🍭Call Me Candy🍬 Artist of fan made pieces as well as original works. Ask me anything to draw/paint/write. Art Commissions/ Writing Requests always open! 🤲🙏🥺 (18+ blog. minors DNI) Support me on Kofi, eyecandywrites on AO3 & eyecandyeoz on Wattpad
If you go to my Ko-fi here you can observe my rates and guidelines a little easier. You don't have to buy a commission to tip! Every little bit goes directly to paint and drawing supplies as well as helping me support my family. I lost my job a little over a year ago and it's been incredibly rough until I decided to venture to tumblr this summer(yes because of TBB) and met so many wonderful individuals who expressed interest in my work. If you're reading this, you know exactly who you are. ☺️😉 With the current job climate in my area and constant attempts of getting hired only to be rejected for months on end, it left me to hone in on my artistic skills. I finally feel comfortable with attempting to make a living off it. Let's hope this doesn't flop! 🙏🙌😶🌫️
Notes
Additional $5 for a secondary character to be included in Quick Sketches as well as Custom Paintings.
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Time frames include: • A day or two for quick sketches • Up to a week for custom paintings/prints.(Additional varied time including transit if it is to be mailed)
Art Masterlist to give an idea of some of my work
Writing Masterlist
Paradigm Shift Masterlist
Cemetery Weather Masterlist
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Oh, now Nonny, what better way to ring in the colorful month of JUNE than with our favorite masked masochists! They sure do like to fight to be on top(giggity) but as per your request, Boba is going to reign supreme in this one. 😏 Pls forgib the delay on answering this ask, I hope part 4 finds you well!!
The Merc and the Moon
Part IV
Pairing: Darth Vader x Boba Fett
Warnings: (18+) smut, gay sex, anal sex, oral sex, come eating, hand jobs, glove/leather kink, authority kink, finger sucking, sinful uses of the Force.
Summary: Boba and Vader meet to do more than talk contracts.
Read on ao3 - 4.5k words - Parts 1/2/3
Writing Masterlist - My kofi✨
Boba would hate to admit to himself that he’s actually feeling the pangs of anxiety strike his heart. He and Vader haven’t spoken since their last engagement concerning the mishap with one Han Solo. He’s been contacted by the Dark Lord in regards to a specific job with the promise to be paid well.
As he waits for him to arrive, he notices the grit and grime of his last venture encrusted to his armor. Any common plebe would be rushing to the ‘fresher to make themselves presentable, but Boba’s identity lies in equal parts this deadly carapace as well as the blood that stains it.
However, it is taking a while for Vader to appear. There’s fashionably late, then there’s borderline impolite, not that Boba would hold him to such standards. For a bit, he considers the possibility that he’s been stood up, switching the holo-projector off to sit in silent darkness. It is in these still moments that a chirp can be heard at the entrance.
Boba taps a button on the panel of his bracer and the blast door slides open. He takes no action to greet his guest, keeping himself seated atop his shrouded throne. Vader steps in, tall and authoritative. His very presence is as alluring as it is intimidating. “Didn’t think you were going to show your mask in these parts.”
“I will admit, this is a rather sad hole in the wall you’ve summoned me to.” Vader’s boots hit the dusty flooring, hollow and resounding as he soon begins to circle around Boba.
“It’s secluded. Private.” Boba’s head turns to follow Vader’s gait. “Dark.”
Boba challenges him, making Vader think he was going to be the one calling the shots, but he is in the bounty hunter’s domain now. Vader’s path takes him through a tight coil as if he were circling a pipe with Boba as the drain. Boba stops him with a gloved hand just below his life support control panel, lifting his once relaxed arm from his chair to boldly make the initial contact. Vader humors Boba’s touch, suppressing the desire to barrel right through his arm at this impasse. “I take it you don’t care to talk contracts?”
“Sure, we can talk.” Boba pushes into him harder, his spread-out palm spanning over Vader’s mechanized stomach just above his waistline. He stands, the steel of his boots tapping together in a ringing chime with each advancement, backing Vader into the closest wall. “After.”
Vader tests his strength against Boba’s weakness in the way he’s shamelessly throwing himself at him, so he tastefully reminds this licensed killer of his station.
Vader collects the force around their bodies, concentrating it into a barrier between the two. Boba fights with the resistance, realizing he is being kept at bay. The visor secured to Boba’s helmet tilts on its axis as he turns his head, puzzled by Vader’s resistance. His labored breathing echoes through his modulator, a robotic inflection coating his every vowel and consonant. Vader spots a salacious flex of Boba’s neck muscles when his chest rises during this struggle, clearly seen beneath his layers of textile. Their illusive coverings hold a mystery that neither of them care to shatter, contrarily anchored by the need to be known and understood. “This is hardly equitable.”
“Equitable?” Boba strains his speech as Vader still has his phantom grip over him tightly. “I- argh… didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word.”
“I demand to see you.” Vader thinks of a way to even the playing field, ushering towards his own desires. “How long must you make me wait?”
“You’ve already seen me.” Boba was hoping to jump right into this, but Vader is requesting to take things slow.
“I might contend the same, however, we’d be here all night.” Vader quips back, rendering what Boba had just clarified redundant.
“As if you weren’t planning to do that from the start.” Boba calls Vader’s bluff and he curls his fingers inward a hair more to retaliate. The powerful restrictions holding Boba in place compress him deliciously. Where many would be unable to handle this treatment, Boba is exactly where he wants to be. “You don’t have to threaten me with a good time.”
“If it’s threats you want, threats I will make.” Vader’s open hand curls once again in warning. “Show yourself to me, lest you feel what happens when I close my fist.”
“You… say that like… it’s a bad thing.” Boba is taxed by the tension, unable to fill his lungs completely. His shallow breaths make him pant like an impudent hound and Vader finds his noises delectable. Boba is suspended inches above the ground, the tips of his boot soles barely graze the floor as he feels himself getting pushed a little over an arm’s length away.
The illusionary grip Vader has on him softens and Boba is afforded the ability to shed his first layer consisting of an ergonomic shirt with his upper armor secured right to the stitches. He carefully pulls it over his head, quickly replacing the helmet over his face while letting his pauldrons and plates fall where they lie in loud clangs to the floor. Next is his utility belt with which he teases Vader, acting like he can’t find the buckles for a few moments longer than what is socially necessary. A titular hiss comes from Vader’s direction when he grasps Boba’s mocking actions, smoothing out to his regular breathing when the belt thuds at his feet.
All that remains of course are his boots and kneeguards, forearm bracers and his precious codpiece veiling the very trophy Vader seeks within Boba’s flight suit.
“You are far from finished.” Vader scolds when Boba pauses his undressing.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there are just some things I won’t be taking off.” Boba advises, minimizing Vader’s expectations.
“A reasonable stipulation.” The hand still holding Boba in the air is stationary as his other one begins to rise, its strength concentrated on something lower than his bracers and helmet.
The codpiece.
The straps holding the plate secure are pulled taut and Boba’s groin begins to undergo a revolutionary onslaught as the tactile fasteners are stretched to extreme lengths until every last one snaps apart. “One that I care not to follow.”
It’s as if his palm has been magnetized that Vader promptly collects the triangular sheet of steel. Boba isn’t shocked that his fortitude includes obscene actions such as this. He’s more annoyed that he will be the one to repair that.
Vader holds the codpiece close to his shielded face, examining the details of its wear and tear. A polished section right at the center of the concave makes him chuckle as he surmises it has rubbed against Boba’s cock for years.
“I was using that.” Boba watches Vader indulge himself from afar, enticed by the swift absence of that item in particular.
“You’ve no need for it.” Vader disputes plainly, discarding it at his feet where the ringing clatter echoes into their collective ears. He waits for silence to fall again, a painstaking task that both of them seem to have the patience for. “Proceed.”
Boba shakes his head from side to side in feigned condemnation when Vader tests him. In spite of wanting to be the one to dictate what happens tonight, he does what is asked and begins unfastening the collar of his flight suit. With each section undone, Boba peels the fabric away to showcase his glistening chest, chiseled muscles catching what little light remains in the room.
With each row unfastened, Vader’s helmet tilts and sways, seeking every glimmer and flash of Boba’s taunting torso. The contours of his sculpted abdomen riddled with scars paint a delicious mosaic across his skin of all the times he’s been battered and beaten but survived. Vader admires him from where he stands, biting and moistening his dry, cracked lips from beneath his somber helm.
Vader bends the arm suspending Boba at the elbow and he soon senses himself drift forward, closing in towards the Dark Lord. From a few yards away, Boba at least felt some semblance of authority over things, but with this rapid advancement, it is clear that Vader has some games he is wanting to play first.
Boba closes in fast, unable to gauge the spike in velocity with the unanticipated near collision with Vader. He is stopped just short of running into him, a broadened mechanical fist halting his phantom induced advancements while still keeping Boba in mid air. His feet wiggle, expecting to come in contact with the ground but they just can’t reach.
Boba’s arms are still glued to his sides. The invisible bindings wrap around him like rope. Vader’s caught him in an impressive vice, examining him like a precious specimen before plunging a hand into Boba’s wide-open flight suit.
The mechanical digits grip Boba’s firm length, tightening against the buffer of leather and flesh. Boba chokes on his breath. Words get caught in his throat as he wrestles with this depraved attack. His enunciation falls apart into shuddered gasps and wanton groans with every precise stroke.
Boba has no recourse to fall back on but to receive all that is done to him. The secrecy of this setting paired with Vader’s impenitent proximity in keeping him restrained does wonders as Boba is brutishly worked over. He tries to cry out in protest, but Vader devises his own schemes against this by tightening his hold every time Boba squeaks.
The constriction of Vader encasing him manifests to a potent degree in Boba’s groin. The lack of space to move or even express his elation is forfeit as Vader continues to stroke until he sees Boba imitate a geyser. Ejaculate shoots from Boba’s tip, landing in random sequences all over Vader’s suit while also dirtying his gloves. The collected spend in his fist acts as an ideal lubricant to stroke him even after he’s released all that he could in this instance. Although, instead of Boba being embarrassed, he makes light of this happenstance.
“Lot faster than last time, I’ll give you that.” Boba pants breathlessly as Vader finally sets him on his feet. With shaky knees, he staggers away, treating Vader like a cheap fuck ready to toss him a tip and show him the door. “Thanks for dropping by.”
Vader uses his soiled hand to grab at Boba’s wrist. The smearing of viscous liquid saturates his arm and Boba is able to sense the heat radiating through his glove from his prosthetic appendages, reluctant to let go. “Rethink how you address me. We are far from finished.”
“Relax, I’m not as big of a bantha’s ass you take me for.” Boba rescinds his joke, a spark of trepidation blooming in his gut when he can see that Vader did not take too kindly to that gesture.
“On the contrary.” Vader argues, yanking Boba back towards him. “I know for a fact that you are.”
“Well, don’t blow a fuse.” Boba traces the frame of Vader’s life support panel, his own leather fingertips leaving traces of him all over the components. “I wouldn’t leave you like that.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” Vader towers over him, craning his head down to peer into the blackened T-visor.
“Mighty words for a man who just let me come all over his suit.” Boba straightens his stature, attempting to meet Vader at his height to no avail. Vader glances down at the mess, his rebreather hissing when he sighs at the revelation. With no facial features to gauge his mood, Vader’s body language communicates all Boba needs to know. “What? Are you going to tell me to get on my knees now?”
“I was contemplating that.” Vader’s helm tilts again at this admission.
“Then say it.” Boba proposes to him while stepping so close, their chests nearly touching.
“Careful.” Vader warns with an intentional dip of his helm. “It would be easier to kill you now without your pretty armor.”
“So, you like my armor, eh?” Boba only acknowledges the complement in Vader’s threat.
“I know a superior chassis when I see it.” Vader drags his leather-clad finger against the sharpened edge of Boba’s steel helmet and pushes it up by an inch to reveal his mouth. The shift obscures Boba’s sight as his visor is moved out of place from his eyes, forcing him to look down the bridge of his nose through the shade. “Beskar is a highly revered ore.”
“You still haven’t said it yet.” Boba lets his tongue venture out of his mouth at that last word and just barely licks the come off Vader’s finger. Boba’s flavor is salty and bitter, savoring it all the same. As they experiment with this, Vader staggers in his midst. One might believeVader is spared by these humane flaws, but the wits extend far past his very being and into the world around him. He is able to identify every scent that lingers in Boba’s sweat right down to the texture of his tongue when he tastes his glove. Boba keeps him on his toes by calling the shots this time no matter how much Vader may boast “I’m beginning to think you forgot what we were doing.”
“You do not give the orders here.” Vader quarrels to maintain his elevated standing, but Boba has a way of catching him off guard. “I do.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Boba gives him another proverbial nudge and it strikes Vader deeply when he sees what’s happening. “Say it.”
“On your knees.” Vader disbands all mirth from his inflection, serious as he addresses Boba but these are the exact words he’s been dying to hear.
“As you wish, my Lord.” Boba obeys, playing along even though he has plans of mischief in store. He bends his left leg first, following with his right and Vader’s stature practically doubles as his perspective shifts. Boba winces under his helmet at the hard flooring colliding a little rough than intended with his knee guards, but will endure for this renown trophy.
Vader’s layers have not yet been uncovered, but that’s nothing a simple press of a button cannot cure. Boba’s eyes meet with the curved, silver buckle fit with a tiny triangular latch embedded within. With a steady hand and a dexterous execution, Vader’s entire utility belt, codpiece and all, meet the ground with a thud as well. His tabard is free flowing at each side, encapsulating Boba like a blanket all around.
Vader peers at him, their visors meeting once provoked by the steamy implications of their positions as Boba pushes the draping sections of Vader’s tabard out of his way. He is captivated by Boba’s resolve, respecting the bounty hunter for never showing even a glimmer of fear. Vader is known to harbor utter disdain for his own constituents, but when Boba’s success rate proved to be one of if not the highest in the guild, he felt obliged to get in touch.
“You’re a generous guy, you know.” Boba thinks to worm his way into Vader’s head, adding to the broiling rush of this engagement.
“I am no such thing.” Vader vehemently disagrees, his iron fist clinging to the notion that he is to be feared and feared alone.
“What you do is a thankless job, is it not?” Boba adds, playing his own mind tricks on him. “Has anyone ever shown their gratitude for how safe you keep the galaxy?”
“That is a subjective claim you would not be making right now if our rapport sang a different tune.” Vader bends down but only slightly, just enough to test his grip on Boba’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze or utilize his supernatural abilities, but to simply massage the muscle and admire his open collar. The warm tone of Boba’s skin travels from his clavicle to his exposed and moistened pubic wreath, a trail of hair rising up to reach his naval. “Moreover, my work is not merely an outlet for praise.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Boba asks, bypassing Vader’s closed trousers where he easily locates his stiffened cock, freeing it from the small and slitted opening. His inanimate elements are hidden by clothing, but Boba’s hands on his thighs identify where man meets machine.
“Enough chatter.” Vader’s hand moves from being clamped around Boba’s neck to pulling him forward by the jaw, his thumb and index finger pinching him at the hinge so his mouth stays open.
Boba smiles beneath his helmet when his widened mouth is invaded by Vader’s throbbing cock. The plump head sparkles with a sweet bead of forbidden nectar that Boba hastily licks up. The texture of Vader’s scorched and warped skin creates grooves and ridges that Boba didn’t notice the first time this happened. He was far too blinded by seething wrath that Vader would use him in such a way to even register the profound occasion. Even Boba didn’t know he had an appetite for the forbidden.
Vader maintains his hold on Boba’s jaw, moving him up and down his shaft to taste every inch of him until his nose collides with Vader’s structured torso. Boba slowly but surely demonstrates to Vader that he does not require his guidance. He takes initiative beyond Vader’s manual influence, evolving above the chaste up and down motions and acting with a bit of flair.
Boba gauges in his mouth how to better take all of him without gagging on it each time it hits the back of his throat. He tucks his chin, allowing Vader to fill his mouth and press staunchly into his tongue where he steers his cock to his hard palate. His jaw is opened to its furthest extents while he continues to bob while Vader’s audible breathing becomes more unstable by the second.
Vader lets go of Boba’s chin, giving over the reins to bolster his limbs so that he doesn’t buckle under the pressure. The cold, dead stare does a poor job of disguising Vader’s emotions. His modulated moans and gasps are peppered between the periodic hiss of his respirator, its motors kicked into overdrive to compensate for the exasperated activity.
Vader’s head is thrown back when Boba pulls his lips almost completely off his cock, circling the swollen and soaked tip with his tongue then practically choking himself right after. He intentionally goes down too fast, suffering the consequences with an inelegant gag.
Boba thinks it to be a mistake, committing to careful methods from here on out, but Vader will have none of it. He likes the sound, wanting to hear it again and again and again…
Vader rests his palms over Boba’s crown, keeping him still while he thrusts forward, fucking his mouth. Boba’s gagging becomes a percussive echo that Vader delights in, especially when he starts to grab fistfuls of his tabard and cape through the tussle.
Boba is starved for breath, needing to turn the tables and fast. He decidedly focuses on Vader’s weak points where his prosthetics join his corporeal form, pushing him as hard as he can until he loses his balance, falling backwards where he joins Boba on the floor.
Vader is saved by putting the heels of his palms out, catching himself before he could fall all the way on his back. Boba reigns supreme as he has Vader pinned now, his drooling and chapped mouth left agape and panting as he yanks his helmet back down. Vader curses him in his mind for taking away the precious sight, but his interests are piqued to see what Boba does next.
Once he realizes what this Dark Lord finds favor in, Boba is not as resistant to try new things, taking it by force if he has to since he knows Vader likes to play the game.
“Trying to catch me at a disadvantage, are you?” Vader says this as if he’s insulted that Boba would try something so debauched, meeting his fantasy with one of his own. “Very well.”
Vader snatches Boba by the collar, easing him into a straddle where his flight suit is torn apart. The opened section from his collar to his groin is breached beyond its bounds as Vader takes the fabric in his hands and shreds it so that Boba’s bare ass is put on display. His sleeves and pant legs are all that remain. Even then, the knee bracers are the only things holding what’s left of them up. Boba is jostled by the spontaneous wardrobe interference, tested more now than ever. “You owe me a new suit.”
“Whatever you require, you know the Empire will always provide.” Vader puts this discrepancy to bed, deciding to take Boba there next.
“Doesn’t matter.” Boba forces himself atop Vader, straddling his broadened waist and successfully pushing him down at the shoulders so that his back at last meets the floor. “It’s the principle of the destruction of property.”
“You’re my property.” Vader contradicts what Boba has to say with a rhetorical slander of his own. “To whom do I pay my dues for your destruction? Myself?”
“I’m no one’s property.” Boba disputes, gallant in his enunciation.
“You’re mine as long as you’re on my payroll.” Vader discloses, but Boba can read between the lines.
“Are you saying you’d be jealous if I took a contract from someone else?” Boba turns things around on him again, really getting under his armor this time.
Vader realizes the road this is going down, electing to punish Boba for these outbursts. There is no time wasted between Vader lifting Boba up and impaling him on his cock. He uses gravity to his advantage, pouring his essence into force fucking Boba. He doesn’t have to use hardly any tactile strength, relying all on his phantom grip to slam him down.
Boba loses all ability to enunciate another word as the impetuous fullness extends deep into his core. His ass stretches around Vader’s cock, the saliva smoothly easing it past his threshold through the stinging dilation. Though, just when Vader thinks he’s conquered his opponent, Boba defies his will with a plight that will not be impeded.
Boba embraces this position, grinding his ass into Vader and driving his cock farther than either of them anticipated. His hands are surrendered unto Boba’s grasp where he presses both into the dusasteel gorget over Vader’s chest. Just as Vader was impaling him with his upward thrusts, Boba collides his ass with Vader’s hips.
Boba’s cock tempts Vader as he fucks him, just flopping every which way right in front of his face. Sadly, He is not afforded the liberty of touching him, restrained and inhibited. Extensions of his frustration manifest in failed light sockets and sparks flying from random points in the ceiling. Wall panels are peeled off to reveal the inner workings of the building and the tiles under their feet are literally bending to Vader’s will.
Boba relishes in Vader’s defeat, a crater forming each time he seats himself atop this influx of inches. The sounds of destruction in the room grow more violent as Boba keeps at this, pestering Vader as the foundation of this building suffers. It is immaterial to them, worth far less than this moment. Boba raises the stakes by lifting a knee to allow for Vader to see all of him and in due course, he is subdued. It is not like Vader to wait on the grace of another, but with Boba, it happens all too naturally.
Boba reaches climax by his own doing, enhanced by the presence of Vader’s panoptic grasp. He releases a guttural moan when Vader feels his ass tighten around his cock, flexing in tandem with hot ropes being shot all over him for a second time. Boba’s cock bounces through every jutting release, extending the perimeter of the fast-accumulating mess.
It takes a bit more than this for Vader to get there, though he is not far behind. While still deep inside Boba, he scoops him up by that raised knee to shove him on his back and repeats the same with his other leg. Boba’s knees are almost pushed to his chest, the plates of his armor tapping against his helmet.
“Harder…” He begs with slight difficulty as Vader’s hands are occupied by keeping him folded in half. Boba does let another chance at rapture escape him. His gloves are saturated at this point, amplifying the slick grip he has on himself. Boba uses his other hand to assist in holding one of his knees back, spreading himself.
“What an… insolent act it is to make… demands in your position.” Vader enunciates gruffly as he drives himself into Boba, punctuating his words with his herculean thrusts. He pauses, draping his body weight over Boba to nearly flatten him, speaking directly into his ear. “I will now teach you that one who inquires soon perishes.”
Vader stays cascaded over Boba, his ample weight making it next to impossible to fuck his fist, but he adeptly realizes that this hindrance is actually his salvation. Boba has no choice but to graze his padded thumb over the tip of his cock as that is all the space Vader affords him. This scarce deliverance is made up for by the depth Vader exceeds, punching Boba assertively with his cock like a battering ram assaulting a spire.
Wheezes and hizzing resound from Vader’s helm where they pour into Boba’s ears, noises that no other living being would be caught dead hearing. Vader succumbs to the strenuous engagement and one of the hands locked into the crook of Boba’s knee comes crashing down beside Boba’s helmet. The steel rings against their skulls, coaxing them into an irreversible daze.
Vader is thwarted by the throes of passion, his unyielding slams and thrusts are met with an involuntary convulsion as pooling heat is deposited inside Boba. Their deep breaths join together in unison as the bliss of their synchronous release takes them by storm. Boba’s subtle stroking was not unfruitful, a third and notably smaller load being expended from his exhausted cock. His endurance has been all but depleted and his muscles are becoming aware of the repercussions of this venture.
Vader hovers above Boba for a few seconds, his cock still plunged deep inside as they study each other’s eyes beneath the esoteric screen. He gives him a couple parting thrusts, flexing his shaft to ensure every remnant has been gifted to his prodigious associate. They say nothing, letting their gasps tell all.
Vader gently slips out of Boba, bowing his head to see it exit by the inch, heaving a large groan when it slips out taking his pearlescent ooze with him. His cock swings so heavily, dangling between his thighs and running into Boba’s as he pushes himself to his feet. He intentionally leaves Boba on his back, admiring his used and vulnerable posture.
“I take it you’re leaving now that you got what you came for?” Boba asks, propping himself up on his elbows to see what Vader does next.
Vader is charmed by this assumption, closing in on Boba where he strives to do what he does best and unnerve him. His natural walk sounds like stomping, each stride booming through the floor. Vader takes a knee and with his cock still out, he reaches for Boba’s, overly spent and sensitive. Vader is lofty and mountainous as he dwarfs Boba, still lying on the floor.“I was hoping we’d talk contracts.”
Affiliation: HPSC, Underground Heroics, UA Hero Course
Codename: Silver Demon
Age: sixteen
Quirk: Mercury Demon, the ability to produce metal blood that can be used to create weaponry that can channel the electromagnetic spectrum [which will extend to any metal she touches or brushes with her bloody weaponry]
Affiliation: UA Support Course, League of Villains
Codename: Kumi Rai
Age: seventeen
Quirk: Seer, the ability to see future events through eye contact or touch/very powerful and reliable when things are seen clearly; can see future events through an almost smooth animation style [think X-Men 97]
Love Interest: Tomura Shigaraki (Tenko Shimura)
Family: n/a (taken in by All for One for twisted plans)
putting an fyi here: Rai and Tomura have a very protective puppy love (he's also canonically like...twenty to twenty two so there isn't a huge age gap)
-/🏮/-
Hōka Yagi (八木 宝花) (Currently very WIP)
Affiliation: UA Hero Course
Codename: wip
Age: seventeen
Quirk: Golden Psyche, the ability to accurately read other people’s minds and emotions through supernatural means
Quirk: Insight, the ability to see a clear, deep, and sometimes sudden understanding of a complicated problem or situation specifically of inanimate objects or in people
Love Interest: Toshinori Yagi (All Might)
Family: Sir Nighteye (Mirai Sasaki, brother), All Might (husband), Hōka Yagi (daughter), unnamed daughter (deceased)
-/🏮/-
Enmaha Todoroki (轟 閻魔葉)
Affiliation: HSPC, Hawks Agency
Codename: Phoenix
Age: eighteen
Quirk: Phoenix, the manifestation of purple flames in a way almost like Jean Grey in the Phoenix form/very dangerous
(A/N: My word...I am terrible at keeping up with this. HOWEVER. WE HAVE ACT FOUR HERE FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT! There's only 4k words...how shameful of me XD)
⚠️Warnings: angst between wannabe lovers...uh...I think that's it lol
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist
“Gambit found a little extra. Here, pigeon, have some sugar with it,” Remy said as he sat down in the seat beside Rayna who was staring somberly at a coffee cup in front of her. She perked up and looked over at him. The smile on her lips was small and somber as she replied, “Sorry sharkie…but Magneto already beat you to it…”
The Cajun’s expression soured hearing her words. As if knowing she had mentioned him, the man in question sat down in the chair beside Rayna at the head of the table. Magneto spoke up staring directly at Gambit as the metal creamer cup moved through the air to place some of its contents into Rayna’s cup of coffee, “It’s cream…actually…”
“Oh leave him be,” Alison’s voice chastised as she entered the kitchen. She grabbed her own mug of coffee before moving to sit at Magneto’s right, “Do you have to be so mean?”
Erik glowered at the horned woman before asking, “Where’s Henry?”
“Probably still upstairs—”
“Right here!” Henry exclaimed almost breathlessly as he clambered into the kitchen. Alison hummed before chuckling and lifting a hand gesturing to her lips as if telling him something. The young man lifted a hand touching his lips which Rayna and Gambit noticed were lip stick stained. Gambit’s brow furrowed in confusion casting a sparse glance to the woman beside him. Rayna was wearing some lipgloss today. It did not match, but it was still suspicious to Remy…
“OH…” Rebel huffed before wiping his mouth on his sleeve turning to the coffee to save himself the embarrassment.
Alison chuckled at his antics before looking to the door as it opened revealing Rogue. The Ink Demon hummed knowingly and looked at her coffee cup.
“Ya know…if ya takin’ orders, I’ll take a cappuccino,” Gambit spoke up ignoring the awkwardness of being in the presence of Magneto, the Ink Demon, and Rebel.
Magneto huffed before answering, “No. Luckily, I’m giving them.”
Gambit soured glaring at the older man who merely stared at the Cajun over the rim of his coffee mug. Alison huffed quietly and gently kicked Erik under the table. Magneto’s eyes widened slightly as he choked a bit on his coffee. He glared at her as she stared back with a disapproving look, “After breakfast, the X-Men will report to the Danger Room for drills. We must be ready should Mister Sinister resurface.”
The others soon began to quietly file into the kitchen taking various seats at the small table as Magneto spoke. Henry stood behind Rogue’s seat leaning against the back of it.
“Surely our youngest member deserves some jubilation on her 18th birthday!” Hank quietly commented as he grabbed his own cup of coffee. His large hands moved to grab a second mug, but he stalled…Diana was not here…
“I second the blue Rogaine ad. Birthdays deserve excitement,” Henry mused as he finished his cup of coffee. Rogue smacked him causing him to huff quietly and throw the southern belle a soft glare.
“Kid deserves it,” Wolverine agreed as he sat down beside Morph who was reaching for a muffin.
“Jubilee will see far more birthdays should she learn to master her powers to face a world that despises her,” Magneto retorted sounding very unhappy. Alison kicked his leg under the table again causing his free hand to subtly reach out and grip her thigh to make her stop.
“Yoho! Someone’s daddy didn’t get him a pony for his sweet sixteenth,” Morph hummed while munching on a muffin.
“My parents perished when I was a child,” Erik deadpanned causing Alison, Henry, and Rayna to roll their eyes. Morph’s expression changed at Magneto’s words.
Silence settled over the room before the door slammed open revealing a very excited Jubilee. Rayna chuckled quietly as she watched the teen.
“Who’s got two thumbs that blast fireworks and turns eighteen today? ME!” she exclaimed excitedly as she twirled in a circle as she had her thumbs up emitting sparkles from her hands.
“Happy birthday, sparkles!” Rayna said offering Jubilee a big, lopsided grin. Rogue chuckled as well as she spoke up too, “Aw! Happy birthday, sweet pea! Boy, do we got some surprises for you!”
Jubilee’s smile widened impossibly more as she seemed to start vibrating with excitement. Wolverine held up a box of muffins specifically muffins that Morph had snagged one from.
“But how do you wanna celebrate the big eighteen, kid?” Henry asked leaning on Rogue’s chair watching the teen with a lopsided grin. He had grown found of Jubilee. Alison had taken notice knowing the infamous Rebel had a soft spot for those younger than him.
“We’re all ears,” Logan piped up offering her a very small, very gentle smile.
Jubilee took a muffin and held it in her hand gesturing with it, “Big shocker, I know, but let’s go to the arcade! It’ll be just like old times! What do we think?”
“Excellent—!” Rayna attempted to respond but was very rudely interrupted by Magneto, “You would have the Master of Magnetism seen in a bar of childish make believe?”
Alison quickly glared at Erik who merely ignored her. Rayna also cast a disapproving glare at the man. He blatantly ignored them both as he stared at Jubilee.
“Let the kid have some fun! Sheesh! You don’t have to go, you know?!” Rayna huffed as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.
“I agree with Rayna, Erik,” Alison said as she glared at the man to her left. He sighed heavily and narrowed his eyes at the Ink Demon, “I’m not going to allow—”
Alison kicked him under the table again causing him to grow quiet and look away and out the window pouting slightly. The others could not tell he was pouting, but Alison could. It took a lot in her not to laugh.
Returning her gaze to Jubilee, Alison smiled softly and replied, “Let’s do our morning drills first. Then we can have our fun.”
Jubilee stared at the horned woman for a moment before smiling and nodding as she plopped down in one of the dining table chairs. The X-Men ate their breakfast rather quietly.
Alison’s promise had been shot down though. Jubilee had retreated to her room very upset at Magneto who did not seem to care one bit. She had dragged a very confused Roberto with her as she retreated to her room.
No one had seen Magneto and the Ink Demon in the past few hours. They most likely were arguing. Rayna and Henry had disappeared as well. No one knew where they were.
Gambit was not at all happy when he noticed his Firebird’s absence. Sure they were not truly officially a thing, but Remy cared about her…more than he wanted to admit. He merely worried about her distance as of late. Something had happened since Magneto had taken over with his two goons. The Goblin Queen’s mind messing definitely did not help keep him off edge.
Absentmindedly, the Cajun wandered the halls trying to find something to do. Rounding a corner, he stalled in a hallway though when he saw Rayna and Henry murmuring near the Professor’s old office.
Quickly deciding to eavesdrop, Remy ducked behind the corner listening carefully to the conversation. He needed answers; and if Rayna would not give them to him, he would find out for himself. What Remy heard though caused his heart to lurch.
“Gambit can’t know. I won’t let him get involved in all this,” Rayna huffed, “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“He’s gonna find out sooner or later, Rayna,” Henry countered.
“Not if I don’t let him,” the Firebird sneered, “Not yet anyway…”
Gambit stood there dead still. What was she saying?! Did…she not want him anymore?
“Get lost, con-man. Go bother Rogue or something,” Rayna quietly snapped.
Wait…what did Rogue have to do with all of this?! Was she…was this…some kind of…
Gambit shook his head not wanting to let his mind wander there. He knew Rayna…at least…he thought he did.
Footsteps could be heard coming towards his hiding spot. He pressed his back flush against the wall holding his breath as he hid in the shadows. Rayna stormed by not even noticing him much to Remy’s relief. His eyes followed her as she moved down the hall obviously moving to go to her room.
A twang of hurt and jealousy pricked at his heart as his grip tightened on a playing card that he had not realized he had pulled out of his deck. Gambit looked down at it and cringed slightly seeing which card it was.
A Queen of Hearts…
Oh what are you up to, pigeon?
Knocking could be heard from the front door causing him to break from his daze. Gambit quickly and quietly left the hall and moved to the foyer to the front door. As he opened the door, he fully expected to see Diana standing there.
Remy froze when he made eye contact with a pair of familiar cold blue eyes. He swallowed thickly before greeting, “Hey…Ramona…”
The blonde standing on the front porch greeted him coldly in return, “Hey yourself, Cajun.”
Gambit stood there unsure of what to do. Loud foot falls could be heard approaching the foyer though. Wolverine appeared in a doorway of the foyer looking to the front door with a cold (but rather hopeful) expression.
Quickly, Logan pushed Gambit from the doorway, “Move, gumbo.”
A short laugh emitted from the the blonde on the front porch. Gambit rolled his eyes and stalked away leaving Wolverine to talk to the woman.
Logan stared at Ramona for a moment before gruffly muttering, “Why you here, blondie?”
“Well it’s definitely not for your company,” she sassed as she pushed Wolverine out of the way as she moved into the mansion. Ramona looked around before looking back to Logan, “Where’s my sister?”
“Dunno…probably with that little twerp Henry,” the feral mutant replied with a shrug.
“So that means Magneto and the Ink Demon are here, yes?”
“What else would it mean?”
“Look. I’m not here for a friendly visit as much as I wish this was one,” Ramona sighed turning to face Wolverine fully, “I’m here to judge the Ink Demon.”
The Firebird and Rebel had been in the Danger Room training after having unknowingly been caught talking by Gambit. They were playfully bickering as they sparred.
As Gambit approached the Danger Room, he could hear it in use. Gambit could hear voices. What he heard was not what he had expected. There was laughter and a few amused hollers.
A loud swear from Rayna caused Remy to suddenly rush into the room with a charged card drawn. He stalled when he saw the scene before him.
Instead of a couple locked in an embrace which Gambit had fully expected, what he saw shocked him. Henry was gently holding Rayna’s hands in ungloved hands. He was watching as a purple flame flickered from the Firebird’s hands. That was not the normal green flames that Remy knew…
“What’s goin’ on here?” Gambit spoke up glaring suspiciously at the pair. Rayna perked up and looked at the Cajun with wide eyes as she immediately turned her body hiding the purple flames from his view. Henry’s breath hitched as his gaze snapped from Rayna to look at the Cajun who was obviously fuming. He immediately pulled his hands away from Rayna’s quickly reaching for his gloves shoving them back over his exposed skin. However, Henry’s countenance seemed rather…uneasy…
“I asked what was goin’ on here,” Gambit repeated keeping his glare locked on Henry who swallowed nervously.
“Uh…” Henry uneasily huffed as he looked to Rayna for help. She turned and narrowed her eyes at Gambit.
“This is none of your concern, Gambit,” the Firebird coldly replied causing Remy’s heart to crack.
Seeing her almost downright glare, Remy growled quietly before quickly approaching Henry, “You wanna take Gambit’s girl?! You fight him for her!”
Rayna’s eyes widened as she quickly realized how her words had affected him. The Firebird placed herself between Gambit and Rebel who had quickly turned on his feet. She exclaimed, “WOAH! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves!”
“Move, cher. I ain’t gonna let one of Magneto’s goons take what’s mine,” Gambit snapped as he grabbed Rayna by the shoulders and gently moved her out of the way.
Henry quickly got into a fighting stance having expected this, “I’m not trying to take your girl, Gambit…”
“Nah. You just tryna get all the girls in dis mansion, ain’t you?” the Cajun grumbled as he swung at Rebel who ducked out of the way.
“You have this all wrong, my friend,” Henry retorted trying to keep from having to fight Gambit who seemed hellbent on smacking the other man around.
“Oh yeah? Then why you two sneakin’ ‘round like ya got somethin’ ta hide?”
“Really, Remy? You’re jealous?!” Rayna asked moving to stand between Remy and Henry again.
“Yeah, I am! You been sneakin’ around behind my back always in da company o’ dis lowlife! And lets not get started on how much him and Rogue tiptoe ‘round too!” Gambit retorted looking down at Rayna with angry eyes.
“You don’t own me, Remy!” she shouted pushing his shoulders slightly, “But this isn’t what it looks like!”
Her words and shove made Gambit stall. He stared at her with wide eyes his thoughts suddenly rushing with the vision that the Goblin Queen had forced him to see. Remy squared his jaw before muttering, “This ain’t what it looks like? Fine. I don’t own ya…but I ain’t gonna stand by. If he’s who ya want, then Gambit ain’t stickin’ ‘round to just be a side piece…”
The Cajun turned beginning to leave ignoring the sudden shouting of Rayna who sounded absolutely heartbroken. Henry stood back quietly for a moment before seemingly realizing what had just happened. With a quiet gasp, he moved to Rayna’s side as she suddenly started to break down into a sobbing mess.
As he tried to console her though, Rayna pushed him away shouting, “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO COME BACK INTO MY LIFE?! I WAS HAPPY! WHY DID ANY OF YOU HAVE TO COME BACK INTO MY LIFE!”
“Ray—”
“SHUT UP! YOU JUST RUINED THE ONE GOOD THING I HAVE HAD IN THE PAST SIX YEARS! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”
Rayna rushed from the Danger Room trying to go after Remy who had disappeared to his room.
Loud shouting could be heard from the depths of the mansion. One of the voices was Magneto as he was attempting to defend himself against someone. The other voice although familiar had an eerie unworldly edge that most of the X-Men recognized.
Cyclops had returned in time to hear this loud shouting causing him to sigh heavily and approach the situation. What he saw startled him.
Wolverine stood beside Magneto attempting to talk someone down. The sight of Alison wrapped tightly in a chain did nothing but cause a pit to settle in Scott’s stomach.
“What is going on here?!” he quickly asked pulling the attention of the four in the room to him, “Why are you here, Vur?”
“She said she’s here to judge Chios!” Logan huffed narrowing his eyes at the blonde who rolled her eyes and gripped the chain in her gloved left hand tighter.
“Oh lighten up! I’m just going to do this, and then we can go eat dinner and drink a couple beers,” Ramona snapped looking to the feral mutant before looking at Cyclops, “Leave the situation. This is between the Demon here and the demon in my head.”
“I know you don’t want to do this…” Magneto quickly asked trying to take a step closer. Ramona growled quietly at the Master of Magnetism though causing him to not take his step forward.
“I don’t get to pick who gets judged…” the woman murmured as her grip on her chain slackened slightly.
“Rayna wouldn’t be happy with this,” Erik commented causing Ramona groan quietly.
“Don’t bring her into this…just…don’t,” she grumbled as she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head.
While her attention was diverted, Magneto reached out a hand pulling the chain out of Ramona’s grasp and off of Alison who coughed loudly as her breath had almost been squeezed out of her.
Ramona did not even flinch. She just sighed and lifted her hands rubbing them over her face. Alison scrambled to her feet and looked at the blonde.
“What’d I do?!” the Ink Demon quickly snapped.
“I don’t know…the Rider wasn’t very specific…”
“Oh great. That voice in your head keeping secrets from ya now?” Wolverine sarcastically remarked causing the blonde to glare at him, “Keep your mouth shut, fuzz.”
Ramona sighed and held a hand out silently asking Magneto to give her chain back. When he did not return it, her blue eyes glared daggers at the older man.
“Give it.”
“Not until I know you won’t kill my wife.”
The blonde growled quietly before approaching the Master of Magnetism snatching the chains before swinging them around herself.
“I can’t promise she’ll survive if she steps out of line again,” Ramona said as she stared at Magneto coldly before moving to leave the living room. The X-Men present watched her leave. Wolverine quickly followed after her, and Magneto quickly moved to check on Alison who was getting to her feet.
Cyclops rubbed his hands over his face feeling so very tired of the sudden changes and turmoil in the mansion. I shouldn’t have ran Diana off…
“Erik…” Henry’s voice gently called out to the Master of Magnetism who looked away from Alison to the young man.
“What is it?” he asked watching Henry as the young man fidgeted with his gloves.
“We have a situation…”
The Firebird had pounded on Gambit’s door for a good thirty minutes. When the Cajun did not even acknowledge her presence at his door, Rayna had broken down just outside his room. Her forehead leaned against the door alongside a hand as she brokenly sobbed.
Silent steps could be heard approaching her. She did not look to whoever was approaching her until she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her helping her to her feet.
“Come, little bird…”
Rayna was steered away out of the corridor to her own room. Once inside, she pushed away who had pulled her out of the hall. Her tear stained face made the man before her heart ache.
“Really?” Rayna sneered as she turned and gave him her back.
With a sigh, Magneto replied, “I’m not going to ask why you were sobbing in the hall…”
“Oh no! Because I’m sure Henry already told you all about it!”
“Quiet.”
Rayna huffed before moving to sit on the edge of her bed. She crossed her arms before angrily muttering, “Where’s Ali? Shouldn’t she be doing this?”
“You’ve never listened to her,” Magneto replied as he moved to sit down beside the Firebird, “You always listened to me though, little bird.”
Rayna lifted her gaze glaring at him, “Who says I ever listened to either of you?”
“Your control over your powers is proof enough.”
“What control?! I’m slipping more and more every single day! It’s just a matter of time before something happens! A-Again…”
She clamped her mouth shut looking away. Her bottom lip still quivered. The older man beside her sighed quietly before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I…know you’re afraid,” he began sighing unhappily, “But…if what Henry says is true, don’t be stupid. You cannot push everyone away. So many people care about you…even that…hillbilly…. He deserves to know just as everyone else does. Your powers don’t define you. The people around you do.”
Magneto slowly stood and moved to leave Rayna’s room. She watched him leave with a somber expression.
“Mags?” the Firebird quietly called out causing him to stop and look at her, “I still haven’t forgiven you…”
“Ramona’s downstairs,” Magneto hummed quietly after he stared at her for a moment. Then, he offered a curt, somber nod and cold, regret filled expression before leaving the room. Rayna sighed quietly before looking around her room. She looked down at her lap for a moment as it registered that her sister was here.
Her eyes drifted again before landing on a specific shelf on her bookcase. Rayna stood and went over to it looking to the collection of small metal birds that decorated it. She sighed quietly as she reached out to a turned down picture frame picking it up and looking at it.
Gambit deserved to know…I have to tell him…everything…
She could not bring herself to do it though. Rayna had not wanted anything to do with Magneto and his Ink Demon since they had shown back up. Henry just did not know how to leave her alone even if he tried to “help” which only added to the fire that Rayna knew she could not control for much longer.
Angrily, the Firebird clutched the picture tightly in her hands before throwing it across the room. It hit the wall causing the frame and the glass to shatter as it clattered to the floor. Rayna swore loudly before collapsing to her knees as she began to cry.
Magneto sighed quietly from where he still stood just outside her closed door. She’s too stubborn for her own good. Where did I go wrong?
The Master of Magnetism’s presence in front of her door did not go unnoticed. Gambit was peeking out of door watching the older mutant stand outside the Firebird’s room. His hand clenched around the doorknob seeing the almost sickeningly soft expression of Magneto’s face. What do any of them want with my girl?
“You’re leaving already?”
“You know I cant stay in one place for long. The Rider won’t let me stay, fuzz.”
“Not even for a night? You didn’t even see your sister, Ramona!”
Ramona and Wolverine were standing in the front hall of the Institute talking. Logan was very adamant about the blonde staying for a bit at least long enough for dinner and maybe a couple of drinks with him. The Rider was calling her away though just like usual.
Despite knowing how dangerous Ramona Vur could be, Logan could not help but find her appealing. She was rough and tumble just like he was. Her past was riddled and scarred just like she was.
“If I stayed for dinner, would that make you feel better, fuzz?” She asked giving him a look as she crossed her arms. The Wolverine smirked in response as he nodded, “Would be nice. Plus…it is Jubilee’s birthday.”
“WAIT. WHAT?! NO ONE TOLD ME WHEN HER BIRTHDAY WAS!” Ramona exclaimed causing the feral mutant to chuckle.
“Now you have a reason to stay.”
The blonde narrowed her blue eyes unhappily at Wolverine before rolling her eyes and conceding to his pleas. She brushed past him into the mansion just as Jubilee and Roberto were meandering down the stairs. They were talking quietly until Jubilee spotted the Ghost Rider.
“Mona!” she happily shouted as she bounded down the stairs quickly grasping the blonde in a hug. Ramona huffed from the impact but laughed as she hugged the younger now woman back.
“Hey kiddo! I heard it was someone’s birthday,” Mona said as she pushed Jubilee away slightly so she could look at her, “And I know someone who might like to go fast on this special day.”
Jubilee gasped knowing what that meant. She beamed at the older blonde exclaiming, “Really?! We can go drive those winding roads as fast as possible?!”
“Wait…what?” Logan spoke up giving Ramona a disapproving glance. She smirked at him, “Oh don’t worry you old sourpuss. I’ll be driving. I promised little sparklers here that I’d take her for a ride with me and the Rider when she turned eighteen.”
Wolverine sighed unhappily before turning and walking muttering swears as he wandered away. Ramona chuckled quietly before Jubilee speaking to her dragged her attention away from the feral mutant.
“Oh! I want you to meet Roberto!” Jubilee happily said as she gestured to the young man behind her. Ramona gave him a once over before bluntly saying, “Your boyfriend?”
Both of them blushed at her comment as Jubes quickly spoke up, “N-No!”
“Not yet then. Ok,” Mona mused as she took a step towards Roberto who looked at her uneasily, “She’ll break your heart, kid.”
“HEY!” Jubilee shouted causing Ramona to laugh.
“Oh hush. I’m just messing with you two. Now come on. I think we can squeeze that drive in before dinner!”
I was about to say “Mermay is coming up soon” and then I realized it was still March- BUT! IT’S RAINING SO I WANNA DO A MERMAID REQUEST ANYWAYS! If you don’t mind ofc. Sorry if this isn’t your cup of tea.
I was wondering if we could get a merfolk! Bad batch x fem! Reader where reader is not allowed in the ocean by her family despite living near it, but she ends up meeting the batchers anyways through some sort of shenanigans going on with them. They form friendships! Why the reader isn’t allowed into the water is up to you! Is the reader a secret mermaid? Is there some weird law that if you almost drown and a merperson saves you, you have to get married to said merperson? Are merpeople believed to eat humans? It can be anything!
Nonny, it's okay that you asked this in March because of COURSE I would be answering it right at the END of Mermay! I hope it still counts! 🫣 There's been some big happenings in my neck of the woods, so I hope this edition will suffice! These kinds of asks are by far a TOP favorite in my book, and I absolutely LOVE the suggestions! It's going to be so hard to choose!! I hope you enjoy!! (btw this is not beta-read i finished it at like 11:30 my time 05/31 HAHAHAHA talk about cutting it close! Pls forgib any typos haha I legit completed this in exactly 2 days.)
Unaware🦈
Pairing: Merfolk!TBB x F!Reader
Warnings: angst, suspense, magical transformation, canon-typical violence, firearms, gun shooting, hurt-comfort
Summary: Your father forbade you from ever setting foot in the ocean, but the reason presents a larger mystery that demands to be uncovered.
Read on ao3 - 7k words
TBB×Reader Masterlist - Main Masterlist
“Be back by sunset or you’re grounded!” Your father calls from the kitchen where he’s already making preparations for the extensive feast planned.
“I’m too old to be grounded!” You holler back while slipping on your shoes. He’s never said anything, but your Father has always noticed a few grains of sand leaking from your soles when you remove them. He’s given you the benefit of the doubt all these years, but something weighs on his heart to not let this rest.
“You still live under my roof, young lady! Besides, we’re having dinner with the neighbors!” He adds sternly but with a tone of humor. “Don’t be late and make me look like a fool by myself!”
“I won’t!” You agree while beating your foot into your shoe to better get it on.
“And don’t go near the ocean!” You roll your eyes when he says this, having told you the same thing every day through your whole life.
“I promise!”
As you leap out the door, you don’t realize how easily you’ve been able to tell that lie. On the contrary, you’ve been making trips to the grotto to reunite with your nautical friends on a regular basis. You sprint all the way there, the cobblestone streets present to you a steep path down to the shore. You wave and greet other townsfolk working the market stalls or hauling in a large catch. At last, you walk the coast line down to a cluster of little waterfront caverns, selecting and focusing on the favored grotto.
The mouth of the cave is more narrow than the area itself, making it seem much larger on the inside than it looks on the outside. The marine reverberation of your steps against the rocky shore travels swiftly and soon, five pairs of eyes peek at you from just above the water’s surface. They disappear and swim as fast as they can to greet you, sneakily but excitedly congregating where the sea meets the land.
“I brought snacks!” You reach into the little satchel at your hip and line up big, fat mussels in front of you, enough for each of them. Having collected them on the way, they’re as fresh as can be. One by one they disappear as little ripples disturb the natural flow of the waves revealing evidence they’re being gratefully fed on.
“I hunt for mussels myself all the time, but for some reason, they always taste better when you bring them to us!” Wrecker holds a piece of the dark, smooth shell in each hand, going back and forth between the two licking the reservoir inside. The paleness of his webbed scar and fogged eye is a bright contrast to his nearly ebony scales and fins. The warm tone of his skin creates a natural gradient between his humanoid presentation and his piscine physique. Subtle flecks of its shine sparkle in the shadows of the cave.
“Have some decency, Wrecker.” Crosshair attempts to scold him but it falls on deaf ears. He’s already finished his mussel, now chewing on a pin-straight mackerel bone to clean his teeth. With the bone pinched between his index finger, you can see his emerald adornment, sharp extensions of his spikes and scales give him an abrasive appearance when paired with his piercing chartreuse eyes, but you’ve determined he’s the biggest softie of them all. “It’s one thing to eat like that with us, but in front of our guest?”
“How else would I know that you like them?” You playfully reason, backing up Wrecker’s shameless behavior.
“Simply saying so would suffice.” Tech adds, his clawed finger pointed to the ceiling. His interjection makes you smile when his golden eyes meet yours. His scale coloring is that of a sunset, bright and gleaming like the heavens.
“For normal people maybe.” Hunter chuckles, humored by the debate that’s begun. He likes to collect the shells, already making his rounds to each of his brothers where he will add to his hoard. He holds one up to the sun, examining the length and curve while you likewise study his ruby red smoothness. It’s like his skin bears a resemblance closer to a snake with dark splotches of shattered markings throughout a scarlet backdrop. The light catches him just as his attention finds yours, grateful for the mussels you’ve picked as their shells are prizeworthy. He methodically tucks them away in a hidey-hole to be joined with the remainder of his collection.
“And we’re anything but.” Echo shrugs, handing Hunter his pair of shells. His arm breaches the water, only a few shades darker than the blue of the very ocean they’re residing in. The royal color accentuates his handsome complexion, and his shyness suits him just as well. “You’re here later than usual.”
“Sadly, I’ll be leaving sooner than usual too.” You sigh, defeated by the priorities of home.
“What for?” Wrecker objects with his question.
“My dad was invited by Whitfields to have dinner at their house. Something about them feeling bad that my mom isn’t in the picture? I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” You shuffle past the subject too quickly for their comfort.
“When do you have to be back?” Hunter asks, making a mental log so that he doesn’t get you into trouble.
“By sunset.” You tell them flatly, loathing your return.
“That still leaves us with about an hour and a half to burn.” Tech interjects, offering an accurate account of allotted time together.
“Then let’s make the best of it!” Wrecker takes a dive, his fin nearly splashing water on you if you hadn’t dodged in time. He resurfaces a little distance away from the others hollering “Marco!”
“Wrecker, playing that game doesn’t work if she’s out of the water.” Echo gently breaks it to him, and his face becomes visibly deflated as he sinks down to his ears into, his plans now futile.
“I still don’t understand why you are not allowed to swim.” Crosshair disputes, flicking the fish bone away with a tiny splash.
“I don’t know how to swim.” You smirk in an attempt to conceal your abashment for having not obtained a skill most acquire in childhood.
“Even so, this water is remarkably shallow.” Tech illustrates the incontestable.
“It doesn’t matter.” You settle into sitting cross-legged, limited by the amount of space you have while still wanting to be close to them.
“There has to be more to it than that.” Hunter wants to get to the core of this issue, unafraid to say what most wouldn’t.”
“Ugh…” You groan, drooping your head down in mental exhaustion before lifting it again. “I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to offend you.”
“Well now the circumstances demand it.” Tech entices you with this socially barring revelation, knowing there’s no turning back now.
“Spill it.” Crosshair joins in the coaxing.
“Tell us!” Wrecker whines, interests now piqued.
“Alright, alright!” You exclaim, slapping a palm to your face. “Just please, this isn’t my belief, it’s my dad’s.”
“No judgement.” Echo raises his hands to you in pacification, guaranteeing their discernment to tell the difference.
“You have our word.” Hunter gives his collective pledge, speaking for his brothers.
You gather yourself, twiddling your thumbs in your lap for a moment or two before sealing your eyes shut and saying it aloud. “My dad tells me that your kind feeds on humans.”
“That’s absurd.” Echo scoffs, clutching his collar when he hears the nonsensical conjecture.
“Is it true?” You ask, craving the truth for yourself.
“Of course not!” Hunter asserts with an earnest exclamation.
“If it were, Wrecker would have eaten you a long time ago.” Crosshair makes light of the moment, calming everyone’s nerves with his witty teasing.
“I would not!” Wrecker refutes that strongly, his voice carrying through the cave.
“Well, it was for a time.” Tech reveals the veiled knowledge concerning the subject. “It was an ancient practice, but it’s not one that any of us follow anymore. It became too hazardous to interact with humans in general.”
“Oh…” Your considerations were correct, folk like them are just as afraid of humans as humans are of them. “I hope I don’t make you guys feel like I am dangerous.”
“Please.” Crosshair treads water in place while folding his arms. “You couldn’t hurt a sand crab. That father of yours on the other hand...”
“You don’t have to worry about him.” You pull your knees to your chest when speaking about him, guarding yourself without even thinking about it. “He’s a fool.”
“Fools can still pose a threat.” Hunter brings reason to the forefront, making sure to look at this through a lens of sensibility.
“Have you ever attempted to get in the water?” Echo brings everyone back on track. “What with your theory getting debunked and all.”
“I’ve played in a knee-deep pond on land, but no.” You shrug, hugging your knees a little tighter. “I’ve never stepped into the ocean.”
“Ya wana give it a shot?” Wrecker asks despite knowing this request is rather hefty, he gives you space to decide.
You sit back, resting the heels of your palms on the uneven bank you’re sitting on and think that today just might be the day. Your heart wants to embrace this change, but your head immediately decides against it. “What? I can’t! Don’t you remember? I have to go to dinner!”
“Not all the way.” Echo joins in Hunter’s reasoning. “Just dip your feet in.”
They lie in wait while you eye them all, joined attention flickering between them and the water. It does look appealing. Without another word you scoot to the edge, unstrapping your shoes and kicking them off to expose your dry skin flecked with sand.
It is cold at first, but not like an unwelcome arctic draft. It more resembles a fresh and energizing cleanliness one could never hope to find in any manmade bath or land-locked watering hole. From the instant you submerge your toes it feels strange; not necessarily in an unfavorable way, but unnatural that you’ve never experienced in your known life. The awareness of your legs is still there’ but it’s like a phantom binding betrays your current appendages and unifies them as one, locked together by an unfamiliar nautical anatomy.
You quite literally lose your footing as all ten toes disappear before your very eyes, giving way to an identical fin to those around you. Your coloring is as bright as the peel of a naval orange with yellow accents extending from your iridescent scales to the tips of your fins. Your dorsal spikes impale your shirt while your trousers have been ripped through, currently floating to the bottom of the pool.
You are swallowed up by the pool, shocked and unfamiliar with the simple motions of treading water as standing upright is no longer an option. Your mind races with the need to act on your human impulses, but a certain goggled face stops you from drowning yourself in a few feet of water.
Your lungs constrict with the dire need to expand and for what seems like an eternity. You’re convinced the action is futile, but the functions of this natural state flex a set of throat muscles that have laid dormant until you need them most.
Regardless of having been showered or submerged before, it would seem that the naturally high levels of salt in seawater unlocks this biological transition. Tech astutely gathers what it is you’re undergoing before his brethren, holding you steady as the current begins to sway you to and fro.
His talon-like claws come in handy, grazing them lightly against your tender jugular precisely where his own gills appear in a sequence of three on each side of your neck. It is a minor pain that burns once thoroughly sliced and it puts you in crisis, thrashing in his arms. The fogginess of your perspective has not fully adjusted, and even though you’re amidst a freakout, he doesn’t let you go. Instead he speaks to you.
“You must breathe.” At first, you think his voice should be muffled, but his enunciation is loud and clear. He repeats himself, anchoring you into action rather than chaos. The more you listen and attempt to obey, the clearer your vision becomes. It is a remarkable difference from the way things sound above the surface, constant reverb and harmonious layering through every vowel and consonant spoken. “The mental impasse will not last long.”
You know exactly what he is referring to when he says this. Your body is so used to holding your breath in this setting, no matter how hard you try, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to do it.
The fire in your lungs grows hotter and you’re dying to surface, but you’ve no true control over your tail yet, unaccustomed to a single thing. Tech has the power to lift you up, but he doesn’t, persistent in proving that you can do this.
“I am aware of your turmoil.” He adds leniently, his luminous eyes coaching you through. “Do as I do.”
He takes in a breath and you study him closely, watching tiny bubbles enter his mouth and flow out his gills. You open your mouth to mirror his actions, but your body is still disagreeing with you. Your throat constricts until it can tighten no more, but you are saved by your subconscious desire to fight for life.
Just when your esophagus feels as if it is going to collapse in on itself, you breathe in the biggest and cleanest breath oxygen could never dream to offer. You can likewise taste everything within a massive radius. The freshness of nearby fish, the powerful aroma of accumulated seaweed, even the identifying scents of everyone else in the pool. You look around and see them approach in a line behind Tech, peering over his shoulders at their worried faces.
As this groundbreaking occurrence is taking place, you have no clue that your father was hot on your trail. He has begun to notice remnants of sand gathered on your clothes or spilling from your shoes when you would return home, knowing there is only grass and stone within the town’s confines. The beach is the only place one would find sand. He readjusts the breakaway shotgun sling as he makes his way down to the shore with a leather strap over his shoulder, an accessory to his ensemble he is never caught without.
“Woah!” Wrecker exclaims and your ears suffer. “How did you do that?”
“I don’t think she knew she could” Crosshair’s slightly softer inflection doesn’t help, giving you no rest from this siege on your senses.
“That is correct.” Tech confirms, still holding you upright while delaying a resurface.
“So pretty…” Wrecker whispers under his breath, but everyone hears it, especially you.
“Wrecker!” Crosshair’s snappy rebuttal causes you to shut your eyes from the pain, flinching when things get too noisy.
“What? We’re all thinking that!”
“Crosshair’s right.” Hunter intervenes, joining Tech in seeing his own tactile struggles in you right now. “It’s not the time.”
Echo joins in alongside Tech and Hunter, supporting you with currents of their own as each pass and swish of their tails act as an invisible platform of support. “You were one of us all along.”
They are patient as you gather your bearings, their statements oppressing you as each one sounds like it’s being overlapped by the last. The expression on your face communicates to them that you’ve nowhere to begin in this new lease on life, frozen in fear and confusion. All the ongoing conversation is not doing you any favors, so Tech puts an end to it before you could fall farther into panic. He gives Hunter a knowing squint, giving him the go ahead that enough is enough.
“A little quieter, everyone.” Hunter strictly quiets his brothers as Tech cradles your face in his hands to cup your ears so that you are afforded a buffer from the increased volume.
Their lips are soon sealed, ceasing conversation and opening a window of adaptive comfort for your new normal. Soon, it is only Tech’s voice you hear. “How’s that? Better?”
It’s going to take some getting used to, but you manage to enunciate your first stuttered sentence through the thick, waterlogged environment. “A l-little…”
With each passing second, your primal senses adapt. Your sight that was once so obscured is as crystal as these waters. The likenesses in front of you have formed a perceptible structure, shaping a group of kind faces enamored by your unexpected transformation. You shake the boys off of you, distancing yourself to test your stalwart tail out.
You zip and zoom between them, quick as a torpedo. The action is oddly natural, as if you’ve never forgotten how. The thrilling rush makes your heart pound incessantly and your spirit is awoken, alive at last. You cannot be contained to this tiny pool, propelling yourself through the overgrown reef at the shallow floor where it empties out directly into the open sea. Looking behind yourself, you see that you’re being followed by the prodigious band of brothers, easily able to keep up with your novice speeds.
The pink and purple sky paints the world in wondrous colors, drawing you upward to witness it yourself with everyone following your lead by porpoising for about a quarter mile in formation behind you.
You’re losing yourself in all the fun. Your father has caught up to you by now, catching sight of Wrecker’s large form breaching the sea accompanied by five additional swells before he even notices you.
“I’ll be damned if I don’t get you this time.” Your father knows not what he does, yanking the shotgun over his shoulder to the forefront. He retrieves a pair of hefty shells at the same time he breaks the weapon open, depositing both pieces of ammunition into their respective slots. He jerks it upward, closing the gun so that it is ready to be fired. You and the others bob your heads up with a raucous exclamation that can be heard from afar, blatant evidence of your immodest entertainment.
Your father slams the motor of his boat into maximum overdrive to catch up, his gun already raised as he picks out his first kill. The sky is akin to a masterpiece painting, showing you all the marvelous colors of the world. The sparkling sea refracts it marvelously and you question if you’ve ever truly noticed the magnificence of simply being alive. You expect to be greeted with smiles, but you are confronted with the opposite.
You’re taken aback by the shock on their faces, observing something you’ve not yet witnessed. Time slows down as you pivot to capture what it is that’s souring such a beautiful day. The motor of a nearby boat is roaring and only getting louder, actually getting too close for comfort. Before you could completely spin yourself around, the distant dual barrel of a distinct firearm enters your perspective with Wrecker fiercely baring his fangs as it draws closer.
The holder of the weapon is your one and only father, a haunting expression on his face you’ve never had the misfortune of beholding. With your scaly arms raised in surrender. He doesn’t recognize you as your appearance has evolved beyond your human presentation.
“Dad, no!” Your father gasps when he notices you, far more petrified. He pulls the trigger and scatters gunpowder and lead in a dispersed array in front of him, and you absorb the majority of the hit.
The words you shout register too late, a mystifying claim that couldn’t possibly be based in fact, and yet, your father does recognize your voice. You share a glance of utter betrayal that he will torment his mind as he knows it. To his dismay, you release a carnal shriek when you become peppered with refuse by his hand, immediately regretting what he’s done.
When the blast emits, the air around everyone is overturned. It sinks in that he’s winged you and his plagued mind teleports him to a day that looked just like this. The reason he set all those rules upon you. The reason he needs to protect you. It all goes back to that fateful day.
He blinks from the jostling recoil, afflicted by the lightning fast disappearance of the school of living legends that have struck fear in the citizens of this land for centuries. As you are being whisked away to safety with each elbow interlocked with either Wrecker or Echo’s, your father lingers behind, studying the trail left by the others.
You make it back to the humble grotto, the enclosed space acting as the perfect salve to everyone’s heightened nerves. While everyone catches their breath, you are interrogated once again.
“What do you mean… that was your… dad?” Crosshair is still struggling to steady his breath, pausing after every few words to inhale.
“Did he just try to kill us?” Wrecker adds, understandably shaken after looking death directly in the eyes.
“Does he know that you’re… this?” Echo, not wanting to seem insensitive while addressing the elephant in the room. “Is this why you never knew your mother?”
“Guys, stow it.” Hunter waves at them to sit you down at a nice little perch that operates more like a seat that allows you to use the pool’s edge to rest your arm over. “Let’s get these out of her before they embed too deep. Tech, get the utensils.”
Tech nods, slipping away under water before rising a couple seconds later with a set of extraction tools and medicated seaweed in hand. Tech uses a sterile and sharpened fishbone to tweeze the pellets from your skin, discarding the weighted baubles to become gravel on the sea floor. The natural durability of your armored scales helped protect you from the majority of the blast, but there are still some areas that require a thorough looking-over.
The job is painstaking and demands a precise touch, and slowly but surely, you are rid of all foreign bodies. Tech and Echo smooth the hydrated and slimy strips of seaweed on your skin, and you are reminded of how humans utilize gauze in the same fashion.
As Tech quietly works, their questions roll around in your mind. If that wasn’t your real father, who is he? Was everything a lie? Does he even love you?
“Did you hear that?” Hunter announces when the last strips of seaweed are deposited on your sore arm. All motions are halted and every ear tunes in. You soon realize no one is as safe as you thought when the drawn blood lures in unwanted attention. “Listen.”
“It’s his boat.” You assume, too worried to accurately dissect anything right now anyway. “He’s following us.”
“We can take ‘im!” Wrecker boasts but realizes as soon as he speaks that it was in poor taste. “Uh, I mean, I’m not ‘fraid of that guy.”
“We’re not looking to fight.” Echo is thinking of the wellbeing of the entire unit, deciding that self preservation is the key.
“If one human starts hunting us again, others will follow and it will never end.” Crosshair remarks begrudgingly, agreeing with Wrecker in his own way.
“Nobody is fighting my dad!” You shout, putting the matter to bed once and for all.
“It’s close.” Hunter is correct in placing the water craft, but that is not the only threat lurking beyond the grotto. “Tech, is there another place for us to lay low on this coastline?”
“A couple hundred yards towards the docks.” Tech confirms, offering you one of his arms to lean on.
“Are we so sure we want to head towards the humans?” Crosshair disputes, wary of another close call they only just narrowly avoided by the skin of their scales.
“Do you have a better idea?” Hunter clashes with Crosshair’s protest, revealing it to be their only option.
“I’ll lead the way.” Tech helps you stabilize yourself without the support of the pool’s edge, settling you back into the swimming formation you’re grown comfortable in. Night has almost completely fallen and you’re having to rely on your scotopic vision under the wide, open surf to know where to go. What would be untraceable to a sapien’s naked eye, a predator in the distance spots your school proceeding with rapid succession up the coast. His silhouette is as still as stone, but when the perfect window presents itself, it bolts.
Within no time at all, a nameless beast traces the decadent scent of your blood right to your position. It lunges with arms outstretched and jaws fixed wide, but his murderous attempt is made futile when you are scooped up by Tech’s quick thinking. Wrecker moves to the front of the pack while Hunter shoves you and Tech aside into Crosshair and Echo’s course, enabling your reckless escape.
The stalker is revealed to be a creature just like you and your vigilant companions, the singular difference is that he is lost to his deranged temperament. It snaps and bites, combatting with Wrecker’s grip keeping him at arm’s length. However, Hunter is forced to act when he squirms loose, giving Wrecker the slip.
“No you don’t!” Hunter clamps both his hands on the base of his tail before the fin begins, powering through the ache of spines and spikes piercing his palms from the beast’s slicing hide. Its primary focal point remains locked on a bloodthirsty plight for making you its next meal.
You make the mistake of looking back where Hunter and Wrecker engage in battle with it, getting the best of both of them by embedding its spines into Hunter’s palms deeper than anticipated. “Gah!”
Wrecker is there to collect the beast when Hunter’s influence fails. He traps it in a stranglehold with his broad arm, cleverly stifling his source of respiration. Wrecker’s treatment is met with a similar vain outcome as the beast tucks its chin at the most optimal angle, opening its maw to bite Wrecker on the forearm. “Argh!”
The speed with which it gains on you is fin-raising. As it draws close, you begin to make out scars extending from its asymmetrical shoulder, later identifying that he is missing a massive chunk of flesh at the crest of his arm. In light of this evident malformity, the beast is not hindered.
“Keep following Tech and do not stop!” Echo instructs while slowing down a bit, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation.
Crosshair coolly does the same, uniting with Echo and leaving your life in Tech’s hands. “Get her to safety.”
“Planning on it.” Tech agrees, as he ushers you out of there, locating and cloaking your trail by vanishing out of sight, at least that was the goal.
At first glance, all these marine formations look the same. If you’ve seen one grotto, you’ve seen them all in this case. You both make it to the safe point in question where a slightly larger rocky moat surrounds the pool, creating a walkway of nearly double the size than the other one with a nearly identical threshold leading to the beach. You are at a disadvantage for being cornered, but at least there is only one direction you would expect an attack, right?
The beast proves to be much too quick for them, evading all their attacks and appearing at the mouth of the cave Tech just delivered you from. He stands defensively when his eerie stare cuts through Tech as if he weren’t even there in the middle, obsessively surveying your every move.
Everyone else arrives shortly after sporting their own battle scars. The beast exerts itself proudly out of the water to his chest and closes in while Tech broadens himself in front of you. “Come no further, or perish.”
The beast realizes when it has been bested, spotting threats on all sides, and even with the odds stacked against it, the core mission will not be abandoned. It peers into your soul, every horrid thing imaginable it could do to you plays over in its mind. You can feel the seething rage in its heart and untamable hunger in its belly compelling it to lunge forward.
When it does, a second shot rings out, fracturing everyone’s sensitive hearing in two. The man that was once considered an enemy is now their saving grace when your father catches up to the scene. Gunpowder and steel balls blast through its head and neck, taking an eye and a portion of its face away where the contents of its skull empty into the pool.
Everyone is in disbelief. Not only has the threat been eliminated, but they have been saved by the very person that once sought out to make a trophy of them. With apology in his eyes, he cracks open his shotgun and reveals it is empty before dropping it at his feet.
“Are you hurt?” He asks, inching closer, but the others encircle, suspicious of his motives. “Please I- I didn’t mean to-”
“You lied to me!” The scream is released before you could put sense to the outburst, settling in your rage after all. “Have you always known that this is what I am?!”
“Please just let me explain!”
“You were just looking for an excuse to kill me, weren’t you?” You assume the worst, knowing what the people in town think about your kind. “You followed me out here!”
“I followed you to make sure you were safe!” Your father presents a moral claim, though it’s evident they were built on self-serving grounds. “It is clear that I was right in doing so!”
“These are my friends!” You engage in a shouting match with him, and even though you wholeheartedly suspect your stance to be in the right, this is starting to feel wrong. You’ve never spoken to him this gratingly. “I am always safe with them!”
“Is this where you’ve been running off to all these months?” The way he speaks to you indicates that he’s known about a secret of yours, but hadn’t the faintest idea how far it went. “How long have you known you’re one of them?”
“Listen to yourself!” You’re outraged when his terminology sounds like he thinks you to be a stranger, no longer worthy to be regarded as family. “You act like I don’t share the same blood as them!”
“You don’t!” Your father repudiates this fact of nature, giving in to his delusions. “You’re my daughter!”
“You’re not my real father.” There’s no denying it now. The proof is right in front of you. “You can’t be. What really happened to my parents?”
“You don’t understand what you’re asking....”
“Tell her.” Hunter steps in as their pack leader. A strong flex of his tail fin propels him forward to the edge of the pool where your father stands perched on the platform. “You owe her that much.”
He sighs, acquiescing to your demands as he sees no easy way out of this than to just tell it like it is. “I wasn’t always a merchant. Fisherman’s trade was my lot for a time. It was a quiet day, hardly anything caught. I noticed a disturbance and assumed it was just a school of mackerel acting lively, but I was dead wrong.”
While on edge, all ears are listening intently as his memory flashes to the night he found you, cursing himself for being the reason you’re wrapped up like a sushi roll.
“Blood started to rise and at that point, I couldn’t ignore what was happening.” His eyes stray as if he’s reliving the memory in real time “I heard screaming, so I dove in and tried to see if I could help. I thought someone was getting attacked by a shark.”
“What did you see?” You ask the question everyone has on their tongue.
“That thing that was chasing you just now.” Your father confesses resentfully, having carried that weight all on his own for a long, long time. “I’m the one that put the hole in his shoulder.”
“You inflicted such a scar?” Tech’s intrigue is worn on his sleeve. “What did you use?”
“A harpoon. I couldn’t use my gun underwater, you see?” Your father explains, his tone being drained by the grim themes of the recollection. “But I was too late.”
“Too late?” To you, this man alone hung the moon. Your world is crashing down around you without ceremony.
“Your mother.” He pauses, trying to gather himself. “She didn’t make it, but she protected you.”
“My… mother?” You reiterate his words about ready to cry when he mentions the one person he prohibited speaking about since the beginning. The anguish from being shot is stacked on by the emotional turmoil of the very foundation of your life residing at the center of a lie.
“Yes, she did everything she could to save you.” He takes another step closer to the edge, and this time, the others do not react. “I am so sorry.”
“Where was my father?” You pry ever deeper into the unknown biography of your life, leaving no stone unturned. “My real father.”
He doesn’t answer, rather opting to point at the deceased creature floating lifeless in the center of the pool, nothing but a wild animal finally put down. You dare to look at the corpse and realize there is an uncanny resemblance when you extend your arms and get a proper gander down at your tail. The orange like citrus, his black eyes with flaming irises. He is right. You look almost exactly like the petrifying monster a stone’s throw away.
“No…” You create distance between the body and yourself, colliding into Tech and Crosshair when you swim backward, feeling suddenly trapped in the midst of the beast.
“I’m so sorry. I should have told you, but you kept getting older.” You really feel for him now, putting yourself in his place and thinking you just might have done the same thing. “How could I expect someone so precious to understand something so awful?”
“Were you ashamed of me?” You ask motioning to your metamorphosed body, most of which is under water. “Of this?”
“Heavens, no!” He says and you can hear the truth in his utterance. “I wanted to protect you. From that.”
You feel a tear fall down your cheek as you look between the beast connected to you merely through blood, and your surrogate father bound to you by love and affection. His decision that day helps you to see the blessing in his actions and not the curse.
You wince when Tech accidentally touches your wounds, still idly backing away before taking a moment to reassess things. Your father hates to see you like this, longing to examine your injuries himself.
“You were a tiny little thing, scared and alone. You had the biggest cherub cheeks and looked as pink as salmon.” He takes a knee now, forming a huddle with you and the boys. “I had to stop my career as a fisherman and start as a common merchant when I realized I couldn’t take you on the water with me without seeing him. I know he hated me for taking you, but I couldn’t leave you behind. It was a risk I was willing to take.”
“That’s why you lied.” You confirm, reeling your anger back since unmasking your indisputable origins.
“Yes, that’s why I lied.” He shrugs with a shake of his head, wishing he were transparent with you from the start. “Now come here, let me get a look at you.”
Your loyal band of brothers stall the exchange until you give them clear approval. You meet your father, putting your arm over the edge so that he can examine the damage.
“Ow…” You hiss when he peels back the slimy seaweed, laying bare the inflamed and irritated wounds.
“Sorry, kiddo. I won’t be able to really do any help without my kit.” Your father admits, unsure of the holistic remedy these companions have administered.
“Our methods have not failed us before.” Tech won’t let his age-old practices be undermined by a human, no matter his relation to you.
“At any rate, you’re going to have to come back to the house.” At your father’s suggestion, your companions grab hold of you, measured enough not to press on your wounds while still being reluctant to depart. “Erm… did you want to accompany us?”
“What a foolish inquiry.” Tech rolls his eyes, unconvinced but cooperative. “I thought it was obvious we are coming with you.”
“Manners, Tech.” Echo warns with a smirk. “It’s not every day we are invited into someone’s home.”
“You mean we’ll really get to see how humans live?” Wrecker is beaming at the notion.
“I’ll expect all of you to be on your best behavior.” Hunter coordinates his brothers on the etiquette they will each be upheld to.
“But wait!” Your prior priorities come back as a burden when you are reminded of the dinner planned after sunset. “What about the Whitfields?”
“We’re just going to have to postpone.” Your father hoists you out of the water so that you can sit on the edge with your fin still submerged from your knee bend down. “It can’t be helped”
“Oh boo.” You jibe sarcastically, not even trying to hide your elation. “That’s too bad.”
“That’s enough, young lady.” He catches your muttering and corrects you as any father would. “I know you loathed the idea of dinner with them, but you don’t have to make your joy so shameless.”
“They’re just so boring.” You groan, craving the galvanizing escapades of a day like this, not the uninteresting monotony of a few nosey busy-bodies looking to share your family’s business with everyone who will hear.
“If there’s one thing that’s certain, it’s that if dinner were still on, it would be even more interesting now. Say, I thought you guys said you were coming.” Your father has always been one to adjust without issue, regarding your companions as valued additions to his growing little family.
Hunter smiles at this comment and the value these words hold. He knew there was a reason you entered their lives, and there’s no qualms about the impact they’ve had on yours. This is what he and his brothers have been coveting for, lost in a world that would rather fear them than get to know them.
You still haven’t gained your original legs back as you sit on the edge, your father helping you pull your feet all the way out of the water. The boys follow suit by gaining some momentum under the water and rocketing themselves onto stable ground with a barrage of rather ungraceful flops and flips. Within seconds of the brisk evening air hitting their skin, their appearances revert to a more uniform, human state as if by magic. All fins and scales recede while hair or smooth human complexions manifest with everyone’s tails shifting into a pair of legs complete with a blet of tasteful kelp covering over their loins to preserve their decency. Although, this introduces an awkwardness that they cannot confront the general public with. You at least still have your shirt on, yanking on its hem to enshroud an additional inch or two of your thighs.
Your father equips you with his long-sleeved flannel off his back and a pair of swim shorts he happened to have in the boat, helping you into the shorts one rocky foot at a time while keeping you warm with the flannel. Unfortunately, the only other garments he has rest in the form of spare raincoats and fishing overalls. They’re not fashionable nor are they comfortable, but they will serve a purpose for now.
The boat ride is rough as it is nowhere near equipped nor large enough to accommodate seven persons. You’re seated atop Wrecker’s lap as his stature is the best option to keep you stable and not treat your hurt arm like a loose pinball knocking against whatever is closest. Your father steers the vessel through the bumps and turns, eventually resulting in your arm to grow sore no matter the precautions taken.
It’s late when the boat finally reaches the shore. The docks have lanterns alight and not many people are out at this hour. Your father covertly ushers his group of guests all the way to your house, flinging open the door hoping to survive this trip without being snagged by social interactions, but it’s none other than the Whitfields making themselves at home in your kitchen and dining room. You want to be livid about their invasion of privacy, but dinner is prepared and it smells amazing.
“We lost sight of ya, so we decided to bring the party over ourselves!” The head of their house explains their questionable raid of hospitality. He puts his arm around his smiling wife, currently tossing a bowl of roasted vegetables while her infant child babbles in a rocking pram. Mr.Whitfield is puzzled by everyone else here, hoping he’s brought enough food for everyone. “So… Who are your friends? Your daughter here looks like she’s been put through the wringer.”
“These old fishing buddies of mine forgot to put the cap on the drain hole before taking her to score some mackerel.” Your father tells a white lie, forcing a laugh hoping it is believable. “I know we’re terribly late, but they had a rough time on the seas and were in desperate need of a place to stay.”
“I hope they’re hungry!” They take his word at face value, blissfully unaware of the real reason for the lack of punctuality. All are welcomed inside, a cozy shelter out of the elements. Who would have thought hostile conflict could work up such an appetite. With wounds mended and bellies filled, the house is happier than it’s ever been. Like a legitimate family. Unbreakable. Everlasting.
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I hope and pray and beg the universe to grant a love like ours @talesfrommedinastation & @deezlees to all the wary fangirls in the world so that they may get to marry their brain rot blorbos and be with them for all of eternity. I do think about TBB Tech every day, but my undying need has been fulfilled in the sense that my gorgeous Tech of a husband displays traits that none other than Tech would do.
Speaking of, besides being a computer whiz, a music whiz, a mechanic whiz and pretty much any other whiz one could think up, do all Techs everywhere keep HDMI + other miscellaneous cables and components collected over the years that he's unwilling to dissect or get rid of? 🤣
Bottom darth vader x top boba fett? Pretty please ❤️
OF COURSE BECAUSE YOU SAID PLEASE!!! and just so you know, I have a prev ask for EXACTLY THIS from like the end of November(I can only assume it was also you...?) PLS FORGIVE ME I GOT IT AND IT IS HAPPENING AHHHHHHHHH!!! Life has been NUT as always It will be posted at some point this coming week, I PROMISE YOU Nonny!! Oh, bless your heart for waiting! I love you sm I hope it is worth the wait!!
In the meantime, have my tri-chapter series of exactly this while we wait for the next switcheroo installation where roles are reversed...🥴😜
NOOOOO I MISSED YOUR BDAY I’M SORRY!! Happy belated birthday!
I hope you had a good one!
OMG NONNY IT'S TOTALLY OKAY!!! Oh I love you so much! Thank you for the birthday wish! I am still riding the high and gifts are trickling in so i'd say you're right on time!!! It was a wonderful one, and my days continue to be blessed!!
(my birthday wasn't on a Friday but you get me hahaha)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY BESTIE BELOVED!!! I LOVE YOU AND SENDING YOU HUGS AND LOVE AND KISSES!!!
IT WAS JUST THIS PAST WEDNESDAY AHHHHHH BESTIE THANK YOU ILYSM I AM TAKING ALL THE HUGS AND LOVE AND KISSES AND TREASURING EVERY SINGLE ONE IN MAH HEARTTTTTTTTT
also OZAI FOR THE WINNNNNNNNN HE IS SO HAWT (LITERALLY)
I want to say a great big thank you to everyone who has read along, made fan art of my girl Emalia, blended my OC with yours, or has interacted with my creations in any form or fashion! Your encouragement, has really inspired me to keep this project going even when I thought it would prove to be too difficult of a project. I extend my undying gratitude to you. Forever and ever. I couldn't have done this without you. 🥹(*/ω\*)
You can read the final chapter in the entire installation HERE!🙏🏽🛐
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Pairing: Tech x Belter!OC x Crosshair
Warnings apply to current and or future chapters as well: angst, fluff, language, adult situations, death mention, slow burn romance, astrophobia & nyctophobia, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, canon-typical violence, medical complications, space terminology.
Summary: Tensions build at the United Nations headquarters.
Author’s Note: This chapter is a sort of flashback/an immediate precursor to the events that unfold in Rocinante Part 2. I will also inform you that this is the final chapter of the first book! I repeat: THE FIRST BOOK IS CONCLUDED! Thank you all for following along as far as you have and I hope you're prepared to hop into book two! (when I get around to writing it lol)
Paradigm Shift Masterlist - 3k words
Main Masterlist - Read on Wattpad & Ao3
She motions to one of the chairs across her desk and Delgado sits, professionally poised and formal in her presence, getting right down to business. “Did you hear about the science ship that disappeared near Venus a few weeks ago, the Hasami?”
He sets his hand terminal down on the desk, waving upward in a haptic motion where a holographic projection beams upward into the empty space forming a stable projection. It is a short clip of only a second or two showing surveillance footage of the very ship they speak of losing its signal and its transmission ceasing.
“Got caught in some unexpected meteor activity. Was that it?” Avasarala confirms she’s aware of the very incident.
“That was the initial theory, yes, but when UNTSB investigators reviewed the ship’s final transmissions, they found this.” Delgado gestures toward the holographic projection with a wave, scrolling to the next visual feed archived on the device. Amidst the black backdrop of outer space shines a bright blue flickering dot.
“This looks like a drive plume.” Avasarala confirms, squinting her eyes to better study the speck of light in the darkness.
“SIGINT was unable to extract a drive signature.” He explains. “Our theories suggest it’s most likely a belter skiff, possibly a known Inaros faction ship.”
“Why would Marco Inaros destroy a science ship?” Avasarala asks, truly at a loss on what the point of action would be.
“I’m not entirely convinced that he did.” Delgado illustrates his cryptic insinuations, causing Avasarala to really wonder what happened. “Whoever it was, they got away.”
She receives a chime from her own hand terminal. It’s Holden. She doesn’t want Delgado to be aware that she is utilizing her own resources to conduct this investigation, so she calmly thinks of a way to dismiss him. “You’ll keep me updated on this, won’t you?”
“I’ll brief you on all new developments.” Delgado promises with a nod while standing from his seat.
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She directs her attention to her hand terminal, sensing the urgency on the other line as Delgado exits her office and leaves her in privacy. She engages the transmission, expecting some new plethora of problems arising on Holden’s end. “Finally, I’ve been too long for you to respond.”
“Sorry, time sort of gets away from us out here in the field.” Holden subtly patronizes her, unable to resist despite their differing ranks.
“Sure, let me just put on my mag boots and air bottle to join you.” Avasarala jibes “If I wanted to engage in small talk, I would call one of the useless senators here in my wing.”
“Then I’ll do you the courtesy of talking small. Your theory was right. Stealth composites are indeed being sold to Belters.”
“I fucking knew it!” Avasarala exclaims before quickly composing herself. “What else can you tell me?”
“Not much,” Holden starts and Avasarala wears her disappointment on her sleeve, “but I will call back when I have more time to speak and a better handle on how to explain it.”
“Don’t take too long now.” Avasarala tilts her head at him.
“We’ll see.” Holden doesn’t make any promises, the reception feed transitioning to its default.
Still bothered by the recent events concerning the science vessel Hasami, she opts to discuss things further with Admiral Delgado as well as a certified specialist known as Dr. Alaoui while awaiting a response from the Roci crew. Once Delgado is recalled for a secondary audience in the day, they both linger in each other’s company until their last member of this covert gathering arrives.
“My office said the navy needed help with an urgent matter?” Alaoui inquisitively asks when met with the threshold of Avasarala’s office. He’s hardly had the opportunity, taking this engagement as seriously as the circumstances demand.
“A highly urgent matter.” Avasarala’s articulation puts Alaoui on edge, but it is Delgado’s demeanor that deepens his apprehensions.
“And highly classified.” Delgado passes him a glass of bourbon, giving him a precautionary look as he does so. “This discussion does not leave this room.”
“Don’t you guys have scientists of your own for this kind of stuff?” Alaoui is nervous about what this meeting will entail and just what it is they’re entrusting him with.
“We wanted a second opinion from someone in the private sector.” Avasarala methodically appeases his nerves, catering to the favor of his intellect.
“Your colleagues here on Luna were the first to spot the rogue asteroids the UNS Hasami was investigating around Venus.” Delgado makes what is widely established apparent and relevant to the discussion, testing what Alaoui knows.
“Yes, that’s correct.” Alaoui confirms he is privy to the harrowing incident. “I knew several people on that ship. It’s tragic.”
Avasarala uses this touchy subject as a segue into her next question, utilizing her hand terminal to project a hologram of interstellar documentations with no obvious correlation unless investigated. “What do you make of these readings?”
One by one, Alaoui gestures both hands to each of the projected holograms, selecting them to enlarge for better viewing before scrolling to the next one. “Yes, I’ve seen these. Size, shape, composition… they’re all over the place. Instrument malfunctions.”
“That’s one possibility.” Delgado humors Alaoui’s considerations while hinting at something more.
“What else could be a possibility?” Avasarala pries gently.
With a pause, Alaoui is unsure what they’re asking but proceeds with his best guess. “Well… that’s weird.”
“What?” Avasarala cares not to hide the necessity of his expertise, dependent on his next words.
“All these rocks have consistently higher return signatures on one side only.” Alaoui draws a strange conclusion; his face contorted as half of the projection is battling an unstable interference. This makes half the shards appear jumbled with its imaging unclear like an underdeveloped photo.
“Could these rocks have been fragments of a single larger asteroid?” Delgado beckons the question that Avasarala demands the answer to at last.
“Certainly could be.” Alaoui offers a vindicating nod. “This string-of-pearls configuration suggests that.”
“If this were the case, what do you estimate the size of the original asteroid was?” Delgado can’t possibly come up with the figures himself, dependent on Alaoui’s calculations.
“Ballpark.” Avasarala adds, taking the pressure off him for indistinguishable accuracy.
“Based on these readings, somewhere between ten and thirty meters in diameter.” Alaoui’s estimates are not favorable in the slightest and the collective hearts of Delgago and Avasarala sink to the pit of their guts.
“If a rock that size hit Earth, how big of an impact would that create?” Delgado asks the burning question first.
“It wouldn’t.” Alaoui scoffs as if something as such would be an unfathomable occurrence, never to happen for as long as he draws breath. “Our spotters would easily detect an asteroid of that size.”
“Indulge us.” Avasarala won’t stop yanking on this thread. “Theoretically.”
“Uh, well… with a typical iron-nickel core and assuming the speed at impact of, say, thirty thousand KPH,” He analyzes the figures in his head, “the blast would be about one to four megatons, depending on the impact angle.”
Avasarala snaps her focus to Delgado, nonverbally telling him to close in on her position to privately engage in a quick word, excluding Alaoui. Delgado takes the hint, circling around the back of the sofa Alaoui is sitting on to join in a huddle. “That’s a medium-yield fusion warhead, blast radius thirteen kilometers.”
Alaoui turns around before he is addressed and sees the pair whispering amongst themselves, confused by all this conjecture. “Uh, I don’t understand why-
“Take that for the road, Doctor.” Avasarala kindly interrupts Alaoui after breaking the huddle, imploring him to take his drink and leave.
“This discussion does not leave this room. Are you clear?” Delgado communicates mandatory secrecy on the matter, leaving no margin for his nor Alaoui’s error.
“Yes, sir.” He stands from the sofa in departure, leaving his untouched glass right where it sits. “Ma’am.”
As Delgado digests this new finding, he pours himself and Avasarala a drink. “Higher return signatures on one side of those fragments could imply the original rock was coated in stealth tech.”
“My source just confirmed with me before I called you in here that Martian stealth composites had been sold to Belters.” Avasarala picks up one of the glasses to quell her anger, but she’ll need a bit more than a stiff drink to do that. “Marco Inaros threw a stealth rock at us.”
“And it broke up.” Delgado reassures her. “We got lucky the gravitational pull of the sun interfered.”
“You think he stopped at one?” Avasarala is not naive. “We need to retask the watch towers.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind, ma’am?” Delgado is shocked but still formal in the way he addresses her.
“They’re the only thing that can penetrate stealth tech.” Avasarala reasons, knowing their surveillance is currently pointed in the wrong direction. If they remain that way, they’ll never see the oncoming threat and countless lives have the potential to be lost.
“Which is why they’re always pointed at Mars.” Delgado cannot disguise his hate for Martians, assuming a war will break out as a result of their hotheadedness any day now.
“Mars does not give a fuck about blowing us up anymore.” Avasarala puts her foot down, knowing the fate of her world hangs in the balance. “You need to make the case to the Director of Intelligence. I have burned all the bridges in front and behind me, and I don’t give a fuck. We’re right, and you know it.”
“If we take this to the top, they will hear the name Marco Inaros and shut us down!” Delgado argues, not that he doesn’t think she’s right, but because he knows she is.
“Then don’t!” Avasarala bypasses his worries with a solution. “You let me handle that later. For now, all you need to tell them is that the Hasami’s investigation near Venus led to the discovery of these asteroids and the path they’re traveling on. Make up a sap story about the lost crew to jumpstart their initiative if you have to!”
“You’re putting a lot of your faith in the unknown, ma’am.” Delgado’s council is wary as he shakes his head at her, burdened by the weight of bringing something so sensitive to the board.
“Someone has to.” Avasarala smirks pridefully at him, knowing their actions now could be the difference between a fortuitous miss or a collision that could trigger another ice age.
~~~
The black emptiness of space provides a desolate backdrop to Venus; the initial ground zero that the Ring Gates emerged from. The UNS Hasami is in disrepair, its hull exposed to the elements with sparks flying from its severed power sources. A research vessel such as this has no defensive measures, depending on its humanitarian mission to protect its cause. However, the protomolecule harbors no prejudice and does not discriminate.
The silence is haunting. Blue webbing extends to every corner of the vessel. Everything is eerily stationary. From the debris to the deceased, it is all at the mercy of this idle orbit. Although, tiny fractals spin and swirl with a mind of their own, carving a path through the chaos to something at the threshold between void and machine.
What was once a small cargo bay is now a blown-out gash in the ship giving way to the perilous unknown. The noxious clouds of Venus refract a subtle glow on the exterior hull, in competition with the cool hues swallowing up what little light can be seen in the obscurity. The webbing stretches into more concentrated tendrils all leading to the obstruction standing at the breach.
The silhouette resembles a humanoid, but if that were the case, a vac suit and helmet would need to be present. Both of which are daringly absent and all that remains is a lived-in lab coat with shredded sleeves and frayed threads. Protruding growths that resemble shards of quartz rip through the fabric with ease. The fractals are gravitated to them, and with every motion of the silhouette, they follow.
It’s not just any silhouette. It’s Axel. He’s fully evolved into a hybrid by now, and yet he hasn’t discarded this last piece of his identity. Could it be that it’s too snagged onto his growths to be removed, or is he intentionally holding onto this article of clothing like a keepsake?
The particles operate under his command, moving exactly where they tell him to go. The staggered motions of his body are erratic and unusual, yet the particles have no issue keeping up. Vocal capabilities are shot, so there’s no chance of him speaking, but his icy eyes communicate more than vernacular ever could.
He stretches an arm out to the horizonless sky, the positioning adjacent to Venus. With the help of the particles, he pulls the very probe sent in by Fulcrum. Now, whether it was Rex or not remains to be seen, but these parts are still perfectly usable in the eyes of the protomolecule.
When the probe is pulled in close enough, he powerfully leaps. The force of his jump jostles the Hasami slightly, landing on the probe ship and climbing into his hidey-hole he fashioned by clawing out its insides.
Once he makes himself comfortable, he engages the fusion core on this Imperial technology hijacked and reprogrammed by the rebels on Yavin, propelling himself ever deeper into the Sol system. In these little moments of his departure, the Hasami surveillance system comes online, but only to see his is the very drive plume spotted on Delgado’s archived clip shown to Avasarala.
As he travels expeditiously through, Axel can see the entire system like one looks at the horizon. The very asteroid shards partially doused in stealth tech are within his grasp as far as his perception goes. With this hive mind adaptation, he can analyze directly where he needs to channel more extensions of himself through the stars millions of miles away.
The scattered shards of the asteroid pass right through the very protomolecule cloud he’s been busy at work spreading. Their trajectory takes them exactly where he needs them to be, and that’s in the direct path of not only Earth, but Mars and segments of The Belt as well.
He sees one particular shard curve and twirl on a path that resembles an object swirling down a drain, its course getting ever tighter as it closes in on Earth’s orbit. He guides it down, the billions of lives unbeknownst to the chaos quite literally about to slam into their inhabited planet.
A humble fisherman stands amidst the murky and slightly polluted African shore overlooking the Atlantic. He’s watching the mackerel breach the water’s surface, steady like a dance. It is only when their behavior becomes more erratic that his nerves grow uneasy with concern. The lenses on his tech glasses perform an optic zoom and he confirms what he is seeing.
Scores of the mackerel begin leaping out of the water in waves such as the lapping ocean in an urgent manner, almost like they’re trying to flee from something. The fisherman follows their course with his eyes but is soon distracted by the flashing skies.
At first glance, it imitates a lightning storm. The overcast clouds flicker restlessly, drawing the fisherman’s gaze to the heavens. Then he sees it.
A great beam of burgeoning fire is reflected in his lenses and what an apocalyptic sight it is. The Earth’s crust is blasted, and its shockwave displaces everything in its wake sky high. The poor, humble fisherman can only watch as a wall of water threatens to devour him whole. He accepts his fate, lifting his arms from where they rest at his side, succumbing to the forces of nature that cause him to meet his maker.
Axel can see the destruction as he was right there, working tirelessly to achieve his missions at all costs.
Your birthday...🤔
Yesterday? Today? I know I think I'm in the ballpark, soooo...
OMG YES IT WAS!!! you were definitely in the ballpark!(unlike me who has been too heinously busy to respond to you pls forgib i beggg) I got this the dar after the fact! and you are so kind for wishing me a happy birthday! it was A WONDERFUL ONE!! I got such amazing gifts from friends AND family alike! Including but not limited to A BRAND NEW ELECTRIC RANGE WITH AN OVEN THAT WORKSSSSSSSS! If you couldn't guess, I have been in despair with only a working broiler for far too long haha. Thank you @eclec-tech for this precious wish. It has been FULFILLED!(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
Take me away to paradise, I'm so damn bored, I'm goin' blind
Song: Longview by Green Day
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Nicodemus is old.
He doesn’t remember much of his past life, but he does remember the fights.
The coliseum.
The crowds, roaring for his victory.
Then he died, (he thinks it was in his sleep, what a cowardly way to die) and arrived here in hell.
He became a lion sinner, with a full mane of orange fur and partly wearing his old gladiator outfit.
He was bought into the greed ring, where he regaled with more fights. Holding up his opponent’s body and roaring in victory while the crowd cheered.
But he was bored.
So bored.
The challenges were never enough, the opponents too weak.
He wants an actual battle, a real fight.
Then the Imp rebellion happened.
And he heard their leader, Blitz, had strange shadow ability.
Finally!
It was perfect. A real challenge!
It took him some time to track down Blitz, his movements were too erratic to comprehend. He finally caught him in the Vee’s territory in the Pride ring. He stumbled when Velvette was fighting blitz, the witch attacking him with arrows. Blitz dodged them all and then suddenly disappeared into the dark. Velvette looked around, trying to find the wily imp.
Nicodemus saw him before she did.
Blitz appeared right under her and empty two holy bullets into her. Velvette died not with a scream, but a surprised sigh.
The moment Velvette fell, Nicodemus made himself known.
“Blitz!” he said, coming out from his hiding place, startling the imp.
“Fight me.”
Blitz blinked in confusion.
“What?”
“I want a battle, a true fight to the death.” Nicodemus explained, “I have done nothing but languished in victory. I crave a challenge.”
Blitz looked like he was about to say something else, but Nicodemus attacked head on. He swiped with his claws, but blitz dodged. He swiped 5 more times, but frustratingly, Blitz dodged every single one. He lunged again, and felt something slide into his ribs.
He looks down and sees the knife lodged in, making him snarl.
He can already feel the holy blade burning his insides as he staggered backwards. He attacked again, this time feeling another knife go in his neck.
No! He wasn’t supposed to die like this; he was supposed to die in a glorious fight for his second death.
He sees Blitz watching and the imp smiled.
“Oh, you will be perfect.” He heard him say as his vision goes black.
Nicodemus has no idea how much time passed when his vision come back in a haze. It then sharpens and he looks at his hands.
They were black with an outline of red, their form constantly shimmering.
He didn’t feel pain but he did feel something.
Undying loyalty.
To Blitz.
“Hey Nic.”
He looked to the source of the voice and saw Blitz looking at him expectantly. He bowed, knowing that Blitz is his master and he would give him the fights he craves for.
Later, 666 news would have another video of Blitz, this time with a lion shadow by his side.
AN: Finally introduced Nicodemus or Nic as Blitz calls him. I was inspired by Battle Beast from Invincible and I knew I had to make a sinner turned shadow OC. Nic becomes ones of Blitz most loyal lieutenants and yes, he will have more screen time later.
Rex was at headquarters in Corsucant when he saw a group of clones come in with red and black armor.
The 797 Squad.
Maul Opress squad.
Leading them was ghost, the commander and mauls right hand man. He usually meets up with the to her commanders and they talk about their respective jedis and compare notes with their squads, especially which one has the craziest week.
Behind him was his two second in commands, Biff and Tal.
Biff is the group medic and he has the same look all the medics had, exhaustion. There were times he heard him scolding his squad mates, which also included Maul. The funnies tone he heard was saying he was going to kill them all before the clankers do and he can get away with it.
Ok, that was probably not funny.
Tal is the groups weapon specialist and in Rex’s opinion, a bit edgy. He usually said cynical quip and dark jokes, sometimes bringing down the morale of his squad. But Rex thinks that just how he copes with their situation.
Behind them were 3 shinies, but they haven’t been shinies in a while.
First was Sparks, but his name was almost crybaby. Sparks was always fixing mouse droids and their battle ships. But he was also overly emotional, especially with small animals and the romantic novels he says he doesn’t have but everyone knows he does.
Then there’s Feral, whose dyed white hair is not regulation but he does not care. His name fits his persona, for he is the one that goes headfirst into battle, to Biffs chagrin. He is covered in scars but wore them proudly. Rex has seen him walking around the theater district sometimes in Corsucant, looking at the theaters with a forlorn look.
Finally, there was Sky, with their stars and crescent tattoos on their face.
Sky kept to themselves and is pretty closed off, But Rex can understand that.
Sky is trans.
It was an open secret, how Sky felt more like she was born in the wrong body, how she dealt with her internal turmoil because of her feelings. She was wary of people’s reaction, but Ghost told her that there was nothing wrong with her, and just because she identified as female, it didn’t mean she wasn’t vod.
The clones always protect their own.
Rex watched as they all sat down, talking animatedly.
Wait, if they were waiting here, then that means…
“Hello, dearies.”
“BUIR!”
Ah, Onora must be visiting.
Meeting Mauls wife was a surprise since Rex, like many of the clones, thought jedi couldn’t get married. But Maul always beat to his own drum, so this honestly shouldn’t surprise them.
What did was how pretty she is and she was taller than Maul.
She was also kind, watching over Maul’s squad like they were her own. Hell, they literally called them buir just for that. She also noticed how exhausted they were, taking it upon herself to cook them meals.
Just now, she came in carrying a five tier lunchbox. The squad ran up to meet her and to see what she brought them.
Some days, it could be meaty sandwiches with lettuce. Other days it could be a hot stew she made. This time, Rex could see she made them individual lunchboxes with their own preferences.
He can’t help but feel a bit of envy. There were many times a home cooked meal can lift the morale of a soldier.
And he knows her cooking is great, from whenever the squad shares, which isn’t a lot.
Rex watched Jesse walks up to the group with a nervous smile.
“Um, Mrs.Onora, me and my vod were wondering if-”
“No!”
Rex watched the 797 squad crows around Onora, glaring at Jesse like he’s an interloper. He almost expected them to start hissing at Jesse.
“She ours!” Sparks yelled, while Onora herself looked exasperated.
Rex chuckled with a shake of his head, lucky vod.
AN: Finally showing the Mauls squad and they just have that crackhead energy that just vibes with him. Onora is their mom, nuff said. Everyone wants her cooking.
Parents: Biological parents unknown. Adopted parent: Onora Prime
VA: Liz Calloway
Personality Traits: Not that sociable, but does like to go to a coffee shop with a colleague. Prefers listening to people talk then be in the actual conversation. Has a usual cool demeanor, but gets agitated when someone contradicts her work. When excited, she flaps her hands. Prefers schedules, hates spontaneity. Hates loud noises.
*Was found in a garbage dump on casino planet. Slowly nursed back to health by her adopted mother, who took her in
*Has white skin with green markings, with heart shaped montrals.
*Has a knack for numbers, later becomes the household accountant.
*Becomes a accountant on Coruscant, freelance into the forensic for extra cash.
*Has photographic memory.
*When stressed, uses a puzzle cube to calm herself.
*Despite the only one in the Prime family with no biological claim, was never excluded. Was especially close with her sisters, who helped her with fashion and social advice. Loves her mother fiercely, but at time wished she looked more like her.
*Lesbian
*Fingers twitch when she is talking to a client, usually in a typing motion.
*Loves tomatoes and macaroons.
AN: This is my togruta oc, Niameh, who is Onora adopted child. The family always makes a joke how they found her in the garbage but they love her like crazy. With her, I got a little inspiration from Ben Afflecks character, the Accountant and some of my won experiences.
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Personality Traits: Introvert. Can be patient, but his temper can be explosive when he see’s someone doing something dumb or wrong. But can be levelheaded during a crisis. Has deadpan humor. Has a strong sense of who he is. Workaholic. NOT force sensitive, but does have that feeling that something could happen.
*Bisexual.
* Becomes a doctor, was inspired after seeing his father tended to with his prosthetics Learned a lot from books and then Maul found a medical droid for him to learn from. Learned several languages to talk to his patients.
*Is great at cooking, learned from his mother.
* Knows the juyo form of lightsaber dueling, but uses it other fighting forms. Is almost unnaturally strong, like his mother. Uses weapons like a blaster, but mostly an energy bow that he made himself and a combat tomahawk.
*Started smoking when he was 19. Does use cigarettes, but usually uses a pipe.
*Adored his mother. Feels VERY complicated feelings towards his father.
*Nightbrother markings are not just his father, but also from his uncles.
*Gets along with his siblings but fights constantly with Ivo, his twin brother.
*Usually covers his face when he’s traveling with bandages because he looks like his father and also to hide himself from traffickers.
*Travels a lot as an adult, helping patients on the way and gathering students.
*Knows the basics of mechanical work.
AN: Finally decide to put my fankids profiles up. Here is Brynden prime, Onora and Mauls child. He has a rather upfront personality but is nothing like his father, even though he looks likes him. He's more of his mothers child.
Pairing: Richard Harrow (Boardwalk Empire) x Female OC Audette Torrio-Rhys
Warnings: Angst, talk of depression/mental health, suicide, fluff, hurt/comfort, guns, language, racial offenses, prostitution mention, mafia drama/violence, discrimination for disability, drinking, smoking, arranged marriage, torture, blood, murder, gore
Summary: Audette and Vincent struggle with the demands of keeping up this facade, meanwhile, Capone moves in shadow against them.
Main Masterlist - Cemetery Weather Masterlist
Read on ao3- 5k words
This chapter will contain some slight Italian small talk. Translations provided:
Ciao ragazzi.: “Hi guys/everyone.”
Buondí.: casual “Good day.”
Come stai?: informal “How are you?”
Stai bene?: “Are you well?”
Ce vediamo!: “See ya!” or “We’ll see each other!”
~~~
Audette sits in the back of her father’s car as the engine scuttles along. Capone is driving while Torrio fans himself in the front passenger seat. Ever since his most recent brush with death, he’s been suffering hot flashes that accompany bouts of breathlessness when he least expects it. He’s going through one right now, but it appears to subside as soon as they reach their destination.
“You good?” Capone asks him, offering his own pocket cloth to dab at some of the sweat on Torrio's brow, but he politely declines.
“I’ll be fine once I step outta this car.” Torrio is eager to feel the wind on his face so Capone parks as fast as possible, hopping out to open his and Audette’s doors. Torrio lifts his face to the sky, drawing in lungfuls of fresh air until he’s comfortably acclimated. The dressmaker Torrio picked out is smack dab in the heart of Little Italy in Chicago. The lull of accordion dances in the air as the scent of fresh goods and ripe produce floods their nostrils. Children play in the street and patrons are bustling through the marketplace. For a moment there, Audette forgets her own woes and admires the bliss of commoner life, wishing her days weren’t so complicated.
“Buondí!” A man advanced in years is accompanied by a pair of assistants flanking each side. His arms raise to the sky at his greeting, lowering them only to shake Torrio’s hand and kiss his ring. “Ciao ragazzi!”
“Giovanni! You look better than the last time I saw ya.” Torrio gleefully relays to the owner as they enter a friendly embrace. “Come stai?”
“What can Giovanni say? God ehh, His smile on me, no?” Giovanni looks at Capone and Audette. “Who dis you brought? Lucky couple?”
“Enough ribbin’, you know Al hates it. You’ve never had the liberty of meeting my turtle dove of a niece, Audette.” Torrio clarifies to Giovanni. “You’ll meet her beau soon enough when I wrestle him in here for a tux.”
“Nice to meet ya.” Capone gives him a slightly awkward smile before shaking his hand.
“Pleasure.” Audette curtsies at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Marino.”
“Pleasure all mine.” He likewise kisses Audette’s knuckles and bows to her in greeting.
“Still makin’ dresses?” Torrio asks Giovanni as he puts a hand at the nape of Audette’s neck, a gesture that would come off as endearing to some, but is cloaked in unrelenting control for her. “I’m hoping to get one made by the end of the month.”
“I do dis. I do in three weeks.” Giovanni claps loudly a singular time. “Done.”
“She ain’t even picked one out yet.” Torrio is impressed with his confidence.
“No matter. Come.” Giovanni’s assistants open the double doors to his establishment, happy to welcome everyone into his place of business. “Make comfortable. I work quickly.”
Giovanii flicks his wrist at one of his assistants and a young man in a very tailored uniform departs from his staff to the countertop bar where he pours a collection of glasses full of iced water. The lobby is bathed in ivory with white marble tile and spotless furnishings. It’s so bright and clean compared to the dingy city streets just outdoors. Planters of orchids atop their end tables add pops of color to the surroundings and Audette can smell their perfume all the way from where she stands.
“Listen,” Torrio grabs hold of Giovanni’s sleeve, snagging him before he could venture deeper into the establishment with the intent to speak to him quietly and with purpose, “Whatever the kid wants, make it happen. Money is no object so I want her dressed to impress. Get me?”
“Oh, yes sir.” Giovanni places his palm on top of Torrio’s and looks him square in the eyes. “I put best assistants on task!”
He claps twice this time and Audette is promptly swept away by a pair of stylists to a dressing room where have ample room to handcraft a gown from scratch perfectly customized to her liking, though she’s having a difficult time realizing what that may look like.
“How about this option?” One of the assistants holds a silk square of fabric out in comparison to chiffon and satin.
“Does this sleeve appeal to you?” Another displays a rack of deflated gloves, showcasing the different styles and lengths of sleeves they are capable of making.
“The beading on this bodice can be altered to any stone or sequin.” The last one describes as she outlines the sweetheart neckline with a cascade of opaque pearls.
The questions and suggestions come flying at Audette, but she’s hardly responding to a word they’re saying. After one too many clueless shrugs Giovanni overhears the impasse, and with a dismissive wave at his assistants, he steps in to aid you where they could not.
“Stai bene?” Giovanni comes up to Audette as the group watches on in silence, asking if she’s alright. “Scared for big day?”
“You could say that.” She knows he wouldn’t understand. Besides, places like these are typical rumor mills. The last thing she needs to do here is wax poetic about her first marriage that dissolved before it could even begin. She twirls her golden band around her finger, wishing she could go back to her modest little ceremony with Evan at the courthouse. She decides to lie, preserving her deepest sorrows. “I just hope it will be pretty enough.”
“No fret, child.” Giovanni cannot bear to see her saddened, sharing his infectious mood with her while also selling his masterful tailoring abilities. “This glorious day! No tears. Only smile. I make you look like angel!”
Countless fabric swatches and measurements later, Audette actually likes the vision Giovanni helped her come up with. The dress is held for adjustments, add ons and beading as well as the construction of Audette’s sleeves, her veil and other finishing touch accessories she threw in just to make Torrio’s wallet hurt a bit more.
Capone and Torrio are practically asleep on the plush couches in the lobby when she finally comes out to meet them, becoming more alert when they see Audette enter the room alongside Giovanni.
“I was beginning to think you forgot about us out here.” Capone gets moody when he is forced to participate in anything that doesn’t directly benefit him.
“Stop it.” Torrio corrects him with a dry scolding. “We’d wait out here all night if it means she gets what she wants.”
What a massive lie. This appointment and everything that pertains to it is the furthest thing from what Audette wants, but she must bite her tongue and endure all the same.
“I call in week for next fitting.” Giovanni declares to Torrio in broken English.
“I’ll be waiting.” Torrio retrieves his stuffed billfold and plucks a few hundred dollar notes out of it, giving them to Giovanni to pocket.”
“Ce vediamo!” Giovanni smiles as Capone leads the way back out the doors, opening them for both Torrio and Audette.
“See ya next week!” Torrio hollers as he passes the threshold, waddling his way down the curb and back into the car where all three load up. The first couple minutes of the drive are quiet, but Capone keeps lifting his gaze to Audette’s in the rear-view mirror, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.
“How’d it go?” He asks, trying to get under her skin.
“It was fine.” Audette shrugs, giving Capone as little as possible.
“Welp, ya oughta look like a princess fer what we’re payin that schmuck, alls I’mma say.” Capone adds, rather distasteful to the point it earns a slap to his shoulder.
“The hell’s the matter with you?” Torrio scolds him for a second time. “Giovanni is a good man. He demands your respect.”
“Sorry John.” Capone corrects himself, and for once Audette actually feels a smile break through her lips when his jab comes back to hit him. “I was only teasin’.”
He decides against another outburst for the remainder of the drive. When Capone pulls into Vincent’s mansion, he’s already out there waiting for Audette. He remains seated behind the wheel while Torrio steps out of the car to greet him. Vincent politely accepts his hand, shaking it once before leaning to open Audette’s door.
“Thank you. I’m tired, I think I’ll lie down.” She speaks softly, hoping to slip into the house but Torrio won’t let her off the hook so soon.
“Woah, hey now.” Torrio speaks up, stopping Audette from going another step. “Is that how you greet ya husband?”
“He’s not my husband.” Audette retains her defiance. “Not yet.”
“Don’t matter.” Torrio could care less about a silly technicality “Y’all are tyin’ the knot before the month is out. Gotta act like it. High time you learned how a proper bride should behave.”
Audette takes in a long breath through her nose and lets it out her mouth in a dramatic sigh. As she makes her approach, Vincent remains clueless on what to do, slightly bowing his head to achieve her level.
Audette leaves no space between herself and Vincent, standing on the tips of her toes to touch a hurried peck on the apple of his cheek. She steps down, hoping that would suffice, but Torrio wastes no time in voicing his critique.
“You can’t be serious.” He exclaims, dissatisfied while Capone addictively eats up her torture. “C’mon. Like ya mean it.”
Audette swallows hard in her dry throat, burying the betrayal she knows she’s committing against Richard. She thinks to herself that if she can close her eyes and imagine it’s him, maybe it will be believable.
Audette takes his hand in hers. Right off the bat it is not as calloused as Richard’s, already making it difficult to ground her to him, so she tries to concentrate and think past it. To give them what they want, she slightly yanks Vincent towards herself by the fold of his lapel. She can tell he is stunned by her daring initiative. He’s only ever dreamed of this, much to his detriment. He knows he shouldn’t have these feelings, but they’re surely only growing stronger.
Audette places Vincent’s hand she’s holding around the small of her waist and he takes the hint, pulling her in while removing his hat. They’re pressed against each other with Torrio watching in anticipation and Capone uneasily averting his vision.
He communicates with his eyes his immense apologies. Sorrow is molded on his face, but it is almost completely overshadowed by his fright. Audette lets him know this is okay. They're trapped by circumstance.
Vincent’s eyes meet Audette’s in the split seconds he’s lingering above her head before their lips collide. They must be as persuasive as they can without losing momentum.
She caresses his face like she does to Richard, her thumb grazing the spot on his cheek where she kissed him first. Her fingers curl along his nape and Vincent’s shuddered breath is indiscernible from her own. The scent of his cologne gets stronger as she closes in. His jawline bears the scantest appearance of stubble, but just enough for Audette to know it’s there. She prepares to turn her face slightly to the side to accommodate for a mask as she’s made a habit of the motion with Richard, realizing too late that it’s a redundant move to make on Vincent.
Their faces slightly bump when they kiss at last. She adjusts herself right then and hopes it appears fluid enough for Torrio that he didn’t notice. Vincent’s lips remind her of the swatches of silk and chiffon she felt at her fitting. She’s grateful that he does not venture beyond his means, cordial and polite while reinforcing the idea that Audette is able to witness his kindness at every turn. Soon, the pair melt into each other, finding a forbidden comfortability in their arms. It starts with one smooch, gradually moving their lips with conviction. What began as a tiny peck evolves into a second, more dynamic exchange before testing limits when a third is established.
Vincent is pushed away by Audette like being thrown from a trance. She cleans up her smeared lipstick while Vincent lifts his hand to his mouth, licking them upon reflex. He swoons with a press of his index and middle finger against his sealed smile, visibly stunned. Audette straightens her dress, looks Torrio and Capone dead in the eyes and says, “There.”
“Now that’s more like it.” Torrio tips his hat to Vincent, proud of him for his progress in winning over Audette. “Take it easy, you two. I’ll not have a baby shower before we even pronounce you man and wife. Hah!”
Laughing as he climbs into the car, Capone closes his door and gets behind the wheel, glaring at Audette knowing this is all fake. He lets her keep this fantasy, driving away so they’re left alone to deal with the aftermath.
Vincent looks like he wants to say something but Audette hurries up the porch steps before he can. She can’t believe she did that. How is she going to explain this to Richard? She contemplates even telling him, cursing herself for thinking that. It’s no question he should know about it, but she dreads being the one to deliver the news. She shelves the thought, knowing it’ll be a long time before she’ll have the chance to even speak to him. It’s no use burning a hole in her head now, but that’s easier said than done.
Vincent enters the house, closing the door behind him. It’s quiet and awkward as he looks like a guest in his own home. He still has a faded tint of Audette’s lipstick on his face, and that fact alone strips her of the strength needed to bring herself to look at him. She chooses to observe out the kitchen window, filling a glass with water to sip on while admiring the sunshine. Is it beaming like this on the Atlantic coast? If only its radiance could teleport her to a better place, one where Richard might be.
“How did the erm… consultation go?” Vincent bashfully breaks the silence.
Ughhhh…” Audette closes her eyes, revoking the blessed golden rays she was admiring.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Vincent shakes his head at her reaction, finding himself walking on eggshells. “Perhaps I should pour us something stronger.”
“There is something I should tell you though.” Audette looks back out the window, her mood reflecting the return of the city’s gloomy weather, all traces of sunshine being cast away by thick cloud cover. “I apologize for treating you like that, Vincent. I have nothing against you; I just hate when he taunts me.”
“You’re the last person who should be expected to grovel and repent.” Vincent opens a cabinet door to retrieve a pair of crystal glasses, pouring a finger or so of the closest alcohol he can reach on the counter. That happens to be a rather strong merlot, a tasteful change from all the hard scotch and rum. “He’s just testing us.”
“Yeah, and we barely passed.” Vincent comes up behind her with her glass.
She eagerly accepts it, though there was a time she hardly ever drank. By now, she’s grown fond of the stuff as it’s been crucial in taking the edge off her misery. “Thank you.”
Vincent raises his own to his mouth, sipping his serving. They stand in silence and her scent lingers intoxicatingly around him. He’s suddenly made aware of the oily film over his mouth where her lipstick is still slightly smudged when he takes a drink. It stains the rim of his glass and Audette notices. “You still have a little, uhm…”
Vincent looks at his glass then touches his fingers to the smudge, collecting a bit of it. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his mouth clean. “Ah. Yes. Thank you.”
Audette can tell he wasn’t expecting that. It put him on the spot, and she feels the need to clear the air. “Do you maybe want to talk about it?”
“I’m surprised you want to.” Vincent swirls his drink, tiptoeing around the subject.
“I sort of bombarded you back there.” Audette explains nervously between chaste drinks of her merlot. “If it were the other way around, I’d want a little heads up.”
“Engaged couples don’t give each other a heads up before they kiss.” Vincent wipes the rim of his glass and sips. “They're comfortable enough to expect it.”
“They do, don’t they?” Audette feels better about what happened, but it still doesn’t erase the deed. “So, I did the right thing?”
“I don’t think a right or wrong exists in our position.” Vincent shakes his head, unsure if he can give her an answer he believes. “We’re just trying to survive.”
“Humor me.” She begs, taking a larger swig this time and nearly finishing off her drink.
“Yes, you did the right thing. I take no offense in what happened.” Vincent thinks for a moment at the deeper repercussions of this, and any more that may occur in the future. “If you’re worried about me telling Richard, rest assured that I won’t unless you want me to.”
“I find it difficult not to worry about it.” Audette admits, almost trembling. “But he should hear it from me.”
“He loves you.” Vincent adds sincerely. “He will understand.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about. I can’t change what he thinks about you.” Audette waves her hand between herself and Vincent “Because of this.”
“Torrio’s arrangement.” Vincent confirms with a somber nod.
“Yes.” Audette turns her back to Vincent, facing the wall and spinning her glass on the smooth countertop. “And the more I try and think of a way out, the more I realize there isn’t one.”
“If I stay on the path I have started with him and Jimmy, I can establish myself outside of Torrio’s bounds and he won’t have control over us anymore.” Vincent is so hopeful, really wanting this to work.
“That path still requires us to be married though.” Audette mentions something that should be obvious to Vincent, but in all his ambitions, he must have overlooked it. She turns to him now, making eye contact so that there can be no question of the veracity of what Audette is about to say. “Many of these connections you’re utilizing to get there came from your father. The funding comes from mine.”
“Soon I’ll have control of my own funding.” Vincent still thinks there’s a way out, his hope now sounding like naivete. “I won’t have to rely on anyone else’s.”
“But how’s that going to look?” Audette dissects his claims and Vincent deflates at every point she makes. “The previous boss steps down to pass the torch to his son in law only for him to divorce his sanctioned bride? Or worse, for her to be caught in an affair?”
“I suppose I didn’t think that far ahead.” He begins to chew the skin of his inner cheek, plunged in thought as he now has to reassess his plans.
“Well, I have.” Audette now realizes that Vincent didn’t really take into account these variables, but she’ll not penalize him for it. “That’s all I think about.”
“I don’t want to come between you and Richard.” Vincent’s honorable perspective is what makes him the perfect target, and he knows there are many in the Outfit that would kill to have his position. “I’m sure you’re sick of having me as your ball and chain too.”
“No, Vincent, you’re a kind and honest man.” Audette drops her shoulders in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s alright.” Vincent appears meek, humble in her presence at the notion of Audette regarding him as such. “I didn’t take it that way.”
“Look, I know the way I treated you when we first met wasn’t my best, and I’ve grown to greatly appreciate your company through this. It's been hard.” Audette adjusts her stance, sipping the merlot. It coats her throat and warms her belly, making this conversation a teeny bit tolerable. “It’s just a lot… being coerced to do the things I wish to do with Richard, but with you.”
“I didn’t know he was going to demand us to-” Vincent cuts himself off, incapable of speaking the action into existence. “That was unexpected.”
“It won’t be the last time.” Audette confirms woefully. “I can’t fathom having to do that in front of people. The entire city will come to a standstill at the wedding, and we’ll be expected to act accordingly in front of them all. The ceremony. The dancing. My first wedding wasn’t anything close to this.”
“I’ll hopefully have found a solution before it gets to that point.” Vincent doesn’t know what to say, so he chooses to help Audette focus on something else, but it does not go as planned.
“And if you don’t?” Audette challenges him again. She cannot rely on ‘ifs’ or ‘maybes’. “That might have been enough to fool my father, but not the other families. Not a commoner on the street. That’s just asking for the tabloids to run rampant.”
“What do you suggest?” Vincent is at a loss, relying on what Audette might be able to come up with.
“I guess we have some rehearsing to do.” Audette sets her glass down, freeing her hands to rest on the counter.
“W-what?” A tone of shock enters Vincent’s voice.
“I don’t want to have an internal crisis every time a situation like that arises. I’m sure you don’t either.” Audette would rather not do this, but their predicament requires it. “We haven’t had a chance to get used to, well, us.”
“Maybe we’re not supposed to.” Vincent nobly wishes to preserve his relationship with Audette as much as possible, afraid any more contact will deepen his feelings. As it would turn out, his crisis is of another nature entirely. “But I still want to make this easier for you.”
“Let’s just start small.” Audette steps toward him and takes Vincent’s glass. She sets it beside hers and closes in. He’s frozen, silent except for the very audible gulp in his throat. “A hug is simple enough, right?”
He gives her a nod, looking down at her now that she’s inches away again. His height at this perspective makes Audette appear so small, but she’s full of broiling power and fury; a trait he’s come to admire immensely about her.
Audette finds after a few seconds of holding each other that he’s far too stiff. His rigid stance is unnatural and actually kind of makes Audette ill at ease. He isn’t even hugging her back, sort of just standing there. “Vincent. Relax. Just hold me like you would anyone.”
He takes a deep breath, clears his throat and shakes out his shoulders. “But you’re not just anyone. You’re supposed to be my fiancée.”
“And you said it yourself that engaged couples are afforded no warning.” Audette is convincing in her speech, speaking reason effectively to Vincent. “This is all the notice we’re gonna get.”
She lays her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his waist. Vincent’s arms encircle her shoulders, caging Audette in his space. There his heart goes again, beating incredibly fast and pounding against her ear. His stable breaths become deeper and more winded. Right when he’s trying to be present and calm as Audette welcomes it, flashes of his tri-state venture creep into his psyche. Rather, they never left, but the weight of everything makes him feel trapped. Visions flash in his mind’s eye, tormenting him. The mud, the blood and the grinding of the woodchipper, all peppered with the assorted pop of gunshots.
He uses one hand to reach for his collar, loosening it with a yank at the knot of his tie. Audette feels that he’s burning up as he shifts in her grasp despite still holding him. He continues to fidget, unable to let up until it ultimately beckons her attention. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I uh… I just need some air.” Vincent slips away, heading out back to the patio garden. The delirium comes on fast and his world is spinning, nauseated by the overpowering scent of iron, gunpowder and petrichor.
Audette is left to observe, following at a distance. She watches Vincent lean against the wall while clutching his chest, but right when she goes for the doorknob to check on him, the phone on the wall beside the exit rings.
“Colosimo residence.” She picks it up while keeping her eyes on Vincent lest he keels over.
“Audette? It’s Jimmy.” She can hear him smoking a cigarette with the way he’s breathing on the other end. “Vincent around?”
“He’s on the patio.” Audette admits while looking at him through the crystal-clear parlor window.
“Lemme talk to ‘im.” Jimmy flatly requests.
“Would I be able to speak to Richard first?” Audette practically begs, knowing that where Jimmy is, Richard isn’t far.
“He’s not available.” Jimmy carries a slight dishonesty in his tone, holding something back.
“That’s what you’re going with?” Audette can sense something, but she’ll leave the revelation to him if he is willing to share with her.
Jimmy looks across the room where Richard is currently indisposed. He’s roughing someone up amidst an interrogation, punching a man tied to a chair in what looks like a dingy cellar hidden from the light of day. With each blow he lands, splatters of blood paint the dusty concrete floor as his captive continues to cry for mercy. “He’s uhh… busy right now.”
Audette can overhear groans of pain and agony. She is constantly reminded of the hurdles that befall them. Audette doesn’t even need to be aware of what the altercation is about to know it’s in her best interests to remove herself from its consideration. “Just… please tell him-
“I know, I’ll tell him you love him.” Jimmy knew what she was going to ask before she uttered the words.
“Thank you, Jimmy. I’ll get Vincent.” She sets the mouthpiece down, careful not to hang up before racing to the back door where she’s pleased to see Vincent has caught his breath. “Jimmy’s calling.”
He nods at Audette, slicking his hair back with a couple passes of his hands before he moves to dab the sweat off his face. Upon yanking it out of his pocket, he notices the spot of red. His stomach sinks when he’s reminded of Audette’s lipstick being the cause of the stain, hiding it away as he goes to the phone.
“Here he is.” Audette passes the mouthpiece to Vincent, and he holds the receiver to his ear.
“Jimmy.” He addresses him, awaiting a response “What’s new?”
“We have a problem.” Jimmy tells him plainly.
“What happened?” Vincent asks, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong now.
“Has Torrio mentioned anything about a missing payroll shipment?” Jimmy questions, considering if he’s even aware of the discrepancy.
“He hasn’t said anything. Not to me, at least. He and Capone were just here.” Vincent is confused as he hasn’t been confronted despite having just seen them in person. “We should be getting a steady revenue stream from Baltimore regardless.”
“Turns out the guy who intercepted its delivery works for none other than that brother-in-law of yours.”
“Is that right?” Vincent’s temper has already been tested today, yet Capone sure does know how to add insult to that injury. “Didn’t think he was dumb enough to do that.”
“You needa get a leash on that bastard.” Jimmy is angered and rightfully so. “We got too much ridin’ on this.”
“How’d you find out?”
“The shipment was spotted by my boys heading into Chicago as per usual, only instead of going to the Deuces like all the others, it rolled up to The Green Mill Lounge.” Jimmy explains, knowing the conversation is about to get more tense. “I know our agreement was to eliminate anyone who intervenes with the deliveries, but I’m not stupid enough to come close to Al right now.”
“That fucker.” Vincent begins thinking of ways to approach this. If he doesn’t act on it now, it will happen again and everyone will think he is nothing more than a doormat.
“I’m surprised Aiuppa hasn’t called about it yet.” Jimmy increases the stakes of their situation by declaring even more unavoidable issues. “You’d think he’d notice one of his trucks missing.”
“He’s probably waiting for me to let him know.” Vincent is eternally grateful for Jimmy’s forewarning, contemplating ways to use all this information to his advantage.
“Good luck with that.” Jimmy chuckles under his breath. “Yours a pair of shoes I wouldn’t wana fill.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Jimmy.” Vincent’s gratefulness is palpable. Information is currency and he just hit the jackpot.
“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Jimmy doesn’t need Vincent’s gratitude. Knowing he’s working against Capone is reward in itself. “We’re handling things on our end. Talk to ya soon.”
“Wait, one last thing.” Vincent holds up Jimmy for just a bit longer.
“What’s that?” Jimmy asks in anticipation of the cherry to top this conversation off.
“Torrio moved up the wedding.” Vincent makes eye contact with Audette this time as she overhears the conversation, mourning in his expression.
“He what?” Just as Jimmy lets out this exclamation, Richard has concluded his interrogation, wiping the blood off his bruised knuckles and pacing closer to listen. Jimmy’s eyes grow frightfully wide, stumped on how to let Richard in on this volatile tidbit. “For when?”
“I’ll explain more later.” Vincent cannot divulge in the details right now, putting it off until he’s actually had time to think things through for himself. “We have to act soon. Be prepared.”
“Call me when you can.” Jimmy adds before hanging up, Vincent doing the same on his end.