake up, however, with some effort, I managed to control myself. That was until Mike started openly playing with Tammy's tits. Several couples including Diane and Darren began making out while others watched. It was too much for me, and I developed a full-fledged erection. I had my legs together so Sarah could sit on my lap, but my developing erection required I give it some place to go, so I opened my thighs slightly. My boner rose up until it made its way between her thighs. After a few seconds, she too opened her thighs so that her legs were outside mine. With her legs so open, my cock rose up against her pussy. I knew she was aware of it, but she did object or move away. She leaned back against my chest and rested her head next to mine as we watched the increasingly intense foreplay of our tub mates. Suddenly I felt her fingers brush against my cock. The contact of her fingers against my erection sent electrical shocks down my spine. Amazingly, I felt her fingers moving, but not on me. She was discreetly playing with her herself. I Thought, Incredible, Sarah is sitting on my naked lap playing with her pussy while we watch strangers make out. I noticed felt the arm of the woman next to me moving under the water She was either stroking her husband or herself. I could not tell which. I was so horny I didn't know what to do with myself. I reached around Sarah and started to rub my hard-on. As I did my thumb pressed against her fingers, she moved her hand away, and so as I stoked myself, my thumb was rubbing her. Soon her hand replaced mine as she drug my erection against her. Her breathing became deeper. At this point, Darren got out of the tub and sat on the edge. Diane turned around and took him into her mouth. Tammy and Mike, and another couple copied them. As we took in the sight, a strange hand began exploring Sarah and me below the water. Sarah whispered in my ear "this is getting out of hand, we should go." Frustrated, I nodded in agreement. We got out of the tub along with a few other couples and dressed. Out of the tub, Sarah blatantly studied my erection. She said nothing, but it was a lingering look. I could not help but notice that Sarah did not hurry to cover herself. She casually put on her dress but carried her bra and panties. We left without speaking a word. To break the tension on the way back to the room, I quipped, "you know it's a good party when you carry your underwear home." Sarah laughed, "so you've been to a couple of these parties before then?" I looked straight ahead and said "no comment." Back at the room, Sarah surprised me again. Rather than going in the bathroom to change she just simply dropped her dress on the floor and standing naked in front of me put on her panties and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She came out still wearing nothing but panties and climbed into bed. I went in the bathroom, took care of my raging hard-on, brushed my teeth, put on underwear and headed for bed. As I prepared to climb in, I noticed I had a text. JoJo: "having fun?" I couldn't help but think she must be psychic. I answered back- Tim: "just went skinny dipping with about 20 people." My phone dinged immediately. JoJo: "hot!! Wish I was there." Tim: "wish you were here too.. Want you bad!" JoJo: "mmmm me too.. What's my sexy baby wearing?" Tim: "LOL... As a matter of fact, nothing" JoJo: "and where's Sarah?" She had attached a winking emoji With more than a little nervousness I answered - Tim: "lying on the bed" JoJo: "naked too?" Tim: "panties" JoJo: "naughty girl.. Too bad about the panties... picture?" Tim: "WTF" JoJo: "if you can't be with one you love, love the one you with" Tim: "are you fucking with my head?" Several seconds went by and then got a private message. "Seriously, if an opportunity to play a little comes up don't say no because of me. I have shared you before and I trust you.I have no problem with you having some fun, even with my sister. I love you, and I love her. She could use some attention from a good man." I sat stunned for several seconds. My thoughts were interrupted by Sarah. "Was that Jo?" "Yes, she sends her love." Sarah looked at me. "How do you think she would feel about us being in bed nearly naked?" "I'm pretty sure she'd be fine with it" I stammered. With that, I swung under the covers. Sarah was laying on her side, and I did the same. A few seconds later she backed up into me so that we were spooning, she took my arm wrapped it around her waist and said good night. A moment later she whispered, "I know that having to wear underwear to bed is a hassle for you. I guess after all that happened tonight, it's okay if you want to go commando."

(btw. ima i nastavak)

#eroticstory #erotskeprice

[mrsren]

Pansy and Neville drabbles #51 , #37 and #19 please and thank you.

This is written for SleepyGrimm, who is just one of my favorite people, and I so hope you enjoy this. It's....long. 3500 words, and hot off the presses. I'll upload to FFN & AO3 in the morning because I'm tired. I might have overdone the drabble...so here, have a oneshot, my lovely friend. The pagebreaks are probably fucked up. Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Pansy Parkinson. "I wish I could hate you." "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking." Following the war, he didn’t hold with the ideology that everything was going to fall into place. As nice as that would have been, it was wholly unlikely. No, he was used to everything going completely fucking sideways. For a moment, the summer really, he thought it was routine. He visited his parents in St Mungo’s. Alice Longbottom liked to hold his Order of Merlin, and he was content to leave it to her. Frank gazed at it, his eyes glassy with the briefest look of recognition, and Neville couldn’t imagine not leaving it to the two individuals who taught him what being a hero was all about. It only made sense, didn’t it? He wasn’t expecting much from returning to Hogwarts. He’d already gone through his seventh year once as a warrior; he wasn’t sure how to repeat it as a student. He imagined he would still keep one eye over his shoulder, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. There were some horrors that could not be scrubbed away by fundraisers, galas, and galleons. Gods, the money — he couldn’t stand it. The Ministry was in the thick of it these days. Officials were either slamming former Death Eaters - those who could escape a Kiss - or the families thereof with fines, or they were giving their thanks in monetary value. Neville donated the money he was awarded before taking out a spot in the Daily Prophet with the single quote: Change Not Currency. As much as he liked to think it was witty, it really wasn’t. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~His grandmother was overjoyed when he received what he hoped to Merlin was his last Hogwarts letter, and a pin fell onto the dining room table. It was scarlet, and gold, the same colours he’d been sported for years now. Head Boy, he mused before glancing at the letter. His counterpart was Hermione. As if he’d thought it would be anyone other than her. His grandmother set to talking about him - never to him, it felt these days - of his accomplishments. Slaying Voldemort’s snake, his ruddy Order of Merlin, and now Hogwarts’ Head Boy. He could feel the bile rise in his throat. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~The first week was the hardest. The Sorting Ceremony was painful as only a fraction returned. Ron and Harry were noticeably absent, already in auror training. Hermione sat at his side, her enamel pin shining proudly at the front of her robes. It was the smallest class he’d ever seen sorted, and it was a damn shame. As they ushered students to their dormitories, Neville stopped to help a small Slytherin who had seemingly been left behind. “Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured, crouching down. His fingers brushed against the ancient stone of the castle. “Lost?” She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “Unfortunately,” she muttered, bitter. “I was with my brother. He’s in third year and he promised he wouldn’t let me get lost. Little liar.” Neville chuckled. “I’m sure he just got separated. I’m Neville, what is your name?” Blue eyes widened and she hid her face behind tendrils of blonde hair. “Everyone knows who you are. You cut off the snake’s head.” He snorted. “Heard about that, did you? Did they mention I have the tendency of tripping over my own two feet?” She looked positively aghast. “Well...no. They didn’t put that on your chocolate frog card actually.” Right, he forgot about his likeness on the cards, a moving photo of a moment that truly wasn’t sorted for children. She continued. “Oh, Merlin! What if you’d tripped during the Final Battle? What if you’d landed on the sword?” He blinked. He actually hadn’t thought of that. “Good thing I didn’t. Let’s get you to the dungeons.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Is it really so gross down there? Oh, my name is Leana.” Neville smiled as she held on to the fabric of his sleeve and he led her through the winding staircases, and into the dungeons. Of course, he couldn’t go any farther. “Parkinson!” he barked, recognizing the familiar curtain of black hair. She pivoted on her foot to face him, her dark eyes narrowing as her mouth set into a thin line. “Yes?” All he really saw was the woman who attempted to give Harry to Voldemort. Neville glanced down at Leana, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet. Right, be the example, house unity. He sighed. “Leana got lost. Would you please show her to her dorm?” Parkinson gave a stiff nod, and stepping forward to take the young girl’s hand was the closest she’d ever been to him. Neville didn’t turn to leave until he was alone in the corridor. Old habits died hard, but he was struck by a thought - She really wasn’t deserving of the cruel nickname Pug-Faced Parkinson anymore. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~They had Potions together. Followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts. In a gross twist of fate, they were permanent partners for the year. “Don’t catch the cauldron on fire.” she hissed in Potions. “Missed your step there,” he smirked when he cast a jelly legs hex at her in DADA. It wasn’t the best way to spend to back to back hours, but - He found himself looking forward to them way back when he didn’t realize it. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~Neville almost - should have, he corrected - gave her attention when he caught her out after curfew. At the tail end of his rounds, she should have been grateful he was the one to come across her in the Astronomy Tower rather than Hermione. It was a shifting point, but neither of them mentioned it. The next would remain the same with the verbal sparring she would win in Potions and the literal sparring he was getting quite good at. She was crying, her shoulders barely shuddering as she hung her head. Parkinson didn’t say anything when he silently sat beside her, his legs mirroring hers as they dangled off of the side of the stairs. “Are you going to give me detention?” she asked. Parkinson didn’t wipe her eyes. She only glared at him, daring him to poke at her. At the shake of his head, she froze. “Why not?” “Do you want me to give you detention? I mean, I wouldn’t be against it, but we all need a place to hide sometimes, don’t we?” He expected her to snap at him, to tell him how he was too whimsical in his thinking, too soft-hearted. She murmured, “I’m not hiding.” Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the level beneath her. “I don’t hide.” Neville dipped his head. “Of course not. It was rude of me to assume.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~It carried on, but now their routine was out of order. His eyes drifted to her in between classes, even as she never spared him a second glance in the corridors, and meals in the Great Hall were the worst. She wasn’t eating, but he wasn’t in the position to point it out to her. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~During another moment, he’d traded rounds with Hermione for good, in the Astronomy Tower, she was forthcoming. “Why did you come back?” he asked, legs tucked beneath him. She shrugged. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and there were purple rings beneath her eyes. Clearly, she wasn’t sleeping. “I wanted to prove I had nothing to be ashamed of.” It sparked his curiosity and he rose his head to glance at her. “Are you ashamed?” “Yeah.” she replied, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Why did you come back? From what I hear you could have gone on for whatever. All of you could have.” She didn’t have to say who she meant. Neville had given it a lot of thought over the eight weeks they had been back. He still didn’t have a straight answer. “I’m not sure. I think part of it was that I’m comfortable here. I want to go through auror training like my parents, but...this is more than you wanted to hear, isn’t it?” She surprised him. “No, I think I’d like to hear it.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~He didn’t ask her to Hogsmeade, no matter how it looked. And it definitely wasn’t that he would have minded if they had gone to Hogsmeade together, but this - fuck, they always ended up with the other it seemed. “Butterbeer?” he asked when she slid into the booth across the table from him. Her cheeks were stained. Neville wasn’t at all used to the sight outside of midnight, outside of whispered meetings. “What is it?” “Slytherins,” she moaned to herself quietly. “They’re out for their own skin, not mine and —” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “What happened?” Parkinson’s head snapped up at the harshness of his voice. “What’s it to you, Longbottom?” He didn’t offer a reply. She sighed. “Malfoy is just being a ponce. He was going to visit the Astronomy Tower as well last night, but he saw us.” He tilted his head to the side. “Is it a problem for you that you’ve been seen with me?” Neville asked. His heart rate had picked up as he waited for her reply. Her pale lips parted. “No,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. “He’s just…” she trailed off. “He isn’t dealing with the new term all too well and I’ve always been a pillar for him. But now I’m not.” “You’re barely able to be there for yourself.” Neville pointed out, not unkindly. “He can’t expect you to put him before yourself.” She shook her head. “He doesn’t, but he believed if I needed anyone that I would go to him.” Funny, though he liked the thought of it, he hadn’t considered that he was the metaphorical pillar for her. Really, he was only a bit selfish and she saw him as more than the guy who lopped the head off of a snake. “What did he say?” Her breath caught. “He mentioned that I was the one who tried to hand over Potter and that I was only trying to be so close with a Gryffindor to put myself in a better light. His house rivalries are very much still present.” Neville took a long drink from his tumbler before setting it down. “Is that why you’re around me?” She scowled. “You know what, if that’s what you really think, I think I’m better off on my own!” In hindsight, he could have phrased it better. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~He could time it to the exact second Parkinson became Pansy, that just another Slytherin became a pretty black haired girl with pale pink lips, and eyes that were dark enough to resemble the night sky they often stared at. “Neville!” she screamed as she walked into Potions the following Monday. He spluttered and dropped his wand into the bubbling cauldron. “Bollocks.” he muttered. “What?” Neville snapped, squaring his shoulders and towering over her as she jabbed her wand into his sternum. Their peers were watching partly in amusement, partly in anticipation. Her eyes flashed. “Draco has been in the hospital wing all weekend.” He nodded. “I heard. Unfortunate thing, really. Bloke should really watch himself.” “You hexed the shite out of him!” she shrieked, a smile curving both sides of her lips that he was so fixated on. “Huh,” he murmured. “You’re right. I did do that.” And then her head tipped back as she laughed. Oh, he was fucked. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~At Christmas, he did ask her to Hogsmeade. Unofficially of course. She rolled her eyes and told him they were getting firewhiskey instead of butterbeer. She was dressed nicely. Wearing a dress that cinched around her waist, and a pair of heels, Pansy dared passerbys to say anything about them. His eyes were drawn to the necklace that fell to her breasts. Somehow he was pretty sure the placement was intentional. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~“I wish I could hate you.” Pansy told him when she came back from the holidays. “But I don’t, not even a little.” They sat shoulder to shoulder in the Astronomy Tower. He thought it was curious how a place that held so many bad memories had turned into one of his favorite places. The admission stung. “Why do you want to hate me?” Pansy didn’t meet his eyes, but she laid her head on his shoulder. “My father wants to plan a marriage for me.” He nodded, laying his head against hers. His lips brushed her hair. “Is that what you want?” “It doesn’t matter.” “It does.” he rumbled, smoothing his fingers against her spine. Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t do anything to stop it. Lately, it’s all he talks about in his letters. I’m no fool; I’ve never expected him to care about how my term is going.” He blinked, and bit his lip. “What if I promise I won’t let him marry you off?” She sat up so quickly he nearly bit the top of her head. Hissing, she massages her scalp. “Are you mental? You couldn’t —” Neville shrugged, smiling. “I could. Haven’t you heard? I’m the guy that killed the snake.” Pansy didn’t grin often, but gods, when she did. “You hate when people mention Nagini.” she paused. “How would you stop him?” Quietly, he opted for making her laugh rather than discuss the worst things. But at the end, before they parted ways, she murmured, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~Valentine’s Day. She wasn’t quite his girlfriend, but she was more than his friend. He wasn’t sure what to refer to her as when he’d spent nearly all of his nights with her discussing anything from herbology to the war to the future and to what was waiting for them when they graduated. All Neville really knew - and he didn’t like to admit it - was that she was important to him. She was beautiful, funny and far too intelligent for him. So when the day came, he ate his breakfast nonchalantly, occasionally looking across the Great Hall. An owl delivered the parcel, swooping low and dropping a rectangle box in her lap. She opened it carefully, tugging on the scarlet ribbon. Pansy smiled, lifting her head and meeting his eyes from across the room. It was all very cliche, but he thought it was worth it to see her chat excitedly as Daphne Greengrass turned to her. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” The words left his mouth before he could decide to not sound like a bumbling third year. She grinned, sitting on her knees and letting his sheets fall from her chest. “Well, if you must know,” Pansy said wickedly, “I thought that since you were kind enough to buy me something, you deserved to see me wearing it.” “I did earlier —” She crooked a finger, motioning him toward the bed. “I know you saw it earlier, fool. I meant you could see me wearing only it.” The bed dipped below his weight. Neville had imagined kissing her more than he would like to admit. Were her lips as soft as they looked? Would she be harsh and demanding, or would be let him take the lead? It was the second. His fingers cupped the nape of her neck, threading through soft strands of her hair. Pansy whimpered as his tongue traced the seam of her lips. He laid her backward, his hand slowly sliding between her breasts. “More.” she demanded. He chuckled. “There’s my witch.” Her nipples stiffened below feather light touches. Her back arched prettily when his tongue flicked over them. If she noticed he was inexperianced, she didn’t mention it. His fingers found her clit, slipping between her folds and rubbing. Neville paid attention to just how she liked it, the pace, the way she mewled and threw her head back. He liked to lessen the pressure just to see her squeeze her eyes shut and listen to short pants of, “Neville, please, I’m so —” Watching her fall apart was exquisite from the vantage point between her thighs, his mouth on her cunt while she writhed beneath him. Pansy crawled to her knees, still shaking, and didn’t wait for him to kick his trousers off. Instead she straddled his hips while his sat with his back to the headboard, his hands gripping her hips while she slid down her cock. He would never tire of the way her head fell back, exposing the hollow of her throat, and the way she rolled her hips against his. “Merlin,” she gasped. Neville tightened his arms around her waist, slowly picking her up and pulling her down, fucking her torturously slow from under her. He took one nipple into his mouth, flattening his thumb against her sensitive clit. “One more just for me?” Neville rasped when she told him she couldn’t possibly come again. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~He hadn’t paid attention to the reactions of the students when Pansy grabbed his hand in the corridor. Nor had he bothered when she grabbed him by the lapels of his robes and snogged him in the middle of the corridor. He was rather dazed really. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that?” She made a ‘hmmph’ sound while she folded her arms across her chest. “Girls stare at you.” “Do I have something on my face?” he asked. Pansy looked like she could hex him. It wasn’t far from the realm of possibility and he took a step back. “Like you’ve said, they remember that you’re a war hero, and that you’re rather fit now. I’m not a war hero.” His features softened. “You’re fit.” She swatted his chest. Neville tugged her close, looping an arm around her middle. “You’re lovely, and the best part of my life. If anything, you’ve made returning for this term worth it.” Pansy mumbled something against his chest. “What?” “It’s not important.” she replied, her red cheeks betraying her lie. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~She sat on his bed, her shoes kicked off, while she chewed on the end of a sugar quill. “Are you still planning to enter auror training?” The sight of her plump lips around the sugar quill was detrimental to his sanity, and his throbbing erection. Neville cleared his throat. “Yes, but I think only long enough to capture the Lestranges.” Pansy’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought of that.” “There’s no need to apologize. I don’t think I want to be an auror for the rest of my life. What do you plan to do?” She swallowed. “I was thinking I might like to be a healer. Father is against the idea since he wants me to marry and stay home to pop out heirs. Can you imagine? All he wants is for me to lay on my back and get properly knocked up.” The topic hadn’t come up in months. It made him angrier the second time around. “Marry me?” he blurted. She giggled. “What?” Neville’s face was surely red. “Nothing.” he stammered. Pansy leaned across the bed to kiss his cheek. “I know what you meant. It’s just rather adorable to see you blush. You don’t have to marry me, not yet anyway.” She winked. “Eventually?” he joked, but there was a very real hope that crossed her face. And just as quickly, it was gone. “Pansy?” “Yeah?” “Nothing.” It wasn’t the right time. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~The right time turned out to be the last day the would set foot in the castle as students. “What are we doing here?” she asked, gazing over the railing. Simple answer: this was the place that brought them together. He couldn’t forget it, not even it was the site where their former headmaster had fallen. “Neville?” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to come here one last night. We’ve spent most nights in my dorm now.” She nodded. “Spit it out.” “What?” Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’ve never been too clever. Not to mention you’ve been muttering to yourself all day. If you have something to say, then just tell me.” “I want it to be perfect.” She gave a short laugh. “If it’s coming from you, it’s perfect.” Pansy said. He arched an eyebrow. “That’s sappy.” Pansy threw her hands up. “You’ve rubbed off on me, I guess you coud say then.” She was all smiles as she stepped toward him. “And to be fair, I think I’ve been waiting on this for a long time.” He had it planned, the flowery prose to describe just how much she meant to him. But then his mind went blank. “I love you.” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. Her hands slid up his forearms. “I know.” Pansy pressed her lips to his throat. “I’m so fucking in love with you it scares me sometimes.” she paused, pulling away to look at him. “Are you going to tell me about the keys to the flat in London, or do I have to wait for that too?” He grinned. “Cheeky.” Not for the first time, or the last, he was wrong. Things did fall into place.

[beyondconfessor]

Visceral

[13/20]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Psychological Torture, implied/referenced tortured, violence

Pairing: Sara Lance/Alex Danvers

Summary: There's nothing Alex wouldn't do for her sister

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

She was on the Waverider. There was the familiar hum beneath her feet. As always the ship was quiet and clean. So clean that catching a glimpse of her hands or the material of her clothes made them feel all the more disgusting. Alex took a breath and looked away to find where Sara was.

There, Sara was slumped in a chair as if she had fallen asleep mid-thought. Her head lifted as she awoke to Alex. “Are you free?” she asked, stretching as she unfolded her legs and eased herself onto her feet.

“Free? It’s only been an hour,” Alex said. Perhaps if she had been able to unlock those cuffs within that hour, she might be free. As it were, she had taken a power nap instead.

But Sara was frowning at her. “Alex, it's been a day.”

A whole-day didn’t fit in with Alex’s timeline, “No, I woke up, I went to the fake-Russian guy who asked me a few questions and then I came back to the room I’m chained up in and spent maybe half an hour on that lock before I decided to, um, take a nap.”

“It’s been a full day here. Spent the whole day getting ready for the big takedown.”

“Maybe it’s a time difference?” she asked, but it didn’t seem right. Both her and Sara had been meeting in chronological order. It didn’t make sense for a sudden shift in time differences.

“Maybe,” Sara agreed. “I don’t think so, but who knows.”

As much as she tried to think of options, she was distracted by how dirty she felt. On the clean ship, it was easy to see the soot and grime that streaked over her clothes. “Do you think your shower works here?”

Sara grinned at her. “Let’s find out.”

She was lead through the Waverider, which held a sizeable amount of bedrooms, to what seemed to be the only bathroom. The sink was awash with different products, but there were a toilet and a shower, two separate rooms side-by-side. Both of which looked like something you expected from a ship like this.

“How hot do you like your shower?” Sara asked.

“At this point, you could give me a bucket of cold water and a sponge, and I'd be grateful for it.”

Sara nodded, looking thoughtful as she adjusted the water temperature and turned the water on. Water came out of the showerhead, and Alex nearly dove for it. She could see the steam rising and already imagine the feeling of hot water raining down on her back — the ability to wash her self.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Sara said.

“Wait could you…” Sara paused, open to whatever she was going to ask, but it seemed ridiculous. Sara wasn’t running away. “Never mind, it’s okay.”

“I’ll stay,” Sara said. “Do you need help?”

“Please.”

Sara helped her out of her clothes, gently removing it over the broken arm that Alex cradled against herself, now free of any restraints. She could see the marks around her wrist that would take a while to heal — if ever — and bruises that ran over her shoulders and down her legs.

Sara gave her privacy in the shower, leaning against the sink as Alex took the time to wash, removing the layer of grime on her body. It was only for the dream, and she knew that when she awoke, it would all be there. But there was still a comfort to the shower. It gave her time to think over her lost time.

Lots of medication caused memory loss. Local anaesthesia was the most common one, that also had the side effect of paralysis. Alex didn’t find herself changing positions or anything that seemed invasive. If anything, the only difference seemed to be how exhausted she felt by the end.

But that hadn’t happened until –– “He’s a fucking telepath!”

“What?”

Alex opened the shower door, looking at Sara. “The man, the man who asks all the strange questions. That’s why they seem of no consequence. He’s a telepath.”

“Why doesn’t he just read your mind, straight out then?”

“Maybe he has low-level telepathy, or he doesn’t know how to read minds properly, or maybe he’s just new to telepathy, there’s lots of devices off-world in the trading market that we just haven’t developed yet. Not to mention that humans don’t think in strings of words and sentences all of the time, most of our thoughts are just a mixture of concepts, images and emotions.”

Sara blinked at her. “So he’s trying to trigger specific thought responses? Lead you into giving away answers.”

“All of this time I was treating it like a human one, but even in thinking of an answer in some way I was giving him something.” Alex began to feel the panic set in from the revelation. “Oh my god, I don’t know what I’ve shown him, he might know everything and is just trying to piece any other valuable bits of information together. Roulette might already know. Kara ––“

“Hey,” Sara said, pulling her eyes to hers. “Breathe. You can’t think of that now. You need to escape before you can worry about that.”

Alex nodded. Drawing in her breath, “Right, so I pick the lock and then… But what do I do if they come for me first? I don’t know how to guard my thoughts that well. It wasn’t something J’onn ever taught me outside of, you know, quietening my thoughts.”

“So, quieten your thoughts.”

“But that doesn’t hide them,” Alex said. “It just makes them…not-loud.”

Sara looked at her, raising her brow. “Well, you’re good at keeping your mind on a single topic in a battle. So keep your thoughts on a single subject, one that’s not going to give him any information.”

Alex drew a breath, slipping back until she leant against the shower wall. “Easier said than done.”

“Just focus on shampooing your hair, maybe you could learn how to do it one-handed since you’ve ––“ and then Sara pushed off from the sink and came to stand right before her. “Do you mind?” she asked, gesturing to her head. Alex nodded, watching as Sara rolled up the three-quarter sleeves of the white shirt before bringing her hands to her hair, massaging the shampoo over Alex’s scalp.

Alex shut her eyes, melting into the touch as she felt the shower continue to rain down on her shoulders and back. There was creeping anxiety in the different states of undress she had between herself and Sara, but the feeling of being clean and out of those clothes, and the way Sara’s hands massaged over her scalp far outweighed her modesty. Besides, this was a woman who had seen her with her clothes off before.

Alex tilted her head forward, washing the lathered shampoo out of her hair.

Alex felt her mind going back to the drunken night. She remembered flashes of moments in the travel between the dinner and the hotel room. She remembered Sara's laughter in her ear as they stumbled out of the elevator, onto the wrong floor. The way Sara's cheesy one-liners had honestly sounded so hilarious to her between drunken kisses.

That night had been freeing at the time before the morning came. She woke up with a headache, nausea and strong arms around her waist that weren't Maggie's.

It was funny because despite everything had gone through, she hadn't even thought of Maggie until now.

Alex felt Sara’s hand begin to condition her hair. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Well, I want to,” Sara shrugged, tilting Alex’s head back to wash the conditioner off. Her thumbs brushed behind Alex’s ears, down to the base of her skull, though her eyes fixated on what Alex presumed was the bump on her forehead.

“It’s fine,” Alex said.

“It’s going to scar.”

“Then it’ll scar, it won’t be my last.”

To that, Sara smiled at her, her hands still in Alex’s hair. And then she seemed to remember that Alex was undressed and stepped away, closing the door as she muttered about getting her a towel.

Alex didn’t know what to take from that. A part of her thought of how Sara had looked at her, and another part of her reminded that the last time she felt that way, crippling rejection had followed. She was not going to be leaping on women she thought was giving off vibes. No matter how much their eyes looked like an ocean amid an electrical storm.

Turning the shower off, she stepped out, wrapping herself in the towel left by the door. Sara then proceeded to drop another one on her head, leaving Alex feeling like she was five years old again.

“I found the metal you’re using,” Sara said, holding up the piece of metal. It looked like it had once been a loose steel wire. It was thin. Enough so that if she twisted it tighter and tighter, it would eventually snap.

“You’ll want to bend it further up, so it slips in smoother. I should show you how to make a rake, so it’d be easier to unlock.”

“It’s fine. doing it one handed is difficult enough.”

“You’re using the other the twist it then, so the pegs lock into place when you tap them?”

“What?”

Sara smiled at her and then proceeded to go into a lecture about how to pick a lock while drawing a somewhat decent picture with her finger on steam. She eventually had to get a pen and paper to make her point, but Alex was fascinated by it, nonetheless. It took her back to her studies back when she had first begun working for the DEO.

Most of it, she knew well enough. She had remembered to turn the pin slightly but had somehow forgotten to do that part while having a broken arm.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

“Good, then it’s time to wake-up,” Sara said. “The sooner you get out of there, before you’re exhausted again, the faster you can get to Kara.”

Alex agreed. Although she was unsure in how to admit that waking up, after moments of cleanliness, comfort and friendship, made her feel nauseous.

Alex didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know if she could make it out of there, or if that guy would creep his way into her head and somehow erase all memories of what transpired. Or worse.

The very thought of someone crawling through her brain made her feel violated. J’onn had always given her the utmost privacy that he could provide with his ability. To feel it used against her, felt…slimy. Like there was greasy slug trail all over brain from where he’d been.

She couldn’t wait to punch him in the face.

“Time to wake up,” she agreed.

Sara smiled at her, and then, what had to be pushing up on her tiptoes, kissed Alex's forehead. "You've got this, Danvers."

Alex woke up. It was dark in the room, and all at once she felt the cold against her. There were layers of dirt and grit on her skin, heavy coating of oils in her hair. If possible, she felt even dirtier than before she had fallen asleep. Dirtier and colder. And yet, she could still feel the imprint of Sara's lips on her forehead.

Alex sat up. She was going to escape.

Alex pulled the metal from where she’d hidden it on her person and bent it as Sara had instructed her to.

She jiggled with the lock, feeling her right arm complain at being misused. Without really thinking about it, she found herself promising it that she would see the best doctor to fix it, and would do all the physiotherapy exercises she would be asked to complete. Even that stupid stress ball one, if it would just hold out for a little bit longer.

The lock clicked.

Slowly, and then quickly, Alex drew the chains away from the lock. They were hefty, awkward, but she was able to carry them against her chest. She felt a bubbling laugh rise in her chest before she remembered that getting out of the chains didn’t mean that she was out of here yet.

Drawing a deep breath, she attempted to quell rising nausea. One step at a time.

Alex listed for the sound of running footfalls. There was nothing — just the sound of a draft outside of the door in the room.

Alex crept closer to the door that barred her from the hallway. She held onto the chains, bringing the weight against her chest as she eased the door open to the hall. It creaked into the darkness, but no one seemed to be there to hear it. Perhaps she had a chance.

Alex crept in the dark. She knew how to get to the break room, but how far would that have been from a door?

Was it a factory and this was the upper-level office section? A warehouse and she just needed to find the loading docks?

She crept along with the shadows, listening for any sounds. The walls all seemed to be those temporary ones that didn’t quite meet the ceiling. The ground was hard, concrete.

Alex went through a few open doors, jiggling a few locked ones that were probably leading to the exit, but more likely to nowhere. It seemed strange not to come across another person. Where the hell was everyone? She opened a few more doors, coming to dark, empty storage rooms. There were marks on the walls where signage had probably once been, but so far, the place seemed to have been stripped of everything aside from rubbish.

She couldn’t see cameras, but she could see fire alarms that had been pulled out, the batteries taken from inside of the plastic containers.

It seemed to be a long since abandoned building for something.

Alex found a door that led her into a small room, with a broken window. It was the first window she'd seen, and it looked out to the night sky.

Graffiti covered the room. Black and red spray paint that was just a bunch of kids random tags against some aimless slurs but none of that held anything aside from moments of Alex's attention as she looked at the door.

Could it be that easy?

It was a tall, heavy double door made of wood. She turned the handle, and it opened out into the night air.

Drawing in a breath of the air, she felt like she could almost laugh as she looked up to the moon. It was three-quarters full, and the stars were brighter and more brilliant than she’d ever seen before. How beautiful, how wonderful.

She drew in another breath and felt a giddy bubble rise into her chest as her broken shoes stepped out onto the loose gravel. There were no lights nearby, but in the moonlight, she could see hills sparsely covered in trees.

She'll have to walk up the hill to see if there was a town nearby to go to, but it was something at least. She was out. She could get to the next place. She just had to avoid being caught again.

And then she caught sight of headlights coming between the silhouette of trees. No, it wasn't going to be easy.

Taking her chains, she ducked behind the side of the building, to where industrial garbage was, and watched as the car pulled up into the large open gravel area.

The building's internal contents were strange, but on the outside, it looked to be an abandoned industrial site. Wherever she was, it seemed to be a loading bay for trucks.

The engine cut off, and the man stepped out, followed by the minion woman. They closed the doors of the car, the distant sound of chatter coming from them as the woman carried what looked to be a grocery bag and take away.

The man was holding a takeaway coffee. He took a sip and then he paused, looking over at Alex’s direction. There was no way he should have been able to see her, and yet Alex watched as he nudged at the woman and pointed towards her direction.

Fucking telepath. Alex tried to shut down the thoughts before she looked around her. There were a few waste containers — old, filled with rubbish like parts of the building that had been gutted out. There was no way she could sneak into one of them without being seen.

Beyond the bins were the trees. Holding the chains against her chest, Alex made a low run for the trees in the shadows, ducking into the scrub.

The tree was tall and smooth, a whisper running through its leave in the wind. Alex drew a breath and looked behind her where the woman stood at the waste containers, looking around.

She was a large, stocky woman and Alex already knew she was dangerous. As she watched the woman head around the bins, opening them up to peek inside, Alex made a move to the next tree.

“Come out, come out,” the man said in the distance. “I know that you know, Alex.”

Alex bristled at the mention of her name. How long had he known that and withheld it? Alex pulled away from the anger, quietening her thoughts. She didn’t know if he could locate her through her telepathy, or if he'd just been aware that she was outside.

The woman had stopped looking at the containers and had moved to the trees. She had a stick in her hand, or maybe a baton, long and thin for a better beating. Alex eyed her. She would need to get the advantage of the woman and overpower her first.

Alex went to move, but a chain jingled. The woman's head whipped to her direction before a slow smirk pulled over her face, and she began stalking over to her.

Alex dropped the chains, taking hold of the end in her hand as the woman came towards her. Alex drew in several deep breaths, feeling the race of her heart. She couldn’t let the adrenaline give her the shakes. She had to be fast and smart about it.

And then Alex ran forward, using a fallen bough to leap up and land onto the woman's torso.

With the end of the chain in hand, she cast a loop around the woman’s neck, her legs catching onto the broad torso and clasping onto her as she drew the shackles tight, wrapping another and then another loop around the minion's neck, before tugging her arms up sharply. The woman grasped as the chain, and Alex felt her broken arm wrench at the movement.

But she clenched her jaw, holding firm despite the pain.

The woman struggled to run sideways, shoving the side of the body Alex had clutched to against the tree, but as the seconds past, her movements weakened. The woman clawed, her nails dragging against her skin. She rammed against the tree and Alex’s head knocked –– hard –– against it, but she held onto the chains, listening to her splutter as the oxygen was cut off to her head.

She didn’t know where the man was, but he wasn’t here and even as the woman dropped to her knees. Even as her hands slacked and slumped in the dirt, Alex didn’t slacker her grip until she was sure.

She counted the seconds, and then she removed the chains.

Alex’s legs shook. Her whole body shook from the exertion of the attack. She stopped, waiting for her head to cease pounding as she drew her breaths, and then she rose again, looking over to where the car reained stationary. Its lights were still on, but the man wasn’t there.

Alex looked around, she didn’t know if he or the woman had keys, but she did know that the man knew her name, and if he knew that then what little he knew about Kara was dangerous. There was no way she was leaving yet.

Looking around, Alex tried to see where he may have gone. The loose gravel on compact dirt made it hard to see any signs of him.

Until a gun pressed against her temple as he came out from behind her in the shadows. She took a breath, quietening her thoughts as she looked out the corner of her eye, trying to catch a glimpse of him. “If you stayed in the cell, we could have gone through a few more sessions and be done with it,” he told her. Gone was the Russian voice, replaced by...an Australian one?

“For what?" She asked, "Information on Supergirl?”

“On you…or your sister,” he shrugged. “There’s something there, some connection between your sister and Supergirl. It's all too much of a coincidence.”

Alex hissed out a breath, feeling her thoughts edge towards that truth before they snapped back to Sara; Sara’s eyes, her smile, the freckles across her skin.

“See, who is that woman? You’re always thinking of her. Every thought is layered with that woman. I spent hours in your brain, going over every memory, every connection to find something, and every time you would draw back to her, but I looked. And there's no Sara Lance. There’s a Laurel Lance, but she doesn’t look like that woman, whoever she is.”

Laurel… A flood of thoughts came, and she could feel the man immerse himself in them. Alex struck, pushing his wrist away from her head –– the gun fired into the night’s air –– before she turned around to face him. She had the chains on his arm before he could pull back.

He reached for the hand with the gun, raising his leg to make a kick at shins, but Alex kicked at his chest first. She held her grip in the chains,  keeping him suspended between falling and standing.

She kicked him again, unwound the arm and watched him fall with the momentum as he dropped the gun onto the ground.

Alex grabbed the weapon before he could and aimed it at him, stepping back out of distance from him. “You move, I fire,” she promised.

He didn’t move, remaining crouched on the ground, halfway between reaching out to grab at the chain.

“The way I see it, you have two options,” she said. “I kill you, or you tell me what Roulette knows about my sister, and I drag your ass back to the DEO. Maybe you live.”

“Why would I tell you anything.”

“Read my mind.”

Now that she was aware, she could feel the cold shiver as something seeped over her, pulling at the electricity in the brain to read how she promised to draw out a slow, painful death if he refused, or drag his ass back to the DEO if he helped. Maybe there was a future for him, and he could find redemption in their group of misfits, it wouldn't be the first time.

“She knows about your sister,” he said. “She knows who you are, and she knows to use Maggie Sawyer and Kara Danvers against you. That’s everything I gave her. She doesn’t know about Supergirl’s weakness to Kryptonite yet. I haven’t had a chance to speak to her since last week, and I won't tell her, just...just take me to the DEO.”

Alex nodded, “Then that secret dies with you,” was all she said, watching as his face turned from disbelief into terror as she fired the rounds into his head.

His body crumpled, dragging at the chains and Alex sighed, feeling the broken arm throb bad enough to make her almost vomit.

She needed a hospital.

Alex let out a breath and shut her eyes, waiting for the guilt, the self-pity to come. But it didn’t — not this time.

It’d been a long time since she’d killed an unarmed person, maybe she was just in shock.

Crouching down, she unwrapped the chains and began digging around the man’s pockets, removing his jacket and placing it over her cold body. She then walked over to the corpse of the minion woman, dug around her pockets until she found the keys to the car and went back to where it remained parked, headlights still alight.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and blinked. There was no steering wheel in front of her.

Then she noticed the other seat. It was on the right-hand side.

Alex moved to the driver’s side of the car.

Turning the ignition, she put the car into drive and drove out down the loose gravel road. She doubted that the two worked by themselves for Roulette. They’d have to have someone above them, someone to report to whilst Roulette spun her web.

The road was quiet. Alex didn’t know where she was, but it was a backroad, going by the gravel. The drive went for a while, and then it turned onto a bitumen road. And then Alex had some idea of where she was. There was a green sign telling her how many miles it was to the next town. 120 to Tarcutta. Well, the lettering seemed to indicate English so far, which ruled out both Russia and China.

It wasn’t until the next sign said ’50 - Tarcutta' (which was a lot faster than it should have been, Alex felt) that she saw another car, driving on her side of the road. It honked at her and Alex realised that perhaps she was driving on the wrong side of the road, the driver’s seat was on the wrong side, so it made sense.

Which she should have known, but Alex had just escaped and was still feeling heart palpitations from the event, expecting a car to run her off the road at any moment. So she was giving herself some slack.

The car and road narrowed it down further. Maybe she was in Britain? The English drove on the left, didn't they?

“What the actual fuck,” she whispered under her breath. Why had she been taken to England of all places? Why in that building? Why anything?

Was it all for Supergirl?

Alex continued to drive, eyeing the speedometer that was a little touchier than she was used to, it wasn’t as though the answers would appear in the cold of the night.

Tarcutta seemed to be a small town, though no-one was around. The police station was a little house, the lights dark, and she had no idea where anything was, like a hospital. There was a couple of truck pulled up in what seemed to be a truck parking area in the middle of two roads, but they were all in their cabs, deep asleep.

At the gas station, there was a sign out for cherries that seemed to be a rather steep price for cherries, though it was asking it for by the kilogram so maybe her math was off.

Besides, she still had manacles on her arms, and 120 miles wasn’t that far from where she’d been. The further she got from that place, the safer she would feel.

Alex navigated through the central part of town, down what seemed to be labelled the Old Hume Highway — then continued for what felt like maybe another hour. It was a relatively straight strip, and her mind was getting a little fuzzy as she drove. Eventually, she came to a place called Albury-Wodonga.

For a few miles, it seemed to be nothing but empty land, void of anything but what appeared to be farmland, going by their fence lines.

Eventually, sign's began to advise her to pull off the highway to get into the industrial side of the town.

Blue signs were leading to the hospital as Alex made her way through the quiet streets. There were a few drunk kids were walking around McDonald's, there were even a few cars around, but no one minded her. As much as she wanted to get out and shout for help, she knew the best support would be at either a police station or a hospital. Given that there were no signs to the police station that she could find yet, but plenty to the hospital, she continued on her path there.

It seemed to be a far way out of what she had presumed to be the town. Whatever the place was, most buildings didn’t go beyond two stories, and even that was being generous. Everything seemed to be single storied blocks. Only the new development seemed to rise above that.

The hospital was easy to see once she arrived, and the emergency room was clearly labelled.

Alex went there. She went inside and watched heads watch her strangely as she went to the section that read ‘see Nurse first’ and then she stood there as a nurse came to the window.

“I need your help,” she said, her voice was hoarse. It felt sore, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d drunk any water.

Whether it was her appearance, the chains or the way she cradled her broken arm, the woman brought her from the waiting room of the ER, into her section despite the ten or so people waiting their turn.

The Nurse asked her a few questions which Alex found her self restrictively answering.

The woman was middle-aged with dark hair and crinkles around her eyes and face. She didn’t smile much, but she listened to what Alex said.

Alex told her she'd been kidnapped that she had escaped not far out from a town that seemed to be about fifty or so miles (kilometres?) north. She said she had a broken arm, that she wasn’t sure how long the bone had been fractured.

In response, the woman explained to where she was. (Australia! Australia had the same wall sockets as China, of course. How had she forgotten that?)

The woman gave her a bottle of water and Alex downed it fast. The nurse's eyes widened before softening in sympathy as she offered her another bottle.

"Thank you," Alex said, trying not to cry at the gesture.

"We have a few more questions for you if you're ready?"

"Okay," Alex said.

After the nurse had finished the triage part of the questioning, Alex asked for the American Embassy number, "and a phone line. I have no access to money, but once I can get in contact with the embassy, I'll be able to access all of that."

"I'll see what I can do. Our priority is your health first."

A nurse lead her into intensive care where a different nursing staff took over, asking her a few questions. There was a doctor in turquoise scrubs that was awkwardly danced around topics that Alex cut through. "I wasn't sexually assaulted. I was hit a few times, and I have an avulsion fracture to my radius. As you can I've also been chained," she said lifting the manacles. "All I want is a good shower if that's possible? I want to feel clean. At least cleaner."

"I can have that arranged."

A nurse in blue helped to shower her, and it was as good as her dream had been, despite the way the room smelt of chemicals.

She’d helped wash her hair, reach her back and didn't once ask questions about any of the scars or marks, though Alex saw her fearfully curious eyes dancing from new injuries to old.

Once Alex was clean, the nurse provided her with a hospital gown with, unfortunately, an adult diaper as it was all they had on that floor. "Look, I'll take anything clean at this stage," she said, moving into it.

It was a little embarrassing, she thought, but at the same time, it was clean cotton against her clean skin and Alex wanted nothing to do with the ruined clothes -- though she noticed the nurse bag it with her gloves. It probably to supply as evidence for the police.

Once Alex was back on the emergency department's pseudo beds, she began talking about things to expect in the hospital, future medical investigations, what treatment to expect, what the procedures in the hospital were around crisis, the rhythm of words felt soothing like she knew what was going to happen, so it was all going to be okay.

The nurse didn’t talk about the mangles except to make sure to clean her wrists as best she could with the obstruction.

Twice she checked with her emotionally. Twice Alex brushed the answer off tiredly.

And then Alex was hooked up to an IV for fluids, given some drugs fand an x-ray for her arm. Two doctors spoke to her briefly, examined her injuries so far. They were blunter with their questions, although they asked them gently. They looked at her manacles, moving them around and considered options of removal. Someone brought up that a “tradie” might be able to do it.

Then there was more muttering as if they'd forgotten Alex existed as a person in the conversation. It began to piss her off until she saw the nurse roll her eyes and chuck her a wink.

Alex liked the nurse a lot.

After the staff left and the curtains were pulled back around her, she closed her eyes against and leant back against the bed and found herself opening her eyes every time footsteps came near her.

And then the police came around, introducing themselves with titles that Alex faded over. All of her words were muddled by this stage. She kept tiredly correcting herself or stumbling to find the exact word she needed for the situation.

The nurses were taking her blood pressure and heart rate by the hour.

“So do you know the perpetrators who kidnapped you?”

“There was a man, and a woman,” Alex explained. “I never got their name.”

A nurse appeared then with two trays of food. “Ham and cheese okay?” she asked. There were three sandwiches, two bottles of water and even some ice cream that had been scrounged up for her. Honestly, it was the sweetest thing that had happened outside of her shower.

“Thank you,” Alex said. And then she took the sandwich, not caring if it was impolite as she removed it from its plastic container and bit into it. Without a doubt, there would never be a sandwich taste as good in her life as that. Nothing would ever beat that moment as she felt the food hit her tongue. Whatever they had been feeding her in that place hadn't been bland in comparison to ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches.

The officers were polite, allowing her to finish the meal.

“The man spoke with a European accent. A, ah, Russian accent, but it didn’t sound authentic. He was six foot one maybe and had a light face, er, beard. He was ah, caucasian descent with grey-blue eyes. There was an edge of a tattoo on his neck I couldn’t see. Just a black smudge here,” she showed on her neck. “But it was hidden by his shirt collar. His hairline was...was going back. Receding. He also had a big, thin nose, teeth seemed to be straight, there was nothing that stood out about him,” she explained.

Alex gave a briefer description with the woman, having seen her through lamp light and the dim lights of the hallway. "She broke my arm, was tall, strong. Really strong."

“Did they ever explain to you why they may have kidnapped you. Did the people mentioning if they were taking you somewhere…?”

Alex knew what they were asking. But it wasn’t relevant. “I believe it was for revenge,” was all she said. She respected the police here, but she knew where the matter would go.

When the police left, they gave her a card. One of them wrote the American embassy number on it, above the local police number for her.

She was still waiting for the nurses to give her phone access.

She slept for a few hours, dreaming but not of Sara. The lights were low, but it was still loud. People were crying and sometimes yelling. Nursing staff were trying to help a few boys involved in a punch-up, some drunken girl kept shuffling the toilet when the nurses weren't looking and then being barked at to return to where she was. There was a pair of about-to-be young parents checking the status of stomach pains after a night of binge drinking.

And between those moments, the nurses were coming together, giggling with each other about their day-to-day lives outside of work, about their shift the night before, or even bad-mouthing staff on different sections.

A tradesman came around the morning, after breakfast. He looked at the manacles, took a few photos and spoke to his apprentice. Then he pulled out a few tools and removed them the manacles from around her wrists. The weight was gone.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Have a good one,” the tradesman nodded and then seemed to catch himself, giving an awkward smile.

The nursing staff took the manacles, and Alex listened as they completed their ops. Her arm was placed into a sling, and she was told that they were just waiting on her being more stable before they operated on her.

She stayed until midday in the intensive care ward before she was placed into a wheelchair and taken to an actual hospital room with three other women. One was an elderly woman with respiratory problems. Another was about twenty years older than Alex and sat knitting across from her, offering her a smile. And the third was young, in her twenties and fast asleep.

“You’re booked in for some more tests today,” the new nursing staff, Alison, said as she took her ops for the report. “They’ll come round in a few hours. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “Will I be able to call the American embassy soon?”

Alison blinked at her, then frowned. “I’ll ask if I can arrange that for you once I finish this, okay?” She smiled at Alex and Alex tried to smile back. It came out stiff. She’d been in the hospital for twelve hours, and the anxiety was only growing the longer she stayed.

None of the nursing staff knew anything about what had been going in America with Supergirl.

The whole day felt dizzy. A blur of people’s faces and she only felt more and more agitated. She turned and asked the residents in the room for anything about Supergirl. The older middle-aged woman hummed something about her grandson. The woman who looked to be twenty years her senior murmured back in broken English a few positive things about Supergirl, but nothing of news.

Alison did eventually come back, with a wheelchair in tow after lunch. “Let’s get you to the phone.”

Alex would have preferred privacy, but she understood that specific protocols were in place for her. The nurse wheeled her down a hall to the general phone, and the woman took it off its receiver and handed it to her. “Do you know the number?” she asked.

Alex gestured to the card she had, giving a mild comment about the police officers before she dialled in the number. It seemed to take her to a general call-centre queue.

After five minutes of waiting, Alison advised she would be back in a moment and headed back to her floor.

A few more minutes past before she spoke to someone, who transferred her across to a different line where she waiting in queue and then transferred again. Alex knew her procedure well enough. She went through it with the third individual who was finally able to direct her to someone of authority. Alex explained her situation carefully, advising that she did not intend to operate on Australian soil, but that she'd been kidnapped and brought over against her will.

“Mm. I see. I’ll take this through the official channels. Given the circumstances, I will be escalating it higher, but you can understand that due to the nature of this issue, it may take some time to return you to the United States.”

“I do. My primary concern is stopping this from being a big political issue,” Alex lied. Her primary concern was getting news to J'onn and seeing Kara. At least hearing from her.

“Thank you for your time. We’ll send someone down to Albury, if necessary. Otherwise, we’ll be in touch.” Don’t call us, we’ll call you. Great.

Well, that was one thing that was completed. Although Alex still felt nauseous, and her heart rate felt like it was higher than it should be, she was at a state where there was nothing further to do, except wait.

Alex hated waiting.

The nurse returned not shortly after she hung up her phone. “All go well?”

Alex pressed her lips. “As well as it can,” she responded.

“Let us know if you need anything. I believe your surgery should be booked in for tomorrow, but I’ll read through the doctor’s notes for you.”

"Thank you, I appreciate that. And look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude before."

"Don't worry about it," the woman said. "Of all people, you can be a little bit abrasive, and we'll cut you some slack," she said, giving Alex a wink.

Back in the room, she helped Alex back into bed before reading through her note. "Tomorrow, pending any emergencies."

Tomorrow. Alex felt a deep sigh hang in her chest as laid back in her bed. It'd been bed re-made for her in her absence and felt nice to slide onto. The mattress wasn’t too bad either, but it wasn’t as good as her own.

“Oh!” Alison stopped, “Did you want a shower this afternoon?”

“No, the nurse this morning helped me with that.”

Alison nodded, smiling at her unfazed. It was one less job to worry about, Alex supposed.

She appreciated that the nursing staff had given her a gown to wear, and given her some underwear. Clean, she had been assured. Unused, for situations like this. Though they were an ugly grey-brown colour and went all the way up to her waist. She’d take it.

The senior woman, who was on the bed to her left, came over and placed a newspaper down on her table. On the front page, Alex could see a photo of her sister holding a man by his throat, her teeth bared at him in a fit of rage.

It wasn’t a quality photo, taken from the bottom of a building looking up at the scene, the person had zoomed in with a device not designed for keeping the picture in high definition for that length of distance, but there was no denying that that was her sister.

Supergirl's Gone Wild, the headline read. The article followed an opinion piece. Or rather, a thinly veiled anti-immigration, anti-superhero article detailing the dangers of both Superman and Supergirl taking their rage issues out on down-on-their-luck citizens. Alex didn’t know who the man was, but she knew her sister well enough to believe that he wasn’t just “down on his luck”.

There was also, on the top right-hand side, the date. Alex's stomach dropped as she realised how much time had passed. She had been gone for over two months.

At this stage, Alex had a clear, single thought.

Fuck Australia.

#sara lance #alex danvers #agent canary #supergirl fanfic #legends of tomorrow fanfic #supergirl #legends of tomorrow #morgans fics

[bubblepunk99s]

Tia

Despite having been surrounded by goods for the majority of her life, Tia had never really shopped at a market. Good thing to, as one trip with Met had pushed her to the brink of insanity.

“You need the Falcon-face.”

“I keep telling you there’s nothing here like that!”

“Fine, Chickpea! You call them chickpea.”

They were standing in front of a small stand by the wall of a disused warehouse. The vendor- selling sacks of diamond dates and almonds- looked quizzically at the pair as he handed Tia a bag of chickpeas.

“I call them falcon-face because that’s what they look like.” She held up a wrinkled pea for Tia to stare at. “You can even see the beak!”

All I see is a crazy lady with a shopping bag full of crazy things

Ever since she’d announced that Amara needed further treatment, Met had taken Tia on a madcap tour of the city hunting for ingredients. They hadn’t gone to official market spaces. Oh no; they had gone to private stores, rootcutter stands, alleyway shops and other shady places picking up Goldwood fustic, alum gel, strange herbs Met called ‘mouse-tail’ and ‘hair of the earth’. Even if Met had brought Udana back from the brink of death, Tia didn’t want half of the things they had bought anywhere near Amara.

“So, what do you want?”

“What?”

“To buy. Is there anything you want to buy for yourself?”

“Oh, um...” Dammit why was this woman so good at taking her by surprise? “Well...Amara’s night scarf got burnt in the storm. Maybe we can get her a new one? A really pretty one, though. Nothing cheap.”

“A courting token!” Met seemed delighted. “Though I don’t see why it needs to be pretty, she’ll be asleep when she wears it.”

“I might see it!”

“How would you be close enough to see it?”

Silence. Awkward, sticky silence. Met’s lips curled in a knowing smile while Tia’s own features morphed into a sulky glower.

“Well we can see to that later. Right now, I think I’ll buy you some food and drink.”

Met’s proposed eatery was a gritty little coffeeshop next to one of the main tributary streets that lead to the city’s festivities square. A few stone tables were set against it, upon which were sat a few old men leaning over aromatic bowls of tea as if they were in prayer, coils of fragrant steam moistening their wrinkled faces.

“This is it?” Tia asked

“OK so it’s not a poetry club.” Met admitted. “But you’ll be hard pressed to find a more accommodating place in the whole city.”

Just then two burly men came out, arms crisscrossed with scars and smoking cigarettes down to stubs. They took off a bit too fast for Tia’s liking. As they stepped inside, she wondered what Met had meant by ‘accommodating’.

The inside was pretty much what she had expected: shadowed walls, clustered together tables, an old fan pushing the heated air around instead of cooling it. Faint smell of baking came from downstairs as a young woman brought pastries and coffee pots up to the customers.

“Hey Amniah!”

The waitress saw Met and her rayiha came out as the scent of roses.  

“Met! Pleasure to see you I was beginning to worry...”

“Nothing to worry about, my dear. Two of the usual please, we’ll just be by the cat.”

The cat was a severe-looking star stripe nestled in a corner. Flecks of red dotted its black fur and every so often it would sneeze out a flurry of sparks.

“You know those burn houses down?”

“Oh, we know. But you give a cat some food one day it suddenly feels like its entitled to your whole house.”

Tia rolled her eyes but she could feel herself begin to smile. This place seemed rough, but it reminded her of home. Just a little.

The food was a warming brew- Estakãn it was called – along with some spiced flatbread. Met winked at Aminah, eliciting another spurt of rosy freshness.

“Do you really think we need all this?” Tia said, eyeing the sacks full of things they had purchased.

“Trying to do this without the proper resources would be like trying to pry a nail from a rotten plank with a hammer.” Met ripped up her bread and began to munch. “This requires delicacy.”

Tia didn’t like hearing Amara be compared to a rotten plank but she held back her tongue. She’d been trying to do that more and more lately.

“Just seems like a lot of herbs is all...”

“Where I was trained, pharmacology was called ‘the hands of God’. Trust me I know what I’m doing.” She took a large bite of her flat-bread and a swig of Estakãn. The message was clear: no questioning her methods.

The Hand of God. Strange as this woman was, she wasn’t a god. What Amara had displayed though- that lightning strike, that thunderous Baran- for all the tricks she’d seen and been taught in the Ports, Tia had never seen anything like that.

“What’s wrong with her?”

Met glanced up from her food.

“Do you know what a virus is?”

“A what?”

“A virus. What is it?”

Tia faltered. Her medical knowledge amounted to treating cat bites. Thankfully Met answered before she could.

“A virus is an infectious agent. It can replicate inside the cells of a living organism, cause all kinds of havoc. The dead are much the same- they latch on to the living to grow, infecting their memories with the ones they had in life. Soon the victim exists between life and death, not knowing to which they belong. The dead are buried outside city limits to prevent them from poisoning the living, both their bodies and their souls.”

She took another bite of her meal. Tia’s own churned uncomfortably in her stomach.

“The body has immune factors to repel viruses. But to guide the dead out you need a touch of ritual. I’m sure your temple friend can attest to that. Still, I trust I’ve assured you I’m not some hack dabbling in kitchen herbs?”

A challenge. This time she could rise to it.

“It’s not you buying herbs that bothers me.” She said, trying to imitate the Port master’s dry wit. “It’s the quality of those herbs. Everywhere we’ve been to has been back-alley at best. Surely there’s a proper market we can get them from?”

Met cackled at that. “The Corvus have killed all trade in this city. People can’t bring anything in without being forced to pay a hostage tax that goes up with every new week. Most merchants just gave up after a while.”

Now I know what Kapu was so mad about Tia thought.

“Barely anyone comes to the coffee-shops as a result. You may have noticed it’s pretty thin on the ground here.”

“I just assumed this place attracted a very particular crowd. One you were a part of.”

A man in the corner gave a hacking, grisly cough. Met’s eyes narrowed.

“Surely there’s other ways to make business. Can’t they provide for the Corvus? Cook, translating, anything?”

“No city local works in the nest. People from off world came with them to cook and clean and the like. But no locals.”

“Because they could poison the food?”

Met looked impressed. “You catch on quick don’t you?”

Tia shrugged. “I had a demanding childhood.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their cups and swigged down their drinks. Tia had tested the water. Now she was going to push out a bit further from the shore.

“Why are you helping us?”

“A doctor’s duty.” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “There’s a high chance that shards of the dead have now worked their way into Khedes. You saw me pull out that piece back when your friend shocked me. If there’s any possibility of her being in danger... I need to make sure what kind of dead thing this is before attempting a cure.”

“If you don’t what kind of dead it is and can’t make a cure without knowing, what’s all this?!” Tia said, gesturing to their sacks.

“Those are the tools that will help me smoke it out.”

“You make it sound more alive than dead.”

“You’ll find the distinction gets blurry around here.”

Silence. Met raised her head and fixed Tia with those lovely brown eyes.

“Khedes is my reason. For everything I do. If I think there’s a threat to her, I will isolate it and kill it without hesitation or reserve. Something tells me you can understand.”

A threat this time, not a challenge. But also, something more, something sadder...

“I do understand.” Tia answered. “And I want you to know- I feel exactly the same way about Amara.”

And the others. But don’t tell Temple girl I thought that she finished internally.

Met smiled. A real smile, full of understanding and a light that broke through the tiredness that had been casting a pall over her face.

“I know.” She patted Tia’s had gently. Instantly she felt a wave of warmth rush up her arm. She could almost imagine Amara being right there by her side. Seems Met really did know.

Just then, they walked in: two Corvus men. Their light briefly stabbed into the darkness, before settling as a halo of wispy light.

“This a red zone?” One said

“Get the guide.”

They called in a new man- one in Soljinn robes but with a head-scarf and goggles that glinted in the half-light. Likely done to protect his identity, Tia realized. No one would want their fellows to know they were collaborating with the Corvus.

“Everyone out.” He said in the Soljinn tongue. “This place is under surveillance”

He turned to the men.

“Be sure to rub your stomachs and En-alqarf. It’s how we express gratitude for the food. A ritual.”

The Corvus nodded, staring at the customers with big, wet eyes. As the people shuffled out, they rubbed their stomachs, emphatically shouting “En-alqarf! En-alqarf!”

It was ridiculous. Tia noticed the translator was struggling to keep a straight face. The last man to file out the room hissed a word at him. Yehjib. The man’s smirk vanished. He followed them out.

Tia made to get up too, but Met grasped her hand. Slowly shaking her head, she directed Tia back into her seat.

“Hey!” One of the men barked. “You ladies hear us? It’s not safe here.”

Still they sat.

“What they doing keeping company like this anyway?” The corvus were now standing over them, their light slithering in ripples over Met and Tia’s skin. “Don’t they know what kind of men come here?”

“Can they even understand us?”

“Maybe they’re from one of the universities.”

“Where the fuck did the guide go?”

“Maybe this one’s a widow. Widows always end up in places like this. Or worse.” He sniggered.

Still no response.

“Nah.” The light around the men brightened and hardened. “They’re ignoring us.”

In a flash, Met grabbed the hands of both men. Their eyes widened and their light began to flicker madly until it gave out entirely. Then they both toppled down.

Darkness flooded back. Met breathed out.

“I hope you think I’m more than a mad woman.” She said. “And be sure to tell that Temple girl you’re her friend. You never know when that chance will be taken from you.”  

[tony-luvv]

I Did It

SMUT BELOW, y’all know I only write bottom Tony. So know that Gamora is an alien and not all aliens are like us. You’ve been warned.

tagging @fangirlangela and @yourstateofdreaming

Gamora sat across from Tony in the common area of the compound. The Guardians have been Earth side for some time now, lazying about as they built relations with the people of Earth.

Currently it seemed as if “relations” were building between the warrior-assassin alien and billionaire genius earthling. In the past months the two had gotten closer and closer by each passing day. Although Tony got along with all the Guardians he found that he rather enjoyed the company of Gamora.

When Tony wasn’t fighting with Peter over music, or trading insults with Rocket over some technological thing he was with Gamora. She was open in her curiosity, asking questions here and there about one thing or another. Although most of the time it was hinted with some sort of suspicion, she would openly admire new things.

Often enough Gamora would tag along with Tony, almost acting as a deadly body guard while observing their surroundings.

It was during a walk through Central Park that Tony said something. They were walking arm in arm, Gamora watching the people, Tony fiddling with his phone.

“Gamora.”

“Tony.” She still watched the people, eyes locked on a golden retriever running laps around its owner.

“Do you like me?”

“Yes, I do.” Tony smiled, Gamora was so forward, and it was refreshing.

“How much?”

“Enough to call you mine.” Tony was smiling, watching Gamora’s dark hair with purple tips move with the breeze until she turned to face him. “Do you like me Tony?”

Tony leaned forward, placing a kiss to the markings on her cheek bone before leaning back, “Very much.”

Gamora smiles back at him, her free hand grabs his chin to pull him into a kiss on the lips, “Then you are mine and I am yours.”

Things didn’t change much from there. Of course Drax now referred to him as “the bitch of the green whore” but it was out of love so Tony let it slide. Quill was a little shit about it but Gamora shut him up with a very painful punch. Groot was very approving and Rocket couldn’t care less, too busy trying to make things go boom with his new buddy.

If anything Gamora took the lead, setting the pace while trying to get to know Tony better. With the help of FRIDAY she would work herself into his schedule. Attending events with him, sharing a morning cup of coffee with him. Sitting close by while he worked in the lab, even got him to joy her in the gym where she taught him how to handle a sword.

It was perfect and Tony just trailed along like a puppy to its master. That was until they moved it to the bedroom. Long nights cuddled on the couch were nice but a bed would be better. As soon as Tony thought it Gamora spoke up, “Maybe we could sleep in the same bed tonight?” Honestly it amazed Tony every time his alien girlfriend did that. Either she was able to read every micro feature on his face or could straight up read his mind. Either way she was always able to say what he was thinking when he thought it.

“I’d like that.” Standing up from the couch, the green alien offered him a hand. Pulling him up from the couch, they made their way hand in hand to the bedroom.

Casually, Gamora began undressing. “I prefer to sleep without clothing.”

“Same, I get too hot.” Feeling like he got the green light Tony began to undress, focusing on his task he didn’t notice watching eyes until he was naked and reaching for the covers of the bed.

When he was moving Gamora made a sound that caught his attention. Looking up at her he first noticed she still wore pants and was looking at him with curiosity.

“What?”

“Where are your folds?”

“Folds?” Tony quickly looked over Gamora’s naked upper body. Aside from green skin and the occasional etching/marking that she also had on her face, she looked just like a human woman. Soft looking neck and collarbone, rounded boobs. Tony just noticed another difference, Gamora had the shape and mounds of flesh that made breast but unlike humans, she didn’t have an areola. With no nipple it was just smooth skin that had the carved etchings of her species on the sides.

Tony looked down at himself, trying to visualize where these “folds” would be on his body.

“Yes,” Gamora continued to undress as Tony looked himself over, suddenly becoming self-conscious, “The men of my planet had folds where your shaft lies.” Tony’s head snapped up, eyes zoning in on Gamora’s now exposed nether regions. Where he was assuming a vagina to be was instead a penis. Green and etched like the rest of her, but also long and full. “The women have shafts, it’s seems we are opposite in this matter.”

Suddenly Tony felt very aware of this difference, was Gamora disappointed? Did she prefer the human equivalent of transgender people? Was this going to ruin the good thing they’ve become?

“I’m sorry.” Tony didn’t see it but green features dipped into a frown. She analyzed the situation quickly picking up on the mood change.

Not letting the genius-sometimes idiot- overthink the situation, she grabbed his arm, tugging him onto the bed to hover above him.

“Tony,” her face was serious, leaving no room for misunderstanding, “your body in no way is undesirable to me, in fact, I am intrigued by this difference.” At the end of her sentence she rolled her hardening length against him, causing a gasp from the man under her.

Again the mood change was fast, Tony shivered at the heated look Gamora gave him as her eyes and hands trailed down his body. Her one hand trailed low down his body until she was able to firmly grasp his cock. He gave a full body twitch, a squeak escaping when she grabbed him and tugged.

“How odd to hold another like this, it’s so different.” She jerked him, working his length into hardness. Her face hovered above his, watching every facial expression, making sure he thoroughly enjoyed everything she’s doing and planning to do to him.

He bit his lip, cheeks flaming at all the little sounds she was able to draw out of him. He liked it, her curiosity, her touches, her shaft poking at him, her. He wanted more. 

As if reading his mind, which Tony was really starting to believe was happening, she moved. Moving further down she brought her free hand to his chest. “This is different.” Fingers ran across his left nipple, making goose pumps rise all over his body. “My people don’t have these on our chests, they remain bare.” She continued, the hand that has been on his dick sliding away as she got distracted. Running along his side and curling to rest on his ribs, the other still playing at his nipple. Playing it until she scratches blunt nails over his areola. His breath hitched and the skin hardened under her ministrations.

“Ga-Gamora!” Tony was so turned on. They’ve barely begun but Gamora’s little explorations we’re getting to him.

She was watching him, fingers no longer teasing his sensitive areas but still touching him. “It’s such a shame, with your reactions I would have loved to get inside you. To thrust myself as deep as possible between your folds.” If Tony were a lesser man (or maybe a pubescent teen) he would have come right then.

“We-we still can.” Why the fuck was he stuttering!

“How?”

“Well, with lube you can put it....ah-you can-um...put it..” Unable to say the word he grabbed her hand and pushed it between his legs. His hole twitching at the contact.

Her finger circled the area, “Where is this lube?”

Quickly moving away to the side table Tony started digging around for a bottle of lube he knew was in there. He was grateful for the moment, time to calm himself.

Once he got a hold of the bottle he settled back into the pillows. Careful not to stutter, he explained how Earth males came across the same ‘issue’ and used supplies and other “means” to have sex. After his quick explanation he coated his fingers, planning to get himself ready for his lover.

She was entranced, eyes locked on to where his fingers were disappearing inside himself. He carried on a little longer but the angle was all wrong and he would need more if he didn’t want it to hurt taking her dick.

“Help me?” He didn’t mean for his request to sound so meek but he didn’t miss how it made Gamora’s cock twitch and a light blue substance dribble out.

She got closer, reaching for the discarded bottle of lube and copied his earlier movements. Getting fingers good and slick she positioned on finger at his hole. Slowly and carefully working the digit inside him.

Tony moaned as Gamora got to work, fingering him open until she could easily move around three fingers.

“Oh-Okay. I’m ready.” She twisted her fingers once more before pulling them free. She knee crawled closer, putting herself in position to thrust inside him. When the blunt head of her cock brushed his hole his hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Go-go slow.”

She was careful to lean in and kiss him, slow, soft and gentle. Her lips warm against his, “I will.” And then she eased her hips forward. Her dick met some resistance but it soon gave way, the head of her cock sliding inside him.

Tony gasped, body shivering as he willed it to stay relaxed. His alien warrior was careful with him slowly moving further inside him, working inch after inch into him. It took a couple minutes but soon she was fully seated.

They both panted, sweat gathering on their bodies, hair sticking to their foreheads. Tony was a shivering mess, although he’s been with a few men in his life he’s never been this far. Never taken a dick like he was taking Gamora’s. It hurt, a little bit but it also felt good.

“Can I move?” Her head was resting on his shoulder, warm breath tickling his collarbone.

“Ye-yes. Please. Move.” And she did. Easing a little bit out and then snapping back in. He looked at her, the way she clenched her teeth, no doubt holding back on him.

“You feel amazing. Squeezing around me like that.” It felt good, and her words made him keen. His hands were gripping the sheets below him, desperate to hold on to something as he tried to move up into her thrusts. They were gaining speed, working him over as she started nailing into him.

“So. Tight.” She gave two particularly hard thrusts to drive the point of her words home. Tony shouted, Gamora was pounding away at his hole chasing her pleasure while turning his world upside down. He never knew it could feel this good. Full, stretched, and weak as her thrusts started nailing his prostate. Tony couldn’t hold back, he moaned, screamed as she brutally fucked his asshole.

Blindly he reached for his own dick, quickly jerking himself to the pace Gamora had set. It didn’t take much after that, that tingling sensation building until he saw stars, painting stripes across his hand and stomach.

His hole squeezed down on Gamora, throwing her off rhythm. But she quickly recovered. Gripping his hip she lifted him higher off the bed, her strength easily handling his weight as she positioned him. With the better angle she drove herself into him, thrusting hard and fast, chasing her own orgasm.

Tony twitched, coming down from his orgasm to Gamora pounding into him still. His one hand snaked up, going to her neck and up into her hair. When she slammed into his overstimulated prostate he screamed and yanked her hair. Pulling her head back as she moaned, her release filling him to the brim.

They stayed in that position both coming down from their highs. Gamora thrust one last time, pushing more come into Tony. Both of them twitched and whined through the sensations until Gamora had finished coming inside him.

She eased out of him, careful as he moaned at the drag of her dick. Once free she laid down next to him, both laid on their back. Staring at the ceiling they attempted to catch their breath, chests rising and falling rapidly.

Gamora was the first to somewhat catch her breath, “Amazing...” 

“I never knew it would feel that good.”

Gamora turned to look at him, “You’ve never coupled before?”

“What?” He looked at her and then realized what he said and how it sounded, “No, I’ve had sex before, just never-“ he swallowed, glancing away, “been on the receiving end.” He stared down the bed, seeing her open hand he reached for it, “But I liked it.”

She smiled curling across the bed to plant a kiss on his cheek. They remained that way, laying on the bed basking in the afterglow and each other’s company until Tony shifted and felt something leak out of him.

It wasn’t unpleasant or uncomfortable, but it’s something he’d probably want to clean now rather than later. He gently squeezed the hand in his before climbing from the bed. His lover didn’t even open her eyes which she must have closed at some point.

He was two steps from the bed when she spoke up, “Where are you going?”

“Was thinking a shower, it would seem you’ve made a mess of me.” Gamora moved to look at him, rolling to her side and rising up on an elbow. His back was to her and so he showed her. Spreading his legs a little and using a hand to grab his ass cheek, he revealed his hole. Leaking her light blue cum down his thighs.

Tony would regret showing off the next morning because one second Gamora was relaxed and sated lounging on the bed. The next she was the deadly assassin the galaxy feared. She moved, off the bed and towards Tony who’s backed up a little to give her room. Standing in the middle of the room Gamora stalked up to him like a predator bought to close in on her prey.

She stepped into his space, arms going around his waist and hands grabbing his ass, “Gamor-AAHH!” With a little dip she gripped the back of his thighs and lifted him into the air. Instincts had him scrambling to grab her shoulders and hold on.

While he was arranging himself Gamora was positioning him. Lining him up with her cock that was hard and standing at attention. Tony didn’t even realize she was hard until she started lowering him down onto her dick. He moaned long and loud as she slid home again. But this time he wasn’t given a break. As soon as she got inside his slick hole she started a brisk pace. Bouncing him in the air on her dick.

Embarrassed and sensitive he clung to her. Arms wrapped around her shoulders and neck, face hidden in her neck and hair he held on. Letting her chase after a second orgasm.

She thrust, in and out, in and out all while holding him in the air. Using him. He loved it. He squeezed down on her, making her wild with pleasure until she was coming a second time. Although this time she pushed through the sensations, continuing to fuck him as she came.

Somehow through all of this she had shifted her hold on him, hands under his thighs.

One second she was as deep as her dick could go and then next he was thrown in the air. He screamed and his hands flew to find purchase. One hand connecting with the ceiling and the other in Gamora’s hair.

“WhaAAHH!” He screamed, suspended in the air above her face as she shoved her tongue inside his sloppy hole. Licking the cum from his ass, she feasted on him, all while holding in the air. Tony screamed, shivered and came. Cum flying through the air onto the carpet.

Tony pants through it, body shaking and eyes wide as Gamora walks over to the bed and gently lays him down. Once he’s safely back on a solid, flat, surface he rolls over and buries his face in a pillow.

He’s absolutely mortified and somehow still slightly turned on. He knows his face is inflamed, embarrassment coloring his face cherry red. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to face Gamora again. Every time he looks at her he’ll think of this moment and so much blood with rush to his cheeks he’ll be at risk of passing out.

Gamora, like the evil assassin she is, chuckled. Grinning and tickling the back of his neck, “Tony.”

“No.”

“Look at me Tony, please?” Tony just shook his head in the pillow.

It takes a lot of convincing and one threat that Gamora would go again because his ass looked so tempting before Tony finally looked at her.

They stare at each other, Gamora analyzing her flustered lover before a devilish grin takes over her face, she hums, licking her lips “Delicious.”

Tony turns an alarming shade of red and Gamora laughs as she blocks his attempts to hide again. When she calms down she takes to kissing his exposed face until he’s laughing as well.

So quick disclaimer, the second round were Gamora throws Tony in the air, I saw a porn gif that did that and I’ve wanted to write something for it since then.

#luvvswrittng #gamora/tony #gamony #tonora #i dont know #all the lemons #lots of it #transgender species #??? #lemons #gamora x tony #bottom tony