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You in Me and Me in You

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Disclaimer: I do not own the series Artemis Fowl or any of the characters contained therein. If I did, this might be somewhat less or a whole lot more creepy. And Colfer might not cry if he read this.

Author's note: This sort of fits into the Broken universe, except for some minor details, but it can stand on it's own easily enough. And I feel I must warn you, it's twisted. This is me, Kitsune Heart, saying it's twisted. Leave if this worries you.


You in Me and Me in You

Opal Koboi was almost always covered in a thin but entirely tangible layer of dead skin and sweat and the detritus of her incarceration pod. The LEP made sure their prisoners could not harm themselves, so she was only ever given enough water to drink or sponge herself off, which was entirely ironic, considering the only view of the outside world she was given showed miles and miles of deep blue ocean, cleared of marine life in case some prisoner maintained enough magic to mesmer a shark or whale or the tiniest clown fish. Which was unlikely as they were, of course, drained of magic before being placed in their pods, and then implanted with a small chip that would monitor their health and any possible magical reserves that the guards had missed.

But the guards never missed, Koboi found. Not that it mattered for her. She'd lost all her magic when the pituitary gland was up and pumping, leaving her nothing more than a short human. A
. She'd theorized that a loss of magic would be a side effect of her surgery, but she'd always assumed she would be in a different, more tenable position when it happened. At the very least, the People would be in chaos, their largest city filled with a ball of molten iron, the humans' eyes on them. Then she would sit pretty as her adopted father answered questions—no doubt encouraging his species to approach the newly discovered beings in friendship and cooperation, the sentimental, environmentalist fool—and the rest of the world ignored him in favor of war and slavery and genocide.

She reveled in that idea. And especially in her daydreams of the damnable pair—Short, the elf, and Fowl, the human—standing together and falling under a wave of nuclear and biological weapons. Or perhaps of Fowl, his influence and power suddenly useless once the humans discovered his back-story with their new enemies, watching as his little lady love (and, gods, they were morons for not realizing it yet) was interrogated and beaten and then sold and used by whichever man could afford one of the so-rare fairies. At first, Koboi glared at the cameras—Foaly's make, and un-hackable—and crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together until she had sent herself over the edge, hands clenching her bedsheets as her fluids drenched her uniform of the day, which she would be forced to leave on until the next day began and a new one was cycled in from the incarceration pod's storage.

After a few weeks, she ceased to care, insides aching for friction, and she lay naked in full view of the cameras, talking, screaming, telling Fowl and Foaly about all the things that would be done to Holly. Holes that could take it and holes that would split and bleed and a belly that would grow with a rapist's seed until she quite literally burst forth with the child and, if she was lucky, died. And, if she was unlucky, be forced to do it all again, but with a poorer, less-picky owner. One that would put up with a few pregnancy stretch marks for the chance to fuck a creature with a little body and little hands and a little pussy.

She bet they'd make her shave herself bare.

She bet they'd make her wear a little frilly dress or a pleated skirt or the local junior high gym uniform.

She bet they'd make her call them “Daddy.”

And Koboi clenched and cried and smiled at the cameras.

She had to wonder if Short was ever shown the videos. She almost bet that Foaly saw them. He had his flattering little obsession with her, and whatever the centaur had on his computers, the Fowl boy was sure to find, and, oh, gods, thinking of him hearing what she'd just said about his captain sent her at it again, all day, all night, completely ignoring the coming of her next two meals.

She was covered in her own fluids, exhausted and as close to happy as she'd been in months.

And then salvation came.

Her pod began to move, and instantly Koboi was awake, alert, reaching for a clean uniform. The pod was taken in every week so she could get a proper shower and a medical exam, but she'd been out for just two days. Was she being taken in for a psych evaluation? Perhaps she had gone a bit too far with the skullfucking thing....

But when her pod sealed up against the side of Atlantis, she could hear chaos. Screams and gurgles and thuds and gods-damned energy blasts. She pressed her ear to the door, which was nothing more than a thin line almost flush with the walls, and tried to hear more.


And then a hiss of air as the door cracked open. Koboi stepped back, holding her hands in fists which she knew would do nothing against what was on the other side of that door, but she would not go down easily. She would charge and scream and die a woman, not a beast as the LEP had tried to make her.

The door swung open.

And Koboi looked out at...herself.

Smaller. Younger. Amazingly even more dirty, covered with at least three blood splatters, face smudged by smoke, a thin line of drool coming from the corner of her mouth. A dagger was in her right hand and it dripped slowly on the floor.

Koboi held still. What was this? Two options: prison break or tying up loose ends. How, though? Ah...the demons. She'd seen a demon guard during one of her medical exams. No one would answer her question, but she knew enough of the missing fairy family to realize what the creature was and to muse eagerly on how they could be used when she was free.

The pixie smirked.

Koboi felt some...flash. Something deep in herself. This woman was herself. This had all happened before. And she felt confident. It would work.

She sent the smirk right back, and then they were running.

It was easy. Not that there wasn't resistance. Indeed, the prison complex swarmed with guards. Every one of them, the off-duty ones called up by an emergency klaxon, which blared so loudly that her pixie self winced and cast some spell which created a swirl of green magic over their ears, blocking the worst of the noise. The lights were almost as distracting, but neither of them wished to diminish their sight. Not with guards charging at them, bellowing, demanding they freeze. Koboi stood behind, letting herself be protected.

The pixie hit them with such power that the human's knees felt rubbery, her heart fluttering, her mouth watering with desire for that lost gift, and she completely understood why the pixie was drooling, now. No spell seemed the same, as if she was just testing her abilities. Fire and ice. Wind and earth. Water bursting in from a loose seam in the walls, pixie and human protected by a bubble, flying through to the next airlock, phasing through, and back to running while the guards behind them tried to hold their breath and swim through turbulent waters to another air lock, until too much time passed and their bodies betrayed them and they breathed in the cold, salty water and convulsed and fought for more breaths and finally went still. Then floated gently out to sea.

Her younger self was grinning, and occasionally she let the guards come, if they came in ones or twos, and these she slashed with the dagger, tearing open throats, puncturing eyes, releasing stomachs and bowels to splatter on the ground and be stepped on as they ran past.

They were almost at the last doors. Doors Koboi barely recognized from being wheeled in on a damned dolly, tied up in the traditional straight jacket, eyes covered in dark, reflective sunglasses to counteract her absent mesmer. So close, and then they would be in Atlantis proper, and the idea of that pixie's raw power and ingenuity let loose on the populace...she felt her insides tremble and nearly fell from the weakness of a sudden release.

And then she wished her body had waited, because there she was. That elf. Gods, yes, and the pixie barely paused. Said “hello” and rushed at Short and they were just a blur of arms and legs, and didn't the elf realize she was being toyed with? When had Opal Koboi ever been a fighter? She should have realized the second the genius dodged that something was wrong and fled, but the elf kept fighting. Fighting until the blade came down, cut her ear, over her cheek, down her neck, all the way from chest to hip. Only then did the elf's eyes widen in understanding, and then dim as her body forced her into shutdown, magic flaring as she fell.

The wounds did not shut. The bleeding slowed, perhaps, but the wounds remained open and the elf's head crashed into the metal floor, and Koboi wished for a second that she was a pixie, like herself, because such a crash would have made her a mental invalid for the rest of her life. Not that she wasn't already a gibbering moron. Utter fool, fighting such an obvious superior.

Opal was punching at the keypad, fighting against the security system. Koboi thought it would be far easier to use the pixie's powers to wrench the door open with telekinesis, but perhaps she just wanted a challenge after such a depressingly easy escape.

After a split-second of waiting, Koboi had a superb idea, and she reached forward, plucking the knife from Opal's hand.

Opal turned, arm raised over her face, glowing with green magic, teeth bared at the coming betrayal.

But Koboi ignored her, turning away, crouching next to the elf.

Opal watched, frowning, as Koboi unzipped the elf's suit.

Then she smiled as Koboi pulled at the elf's right nipple, stretching out the breast. And then the knife flashed, the fine blade easily going through skin and muscle and fat and mammaries, and Koboi stood, holding the severed tit in one hand, bloody knife in the other. She looked at Opal. Then began tapping her foot.

“If your plan was to remain in here until we are both caught, wait by all means, but I would rather get a good shower and a gourmet meal in before I'm captured once more.”

Opal laughed. “Is that what that's for? Perhaps a stir fry?”

Koboi snorted. “I have better taste than that.” She tossed the breast and let it land viscera-side down on her palm, splattering the floor below and the ankles of her jumpsuit. “I was thinking more...shark fin soup.”


None of the sharks that came to the smell of blood in the water suited their tastes, but neither of the women were sad over this. They sat at their stolen sub's windows, watching as a little piece of fairy flesh was found by three sharks at once, which began to fight one another and fill the sea with even more blood as the fatty bit was torn apart and swallowed.

They made sure to record it all. Later that night, after their meal had been brought to the hotel room, they watched it on the suite's flat screen and laughed and shared a glass of wine. Perhaps Opal shouldn't have had the drink, what with the rules about sharing alcohol with humans, but neither of them really cared about a little social misdemeanor.

They had an argument, one glass in, about names. Neither wanted to be just Opal. Opal was a little girl's name. The name their father had given them. Not that “Koboi” was any better on that front, but they had always chosen to be called “Miss Koboi” or “Doctor Koboi” or “Mistress Koboi” when they had power. Neither really wanted to pick a false name, and eventually the elder, the human, won, because Opal realized she needed her far more than the human needed the pixie, now that she was free. The human might be able to integrate into human society, get plastic surgery, go through life like any other Mud Man. The pixie could not give up her power and plans, and those plans required her human self, and so she finally gave in.

There was no Opal Koboi. There was Opal and Koboi. Themselves in each other. Much of the same history and many of the same desires.

They spent hours discussing the plans. Straight through another two meals—both composed primarily of local endangered species, and delivered by a man who never met Koboi's eyes as she handed over the superbly counterfeited bills—and into dawn. Only when the sun came through the windows did Opal stretch, spine popping, and look at herself, dissatisfied. Koboi had been able to order in some clothing from the hotel's shops for once she'd cleaned herself up, but there wasn't anything suitable for a person of Opal's size. Just a little girl's frilly dresses, and Opal was more apt to wear slinky red or black than lacy white, except as undergarments.

She said she would bathe, and then Koboi might, and then Koboi would go out and try to find some clothes that befitted the pixie. Koboi had remained on the couch for a few minutes. Just long enough for the faucet to run and turn off and the faint sound of splashing and sloshing water to reach her ears.

She remembered things from when she was that woman, the woman in the water. Not everything. But the most important things. She smiled, running a finger over her ears—human shaped, but still fairy tender—and waited.

Then she rose and walked to the bathroom, finding the door unlocked, and went inside.

Opal, reclining in the hot tub, which would have been large for a human, looked up with narrowed eyes. “Can this wait?”

Koboi looked at her. There were no bubbles, just hot water, so she could see under the surface and make out smooth, large breasts and deep-red nipples and the darkness of her own former pubic hair.

Koboi smiled and grabbed the zipper of her prison jumpsuit, dragging it down, revealing her own body—large, but similarly proportioned—and stepped out of the ruined material, striding towards the tub, leaning over and placing her hands on the edge, Opal swimming back from her, eyes wide. “No. I'm not accustomed to

Water cascaded over the edge as she slipped in, even though she moved smoothly, and even more splashed as she kicked from the side of the tub to come up against Opal, her hands on either side of the pixie's hips, resting on the porcelain seat, steadying her as she slowed and settled. There was just a few inches between them. All that touched were their nipples, and only when they breathed in unison, and Koboi felt a throb between her legs whenever it happened.

“I suppose,” Opal whispered, slowing her words as Koboi's face lowered to hers, barely getting out the last half of her sentence, “you...can't.” And then their lips met, so mismatched but almost exactly the same. Opal's mouth was entirely engulfed by Koboi's lips, which sucked and licked and bit until the pixie was gasping for air. Opal could taste days of filth on the woman's mouth, and she lapped eagerly.

They did clean themselves. Opal rubbed a bar of soap between her hands and then ran then them over Koboi's shoulders and arms and massaged her breasts far more than was necessary, then down her stomach and thighs and between her legs, stopping just short of bliss. And Koboi worked shampoo into Opal's hair and murmured in the younger woman's ear “trust me” before she held her under the water, hand squeezing her thin neck. Staying that way for long, long seconds, then using her other hand to force the pixie's legs open, fingers holding her nether lips apart, grinding their hips and clits together until she almost reached release, finally bringing Opal up gasping and choking, but rinsed quite well.

The fairy hadn't struggled a bit. She clung to Koboi, nuzzling into her breasts, taking a nipple into her mouth and sucking like they were mother and child, not self and self.

The water became dark with dirt and blood, and they drained it and rinsed in the shower and went to bed, falling into it, hands twining with hands and then breaking free to sink and rise and pinch and hold each other open, looking inside curiously.

Human fingers in fairy holes.

Fairy fingers in human holes.

It was masturbation.

It was incest.

It was the best lay of their lives.

Opal buried her face between Koboi's legs, and licked and thrust with her tongue, and at first scowled when she was told what to do. She was a genius. She'd been with men and women and the only reason she hadn't been with either recently is that neither had met her needs before. She would not be ordered around, even by herself.

But then Koboi had rolled her eyes and switched their positions and said “like this” and licked just so and Opal screamed, lost, satisfied in a way no partner had managed, in a way her fingers and a dozen toys (half of which she'd made herself, following her own whims) had never accomplished.

Then she was willing to listen, and it was Koboi that moaned, but did not scream, even when she finished, and Opal had been furious. Until the human had laughed and stroked her cheek and said, “Well, of course you didn't do it as well. I haven't taught you everything yet.”

And they lay on the bed, arms wrapped around each other, around themselves, cuddled in close, murmuring sweet nothings about death and blood and torture and revenge. Capturing Fowl and using his body and breaking it and video-recording it all and sending the recording straight to Short. Slicing off Short's other breast when she came to the rescue and placing it before Fowl's face. Ordering him to lick it like he had licked theirs, or the knife would go into Holly, into holes that already existed. And, when he did, they'd do it anyway and pout and say it was all for his benefit, because he'd need those holes a bit bigger when they made him mount her like a dog. Which he would do. They would make him, holding the knife to Short's throat, looking him in the eyes as he trust into the bleeding hole—they weren't particular about which, but they'd do him the favor of widening both—until he reached release and moaned and felt all the pleasure of orgasm, because he was still a man and he couldn't counteract that, even if he was a genius, like them.

And then that video would be sent to Foaly, who they knew thought of Short as some mixture of friend and daughter and sister and maybe even, subliminally, lover. He'd vow revenge, rescue, and when exhaustion forced him to go home, he'd greet that wife of his (and the revelation had made Opal gasp and tear up, just as it had done to Koboi, because the centaur had always been theirs, always would be theirs) and then avoid her all night. All week. He'd hold back until he couldn't help it and he'd rut her with his eyes closed, hating himself and making no noise but stallion screams.

And a thousand fantasies more as they worked through the ranks of the LEP and their human allies. They giggled and fell asleep with smiles on their lips, still a little damp from their bath, but blessedly, finally, satisfied.