#[ only for the harp threat more than anything ]

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

I just adore Russell so much here - the charm, the banter, the veiled threats, the kids nicknames… Absolute perfection. these are my favorites:

“He chuckled between your tits, a deep hum against your ribcage. “No, they’re definitely not, sweetheart.” He pecked your collarbone and glanced up at you with a grin as your fingers carded through his long hair – you supposed you could get used to it. “But, uhm–,” he bit his lip, grin widening underneath it, “–they’re about to be damn clogged. Hold on!” BWAHAHA!!!!

“Do the words ‘extraordinary rendition’ mean anything to you?” you asked and instantly heard Russell tossing the spatula aside to throw you a full look this time. / “That’s what you call goddamn sugarcoating?” Russell cocked a brow at you.” Tee hee hee - it’s like you know me…

“You snorted a laugh. “I used to call him Ducky because he kept following me around everywhere.” head cannon completely accepted – makes perfect sense.

“Funny sometimes how the CIA harped on unveiling the truth but kept more secrets themselves than a magician’s hat. When did you become part of the problem?” Exquisitely true! 

“Maybe you should’ve dipped out with Russell years ago when you still had a chance to do something else with your life. When you’d first started dating. When you’d had a massive fight on that first Thanksgiving, which turned to love confessions before the night had ended.” Imma need this Thanksgiving story stat - I just love Russell Shaw so much…

“You were pulled back in, and Russell followed like your canary in a mine shaft. It was a never-ending circle you couldn’t seem to escape from. Back then, you’d been scared of the future. You’d only known him for two months and the two of you had already been through hell together before you realized you loved him. But you didn’t want to toss aside all your beliefs and ambitions for him. Now, you’d do it in a heartbeat.” I also need to know the story about how she realized she loved him… I am so, so glad you are doing a prequel, I can’t wait!!!

“Hi there, ace,” Russell said, smiling and swallowed the gigantic fucking lump in his throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…”. that goes for me too, Russell… So incredibly sweet!

I’ve never read the books, and now I don’t want to, because you are writing my head cannons for Russell, they make perfect sense given what we’ve seen of him on the TV, and I absolutely adore them. Thank you so much for sharing this with us !!!



The Exit Strategy – Part 5

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there’s one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language & implied/light smut, fluff, angst, the darkness of the CIA, death threats, blackmail, mentions of murder & torture, psychological warfare, feels, Dad!Russell

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: We have reached the end of yet another series! Although, as the title of this chapter suggests, this is more of a start than an end 😉

Can't wait to see you all back for the prequel! Big thank you for all your sweet comments throughout this 🥹🩵

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 5: This Is a Start

Half-awake, you inhaled deeply, his scent – earthy notes of pine, oakmoss, and agar wood – clinging to every air molecule that flowed into you and filled your bloodstream till your entire body was made of nothing but him.

You could feel the sunlight on your skin, even though your eyes were closed. But it wasn’t what gave you warmth at that moment. If you concentrated hard enough, you could feel his heartbeat against your spine, feel the breaths of his shallow snores brush the shell of your ear and reach down to your neck, and you remembered all the mornings where you’d felt exactly like this.

Calm, safe, loved. Because you were with him.

You’d missed those mornings. And the nights. And the… everything.

You rolled in his arms, and your eyes opened, searching for his face. The freckles on his skin almost glistened golden in the tangerine glow of dawn. You dipped your head and caught his plush lips, kissing him awake.

When his palm snuck to your cheek, covered it fully, and pulled you closer, the kiss turned heated rather quickly when your tongue slipped inside his mouth. His hands gripped you tightly and dragged you on top, your legs straddling him as you felt his hardness between your thighs.

“I forgot you do that,” he said against your lips, pleasantly amused.

“Forgot, huh?” Smirking teasingly, you kissed down the scruffy column of his throat till your lips pressed against his spacious chest. He groaned lowly underneath you, nose nuzzling in the crook of your neck as his hands explored your soft curves.

Russell’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, focusing on the blinking red light in the air vent. He chuckled slightly when your hands keenly moved further south. “Don’t you think we’ve already given them enough of a show?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, laughing, and mischievously rolled your eyes. “What’s one more tape at this point?”

“You’re probably right.” Russell laughed softly and placed several kisses on your crown before dragging you fully into his embrace.

With a blissful sigh, you rested your head on top of his beating heart and closed your eyes for a moment. Why couldn’t the two of you just stay here forever?

But then you felt the springs of the uncomfortable mattress again and groaned. You missed your own bed. You missed your house, your kids, and your husband. You missed your own goddamn wardrobe – your own life.

“God, I can’t wait to get home. Just be with you and the kids,” you murmured against his skin. A smile rose on your lips as you glanced up at him. “I like this retirement plan of yours.”

“Yeah? You think we can swing it? Get out for good?” Russell asked, his conversation with Colter last night running on a loop. You took note of the unsureness in his voice. “I think you might have been right. Maybe I can’t retire just yet until I’ve finished this thing.”

You laughed knowingly. “Colter’s not gonna back down, is he?”

“No, I don’t think he is. Can’t let him do this alone,” Russell sighed, torn between his dreams and his duties.

“Look, wherever you lead, I’ll follow, okay?” you assured him and pressed a loving kiss to his lips, sealing your promise. “But you and me are not separating again. ‘Sides, you guys are gonna need my help. You know my real superpower is a keyboard.”

Russell chuckled, his fingers caressing mindless circles on your spine. “Sure you can leave the field for good? I mean, you’ve had a desk job before. What’s different this time?”

You grinned at him. “I finally found my anchor.”

Russell laughed, the sound vibrating against your ribs. “Well, I hate to drag you down, sweetheart.”

You giggled, placing another kiss to his collarbone. “You’re not. You’re tethering my ship to the ground during storms. I’d like to think there’s a difference.”

“Wow, very poetic for a Radiohead fan,” Russell teased you.

“Hey!” Laughingly, you lightly slapped his chest.

“When did we see them again? 2008? That was a good show…” Russell hummed with a smirk curving his lips. You knew he was thinking less about the band and more about the little fun adventure he had with you in the restrooms of Madison Square Garden.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure it was for you. Your head didn’t bang repeatedly against the flusher,” you retorted, causing Russell to laugh so deeply that tears stung his eyes. As his laughs rippled out, your gaze wandered to the clock – 6:24 AM. “Colters gonna be here soon.”

“Almost forgot how much I haven’t missed this…” Russell groaned exhaustively in response, causing you to quirk a brow in amusement.

“Excuse me?”

“No, not you. Not this,” he quickly assured you, chuckling. He kissed you deeply and rolled on top of you, his large and strong body covering yours entirely, muscular arms caging you in on both sides. You giggled underneath him, your fingers tracing his tattoo on his bicep as you gazed up at him. “But you do realize I have to get dressed, sneak outta the house, only to ring the doorbell on said house a second later.”

Your lips rose to a broad and teasing grin. “Yeah, isn’t it fun?”

Russell laughed and kissed you again. “I don’t know why I bother. Are you guys even being watched?”

“Probably not,” you admitted. The congressman wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and was clueless beyond belief. His associates seemed to be none the wiser as well, although they were being naturally careful. “But we still have neighbors, though.”

If your enemies were careful, so were you.

Russell scoffed casually. “Operation’s almost over, anyways. Let ‘em think the Christian housewife is knocking boots with some hot, rugged plumber or somethin’…” He mumbled the last words into the slope of your neck, his hands keenly trailing down your frame.

“Or somethin’,” you repeated and giggled as his beard tickled your skin. He interlaced his fingers with yours and pinned your hands above your head. “You know, my pipes aren’t broken.”

He chuckled between your tits, a deep hum against your ribcage. “No, they’re definitely not, sweetheart.” He pecked your collarbone and glanced up at you with a grin as your fingers carded through his long hair – you supposed you could get used to it. “But, uhm–,” he bit his lip, grin widening underneath it, “–they’re about to be damn clogged. Hold on!”

You squealed and laughed as he disappeared underneath the covers.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen, mingling with the sizzling sounds of bacon on the stove that Russell was preparing. He watched you and his brother from the corner of his eye, Manny and Tom discussing strategies as they crouched over their laptops on the island.

His old friend had shown up shortly after the Shaws had arrived. Russell had met his younger brother in the driveway with the broadest grin, to which Colter only quipped he didn’t look like he’d slept a lot – and he hadn’t. Three years was a long fucking time…

His grin widened again as he thought about it before he felt the nudge in his ribs from your elbow.

“Upstairs brain, Russell,” you reminded him with a playfully scolding tone and hid your own saucy grin behind your coffee mug.

Twenty years, and Russell still had no fucking clue how you always knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Best we go in tonight,” Manny said in his blue overalls that read Jesus on the name tag on his right chest. He’d shown up this morning disguised as a plumber, a wide, pearly-white grin on his face when he stood on the porch and said to you, “Heard there’s some clogged pipes in this house, ma’am?”

While you had almost killed him with a single look, Russell had chuckled under his breath and appreciated the joke. The guy only had an hour to get the appropriate outfit – that took some goddamn dedication.

“We’re just gonna knock on his door?” Colter questioned with an arched brow. There was amusement in his voice. He was waiting to hear the real plan.

You set your mug down on the counter and looked up at him, feeling Russell watching from his periphery. He’d told you to sugarcoat as much as possible, well aware that your approach was usually a little more direct.

Russell always carefully eased people into the frigid water, while you… well, you pushed them. Hard.

“Let me ask you this, how morally ambiguous are you?” you asked, earning you a somewhat chiding look from your husband.

“Uhm, some,” Colter replied with a cock of his head and didn’t seem fazed by the question. “Are we breaking in?”

“Yup,” you replied simply. “His wife is staying with her mother in North Carolina for two weeks. He’ll be home around eight. We’re gonna wait for him in his study. I need you and Russ to occupy his security detail. It’s just two guys, former law enforcement. You should be fine. Manny and I are gonna help, but we need you to stay with them and keep an eye out at the entry points for other surprises.”

“Alright.” Colter gave you a nod. “So, what end result are you aiming for here? I’m guessing you guys aren’t arresting him.”

Clever, you thought. Like his older brother, Colter had a gift of reading between the lines.

“The goal is to recruit him as a double agent and get him to turn on his associates, so we’re gonna show him a few things and hope he comes to the right decision,” you said and took a sip of your coffee. Fucking sugarcoating…

“You’re gonna blackmail him,” Colter deduced but still didn’t seem shocked to his core.

You really should stop judging Shaws by their pretty covers…

“Yes.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Musingly, you pursed your lips, feeling Russell’s eyes narrowing at you. The pause wasn’t caused by a lack of answers, however, but by contemplating how you could possibly package the term torture and kill with a nice bow and wrapping paper.

“Do the words ‘extraordinary rendition’ mean anything to you?” you asked and instantly heard Russell tossing the spatula aside to throw you a full look this time.

“That’s what you call goddamn sugarcoating?” Russell cocked a brow at you.

You offered him a shrug. “Literally no good way of saying that, Russ.”

Colter chuckled. “You guys don’t have to sugarcoat on my behalf. My sympathy for the guy is pretty low.”

“That’s what I said!” you pointed out, sharing a look with Russell.

“Just out of curiosity, though, how exactly do you plan to-…” Colter tried to find the right words. “I mean, he’s a congressman.”

“Ah.” You knew what he was getting at – a public figure would probably be missed. But another glance at your husband made you think twice and poke the insides of your cheeks before answering that one honestly. “How about you guys just focus on the guards and let us worry about the rest?”

Russell seemed pleased with your answer for once, although you could tell Colter was itching to prod further. However, he decided to change tune instead.

“So, what was Russell like when you met him?” Colter asked, a both curious and teasing smile grazing his face.

“I don’t think we need to talk about that,” Russell tried to deflect with an awkward chuckle.

“Ah, well… weird,” you replied tongue-in-cheek.

“Thank you?” Russell furrowed his brow at you, but you could tell he found your answer rather amusing and agreed with that assessment.

“Little nervous,” you added playfully.

“You made me nervous,” Russell emphasized and muttered into his coffee, “Not like we met in a traditional setting…”

You snorted a laugh. “I used to call him Ducky because he kept following me around everywhere.”

Colter tried his hardest to stifle his laugh upon Russell’s glare.

“Oh, he was so cute,” Manny chimed in with his signature grin. “Shoulda seen him when he walked into that safe house on that first day, man. With his little babyface and heart eyes.”

Exasperatedly, Russell threw his arms up and looked at his little brother intently. “Alright, don’t listen to them. None of that is true. You know they lie professionally, right?”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re lying, Russ,” Colter deadpanned.

Manny and Tom then excused themselves to the basement, leaving you alone with the two Shaw brothers.

“So, what exactly made Russell weird in your eyes?” Colter leaned forward on the counter, an amused smile tugging at his lips, unbothered by the deepening of his brother’s frown.

“I don’t think we need to get into that…”

“Well…” you mused, ignoring your husband’s protests, too. “It was just little things, honestly. He was a bit, uhm…”

“Reclusive?” Colter offered.

You tilted your head in surprise. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. How did you know?”

“Don’t,” Russell warned as soon as Colter started to part his lips.

“Do,” you encouraged, much to Russell’s chagrin.

“Well, uh, that was our dad’s nickname for him,” Colter replied with a bit of hesitance.

“Huh,” you uttered, sipping on your drink. “Never heard that story before…”

“Alright, are you two done with your little bonding session on my account?” Russell threw both of you a pointed look.

You and Colter raised your hands in surrender, announcing your capitulation.

“For now,” you said, smiling mischievously.

The mansion loomed a few yards away, the sun hurrying behind the suburbs of Washington DC as your team stood in position in the perfectly manicured garden of the estate, hiding among hedges and bushes.

Your eyes scanned the doorways and windows before you heard the soft hiss of your crackling ear piece. “All clear. Eyes on tango. ETA seven mikes.”

“Copy that,” you said and motioned to your team, giving the signal to move toward the house.

You and the guys slipped like shadows to a side entrance, already spying one of the guards. Manny was the first to engage, delivering a strike to the guy’s neck before he dropped silently to the ground. It was always good to have a Marine on your team.

Russell then took out the second guard, zip-tying his hands behind his back before the older Shaw moved the body to the other unconscious guard with Colter’s help.

“Alright, you two stay down here while me and Manny wait for Mueller upstairs in his study,” you said to the brothers before watching Russell exchange a look with the other operative.

“Lemme go with you,” Russell said, but his tone and expression suggested it wasn’t a proposal. He’d go with you, no room for a discussion.

You threw Manny a raised look, but he only held up his palms. “Not getting between this,” he said with a small chuckle.

You blew out a sigh between your lips and gestured wordlessly for your husband to follow you inside.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” you reminded him.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. But I want to.” Russell grinned slyly. “‘Sides, it’s been a while for you.”

He was right. You’d been hiding behind a screen for the better part of six years. You’d done smaller interrogations in the safety of a CIA building, but not something like this – something that forced you to use the more brutal tools of your skill set.

Your faith in an institution you once had heavily believed in was already dwindling before you’d become a mother. Each new mission would make you doubt and question the controversial means to a prophesied end of terror more and more.

You had always followed orders and done as you were told, even when you would quietly disagree. Well, sometimes you had disagreed quite loudly – but you had always believed collateral damage was just a necessary sacrifice for the greater good.

Duty, honor, and country.

But did you really ever make a difference?

And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

Funny sometimes how the CIA harped on unveiling the truth but kept more secrets themselves than a magician’s hat.

When did you become part of the problem?

Russell looked at you as if he knew what you were thinking – he probably did. He always did. No matter what lurked in the dark, he had your back, whether it was to protect you or to ground you when all of it came crashing down.

Maybe you should’ve dipped out with Russell years ago when you still had a chance to do something else with your life. When you’d first started dating. When you’d had a massive fight on that first Thanksgiving, which turned to love confessions before the night had ended.

You should’ve asked him to get out with you, then. Figure out your new life together. Instead, you’d asked him to come to Pakistan with you, he’d said yes, even though you’d seen the hesitance in his eyes, and you’d spent the next six years in the Middle East together.

You’d almost gotten out again when the two of you got married. You’d settled on the outskirts of Vegas, rented a nice house, and worked a somewhat steady job at Homey Airport north of the city. Russell worked as a security guard there, and you helped with research for… stuff.

You both would agree that it had been your first real home together. There was routine and familiarity and quietness and expectancy in a good way.

And then, just like now, carrot.

You were pulled back in, and Russell followed like your canary in a mine shaft. It was a never-ending circle you couldn’t seem to escape from.

Back then, you’d been scared of the future. You’d only known him for two months and the two of you had already been through hell together before you realized you loved him. But you didn’t want to toss aside all your beliefs and ambitions for him. Now, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

Wherever you lead, I’ll follow…

For tonight, though, Russell still followed you – up the stairs and into a naughty congressman’s study.

Russell lurked against the wall behind the door; you sat comfortably on the big leather couch in front of the fireplace and had poured yourself a whiskey. You emptied it by the time a car’s headlights flashed across the wood-paneled walls as it veered into the garage.

“You look very hot in that tactical gear, by the way,” you teased Russell, who only punished you with a scolding look. But you could tell by the slight grind of his teeth and the deepening crinkles around his green eyes that it certainly had the desired effect on him. He’d probably do you on this couch right now if it hadn’t broken his concentration.

Not long after, the office door swung wide open, flooding light from the hallway into the dark study. Mueller flipped on the sideboard lampshade in the room, his eyes still studying a stack of letters in his hands before his gaze lifted and found you.

His head tilted to the side, brows firmly creasing above the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowing. “Mrs… Laurier?”

Different hair, different eyes, full tactical gear – you didn’t blame the man for doing a double-take.

“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit,” you said as you rose from your seat and sauntered to the bar, pouring him a glass of whiskey. “I know about your friends. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, Mrs. Laurier, but I’d like to ask you to leave my house right now.”

You snorted a laugh at his denial. “No.”

“No one’s leaving, buddy,” Russell said and gently pushed the door shut behind the man.

Mueller startled when he realized there was another person in the room besides you, his eyes warily assessing your husband’s tall and broad stature. “Who is this?”

“None of your concern if you sit down and have a chat with me, Congressman,” you said nonchalantly and motioned to the matching couch opposite you.

With a swallow and a glance over his shoulder at Russell, Mueller reluctantly took a seat and downed the whiskey in front of him.

“Refill?” Russell offered kindly, to which the older man only nodded before your husband gave him a rough pat on the shoulder as he strolled to the bar.

“I’m a congressman. You can’t do this to me! There will be dire consequences for you both and whoever else is involved in this,” he threatened with a losing hand.

“Oh, I know you’re a congressman, but who am I?” you asked and leaned forward with a scrutinizing look.

His eyes averted to the carpeted floor for a moment before he swallowed. “You’re CIA,” he realized.

“Good job! Got the first one right,” you taunted with a smile. You sounded like fucking Ms. Rachel whenever your kids got a color right. “And do you have an inkling why we might be here?”

He swallowed thickly once more, nodding. “I do.”

“Very good, buddy,” you praised. “See? This is easy, right? No need to be nervous. We just wanna know some things about your friends and were wondering if you could help us.”

He thought for a moment, letting his head hang before he met your eyes. “I’m not saying anything without my lawyer.”

“Wrong answer. You’re not under arrest,” you said, your mask of the friendly Christian housewife fully falling now. “You think I give a shit about the Department of Justice? They’re concerned with overcrowding prisons with criminals. The CIA’s job is to neutralize threats to national security. What are you right now, Mr. Mueller?”

Judging by the slight twitch of his face, he seemed to know exactly which one he was. “You can’t kill me! You’re operating on US soil!”

“Oh, we can always arrange a plane,” you said casually and got up from your seat once more. This time, you ambled to the massive oak desk and rummaged through the second, left-side drawer. “How do like Eastern Europe this time of year? Ever been?”

“You know, most people don’t know this, but Bulgaria has some really nice beaches along the Black Sea. I mean, not that you’re ever gonna see any of them, but we could go,” Russell played along, shooting you a cheeky smile before his attention returned to Mueller. “So, what d’you prefer? Handcuffs or zip-ties? You know what? I’m gonna go with the zip-ties. Still might need the cuffs for later.”

He shot you a wink. You chided him with a raised brow.

“I’m a congressman, for crying out loud! Don’t you think people are gonna notice when I disappear?” Mueller protested, shaking in his seat with a fuming red head.

No wonder the guy had a heart problem.

“Ha! Found it!” You emerged victoriously with a rattling pill bottle. “Eight o’clock. Time for your heart medication, right? How about we do two for two? Two pills for two wrong answers?” As you sat down again, you were studying the fine print on the label. “Huh. Not more than 3 in 24 hours,” you mumbled the inscription and gave the graying man a shrug. “Should be fine then. Take them.”

Russell subtly adjusted his shoulder strap, causing the M4 he had slung around to rattle before he took out his butterfly knife and began to play with it like he was bored. Mueller watched him with unease in his eyes and tension in his shoulders before he stared you down with a glare, defiantly popping both pills into his mouth and pouring them down with more whiskey.

“You’re right. We can’t put a bullet in you, but obviously, there are other, more natural ways,” you said and shook the orange bottle in your grasp once more. “Probably could even make it look like a suicide. Especially after you feared your poor wife would leave you when she found out you were fucking your secretary for months. Very original, by the way,” you said smugly. “But that would surely flush your political career down the shitter.”

“Yeah, no offense, but you’re no Clinton, buddy. Can’t pull it off,” Russell quipped.

“What do you want?” Mueller finally asked through gritted teeth. His voice was calmer, but his brow was still densely folded.

You were close to breaking him – you could feel it with your spidey senses.

“We need you to keep doing exactly what you’re doing, but with a little… extra homework,” you explained and gifted him a small smile. “Instead of going back to your cozy mansion after every meeting with your friends, you will meet with one of us afterward and tell us everything. And I do mean everything. Who they are, where they are, what they’re planning and when. If one of them takes a shit and you see it, you better fucking tell us. Understood?”

“Are you insane?” the man gasped in upset, eyes wide in horror. And then, his political façade finally crumbled, too. “If they find out I’m working with the fucking CIA, they’re gonna fucking kill me! You’re sending me like a pig to a goddamn slaughterhouse!”

You pursed your lips, shrugging your shoulders. “Yeah…”

“What she means is, we don’t really care ‘cause you wanted to blow up little kids,” Russell clarified and stared daggers at the cowering man from above.

“Yeah.” You grinned almost sadistically at the congressman. “We’re also gonna bug you every time, so really, you’re more like a stuffed Christmas goose.”

“It wasn’t even my idea,” Mueller argued, and you would’ve almost snorted if you hadn’t been so angry at his lie.

“Oh, that is a big one,” you said and pulled out your phone, playing a recording for him.

“Yeah, I made a deal with them, but it was my idea in the first place to target the mall. If they want all the files and blueprints, they better be prepared to pay me more…”

“Do I need to play more?” you asked with an arched brow, receiving a meek shake of the congressman’s head in return. He looked like a lectured school boy in front of you. “How about two more pills for that fucking lie, huh?”

You shook two more out of the bottle and into your palm, offering them to him. He took them wordlessly, but the boiling look in his eyes was surely plotting to kill you.

“By the way, your secretary is one of ours,” you noted provocatively. “Probably should look for a new one. I’m guessing she’s gonna hand in her resignation by tomorrow.”

Russell quirked a brow at that, although he should’ve figured you had more players in the game. Mueller, on the other hand, was quietly simmering in his seat, fists clenching with a crack of knuckles.

“Were you seriously trying to blackmail more money out of terrorist organization?” Russell cocked a brow at the man. “How stupid are you? You know they would’ve just killed you after and taken the money back, right?”

“It’s what I would’ve done,” you agreed without a drop of sympathy. “And they’re also gonna kill you when your career as a congressman goes south. You think they’ll just keep you alive with all that knowledge and no use?”

“Sounds to me like you don’t have a lot of choices,” Russell pointed out.

“But look, if you work with us, we’ll make it worth your while,” you said and hated saying it. You didn’t want to pay that asshole a single dollar, much less a few million. “You keep working with them, and they’ll kill you. If we out your little extra-marital secret, your career ends, and they’ll kill you. And yeah, if you work with us and they find out, they’ll kill you, too. But at least your wife won’t be homeless, poor, and utterly destroyed by what you did. Be a good husband and serve your fucking country. And maybe, by some goddamn miraculous stroke of luck, you’ll even survive this and crawl out of the hole you dug – unscathed.”

Mueller’s eyes darted from you to Russell, his demeanor shifting between fury and fear. He ground his jaw, surely trying to think of an exit strategy. His throat tightened, sweat gathering along his salt and pepper hairline before it ran down the back of his neck. He struggled to swallow the bitter truth you were offering him.

Well, it might have been the four heart pills, too.

Russell shifted, the glint in his eyes sharp and calculating. “You think you can still play the game, huh? Get out of this? Newsflash, Congressman – you’re already too deep. Take the deal.”

“You want two more pills to help you make a decision?” you offered and tilted your head with a cold smile.

“Jesus Christ, you two are sick,” Mueller muttered, the words thick with venom, but there was no real strength behind them.

“No, just doing our jobs,” you said, your voice low and steady, even when his words hit you like a Mack truck. “And you should do yours.”

Russell placed the pill bottle back on the desk with a soft click, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Shoulda made a different choice, buddy. This life? It doesn’t end well for guys like you. Trust me.”

The congressman’s lips trembled before he set them into a thin, defeated line, the cost of his decisions weighing on him. He finished his whiskey, setting the tumbler down, and fixed his tie with the last flickers of arrogance.

“You think you’re heroes? You’re just as dirty as the people you hunt,” he spat.

“Maybe,” you replied honestly, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the creaking leather. “But we’re holding all the cards.”

“I want three hundred million and whatever evidence you have of my affair. Pictures, tapes, everything,” Mueller formed his conditions.

You clicked your tongue and leaned forward, looking into his pathetic eyes. “No,” you said bluntly. “You get twenty, which we’ll leave in Clara’s name, we keep everything we have, and you shut the fuck up.”

“Not a big poker player, are ya?” Russell mocked the man with an arch of his eyebrow, shaking his head at the stupidity.

Mueller’s chest heaved, nostrils flaring. A guy like him hated losing more than anything. “Fine. You have a deal, alright? Can you get the fuck out of my house now?”

“Gladly,” you said and rose, joining Russell’s side. “Stay in touch, or we’ll come back.”

“Next visit will be even less friendly,” Russell warned sternly.

The door slammed harshly shut behind you two, rattling the whole house in its core. Then silence engulfed you as you descended the stairs, Russell’s footsteps echoing in sync with yours as the weight of your choices settled on your shoulders.

Russell kept his hand on the small of your back as he led you through the house, the occasional flicker of tension running through his jawline. “Good idea about leaving the money for the wife. Didn’t wanna pay that douche a dime.”

You smiled inwardly. “Yeah, me neither…”

Russell nodded his head pensively. “Got a tight leash on him now, but I’d be careful. The guy’s scared… and pissed. He ain’t gonna roll over easy.”

“Well, doesn’t have much of a choice, does he? It’s either that or… well, we both know the other option,” you replied.

Russell gave a small grunt of agreement. “Yeah, well, he might get cold feet. Tell your team to keep their guard up.” His eyes flicked to you for a brief moment, that familiar, concerned look in his gaze. “You okay, sweetheart? You know the asshole was just lashing out. He wasn’t right about us.”

You scoffed quietly under your breath and met his green eyes. “Wasn’t he, though?”

You were tired. Physically and mentally. Tired of the games, tired of the constant shifting between light and shadow, good and evil.

Russell grabbed a hold of your hand, pulling you to a stop. He sent you a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear that had escaped the tight ponytail. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? Talk to me.”

As you gazed up at him, the walls cracked a little, starting to come down for the first time since the start of the mission. You released a slow breath. “This constant war. It never ends. It just… drags you back in, over and over. And for what? So we can keep pretending we’re the good guys? All this lying, manipulating, and hurting people for a cause we don’t even understand anymore. We were supposed to be better than this.”

Russell sighed, scratching his jaw. “Sweetheart, you know we didn’t exactly sign up to be saints. The world isn’t black and white. I mean, hell, you’re the one who told me that twenty years ago.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong,” you muttered bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t think you were,” Russell said, an arm around your shoulder pulling you to his frame.

“I used to believe I was making a difference. That we were doing something important, that we were saving lives. But maybe I’m just another cog in the machine, and the machine doesn’t care who it runs over,” you said, the lump in your throat growing.

Something cracked open inside you, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself feel the truth of what you and Russell had been through. The toll it had taken on both of you. The sacrifices. The scars.

Russell’s lips pursed, not answering right away. Instead, he squeezed you a little tighter in his embrace and pecked the top of your head. “Well, you always made a difference to me,” he replied and offered you a warm smile. “Small wins, baby. We’re not stopping wars, but we’re still saving people. How many frequent that mall in December, huh?”

“About 200,000 a day,” you replied and knew where he was going with this.

“See? That’s not even a small win. That’s a big win, sweetheart,” Russell said almost exuberantly, trying to get you out of that dark corner in your mind.

“They don’t even know about it.”

“Yeah, so? We know this is an ugly, ungrateful job. Kinda like parenting,” Russell retorted. You narrowed your eyes a little at him, amusement poking your dimples. “‘Sides, everyone goes home and can sleep in their beds safe and sound, none the wiser. Isn’t there beauty in that?”

“Look at you, getting philosophical in your old age,” you teased. But you gave him a few nods of your head. “One step at a time?”

“One step at a time,” Russell agreed, intertwining his fingers with yours and kissing the back of your hand as he brought them to his lips.

“Everything go alright?” Colter’s voice broke the quiet as you walked through the side entrance and reached the garden.

“Yup, folded like an old lawn chair,” Russell replied.

Colter gave a satisfied nod. “Good.”

“Everything go okay down here?” you asked, lifting a brow. By Manny’s expression you could tell he had fun with the younger Shaw.

“Everything went fine, chiquitita.” Manny sent you a pearly-white grin.

“Yeah, while we waited, Manny told me some crazy stories about you guys. Learned a lot,” Colter quipped with a sly smile.

“Oh God…” Russell huffed exhaustively, rolling his eyes back. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

He tugged you closer under his arm, the four of you strolling down the lawn and back to the van.

“What about Pastor Jeff?” Colter then asked, glancing at his brother.

Russell nodded, his hand instinctively diving into his pocket and fumbling with the handful of heart pills inside. “Don’t you worry about that. Already figured something out…”

The overgrown front yard of the blue suburban home was bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, Russell already noting down his first chore – getting the lawn mower out. His fingers fidgeted nervously in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels.

You’d taken the first flight out to Philadelphia this morning to pick up the kids. They’d spent the summer with their aunt and uncle on a farm there and apparently had a blast.

And, well, Russell’s heart had been hammering nonstop since he’d dropped you off at the airport. He racked his brain for hours but still didn’t know what to expect. His nerves jittered at the mere thought of seeing them, blood bubbling through skin with a mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty.

A new adventure. A fresh start.

A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the oak tree at the corner of the yard. And then, your car came into view and stopped a few houses down. A small kid jumped eagerly out the backseat, then stopped with a heavy sigh in the driveway of a neighbor’s house as you yelled something through the open passenger’s side window.

Russell watched the scene with smile till the heaviness settled back into his chest. His breath halted, thundering heartbeat filling his ears. His son had gotten so… big. The guilt came crashing back like a hurricane.

You parked the car in the driveway by your house then, fighting a second with your daughter’s seatbelt. As you sat her down, her big, googly eyes already spied the stranger in her yard.

Russell kept his distance – or he was frozen in shock. You weren’t quite sure.

Clutching your pointer finger, Amelia eagerly dragged you a few steps through the long grass that was blooming with a rainbow of wildflowers. She halted a foot short of her father, a man she had never known or seen before. Her hand then let go of your finger and held onto your leg instead, halfway hiding behind it with a shy smile. In quiet curiosity, she tilted her head and swayed from side to side, a small finger tucked into her mouth as she studied the man in front of her.

Russell crouched down to meet her gaze, trying to keep his emotions in check. She was only two – so small. He didn’t want to overwhelm her or scare her or freak her out by being the weird, strange man who sobbed in her front yard.

“Hey, Amelia–,” you knelt down with them, pointing a finger at Russell, “That’s your daddy. Wanna say hi?”

She grinned toothily and nodded, raising her hand quickly once before dropping it back down. “Hi!”

“Hi there, ace,” Russell said, smiling and swallowed the gigantic fucking lump in his throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

“Ace?” You quirked a brow in amusement. “Russ, she’s two, not shooting down enemy aircraft.”

“I like it,” he retorted with a playful smirk and then talked straight to his child, “Who says you can’t be an Air Force captain, huh?”

She giggled with full dimples. “Tha’s cute.”

“And here I was worried Lewis was gonna be like us,” you joked.

“Lewis? Nah.” Jesting, Russell shook his head with a doubtfully creased brow and looked back at Amelia. “Your brother’s gonna be a doctor, right? ‘Cause we finally need a medic in this family, especially with future Ms. General of the Air Force here. Isn’t that right? Earhart’s got nothing on you, ace.”

“You silly,” your daughter uttered your exact thoughts, giggling. “You play?”

“Oh, I’d love to. What do you wanna play with me?” Russell agreed happily, his eyes shimmering brightly green in the sunlight, the crinkles around them more prominent due to his wide smile. Your heart might as well have exploded from its sheer swelling in your ribcage.

Your daughter contemplated for a moment, pursing her lips. “I make cake!” she announced and then kept babbling incoherently in Amelia language.

“Oh, wow, you’re going to bake me a cake? Well, you certainly haven’t gotten that from your mother,” Russell quipped and grinned slyly at you.

“Watch it. Thin ice, Shaw,” you playfully warned him.

“You come?” Amelia looked expectantly up at her father. After airports, planes, and car rides, she was eager to move her little feet.

“Where am I going with her?” Russell blinked at you, and you managed to stifle your amusement at his helplessness.

“Sand box, backyard,” you said, smiling as the two-year-old already tugged him along by his hand.

“Mom! Mom! Have you seen my baseball glove?” Lewis’s voice suddenly pulled you from your momentary trance.

Swiftly, you spun around and saw he was close – too close. He stopped in his tracks as he reached the edge of the lawn. His little brow furrowed, green eyes narrowing at his tiny sister with a stranger at the backyard gate.

But you could tell he recognized his father from the picture on his nightstand, even with the longer hair and beard. His eyes locked on Russell’s face in an instant.

Carefully, you approached him. “Lewis, you okay?”

He nodded slowly but was clearly unsure. Russell was paralyzed for a split second. And then, before anyone could stop him, your son bolted to his father, arms flung wide.

“Dad!”

Russell fell to his knees and opened his arms as his son launched himself into his embrace. He was crying, clutching his father’s neck with all the strength his little frame could muster.

“Hey, trailblazer,” Russell said softly. His chest tightened, his arms wrapping around Lewis as if holding on to everything he had missed. He buried his face in his son’s hair, the scent of him bringing back a flood of memories he’d tried so hard to push away.

“I’ve missed you, Daddy,” his son whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“It’s okay. I’m home now, buddy,” Russell said with a smile, comfortingly patting his son’s head.

After they held onto each other for a long moment, Lewis then slowly let go of his father and glanced up at you.

“Is that why you were gone? To get Dad back?”

“Uhm…” Not exactly, you thought, but Russell answered before you could.

“Yeah, your mom thought she’d surprise you,” your husband said, smiling widely. “Is it a good surprise or a bad surprise?”

“Good.” Lewis grinned broadly, but then a little drop of doubt entered his mind. “Are you staying?”

“Oh, there’s nothing that can tear me away again from you, trailblazer,” Russell assured the little boy. "I promise, okay?"

“You wanna play catch with me?” Lewis asked him then, and you could tell Russell had never heard better words in his life, including your ‘I do.’

“Let’s do it!” Russell agreed and opened the gate, letting both kids pour into the backyard.

“Glove is in the garage!” you called after them and watched them storm through the yard.

You then noticed a shadow shift in your periphery and glanced at the porch where Colter stood with a smile and a cup of coffee in his hands. Apparently, he had quietly observed the whole scene but refrained from interfering, letting his older brother have his moment with his kids.

Russell was finally back where he belonged.

“Well, I-, uh, I’m gonna head out soon,” Colter said once your eyes met.

You figured he would say something like that. Russell and you had both been surprised he even took you up on your offer to stay one night at the house.

“You're coming back, though, right?” Amused, you arched a brow at the younger Shaw.

His head bobbed with a twitch of his shoulders. “Yeah, sure.”

“Once a month.”

“Well, uh–“

“I’m not asking, Colter. I’m telling,” you said, deadpanning. “You know, I made a digital copy of your phone. You have a lot of female contacts in there…”

Colter’s lips pursed as he blinked at you sideways, half-amused. He quirked a brow. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“Absolutely,” you confirmed and hid your grin behind tight lips.

“Alright, got yourself a deal, sis.” Colter nodded with a caving smile. “So, uhm, there was still something I wanted to ask you…”

Knowingly, you looked up at him. “About your father?”

Russell had already warned you about an approach, knowing his little brother wouldn’t listen to him.

Colter smacked his lips, brows shooting up. “Wow, you are good…”

“Check your glove compartment. Already left a folder there,” you said and smugly folded your arms over your chest. "And yes, I did break into your car."

“Huh.” Colter scratched the nape of his neck. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Consider it a gift from your spook sister-in-law.” You smirked.

If the folder contained the truth, however, Colter would have to discover on his own. Russell might have gone through it with a black marker…

“So, you and Russ are out now? You’re gonna live here?”

“Uh, we’ll see…” You inhaled and exhaled a contemplative breath, your eyes fixed on the quiet, suburban street. Husbands mowed lawns, kids played ball and sold lemonade. “We’ve been talking about moving back to Nevada, maybe. God knows your brother’s been dreaming about a hot tub under the desert sky for ages...” You giggled, shaking your head.

“So, not quite an exit but a start,” Colter concluded.

Smiling softly, you let out a gratified sigh. “Yeah, it’s a start."

The End (for now) ➡️ PREQUEL – Coming Soon!

We've reached the end, but I do plan to pick this up at some point again (in sequel form). Just wanna let the show progress a little with the family drama before I dive back in 😉

Thank you to everyone who has read this story and shared their wonderful thoughts with me! Your feedback is so appreciated!!! Announcement for the prequel will follow soon 🩵

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[sylvctica]

👁️👁️

Namatee could only glare at him from behind darkened sunglasses before staring at Sylvie. "Another drunken bard? I swear, you know too many of these idiots, Sylvie, at one point I'll have to cut them all down and make them into strings; maybe they'll sing better from there."

Sylvie could only rub the bridge of their nose. "Maybe I need to hang a sign around your neck that writes 'please don't talk to her at any point'. Anyway, that's an inefficient method to make music instruments ..."

"You'd actually be surprised to how well a harp can be played, being made of just bone and hair. Ask Amen sometime."

"... let me rephrase that, that one is not good for said things. And mm." Hopefully not made out of his, but they'll keep it in mind.

[nakidoriii]

I’ll Take You (Part One)

Alucard x Reader Mini Series

It had been another day of traveling for Alucard. He’d rather his feet be aching from walking than spending another second talking to dolls he had made of his friends. He found himself in a major city in Europe this evening, which made sense, starting this journey almost a month ago.

“I’m sure there’s plenty to do in a city as lively as this one.” He mumbles to himself, making a brief stop to scan the flyers on the town bulletin board.

“Traveling musicians from the West Indies… it would be a good idea to hear some music. I’ve been talking to myself for far too long. Social interaction would be good.”

Making his way to the tavern, he hears a distinctive song being sung by a perplexing voice. He had never heard anything like it. He follows the tantalizing sound of a woman’s voice, no an angels voice. The sound gracing his ears the closer he got to it. He finally laid his eyes on the source, your skin glistening in the moon light as you sang notes as softly as birds do. Alucard couldn’t tell if he was more amazed by your beauty or your ability to sing so impeccably. As the last note left your mouth, you opened your eyes. Immediately gasping, not expecting to see a blonde man staring at you at the end of the alleyway.

“Don’t be startled. I just heard you singing and I had to come see who was making such beautiful noise.” Quickly reassuring you that he’s not a threat.

“Oh, thank you very much.” As he stepped closer, you take in his striking features. His amber eyes, his long blonde hair that sat perfectly on his head, and his physique…he was quite the looker to you.

“Are you apart of the traveling musicians from the West Indies?” He softly asks, barely opening his mouth.

“I am. I mostly sing, but I also play harp. Are you here for the performance?” Your accent sticking out to his ears. It wasn’t your typical West Indie accent. It sounded like a collaboration of dialects forced into one person.

“I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you….” He paused waiting for you to say your name.

“Y/N.” You admit.

His cold hand reach for yours as he bows while kissing your knuckles and says, “I’m Adrian.” His amber eyes locking onto your (eye color) ones, delicately releasing your hand.

“The pleasure is mine Adrian. I have to be on stage in a few minutes. May we talk more after the show?”

“Yes, please find me. I look forward to it.” You look back as you open the back door into the building taking in his beauty one last time before you perform.

He heads into the tavern, leaning his back against the further wall to get the best view of the stage. You walk out carrying your compact harp, gracing everyone with your beauty. The crowd of evidently drunk men start to cheer. Gliding your fingers against the strings to start the song, the audience quiets down. Your voice complimenting the angelic sound of your instrument makes Alucard’s heart skip a beat. Completely engulfed by your sound, he hadn’t felt like this in years. You make eye contact with him as you play the last chords of the song. The audience bursts in applause.

“Thank you very much. Up next we have our drummers of the west indies.” You walk back stage out of Alucards sight.

Every other act, he got to see you in your true habitat. He could watch you all night and that’s exactly what he did. He stood there waiting for you as the tavern eventually cleared out the later it got. The tavern filled with only regulars now. You make your way over to him with your harp strapped to your back as he flashes you a closed mouth smile.

“Did you like the show?” You look up at him with pleading eyes.

“It was beautiful. You’re very talented, truly one of a kind. You should be performing in halls, auditoriums even. Bravo, darling.”

“Handsome and kind, you’re a rarity. Where are you from Adrian?” Alucard smirks at your compliment, his smile growing alittle bit wider. You get glimpses of his sparkling teeth, his canines looking sharper than average.

“Romania. It’s very cold there. I’m assuming you haven’t been.”

“I have not, but I would love to go one day. You see, I want to travel the whole world. Both my parents were traveling musicians, so it’s ingrained in me. Why do you travel?”

“Bored.” He lets out a small giggle and smiles even wider. “Would you want to go for a walk?” He adds in a low whisper, right next to your ear.

You’re succumbed with goosebumps as his cold presence got closer to you. Alucard knows you can see his teeth and yet you still stand in front of him, nodding your head yes to leave the tavern.

“You’re not afraid?” His breath hitting the side of your neck, jump starting your pulse. Scared was the last emotion you felt. You wanted him.

“If you wanted to do anything, you would’ve done it in that alleyway.” You whisper back.

——————————————————————————

This part one of this mini series!! I took the answers from the poll serious guys. Part one is fluff so you already know part two will be smut.

CLICK HERE FOR PART TWO!

Give me a follow for more one shots and fics :)

Please do not alter or steal my writings ©️

[bwat5-blog]

Collected Thoughts On Caitlyn From Last Few Days

**Spoilers From All Of Arcane**

So... as I have said many times in the past my thoughts come in bits and pieces over a day or two when I get locked onto a topic. That leads to the small blurbs all hovering around the same subject more or less. But this one seemed worth sort of putting all in one.

Amanda Overton confirmed the use of "The Grey" was strategic to a pinpoint but left the question to the asker if that made it forgivable or not. That is of course for each person to decide, but I will say this:

A- It isn't fatal. You can harp all you like about what may happen later. Vi may have CTE from getting punched in the head over and over. The shimmer in Jinx's blood may actually be breaking down her body little-by little over time, and same for Sevika. Timeline hopping may have irreparably damaged the cellular structure of Ekko's body and he only has days to live. We can only operate with what we know. There are many, MANY characters who have been openly exposed and appear to be just fine. And before you mention those images from Caitlyn's study when she is learning about the Grey, there is big difference between growing up surrounded by something every day of your life, and being exposed in a single targeted incident. B- The alternative was a full-scale Enforcer "invasion" armed with hex-tech, or. The strike team sans something that cleared innocents out of areas and left enemy soldiers standing and armed, instead of incapacitated and arrested.

2. Zaun is not an independent nation.

A- We know this since ya know.. they were voting on it before Jinx blew them up. B- This means that while Zaun it a separate city. It still falls completely under the jurisdiction of the council. C- When Caitlyn leads the strike team and uses a targeted, non-lethal crowd-dispersal chemical weapon, she is doing so not under any heading of war. But of peace keeping (using the term technically not emotionally. I understand they were not peaceful) and law-enforcement in a place that strictly legally speaking she has every ounce of authority to be in. (I am strictly speaking of legality and technical definition here. They were essentially a swat team sent to a really dangerous area. Not an invading army. Not a justification or excuse. But if we want to talk about this stuff we should do it properly). D- Zaun is under the council's jurisdiction. The council all agreed to martial law and let Caitlyn become the commander. Therefore this is the situation:

Caitlyn is the leader of a very small country with two cities, both under her control.

City A- Where she lives now.

City B- The other one. Where a dangerous terrorist is hiding who has almost killed her repeatedly, just assassinated three of their rulers and blew up a building, killed more than six enforcers and blew up another building, and as far as they know probably orchestrated the full scale attack at the memorial.

So what does Caitlyn actually approve? City B will be placed under lockdown until this woman who is quite clearly a massive threat to everyone's safety is caught.

Yep. there it is folks. "I am placing the city you all have given me complete authority over under control until we catch the person who tried to kill me,and has killed a bunch of us already. We will have patrols and set up checkpoints. People who violate the law will be arrested.

"Arrests require cause"

"Why is peace the justification for violence?"

She doesn't approve or give permission for any of the rest of that shit. the brutality, the experiments, none of it. And don't misunderstand me none of this is to say she didn't do anything wrong. But the dialogue around her is COMPLETELY. INSANE.

"War Crimes!"

"Fascist!"

"Dictator!"

Yall. She is literally getting up early to meet with a trade guild so they can bitch at her over supply issues. Dark Lord Kiramman she is not.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ 𝕊𝕂ℤ 𝕄𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕀 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕫𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕤 ♡

{A bit ago I received a request to write about Stray Kids romanticizing your stretch marks so I figured it'd be fun to explore which members I feel would be more inclined to do it}

Pairings: jisung x reader, chan x reader, hyunjin x reader, felix x reader, changbin x reader

Genre: fluff

The only ♡ warning ♡ is that for a second you have no pants on, honey & that's all

Changbin is smitten with you, completely head over heels, and he wouldn’t dare pretend that he isn’t. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t find enchanting and your stretch marks are no exception. A man as in love with functionality as he is with aesthetics, your stretch marks are sweet little reminders of the way the softness of your body curves into his. They adorn the arms that drape across his shoulders and the thighs that wrap around his waist when you pull him into an intoxicating kiss.

Chan has spent countless hours in the studio breaking down parts of himself and stringing them back together to create stories through his music. Years of putting words to feelings have taught him that sometimes there simply aren’t any. So you can trust him when he whispers to you, caressing the areas where stretch marks sprawl along your body like emerald vines, that they tell him stories about you that words never could. Stories so intimate, so precious, he feels closer to you in silence than he ever could in words. 

Hyunjin never knows what he’ll create when he picks up a brush but, with you as his canvas, there’s not a single shred of doubt in his mind that it’ll be anything short of exquisite. He reminds you, as the icy water-activated paint covers your stretch marks, that your body’s a living, breathing, work of art. He assures you that the possibility of them extending their reach over time isn’t a threat to your appearance but an enhancement of your already stunning beauty. 

Felix wakes up before you do on quiet summer mornings. He rolls over to find you sleeping peacefully beside him in your favorite t-shirt and the cutest cotton panties. It mesmerizes him to watch the rising sun kiss your exposed skin, casting a gradient of color that transforms your stretch marks into rays of amber. He grazes them with his fingertips and their warmth radiates through his body. It’s almost as if he’s touching the sun, willingly risking being set ablaze if it means being close to you.

Han wants so desperately to make sure that you’re treated like a princess. It pains him to see you suffer even the slightest discomfort. It’s why, after you’ve had a hard day, your muscles tense and your jaw clenched, he lays you down for a soothing massage. To him, your stretch marks are an intricate map written in lavish ink showing him the perfect path to follow to make you melt. His fingers stroke your stretch marks like the strings of a harp, stirring up noises within you so melodic that he never wants to stop.

[burningcheese-merchant]

I need Eternal Sugar x Hollyberry content, please!

Dug to the bottom of the inbox mountain for this one lol. hollysugar-merchant, coming at you live 🫵🗣️🔥 (is that what the ship is called? HollySugar? I don't actually know, that's what i got used to calling it)

Eternal Sugar, being a musician, likes to play songs on her harp for Hollyberry. Eager to please, she at first went out of her way to pick up Hollyberrian tunes, knowing that Holly's people and culture are already quite musically inclined and believing it would win more of Holly's favor. After enough reassurance from Holly that she doesn't need to "impress" her (she just loves that Sugar can play something and is good at it, and she cares enough to want to play for Holly), Sugar allows herself to just play whatever song she has in mind at the time. Her goal had always been to serenade Holly and make her happy - and she always succeeds, which was all she wanted, anyway

Lots of brushing and styling each other's hair for fun, I can imagine. Eternal Sugar looks extremely feminine so it's easy to ascribe the "girly" affinity for makeup and hair and fashion and things of that nature to her. She'd love to dote on Hollyberry in this manner: just relaxing in their room, chatting with her while she brushes her hair. And Holly is happy to oblige, because she enjoys it and Sugar is really adorable when she does this

Hollyberry tries to encourage Eternal Sugar to go out and do things a lot, just in general. She can be (and often is, because it's Holly lol) a bit much, which leads to Sugar sort of digging her heels in and maybe them bickering about it, but Sugar at least acknowledges that Holly means well. Old habits die hard, is all. (Harder still when you're a Beast lol)

Sugar is very, very clingy in bed (sleep-wise, you perv lol). She'll curl up next to Holly, wrap her arms around her tight and not let go for anything. Good news is she's not super physically strong (not compared to Holly, anyway), so it's not that big of a hassle to peel her off when it's time to get up. Bad news is Sugar sleeps like the dead, so it's almost impossible to actually get her to wake up and start the day with Holly like Holly wants/prefers. And if/when she wakes up and notices that she is no longer glued to Holly like she was when she fell asleep... oh boy. It's Whinin' Time lol

Sugar finds Holly's family very cute. Her son in particular, just because of how much he resembles her. She dotes on him (and the others, of course; she also loves Princess very much, she's even more like Hollyberry than Royal Berry is) whenever she sees him. He and his friends and family get used to her presence and even welcome her to some degree after they stop being terrified of her lol

Sugar can be quite jealous, and doubles down on that jealousy when the one causing it actively does try to get in the way of her and Hollyberry. She goes back and forth between liking Wildberry and disliking him (Wildberry just dislikes her lol). She is sweet towards Jungleberry until the latter's mostly unshakeable distrust of her becomes a little TOO apparent. It is On Sight with Pitaya Dragon lol (she is VERY unhappy with how often Pitaya wants to spend time with Holly, even if it's only in a friendly capacity and the romantic threat is entirely imaginary. Pitaya just does not like Sugar in any way, shape or form; not really out of concern for Holly's safety or anything, he just thinks she sucks, there's really nothing else to it)

Sorry these are kind of lame :/ there's not enough for me to work with wrt Eternal Sugar. I'm sure I'll think of better things whenever she's added to the game and we actually see what she's like

[caliburn-the-sword]

how come ONLY mal's parentage was ever important enough to have BOTH her parents name dropped in the movies, and not only that, both MAJOR antagonists and not just sidekicks or goons?? cause like. i get that carlos and jay aren't that much of main characters as the girlies, but c'mon after mal and ben, evie was more or less THE main characters. like. when mal was getting all angsty over her dad i whole heartedly believe that evie would've been "hey i get it. yk my dad ________ was also super absent in my life. i understand you <3"

anyway here are my theories on the unknown blank parents of some of the VK's, in order of how much i believe it to be true. shoutout to @piraterefrigerator who heard me out on this and let me bounce ideas off him to try as i tried to figure out who was whose parents

evie

now, we all know that the evil queen is the gold digger of all gold diggers. now, i believe that unlike most other villains and their henchmen, the second that snow white became queen, all of the evil queen's staff would've started serving snow white, snow white is beloved, and none of the evil queen's staff actually had anything to do with her vendetta against snow white OTHER than the huntsman, who i actually don't believe is on the isle since he was good and maybe?? died?? i can't remember

while the evil queen has a killer reputation like the rest of the parents of the core4, since she has no loyal army, no threat of magic to hold over peoples' heads once they all escape the island (i believe she was a potionsmaster/alchemist rather than someone with innate magic like maleficent or jafar), and we don't really know HOW those core 4 ever actually came to power, but we do know she came to power last out of those 4 on the isle since the maleficent exiled her for 10 years

... the place that i'm going with this, is that the evil queen MAY have seduced jafar to be able to share in his power on the isle. but to prove this, i'm going to have to dive into jafar as an individual

the only 'romantic' subplots we ever see jafar in are when he's pursuing jasmine. jafar may have soley wanted to marry jasmine for legal purposes (becoming sultan) and the pedo implications were a complete accident on disney's part. and since he has no claim to that throne through jasmine anymore once he was defeated

his plan getting with the evil queen COULD have been to take back her kingdom and become the king of that kingdom once they escaped the isle, especially because we NEVER actually see jafar complain about aladdin or jasmine, whereas maleficent wants to take over auradon, the evil queen gets pissy over snow white, and cruella harps on about the dogs. not only that, the evil queen is also the ONLY formerly royal woman on the isle that we're aware of in canon

i think. jafar would have ditched eq the second that maleficent banished her because he's more afraid of maleficent than he would have feelings for the evil queen, and he took jay since he wasn't in the immediate blast range (jay isn't eq's son) which is how that all worked

i also think that evie might be one of the only girls that jay doesn't flirt with??? i could be wrong. since i haven't read the first book in a few years

but like. evie is quite racially ambiguous, so while i don't think that makes or breaks this theory, i do think it supports it

a crackpot theory for another candidate of the evil queen's baby daddy is

but that's a furry, and evie has no furry qualities

dizzy

lady tremaine and her daughters are, you guessed it, also gold diggers, and i think that they, like all villains on the isle, would have clawed onto whatever power they could, especially given that they had none of their own legions, magic outside the isle, any reputation that they could stake their lives on (in the grand scheme of things, making a girl clean the house isn't all that grand compared to people that tried to conquer kingdoms)

now. we never see the tremaines in descendants so i'm inclined to believe that they look exactly as in the animated/live action cinderella movies, aka european descent, but dizzy herself is portrayed by a wasian actress

while the descendants casting was more or less raceblind for the vk's, i'm still inclined to believe that dizzy is actually the daughter of shan yu, which effectively would grant that evil stepsister a bit of a leg to stand on in the isle

carlos

now, carlos has NO magic, and is also noticeably paler than his mother. which means his father could be any white disney antagonist, which is *check notes* a lot of them. cruella is a nepo baby, so i don't think she would've been a gold digger like others on this list. especially because, as "the bitch that wanted 101 puppies dead for her fur coat" i don't think she needed anything for her reputation as the scary crazy bitch that wants 101 puppies for her fur coat

... narrowing down her baby daddy's identity to "possibly white" and "not magic" does not narrow it down by much since i don't have any other personal taste i could attribute to her, other than perhaps hunters

the candidates are, in most to least likely, are:

because i think only a catnapper would get behind cruella's batshit dognapping plan

however, there is also this guy:

cause i think she would appreciate his hunting of an exotic animal

this guy, because i think she would like the idea of a fox fur coat

this guy, because he does animal abuse and cruella would get behind that

or, my most crackpot theory yet:

"but cal, that's a wolf!! and cruella fucking hates dogs!!"

i could argue that cruella wanted to skin that guy for a coat and was gonna get him while he was a asleep, failed, and then raised carlos to believe all dogs are bad because fuck that guy in particular. also, carlos DOES run fast enough for the sport team as like. their canonically fastest player, despite him being a little computer nerd. that boy has never run in his LIFE. so like. you could attribute having a wolf father to him being a fastboi

harry hook

as for harry, i honestly think his mother is a milf. because those good looks had to come from SOMEWHERE

also, if we're following punnet squares, harry has light coloured eyes and hook has brown eyes, so one of hook's parents probably had blue eyes, and i imagine either hook's mother or his grandparents on that side of the family would have to have blue eyes. for simplicity's sake, i'm gonna assume that it was his mother so that i can narrow it down

harry ALSO doesn't have magic, so i'm running with the assumption that his mother has blue eyes, maybe dark hair (unimportant), and no magic, and is presumably white. one woman that fits the bill is mother gothel

jay

i will be referring to this post quite a bit

i need to start this by saying, there is a popular theory that jafar swapped out his actual child for aladdin's son, and jay is actually the son of aladdin and jasmine. i think that this is a stupid ass theory, because the barrier had already been up on the isle for 4 years at that point, and if jafar had managed to SOMEHOW get off the isle, travel all the way to agrabah, swap out their similarly aged children, do you not think he would have just STAYED off the isle instead of returning with his new son to stock the store??? he wouldn't need to stock the store if he WASN'T ON THE ISLE is all i will say. also, you don't just genetically inherit your parents' ability to steal, it is a learnt skill. jafar learnt how to do it, and then taught jay, plain and simple

however, unless jay is more than 9 months older than evie but less than 12 months older than her, then his mother would be some other woman, especially because the two were raised completely separately. i DON'T think that the evil queen is jay's mother, but i still think jafar would've gone as close to royal as possible since we know he values economic status

there aren't many female villains, so the main candidates for this would've been yzma (kuzco's royal adviser, very close to successful to stealing his throne), or the other tremaine evil stepsister??? since that was a reasonably wealthy family considering their inheritance

as for yzma, i don't think she has any inate magic of her own, just alchemy, which accounts for jay not inheriting any magic like mal. yzma is also, i assume, an albino latina, but whether jay has a european mother or a brown mother i don't actually think that matters too much since he's fairly ambiguous

sidenote, i always knew that booboo stewart was indigenous but i didn't know he was also asian omg

now for the son of jafar, obviously they couldn't be raceblind when casting him and had to find someone not white for the role. and hollywood treats brown people as quite interchangeably and just casts whoever as whoever (see the oscar isaac joke that in the 'a priest, rabbi, and imam walk into a bar' joke, he can play all three), but i'm using this as my proof anyway that jay is (possibly) a son of yzma

uma

uma is unfortunately at the bottom of this list, because i actually have no idea who her father would be. like sure, it would be easy to just go and say "well the only other Black villain on the isle is facilier so it must be him" but he is SO present in celia's life and has such a good relationship with her that i refuse to believe that he would in the same beat be completely absent in uma's life. unless there are other disney villains that got racechanged in the descendants universe that we're unaware of, i actually have no idea who uma's father would be, ESPECIALLY because the only comment ursula ever makes on men is in poor unfortunate souls, but that was more her gaslighting ariel than her actual proper view on men and romance. the only thing i can say is that since ursula is in squid form on the isle naturally despite the magic ban, but uma is naturally in human form, i definitely think that uma has a human father rather than a father from an undersea kingdom. if any uma stans want to weigh in here, please go for it because i'd love to hear who you think is uma's father

[etchedjade]

A friend asked how I would rewrite Acosf, so I came up with everything listed below and it kinda makes me want to write a fic now!

Let me know what you think!

If I had Acosf my way…

The Beginning: Nes stays in the Night Court but Feyre and Elain are the only people trying to stop her from spiraling. No IC involvement. They recommend Nes visit the HoW library where the priestesses have therapists. Elain has been seeing them and she thinks it would be beneficial for Nes as well. Perhaps they have incentives for Nes to visit them after recommending it a couple of times (no threats of unpaid rent or forcing her to be at an IC gathering).

Again, Nes isn’t forced to do anything for or with the IC.

The Found Family: We see her begin to make friends—who treat her like a person—in the library AND in Velaris. She makes friends with both high and lesser fae, maybe helping them in the process—you know, because Velaris has slums and homeless refugees. She could even bring this to Feyre’s attention.

Nes either joins a dance studio or starts sneaking into one to dance. This helps her come to terms with what her grandmother/mother did to her. She faces those memories and pushes past them because she likes to dance. (Imagine her doing 30+ turns while crying?! That would be so emotional).

The Valk storyline still happens because it’s so integral for the entire story going forward—and yes, including Cassian’s involvement, but he sexualizes and uses her WAYYYY less. Training is more of a group thing and because Nes makes it very clear she doesn’t want to be involved with him (yet), Az is the one instructing her.

The Dread Trove: Nes begins to heal before Feyre alone asks for her help with the Trove. This will also include Elain’s help. Feyre doesn’t think Elain should go out to search for the Trove because she has no combat training. Nes does have some training at this point. Feyre makes this choice completely optional and urges Nes that she can say ‘no.’ But Nes accepts… because the Mother is nudging her to do so and she feels this need to look for the Trove.

Nes’ SA by the Kelpie is addressed. Nes’ vision from Lanthys is addressed. After finding the Harp, Nes will not longer face ANY SA scenarios or be sexualized by men at any capacity. (This could factor in with her choices with romantic interests because Cassian does it so often canonically).

The Conflicts: Nes is never forced to stay in the HoW (I know we miss out on that relationship but she’s making other friends). Feyre’s pregnancy is not a thing. Nes does get kidnapped with Em and Gwyn for the Blood Rite—and still holds the pass (her Ordeal). After holding the pass, she makes the Drop, using her power to defeat Briallyn, who is more formidable than what we got and Cassian isn’t there (because I’m sick of her saving his *ss in every fight).

The Power: Nes doesn’t lose her power. She begins to train it, with Merrill or with one of the priestesses studying the Cauldron or old magic. It’s an extension of her Valkyrie training. We also get allusions to Nes’ connection with the Starborn and the Dusk Court.

The Romance: Hear me out… she meets Eris in Velaris (I don’t believe he is allowed in but let’s pretend he is now). We see Nes get to know Eris–verbal sparring, casual clashing, shared interest in dancing. 👀 Coffee dates? Random run-ins? We also get to see Eris’ true character through Nes’ eyes.

And again, yes… Cassian is still an option. He’s less gross than he is in Acomaf, Acofas, Acosf, and Hofas. (That turnaround would be a tall order though). Maybe that’s his growth and character development—treating women with respect.

Now we have a situation where readers are on the edge of the beds to see who will woo Nes first. Aka, an actual romantic plotline for a romantasy book.

Conclusion: Honestly, this could be two books. Nes’ healing, training, friend making, romance, and locating the Dread Trove split so that it feels like more of a difficult, longer process.

This is all out of order but if anyone would like for me to lay out a timeline of events, let me now!

[sarnai4]

Betrayal

I was going to make this a fun post, but then I discovered that there are Dagur gifs on here and...yeah, that light topic didn't happen. So, here goes a little sad something.

I think these frames of animation are very interesting. Actually, this entire scene is to me. It's in "The Night and the Fury" and is right after Dagur learns that Hiccup lied. I love how this occurred because it would have been so easy to just have him be like, "You have dragons? Okay, now I'm about to kill you." They didn't do that, though. Even as Dagur is connecting the dots, he harps on the fact that a lie was told. "Your father lied to me...YOU lied to me!" If you go back to Dagur's threat from "Twinsanity," he never even said that he'd attack Berk if they had dragons. He specifically said he would if he found out they did after they denied it. Technically speaking, Dagur could have attacked immediately if he wanted to, but he still had the intention of keeping the peace. These expressions in the gif are right after he says, "You could've been my brother, Hiccup. Now, you're my enemy." When he says this, he actually sounds sad. His expressions match that. Dagur, Mr. Gets Angry At The Drop Of A Helmet didn't immediately respond with rage. He's hurt and I think I know why.

Dagur doesn't perceive things like other Vikings to put it lightly. When he has his first episode, he's talking about how he and Hiccup had great laughs after he tries to drown the poor Berkian. He calls Hiccup his old friend when they see each other again in the episode with the gif. I think he genuinely believes this. For the strange things Dagur does, he doesn't see it. So, it's not just someone lying to him, it's his best, his ONLY friend lying to him and making him looking like a cool in front of his tribe. That's why he sounds sad instead of angry. That's why he has to look away and think through what his next move is. Yes, he attacks, but what are his options?

Hiccup doesn't give him any more time to think. He tries to leave with Toothless, so Dagur has to act then. Regarding his options, they all are bleak. If he attacks, then you have war and what we got. The alternative is that he doesn't then, right? Well, that's not great either. As soon as he gets back to his ship, one of the Berserkers says that he wants to kill Hiccup himself. Dagur has to make it clear that no one besides himself will go after Hiccup. This shows how the Berserkers really can be vengeful. They're not even an aggressive group (as shown in "Something Rotten on Berserker Island"), but they have tempers. So, if Dagur holds onto the friendship that he just realized didn't exist, he has to go back with his tail between his legs and admit not only that he was played, but that he doesn't want to do anything about it.

Dagur already was worried that no one would respect him as chief. They never would if they found out he was tricked and didn't even want to get revenge for it. He would be the young chief who was too foolish to see through lies and too weak to defend his people in case the liar decided to lie again and actually attack. So, yes, Dagur attacked. Was it a mistake? Oh most definitely. He could've caused the deaths of many people and was arrested for this. So, I'm not saying that Dagur is in the right for his war, but I'm saying that I don't think it's a black and white as the show tried to portray. We see it from Hiccup's perspective with Dagur being this wild kid who just likes killing. Dagur's so much more than just some angry or deranged Viking. I just wish we got to see more of his side of things.

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 2 in full

Fuck it might as well post it here as well as AO3 xD

Summary:

Nesta, changed by her experiences with the Asteri, Bryce, and other worlds, has since resolved to get Prythian to where it needs to be should it have to face another threat. Stuck in a another dick-measuring contest between Eris and Cassian, the re-appearance of Tamlin offers her a chance to set things in motion.

Notes:

This one's for the Neris fans, and yes, Nesta is going to be the core of everybody getting their shit together over the course of this fic. Trigger Warnings: Mentions of ab*se, depression, and self-hatred (mainly on Nesta's part)

--

Nesta Archeron picked a small dandelion from the meadow, finding its vibrant yellow frills infinitely more interesting than the conversation going on behind her.

Once again, Rhys had urged Cassian to keep tabs on Eris, and once again, they had opted to take the risk of meeting in the Spring Court.

The two males yammered and bickered like they always did, Cassian’s incessant sneezing being the only thing to snap her out of her frequent distraction. Even with the risks that came from meeting here, Spring was a nice change of pace, a chance to get away from the Night Court’s chilling winds and the even chillier attitudes of the Inner Circle.

“Just keep us informed if Beron makes any new moves. If he tries to contact Koshei or the other mortal queens, or anything else.” Cassian was so tense veins were popping at his neck, but Eris seemed as unbothered as ever.

“Perhaps your little Shadowsinger should retire, since you’re so keen on having me do all of his work as of late.” The Illyrian practically snorted in anger, Eris chuckling to himself as he imagined himself conversing with a bat-winged bull. “As tempting as the alliance has been, I’m not privy to all of my father’s counsel. He’s become withdrawn, paranoid, and I have my own things to protect should he fall off the deep end.”

Nesta twisted the dandelion in her hand; it was just as likely that Eris was referring to his mother and brothers as he was to his hounds. She could never tell what he really valued despite these years of verbal sparring, but it was true that the High Lord of Autumn had grown volatile…unhinged even.

At the last High Lords meeting, the bruises they all knew he left on Eris’ mother had begun to peek out from under the collar of her dress. He was getting sloppy, or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Perhaps he was going senile, or the constant stagnation of Autumn in comparison the Night Court’s burgeoning power was starting to worry him

Power that she herself had bought them.

Keeping the Trove’s presence in Velaris was a fool’s errand; their power could not be dampened, and legends don’t operate quietly. Everyone felt it when Nesta beckoned the harp, wrestled with death for her sister and nephew, and bargained with the cauldron itself. 

“The next time you come trying to spigot me for information, you better have something worthwhile. A dagger and the occasional dance is not enough.” 

Out of her peripheral vision, Nesta could see that Eris’ pointed look had been thrown her way. “Oh I’m sorry, were you addressing me?” She droned, her boredom clear and blunt. “I thought I was just supposed to stand here and look pretty while you two squabble. And we haven’t danced in months if I remember correctly.”

“Perhaps if I weren’t conversing with an oaf, we could get a lot more done.” Eris preened, turning his eyes to the treeline. Cassian growled and turned away, shadows already coiling to winnow back home.

“You do what you want, Eris! I’m tired of this holier-than-thou, my-wants-are-greater than-yours attitude.” The heir of Autumn chuffed.

“Hmph, and yet you still serve Rhysand.” The winnowing energy shot to nothing, Cassian getting inches away from Eris’ face in a flash.

“Keep it up and I’ll finish what Azriel started.” Eris didn’t balk an inch, still as ever even in the great shadow of the Illyrian Commander.

Nesta dropped the flower, and interposed herself between the two.

“Enough.” She ordered, meeting the gazes of both men before she sighed. “Cassian, I want to talk to Eris alone.” Her mate’s eyes went wide, brow furrowing so deep it threatened to crush his nose. But she laced the words with just enough venom that he halted, thinking of the myriad of ways she would dress the Autumn heir down.

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“I’m sure.” Nesta smirked, appreciating how far he had come from feeling like he needed to always be there. The Blood Rite caused him to be around her almost every second of everyday, often bursting into arguments about how he was suffocating her. But then he remembered the Bog, and the sheer power of death that turned the hag queen Briallyn to dust.

Even with the bulk of her powers given back to the cauldron, Nesta Archeron was touched by death eternal, and he was ever her devout servant.

“Go, I’ll finish up here. Rhysand will probably want to hear about this sooner rather than later.” Cass nodded, kissing Nesta on the head and lips before vanishing into the shadows. Then Nesta let the smile fade, and armed herself for a different dance.

“Nice job, mentioning Rhys to put a pep in his step.” Eris crooned, earning himself a withering glare.

“Shut. Up. You’ve been doing nothing but antagonizing him from the moment we got here. Wasting all of our time.” Nesta watched as Eris slipped his hands in his pockets.

“I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“That makes one of us.” Eris rolled his eyes, trying to weave past Nesta’s bladed words.

“What can I say? It’s fun to poke the bear. Especially since I can’t get any actual diplomacy done with him. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Was it fun when Azriel was pounding your face in?” Eris frowned at Nesta’s barb. “Because I promise you, Cassian hits a thousand times harder.” The heir kept his scowl for a moment, then burst into a laugh.

“Trust me Lady Acheron, I’m not worried. Rhysand has him by the back of the neck and you have him by the balls. He won’t jump unless either of you flick the leash.” Nesta crossed her arms, half wondering how bad a slap to the face laced with silver flame would hurt.

But she reeled her thought back in. “And now he isn’t here, which means that we can actually get down to business. Unless you're keen on pressing the issue.” Eris, with his back to her, let his fingers interlock behind her.

“You know what? I do have an issue I’d like to address. Your cowardice.” Nesta blinked, unimpressed but mildly curious at what he meant.

“This will be good. Go on?”

“I thought we had a good rapport at Rhysand’s little party at the Hewn City. You know, the one where he let the masses scent Feyre nice and deep?” Nesta felt her anger crackle, but kept her lips pursed. “I heard what you had said about me, about deserving me because of how horrible a person I am. A brute and a piece of shit I believe were the words used?”

“How do yo-?”

“Rhys thinks he's the only one with a spymaster worth a damn.” Eris’ withering glare would have left a lesser woman prickling, but Nesta just clicked her tongue.

“Oh. Did I hurt your feelings?” She mocked.

Eris sighed, his face donning a weary smile. “No. I just would have figured the woman who stood up for the humans so fiercely wouldn't have fallen for cheap Night Court gossip, nor would she have such a low opinion of herself.” Nesta almost winced, remembering the comparison she had made.

The harshness of those days came soaring back to her: the back and forth with Cassian, the rage and hatred she felt for herself, and of course, Rhys’ sudden willingness to put up with her if it put the Night Court in a better position.

With how good he was at staging her for his political gain, she had thought he’d broken into her memories and taken notes.

Still, Eris had an immense amount of nerve to whine, and Nesta stepped forward with her teeth bared. “Let’s not pretend you give a damn about my self-esteem Eris, and you hunting after my sister and your brother isn’t gossip, and neither is what you did to Morrigan.”

“Since when have you ever given a damn about Mor?” The fae laughed, shaking his head. “Although, it’s good to know that she still hasn’t told the truth.” Eris let that hang in the air, taking in a deep breath of the spring wind. Nesta’s arms fell at her sides, watching as the viper’s mask Eris Vanserra wore slowly chipped away, as if blown down by the softness of the air.

“That did hurt your feelings, didn’t it?”

“I suppose I was more disappointed. I thought you were different from those sycophants Rhysand surrounds himself with, your sisters included. That you knew, there is always more than meets the eye.” Eris turned to have her and swallowed, and Nesta actually narrowed her eyes. He was nervous; genuinely nervous…

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I would marry you in a heartbeat, Nesta, and it’s certainly not because you look excellent in black or because you somehow managed to learn expert-level fae dance routines in a few weeks. I wouldn’t have made it this far if I was that vapid.” Eris had closed the distance between them, his eyes intense with smoldering flame.

“Males of Autumn are taught to be frank, not to waste our time when it comes to our true desires. We say what we feel, and we take what we want, and I very much want you.” 

“Even after I insulted you so?” Nesta scoffed, feigning mild interest despite actually being shocked.

“I’m a big boy, Nesta, and unlike Rhysand, I understand that the image I’ve cultivated for myself comes with consequences.” Eris began pacing around her in slow, playful steps. “From that first meeting, I could tell you took things seriously, fought with every word you had to keep your people safe. While Rhysand and his High Lady pleaded and appealed to some misplaced sense of heroic morality, you were pragmatic, used reason, and looked to our self interest to guide our decisions.” He leaned in, letting Nesta feel the warmth of Autumn in his presence. That’s what a true ruler does.”

“How observant of you.” Nesta replied, taken aback by the words but remaining guarded all the same. Autumn was a home to many a sly fox after all.

 And of course, ever the sly fox, Eris changed his tactics to keep things interesting. “You were supposed to rule your own little court once, correct? An inheritance waiting for you in the mortal lands.” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Please. Continue to remind me of what I lost.” Eris raised a brow, ignoring the bait. “The humans would never have a fae rule over them, and I’m pretty sure the other nobles have worked with the queens to cannibalize my father’s fortune.” 

The ships and soldiers he bought were the last Nesta would ever see of it; her father’s presence in the world reduced to a gravestone and the memories she and her sisters would carry forever.

“A shame. I would have loved to have seen what you could have done with such wealth and power on your own, unshackled by the chains of family.” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the word; did Eris know what happened to her? About the House of Wind and the tensions between her and her sisters. And why in the Mother’s name was he bringing it up now in the middle of what was essentially a love confession?

“How do you know all this anyway? You’re spies can’t be that good.” Nesta prodded.

“Trust me. They are, but it certainly helped that Bryallin was quite thorough in her research of you. I got a peak at her thoughts while she ‘had me under her spell’.” Eris grinned as he unbuttoned his coat, moving the lapel to reveal the dagger—her dagger—strapped at his hip. “I should thank you, but the way. Your blade kept my mind from breaking under the weight of the crown.”

Nesta tensed as the heir of Autumn reached for the knife, but relaxed as he unbuckled it and handed it to her. “You can have it back if you wish. I took it out of respect for Rhys’ attempts at winning my favor, but it very much wishes to return to its maker.”

More questions roved over Nesta’s mind. Did he know that she had lost the majority of her powers too? The weapons she had Made each still carried great amounts of that original essence, yet only Ataraxia remained hers. This offering could be both an implication that Autumn knows Nesta lacks her past strength, but maybe it was also genuine.

“Keep it. You might need it again.” It was true, but also Nesta didn’t want Rhysand to have all of the things she had made. They thought they were being subtle but the Inner Circle had always been keen to pry what was hers away for their own benefit, be it the weapons, the Trove, her identity.

She supposed that things had improved with them since she and Cassian officially ordained themselves as mates, having a small ceremony whose mix of extravagance and modesty was a careful negotiation between the two of them: small enough that Cassian wouldn’t be teased by his brothers for eternity, but big enough that Nesta felt like she would remember it forever.

And she would; it was the first step towards accepting her role in all of this, towards making peace with the fact that she was now fae, and no longer human…

Yet still, she couldn’t entirely shake the stares, the judgment. Amren had opted for an indifferent peace between them, but their old days of training and dropping bits of thousand-year-old wisdom had long since ceased. Azriel was always his kind, quiet self, always reaching out and checking in when he could. Then there was Morrigan, brown eyes alight with fury every time she glanced at her and Cassian together. 

Mother forbid both Cassian and Azriel talk to her at the same time, lest the blonde’s head go up in flames.

Nesta had long since resolved that she was good enough for Cassian, that she did deserve his love and her peace despite what she had done. But between Morrigan’s clear disdain, Rhys’ constant shifting between hot and cold, and her mate’s often blunt refusal to defend her in most situations, it seems the family that this Circle claimed to be was only for her sisters.

She supposed that was why she opted to make her own, with Gwyn and Emerie.

“My offer still stands.” Eris boasted, snapping Nesta out of her rumination.

“What? Of marriage?” She guffaws. “Please.”

“Already fully bonded to the brute then?” Nesta turned to him, letting a little silver blaze through her eyes.

“You call him anything but his goddamned name one more time, this conversation is over.” Eris paused, then backed off, taking her seriously.

Perhaps that was the strange appeal of it all, this little dance they did. He actually took her at her word.

“Is it so hard to envision?” He said. “You, in vibrant autumn red, a crown of gilded leaves on your head.”

“Your father spending every waking moment plotting my demise?”

“I never knew you to be one to back down from a challenge, and my father would be a fool to even hope to wrestle with you.” Eris gently took her hand in his, and watched as she let him bring it to his lips. “I myself would find it the utmost pleasure, and in truth, I believe you would be an exemplary queen, no matter whose court you ruled. I humbly pray to the Mother that you would grace mine.”

He pressed his lips to her knuckle, and Nesta couldn’t help but stir slightly at the heat of his lips warming the skin. Perhaps she should have let Cassian stay. “There’s not a single humble thing about you, Eris Vanserra.”

“True.” He said, letting go of her hand. “I very much will enjoy bragging about being one to kiss the hand of death.” The two stood there for a moment, eyes locked like two fires struggling to snuff the other out. Nesta’s hands had balled into fists behind her, embarrassed at how Eris of all people was getting to her.

It was just words, grand claims he would never live up to, all to worm his way deeper into the Night Court and get whatever it was he really wanted.

Nesta had Cassian—loved Cassian. He may not have been willing to stand up to Rhys, or actually said that he loved her. But it was more real than whatever dream Eris Vanserra was trying to sell her, and she would not be another Lady of Autumn.

No, silver flames would rip the Autumn Court apart before she ever let that happen.

Eris’ gaze broke first, whipping to something behind her, something that had urged him to unsheath her dagger and call an orb of flame into his other hand. Nesta turned to see, and lumbering through the trees in gilded, horned splendor, was the High Lord of Spring.

“I warned you about what would happen the next time you trespassed into my lands.” Tamlin growled, green eyes spearing the two as his claws dug into the earth beneath him. Eris just smirked.

“If you’ve finally set on cutting your life short, High Lord, I do appreciate that you’d do it in a fashion that grants my Court a lovely expansion.” Tamlin’s lips parted, revealing ivory teeth the size of daggers.

“An expansion you wouldn’t live to see.” He snarled, taking a step forward that thundered into the earth, sending birds fleeing from the trees. Heart pounding, Nesta shot a hand up, turning to face Eris with a grave scowl.

“I’m not dying in the Spring Court because of your stupid fucking remarks.” She muttered, before turning back to face Tamlin. “We were just leaving.”

“Until your next little get together, witch?” He replied, tail still swishing in anticipation of Eris’ next barb. It nearly left his lips, until Nesta blocked his way.

“Leave, Eris.” She demanded. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

“You think Cassian would let me live if I left you here alone, with him?” Nesta scoffed, the modicum of respect she had just developed for Eris vanishing.

“Did you not just profess your undying respect for me, or has that all gone out the window now that a monster has shown up? Are you going to protect little old me, Eris?” Nesta laid the mockery on thick, and the Heir of Autumn indeed found himself in an awkward position. Leaving Nesta with Tamlin was unwise, and Cassian would indeed flay him living if he found out he left her here with her sister’s tormentor. 

But if Nesta believed she could handle it…

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He whispered, sheathing the knife and winnowing away in one fluid movement. Nesta sighed, relieved that she could now dictate the conversation without pig-headed males puffing up their chests.

What was it Bryce had called them? ‘Alpha-holes?’

“Protecting your little alliance?” Tamlin growled, emerald eyes now trained firmly on the eldest Archeron.

“You’re operating under the assumption that I want to deal with you at all, much less fight you.” The beast narrowed his gaze at her. “I don’t need Eris riling you up, and frankly, this is actually a good opportunity.”

“For what?” The High Lord prodded, head tilting to the side in confusion.

“I know what you did for Nyx.” Nesta stated, keep her tone neutral and her hands at her sides. Tamlin paused, caught off-guard with denial already poised on his lips. Quickly, she cut him off. “Feyre was searching for him for hours. She knows that house like the back of her hand and still couldn’t find him anywhere. That, and you left shavings on his pajamas.” 

Tamlin grunted at himself. How could he be so stupid as to leave his gods-damned sheddings about?

“And what do you have to say about it?” He grumbled, bracing for Nesta’s near-mythical rapier wit.

“How about thank you?” He blinked again, half inclined to check his ear to ensure nothing was in it. “Rhysand might be knocking on your door sometime soon, so I figured I’d show my gratitude before he mucks it all up.”

 “Gratitude for what? He’s not yours.” Tamlin replied, looking down as he scraped his claw against the ground.

“He’s my nephew.” And a chance to have someone in the family who doesn’t despise her on some level. At least, she hoped that would be the case; Rhysand was a master of pouring just the right amount of honey and poison to craft a specific vision, and she often found herself lamenting about how one day, the happy Nyx—who she gave up her powers to save along with Feyre—would disdain her for all the Inner Circle held her accountable for. 

But that worry was reserved for another day.

“You’re…different.” The High Lord noted, finally shifting from his prep to lunge to a seated position. “You’re not as…bad-tempered.” 

Nesta practically laughed; what a nice way to say ‘not as much a vicious bitch’.

“Things change, High Lord. I’ve recently learned the world is much bigger than we think, and that all this scheming and politicking on this pitiful little continent is nothing more than a waste of time.” Nesta thought back to just a short time ago, about Bryce and her world, the Asteri, her time with Ember and the small kindnesses Bryce’s mother had offered. The squabbling here in Prythian left it weak, vulnerable, and it was by Nesta’s blind faith alone that Bryce had the chance to take on the Asteri and save both of their realms.

She had resolved to start getting things back on track a long time ago, and if that meant dealing with her sister’s vicious ex-lover—be it solving things diplomatically or mowing him down for someone else to take his place—then so be it.

Gwyn and Emerie urged her to give the former a try before the latter; taking on the Blood Rite was one thing, but as strong as they were together, taking on a High Lord was a fool’s errand, even for people as seasoned as Cassian or Azriel.

 “Your court borders the mortal lands, meaning like it or not, you’re an arbiter of what comes in and what goes through. I may be fae now, but I still care about the humans, and while it may not look like it, I engage in these meetings out of a hope that I can get something out of it that will let me help them in some way.”

Tamlin gave a hollow laugh. “Eris Vanserra and the Autumn Court are the last people to ever give a damn about humans.”

“I know, that's why it’s important to keep an eye on them the most.” Tamlin blinked at Nesta’s claim. “When you’re gathering allies or resources that are sympathetic to your cause, that doesn’t mean you ignore your biggest opposition. I figured a High Lord would know that.” The beast bristled at her last comment, but Nesta reeled her fangs back in. 

“And despite what you may have done to my sister after she di-,” She paused to correct herself, “After she changed, I remember that you filled our father’s coffers and let us regain our nobility, when you could have left us out in the cold to starve and die. You let Feyre come back to us, even though it meant eternal imprisonment for you and your people. And you made sure Nyx got back from his little adventure safe and sound.”

Nesta brushed a hair behind her ear. “A person who does all that can’t be all bad.”

Tamlin glanced down at the grass, thinking hard on Nesta’s words. Nesta’s. Supposedly the most vicious of the Archeron sisters. This whole conversation was almost surreal, and he felt a strain in his chest that felt an awful lot like…hope?

“I’m going to go now.” Nesta stated, waiting for a reaction before calling her powers to winnow her away. If Tamlin still pounced on her after all this, she was going to be really disappointed.

But no. Tamlin simply let his stare rise to meet hers again, before turning to walk away. “Have your meetings somewhere else.” He murmured, Nesta chuffing as the shadows carried her back to the Night Court.

[starry-eyer]

literally so done with rhaegar antis at this point. we know practically nothing about this character besides all the good things other characters say about him and the fact that robert baratheon hates him and says things about rhaegar that ned disagrees with. and robert baratheon is a pos so being hated by him only does favors for rhaegar’s character imo.

but somehow all these characters who think well of rhaegar are just lying. even though almost all of the characters who have spoken/thought well of rhaegar come from different families and have different allegiances. make it make sense. explain it to me like i’m five. what do jamie and ned have to gain by thinking positively about rhaegar? what about jorah? and barristan?

seriously. stop with the “prophecy obsessed freak” and the “rhaegar was mad” bs. none of this is supported in the books.

for 1) the prophecy is real! this is a fantasy series! and it’s very likely that jon snow (his likely son) is one of the azor ahai/prince that was promised figures! the other completely certain azor ahai figure is his own sister! so yes this prophecy seems to be centered around rhaegar’s family.

2) rhaegar being “mad” is not supported whatsoever. prophecies and magic are very real in asoiaf. so believing/trying to figure out prophecies is not an act of a madman. if anything, we should praise rhaegar for having the foresight to be actively concerned about this world ending threat! he was right. and one mention, if not the first mention, of the song of ice and fire comes from a vision in the house of the undying… from rhaegar. please remember what the title of this series is…

now, it is fair to criticize rhaegar for how he treated elia at the tourney at harrenhall. he was wrong there and that was a terrible thing to do to elia. however, saying that rhaegar was awful to elia throughout their whole marriage is not supported. and saying that rhaegar was awful to his children is not supported at all.

also, getting angry at a fictional character for needing a son to secure the succession to the throne is hilarious, especially since it was necessary for not just rhaegar, but also for elia to secure their own positions at court. they both needed a male heir, but elia needed to have a son more than rhaegar to secure her position. so why are people so mad that rhaegar and elia had aegon? andal tradition says that a son comes before a daughter and a daughter before an uncle… but aerys had viserys to threaten rhaegar with because aerys was king and had the power to change the succession. having aegon was very important for both rhaegar and elias futures and protected rhaenys position as well. just look at what happened to alys karstark when all of her male brothers were gone. she was almost usurped by her uncle. do you really think aerys would let the throne pass to a girl? aerys??

anyways, we don’t know enough about rhaegar and elias relationship to actually make any concrete statements about them, but, from danys house of the undying vision of rhaegar and (likely) elia, their relationship seemed fine and they seemed open with each other. not every marriage of duty ends in nedcat and five kids, but their marriage was clearly far from the robert and cersei nightmare.

another thing rhaegar antis love to harp about is how he is a pedophile. i’m literally so sick of it. rhaegar, someone who seemingly struggled with some form of depression, finally found some joy outside of a marriage of duty. the author himself called rhaegar a love struck prince. ned never thinks ill of rhaegar, even though if the stories robert baratheon would have us believe were true then ned would be the first character who thinks rhaegar is some sort of monster. but ned doesn’t. back to the pedo argument… anyways i have issues with the age gap as well. but i know where to lay my criticism. with george. he’s weird about ages and it pisses me off. however, i won’t let this change the way i see a character, especially since westeros doesn’t have any age of consent laws.

god just criticize george already.

but to be clear, rhaegar, a tragic character who died trying to protect his family, who’s daughter hid underneath his bed for protection, is not some monster. he was born in grief, lived in grief, found some joy, and died whispering the name of the woman he loved. that’s sad. and it’s horrible that he’s blamed for his family’s deaths even though he fought and died trying to protect them. and then robert baratheon sat on his throne and drunk and whored the realm into debt. thank you mr. boar. and good riddance. cersei slayed with this one.

now if you want to blame someone for the war and what came after, then blame aerys for his cruelty. blame brandon for his foolishness. blame robert for his warmongering. blame tywin for his monstrous actions. blame gregor and amory for their terrible violence.

stop blaming the guy who died trying to protect his loved ones.

and tbh, we literally have so little knowledge of what happened before the rebellion and after harrenhall. we just don’t know what happened between rhaegar and lyanna besides what george has told us and whatever small scraps we get in the book. we don’t know if it was a rash decision or if there was some plan in place when rhaegar and lyanna ran off. we just don’t know.

so please stop treating your headcanons like canon facts. especially when your headcanon isn’t supported anywhere in the books! it’s so tiring to see! i get it! you hate this character! whatever! but stop acting like what you’re saying is canon!

rhaegar is simply a ghost haunting the narrative. but his legacy lives on in dany and (likely) jon. and both of them are saviors fighting the good fight. and based on the descriptions we have of rhaegar, i can say that he’s likely very proud of his sister and son.

[siravalondulac]

xxiv. the wedding

a heart so golden, a sun so bright

asoiaf ff | fem!oc centric

summary: elle attends a wedding word count: 2016 warnings: explicit descriptions of blood, violence, injuries, death

masterlist

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The heat was slowly becoming unbearable. So many people in such a small space, the fires burning in the hearths all around, the tight leather around her chest, restricting her breathing, heating her up. And then the noise - people dancing and singing and shouting, it never seemed to go away.

Lady Catelyn had somehow acquired a soldier's garb that fit Elle - though the helmet was something she needed to get used to - and braided her hair into a tight crown around her head. She had assigned Dacey Mormont to keep an eye on her - not trusting her completely, despite having her swear to protect her son at all cost.

Now she stood in the shadows of the wall, gaze wandering over the feast. Servants came from behind the high table, supplying the guests with more and more alcohol.

Mayhaps she had been wrong. There seemed to be nothing amiss in the hall, or outside as well. Despite the scroll inside her pocket which clearly stated otherwise.

Mayhaps Benjiamin had lied. Had used the threat of something awful happening to get closer to her once more. It would not have been the first time he had done so.

Mayhaps the plan had been real, but it had fallen apart with Benjiamin’s death. The commander of the enemy forces lying dead and rotting in a ditch somewhere could not be helpful.

Her necklace hung heavier than usual around her neck. She had put the ring Benjiamin had forced into her hand around the chain as well, feeling that if something did indeed happen, it would be safer hidden underneath her tunica than on her finger. But she would not return it. Not after what he had done to her.

Her eyes wandered across the hall once more. The doors had been closed, men in armour standing in the shadows not unlike her. Hands on their swords, backs straightened, eyes surveilling the feast.

Then, the music changed.

The song had not been particularly liked in Dorne, and had been plain out forbidden at court, yet that had not stopped singers in the streets from performing it. She had learned about its history as well. And who it was performed for.

She looked up, towards the musicians on the balcony far above the high table. Lutes, violins, harps, flutes - and a crossbow.

Swear on the Old Gods and the New that you will protect my son at all costs.

Before the first arrow could be let loose, she had started running. A sharp wind passed her ear as she threw herself against Robb Stark, bringing them both to the ground. She grabbed his arm, quickly dragging him behind a table as screams started drowning out every other sound in the hall.

He barely had time to question her presence. The fear and confusion on his face as he looked around the fighting was surely mirrored on her own.

This was a wedding, a time for celebration. There were ancient promises, traditions protecting the guests-

A man came running at them, sword raised high above his head. She quickly swept his feet out from under him, drew her dagger, and plunged it into his throat before he hit the ground.

She froze.

The blood sprayed in all directions, coating her hand, her arm, the floor beneath. He clawed at the dagger, gurgling, trying to scream but bringing out no sound. She pulled the blade out, aimlessly hoping it might stop these awful things, yet only more ugly fluid came splashing forth.

Her heart beat loudly in her chest, hearing every pounding, flooding her senses, overwhelming her, not permitting her to think about anything else. She tried to breathe in, more and more and more, air, cold, anything. But she couldn’t- It was too fast-

His body had gotten limp, arms falling to the side, yet the terror was still in his eyes.

She killed him. That had been her. She had taken a life.

The noises came crashing down upon her, every scream reaching her ears all at once, every slash of a sword, every whirring of an arrow, every clashing of shattering glass.

Make it stop, make it stop, make-

Trying to wipe her hand clean of the blood only spread it more. Even closing her eyes and pressing down on her ears did not make the feeling go away.

She couldn’t do this. She had to go, to flee, to get out of this hall, this heat, away from the tugs around her heart, pulling her forward and back and left and right. It was too much, strangling, suffocating-

Had she not been knighted? Was this not what knights were for?

Fear is my greatest enemy. It can only lead to death and grief.

She dug deep inside herself, searching for that thing hidden deep, deep down. It would not be allowed to break free, but merely a drop or two of it would suffice to get her through this.

Father, please forgive me.

She opened her eyes.

The first three men fell easily to her, almost seeming surprised at her being able to fight back. A fourth had his throat cut open just as an arrow whirled past her shoulder and hit the wall before her.

The musicians had dropped their act, every man on the balcony holding a crossbow and firing into the masses below. There were short moments of pause where they had to reload.

She would not survive this if they were allowed to continue with their onslaught.

In one of the reprieves, she grabbed whatever sharp object she could find from the table before her, and in the next she started reciprocating the fire. One after the other, the bowmen collapsed to the ground, throats and eyes and chests pierced. A single one even fell over the parapet and crashed onto the high table below.

She was about to let loose on the last knife when a searing pain erupted across her back. Barely keeping herself from crying out, she whipped around and buried the blade into her attacker’s head.

The skin on her back was shifting strangely with each of her movements. Warm liquid ran down her body, soaking her ripped tunica. But that did not matter now. It could not matter. There were more important things to do.

She quickly got her hands onto a spear, yet in the thick mass of bodies both dead and alive it was more of a hindrance than a help. Men died anyways - throats slashed, hearts pierced, heads half removed from their bodies. She had long lost her helmet, and was glad for it.

An axe almost buried itself into the stomach of the lady that had been charged with watching her, but with a quick thrust of her spear the man joined his collaborators on the ground. The lady thanked her, but got no reaction back. This was not the time for pleasantries.

The king had picked up a sword as well, ready to defend himself and his lords, yet she quickly pushed him to the ground and told him to stay there. She could not have him running around playing hero. Heroes died, and he needed to live.

“Paladin!”

A man in a pink cloak dragged the lady she had made her promise to forward, a knife held to her throat. Some of the fighting around them ceased, either due to interest in their conversation or because there was no one left to kill anymore.

“This isn't your fight. Hand over the traitor king, and you and Lady Stark can leave.”

The king in question was about to run forward, desperation in every ragged breath, but she held him back, spear raised before them both.

Now that she had paused, the pain from her back threatened to creep up into her mind. She didn't allow it.

“I could return you to your family. No caveats, no conditions.”

She met the ladies' gaze. The expected emotions lay in it - fear, desperation, sadness. Yet the begging was what strengthened her resolve and convinced her to stay true.

“Is this truly what you want? To die a pointless death in a war that has never involved you?”

“Some people hold their oaths more highly than others.”

He grimaced. “I'll get him either way.”

The blood sprayed from the lady's throat, her limp body collapsing to the ground. And so the fighting started anew.

At some point a circle of men had formed around the king, taking every blade and every arrow meant for him. The gates had opened as well, only to let in a new slew of attackers, falsely dressed in the furs and leathers of the men helping her.

“We need to get the king out of here!” someone screamed at her after throwing a man against the wall.

“There is a servant's entrance behind the high table.” She ripped her spear and a handful of organs out of the man underneath her.

“Are you sure it's safe?”

“If you ensure our escape, I will get him out of here.”

She did have experience running away, after all.

The king had, despite her best efforts, grabbed a sword and started defending himself. When she tried to take his arm, he moved away, a feral look on his face, saying he could not leave his men to die.

She grabbed his collar and pulled his face close to hers. “Get your act together, Stark. If you die, this rebellion dies with you.”

His look soon turned from feral to horrified. Did he only now grasp the full weight of the situation?

“Just- Let me do one last thing. For my people.”

He picked up a crossbow and stepped onto a chair, raising himself above the bodies piling onto the floor.

“Lord Walder.” He raised the crossbow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The bolt pierced the old man's face, pinning his head to the high chair he was sitting on.

She felt the blade before she saw it. The man with the pink cloak had approached the king and was about to plunge the still bloody knife into his body. Her spear had hit the lord's thigh long before, however, and she quickly closed her hand around the king's arm and pulled him after her.

On the way to the back of the hall, she ripped her dagger from a body's eye socket. There were barely any men blocking their path, and the door was not even locked. No one had seemingly expected this way could be used.

The stairs they descended laid in almost complete darkness. Her tunica barely clung to her shoulders, the cool breeze in the passage caressing the exposed skin and flesh on her back. She ignored it.

Their path led them through the castle's kitchens, the servants cowering against the walls, hiding behind mountains of untouched food.

They finally broke through to the open air, and were immediately hit by a wave of heat. The camps before them were wide aflame, the screams even louder than in the hall they had just left. He froze behind her, eyes wide and any conviction he might have had gone in the blink of an eye.

A person came running towards them. She pushed the king behind her, raising her blood-soaked dagger before her. He would make it to safety, she would fulfil her promise-

“Robb!”

“Arya?”

He pushed past her to embrace his sister, the girl looking not too dissimilar to the last time she had seen her. Coming up behind her was a scarred man she felt like she should recognise as well, though she could not fathom why.

She quickly found two horses, spooked out of their minds, but saddled, so she forced the king to abandon the arms of his sister and mount one of them. He followed her commands slowly, as if not in complete control of his body.

Despite the rising pain, she mounted her horse as well, having to catch her breath once she sat in the saddle.

Together, they rode through the fires, the blood, the screams.

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[sapphire-weapon]

Not to rattle the cages, but for all of their so called, "sexual tension", Leon and Ada have a startling lack of intimacy. Everything they find out about each other most likely is learned from reading sterile, impersonal dossiers and not from any meaningful conversation.

And the only quality time they did have with each other took place completely off-screen and it's not even entirely clear what happened because it was only referenced in a single blink-and-you'll-miss-it throwaway line of dialogue in Damnation. (I'm willing to concede that it's likely they banged, but it's also just as likely that Ada blueballed him and ran off, because her follow-up question of "You're angry with me, aren't you?" doesn't make sense if he actually came LMAO But that's beside the point.)

But... at the same time... I don't think it's that simple. There's more to it than that.

God, I'm really about to make a case for Aeon, aren't I? Damn my dedication to this series's canon. Let's think of this post as the Aeon haters' guide to understanding Aeon, because it's fucking canon whether we like it or not. Goddamn it.

To start off, there's a difference between knowing someone well and being intimate with them. I've talked in the past about how intimate Luis's death scene was in RE4make, and Leon and Luis knew barely anything about each other at the time of his death. But that doesn't take away from the intimacy of the scene.

I feel like a similar principle applies to Leon and Ada.

Ada was with Leon throughout the majority of what was objectively the worst night of his life. Nothing else comes close to Raccoon City in terms of what it did to Leon -- no matter how much greater of a threat he faces logistically, it's still not as bad as what happened to him in Raccoon City. So, Ada knows Leon in ways that no one else in the series does.

Claire got a glimpse of the old Leon -- arguably, the "real" Leon -- but that's all it was. A glimpse. They weren't together long enough for her to really get to see what made him tick or to understand the perspective he was bringing into the city with him -- but Ada got to see all of that. And there's an intimacy to that all on its own -- especially when you consider that, after RE2, Leon starts building walls around himself made of machismo and bad one-liners that eventually wash away beneath a sea of liquor, which then dampens and darkens everything around it.

But no matter how fast he tries to run from himself, or how many walls he tries to put up, or how hard he tries to become someone else, there's still one person in his life who has seen and remembers who Leon S. Kennedy really is, and her name is Ada Wong.

He's allowed himself to be weak in front of her, to fail in front of her, to get frustrated and angry and overwhelmed around her -- and there is a real intimacy in that kind of vulnerability. And not once has she ever judged him for it or held it over his head or tried to harp on him about how he's changed -- because, to her, he hasn't changed. She can see through all of those new defense mechanisms he's put in place and knows that the core of who he still is is still intact. So, she silently allows him to work through whatever it is that he needs to work through while still trusting that he'll always be who he's always been -- and that's pretty fucking powerful, honestly.

And that's why he feels like he can't let her go -- because he's afraid that, if he does, he'll be letting go of the very last piece of himself that's still alive and holding on from before all the trauma set in.

The sad reality of the ship, though, is that that's not true. If Leon were to let Ada go, he wouldn't be letting go of his old self. Because, while Ada has seen the old Leon -- has met and known and spoken with him -- she is not what's keeping the memory of the old Leon alive; she is not the actual bearer of his legacy. Sherry is.

Even though Sherry wasn't around Leon nearly as much as Ada was and didn't get to know him the same way, that doesn't matter. What Leon doesn't see is that he didn't give up who he was because of Ada. He gave up who he was because of Sherry. He did it for her sake -- to save and protect and take care of her.

That's why he almost breaks down and cries when he sees her for the first time in RE6, when he's never done that when reuniting with Ada. It's because Sherry is carrying with her so many of the pieces of Leon that he left behind in order to properly fill the role of a federal agent. Doing what he did for her makes him more of a father to her than William Birkin ever was, and Sherry knows this. That's why she didn't think twice about following in his footsteps and jumping at the opportunity to become an agent herself -- and, to do that, she trusts Derek goddamn Simmons when she really shouldn't have, but she does it because she's still carrying the old Leon's optimism and trustfulness and faith in humanity. Again: she's following in Leon's footsteps, and the old Leon is the only Leon she ever really knew. Even if she didn't know him nearly as well as Ada did.

I think, on some unconscious level buried deep within his psyche, Leon knows this -- but it's a reality that's too painful to face, so he doesn't. Instead, he projects all of that shit onto Ada, because it's easier that way. Besides, he's been doing it for so long already, so why stop now? There's comfort in the familiar, and Ada is nothing if not familiar.

But, to go back to what I was saying earlier about Ada trusting that Leon will always be who he's always been -- that's also why he believes in her in RE6 when no one else does. Part of it is his projections about his past self and all that bullshit, but there's also an element of... "she would do the same for me." Because she has. She's been doing it for years.

And in that specific regard, there is a real maturity to their relationship that doesn't really get enough attention or praise from the fanbase. The whole "sexual tension" thing is stupid, and you're right to point it out in your ask as being stupid, because Leon and Ada's relationship isn't about sex -- and it shouldn't be! And that's why that line in Damnation is so fucking pointless and stupid AND I HATE IT lmao Leon and Ada's relationship is about two people who accept and trust each other without judgement, even when they really shouldn't.

NOW.

WITH ALL THAT BEING SAID.

EVERYTHING I JUST WROTE OUT IN THAT HUGE WALL OF TEXT IS ONLY APPLICABLE TO THE OG STORYLINE. THE REMAKES DO SOMETHING VERY, VERY DIFFERENT WITH LEON AND ADA. And honestly, the massive changes to their relationship are really the #1 major reason why I believe the remakes are a completely different timeline of events -- because so much of what I just said is not fucking true for the remake versions of Leon and Ada. It's just straight up not true.

Remake Leon does not accept Remake Ada for who she is (he literally asks her to fucking change, for god's sake!! LMAO), and he definitely does not fucking trust her. RE4make basically erased the canonicity of Leon/Ada as a romantic relationship. It's not there anymore; it's no longer a canon romance; it's gone. If it's anything still at all, it's one-sided unrequited Ada having fallen for Leon, and him not being able to get away from her fast enough.

But that doesn't mean that their relationship is lacking in intimacy.

We've talked before about how Remake Leon is touch-starved as fuck -- and touch seems to be his love language. And while Leon is greedy and sneaky with the touches he steals from Ashley in RE4make, none of those little touches that the two of them pass back and forth come anywhere close to Ada's touches in RE2make.

The scene between them on the shuttle is very intimate -- and not just because she kisses him. It's the way she sits so close to him, the way she leans into him, the way she keeps a hand on his knee and gently caresses it with her thumb. It's the way they both speak in more hushed tones, the way she tries to be soothing with the tone of her voice. It's how she kisses him -- close-lipped and gentle, meant only to ease his anxiety and quiet his mind (and also get him to shut the fuck up for two goddamn seconds. god I respect her so much for this LMAO).

And not just that scene, but it's also present in the way she patches him up after he gets shot. We don't get to see it, but if you look again at Leon's bandages? She had to strip him the fuck down in order to do that LMAO home girl was sitting there unbuttoning his shirt and going "this sucks he's unconscious this isn't even fun. pain in the ass." And when he wakes up? Sure, she's gone, but he definitely knows that she had to have been all up in his business in order to do what she did -- and she left her coat behind with him as a fucking blanket and I'm sorry but that's so cute. IT'S CUTE. I'LL ADMIT IT. But it was probably a moment for him of "Wow. She really cares." -- because, again, touch is his love language. AND BOY DID SHE DO THAT A WHOLE FUCKIN LOT.

So, basically.

What I'm trying to say is.

Leon and Ada's relationship is poorly written and poorly executed and I hate it for a myriad of reasons, most of which involve the fact that it limits Ada's character and waters her down to a really unnecessary degree, but... I can't bring myself to say that there's no there there. Are they the hot and sexy spy vs spy ship that the director of Damnation desperately wanted us to believe they are? Absolutely fucking not. Is the ship predicated on only semi-resolved sexual tension? Also fucking no.

Does any of that actually matter...? Again... No. It doesn't matter. There is something to it. Even if they are still mostly strangers to each other, knowing facts about each other isn't what's important about their relationship. It's knowing who the other is at their core that's important.

At least, in OG.

In Remake, Leon can't fucking stand her by the time of RE4. And if anyone tries to say otherwise, they're fucking delusional.

Though I honestly believe that if either version of Ada learned more about who Leon was in the day-to-day, she'd probably like him a whole lot less. Leon, shave your face and stop drinking and why are the fucking Beastie Boys playing in your car when you're driving to work and holy shit are you really watching Casino for the third time this week oh my god

[lasthopesolo]

maybe human is not such a bad thing to be

Rhaegar Targaryen has been named his father's regent, and plans on starting his regency with a royal procession through the Seven Kingdoms. With the Defiance of Duskendale still fresh in everyone's mind, the Silver Prince finds now is the opportune time to introduce the realm to a new dragon in an attempt to heal the divide between the Crown and its subjects, both highborn and lowborn alike. That he has to find a wife is the least of his worries, instead focusing on strengthening the kingdom for the threats to come.

In the farthest reaches of Westeros, Lyanna Stark enjoys her last days of freedom as the looming threat of marriage grows bigger and bigger. With news that a royal procession will be making its way to Winterfell in a few moons' time, Lyanna views the upcoming pomp and circumstance as one last hoorah before she is forced away from the only home she's ever known for the sake of duty and honor.

As a wild girl and a melancholic boy meet, their world changes. For theirs is the song of ice and fire

rated M ; 139k words ; chapters 21/?

prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen | nineteen | twenty | twenty one

𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝; 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. “𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞?” 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

He did not notice how Rickard Stark watched their entire interaction intently, nor did he hear a bench scrape along the stone floor as his cousin abruptly stood up in a fury. Rhaegar did not notice the look Brandon gave him or the look he shared with his only sister. Rhaegar ignored the din of whispers traveling across the hall as the prince led their beloved lady to a line with the other dancers. He only focused on the feel of her hand, so small and cold, between his; he wondered if his callouses bothered her, if she minded the way he swiped his thumb in soft circles on the top of her hand. He wanted to know more than anything what thoughts crossed her mind as they moved in tandem to the soft swells of fiddles and harps.

The dance was southron, no doubt chosen with him in mind, but more sorrowful than normally played at festivities. Rhaegar found it suited the situation. There was power behind the emotions created and evoked by the bards, a power that matched the pull he felt to this woman he barely knew but could not get enough of. He relished in the feel of her in his hands as he guided them expertly throughout the other couples who braved to join them. His hand splayed out across the small of her back, his long fingers touching either side of her; he brought her as close as he dared, thrilled she did nothing to widen the gap between their bodies.

Rhaegar did not think it possible to be so invigorated because of a dance, but Lyanna Stark changed that for him. It was all about the right partner, the one who would undoubtedly heighten the shared experience. Neither of them spoke, content to let the heavy silence cover them the longer they stood close. It was too fragile, too new, this thing forming between them. Words had the potential to destroy it, and neither of them dared to risk it. The large amber drew his attention to her neck; he imagined gently unclasping the heavy stone and exposing the smooth, unblemished skin beneath. His eyes flickered to her mouth as he thought of placing feather light kisses to her neck.

Their shared silence permeated the atmosphere, shifting the mood with them for one brief second. The last notes of the dance floated in the night air before disappearing with the wind. No one dared breathe, aware that something poignant was shared between the couple dancing at the center. The importance of that moment would not be understood for decades to come, but people would look back at the first dance shared between the dragon prince and the wolf maiden as when they were set upon the path of their destinies.

Lyanna smiled brightly at him, easing the tension between them. Soon the sound of applause threatened to deafen him and people crowded around him and Lyanna. Hands clamped on his shoulders, but Rhaegar could only feel the absence of her in his hands. There was a warmth that was cruelly ripped away from him; now aware of what he was missing, there was no way he would be able to part with it so easily. His arm lifted, fingers hesitantly brushing the edges of her long hair.

Her smile was much sweeter this time, soft edges dressed in pink and meant only for him. Rhaegar’s heart caught in his throat and he smiled dumbly at her, his words lost to him for perhaps the first time in his life. He knew Oswell and Arthur were sharing a laugh at his expense somewhere in the crowd.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” she said, bunching her skirts into a fist as she tilted her head towards the table. She said nothing else, only turning away and walking towards her table without sparing a glance to see if he had caught on. Rhaegar’s long strides allowed him to catch up with her quickly, skimming the soft satin of her dress. He noticed the edge of a ribbon peeking out from the thick curtain of her hair; he flexed his hand at his side, not daring to touch her so familiarly despite thinking of doing precisely that.

[mt-musings]

The Last Silverboughs

Halsin struggles to put his past to rest, but it's haunting him in more ways than he realizes. He'd thought his time in the Underdark was long behind him, an unpleasant pitfall of youthful hubris, but remnants of his captivity remain, the youngest of which unwittingly stumbles to his rescue.

Lythra can't stop running from her past--hasn't, since she managed to make it out of the Underdark. She has no love for Menzoberranzan, or her House, or anything she left behind in the dark. Or nearly anything.

Still, she'd rather die than return--a prospect all the more likely with a tadpole jammed behind her eye. But perhaps, with the help of a renown druidic healer, she can go back to what remains of her half-life in the sun.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

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There was light, ahead.

Glimmering, silvery light.

Lythra crept towards it, keeping low to the ground, close to the tunnel wall, careful to keep her footsteps silent. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen light.

There was no light in the Labyrinth, not unless it was a torch carried by someone who would most likely try to kill her if they spotted her. Her heart hammered in her chest as she approached, magic ready in case it proved a threat, enough to give her the time she would need to run. 

She stopped at the edge of the pool of light, taking a deep breath before breaching it with the toe of her boot, immediately yanking it back into the darkness expecting pain. She toed the light again, letting her foot linger a moment. 

Nothing happened. 

She stepped into the light, searching for a source. It was warmer, abating a bit of the damp chill of the tunnels. There was a crag in the tunnel, a small lacuna from which the light poured. She ducked her head to look inside, only finding another tunnel, a smaller tunnel, too small for the minotaurs or baphituars or any of the nasty things that hunted through the tunnels to fit.

Anything but her.

It was a tight squeeze, but she climbed through, the tunnel on the other side marginally larger. It sloped upward, the light growing brighter as it rose. She followed it warily, carefully gripping the tether of her magic. It rose and rose, the air growing colder, but without the damp she’d grown used to. She shivered but kept walking, following the light. There was something else now too, almost like the strings of a harp being plucked, but too faint for her to be sure. 

And then suddenly all there was was light. She flinched and shielded her eyes as they watered, unable to focus on anything for a long time moment. But then—

Everything was light and there was no more tunnel, everything above her blue and open and the ground was covered with something white and glimmering, sloping steeply down. She reached down to pick a handful of it up. It was cold, disappearing and leaving something wet in her hand. She licked it, delighted to find it was water. She grabbed another handful, shoving it into her mouth until her teeth hurt from the cold.  

She laughed, sinking to her knees into the glimmering cold, staring up at the blue above as tears ran down her cheeks.

The sky.

Her father had told her about the sky, but she hadn’t believed him, hadn’t believed anything could be so vast and beautiful. 

~~~

She howled as Halsin revived her, pain making her voice raw and inhuman. Astarion watched as her skin knitted mostly back together, enough for him to at least press her guts back inside her and stem the bleeding. Her spine was still severed, her legs still limp and useless things, her skin still paler than death. Halsin slumped back, eyes still glossy with tears, looking looking near ready to pass out.

“I don’t—I have no more magic,” he said, breathing heavily. “She needs more—much more—but I need to rest, first. She will hold, for the night.”

“We’ll—we’ll get her inside. Maybe—maybe Isobel has a bit of healing to spare, or at least something for the pain,” Shadowheart replied, sounding a lot more confident than she looked. 

“Get off of me!” He hissed at Karlach, pulling free of her grasp. “I’ll see to it. I’ll see to her.”

He knelt at her side and picked her up as gently as he could, gritting his teeth at the shriek of pain she let out as he jostled her.

“I know, my darling, I’m sorry. We’re nearly there, just right inside and then a soft, warm bed, I promise you,” he said, though he doubted she could even hear him through the haze of pain. She’d never been one to complain when injured, had hardly even cried out when Abdirak’s whip tore through her flesh or she’d been bludgeoned by duegar or mauled by that foul bulette. 

He knew the sort of pain that elicited screams like hers, knew it and that knowledge turned his stomach. 

“We’re nearly there,” he said, though it was more to reassure himself. She didn’t respond, except to press her face harder into the crook of his neck, her tears slipping down his skin. 

“I need a room, NOW!” he yelled as Shadowheart pushed the doors open for them. He didn’t pay much attention to the chaos that erupted at his proclamation, leaving that for Shadowheart to deal with. All he cared about was finding her a place to rest, a comfortable place to rest and enough pain medicine to make the horror bearable. 

He hardly listened to the shouting, merely following Shadowheart to a small bedroom in the back of the room, his eyes locked on Lythra’s face, screwed up in pain. He lay her on the bed, carefully cutting away the shreds of her armor that remained and tossing it to the floor, leaving her in just a patched undershirt and pants, both soaked in blood. Still, it was marginally better than torn studded leather. He tucked her in, careful not to jostle her as he did. 

Shadowheart rushed in with a handful of bottles. “Isobel has to hold the shield, but she has these. They should help with the pain.”

“Fine, leave them,” he said, turning back to Lythra.

“Astarion—“

“Leave them,” he snapped back. She set them on the bedside table next to him and stalked out, slammed the door behind her. He grabbed one, popping the cork with shaking fingers. 

“Open your mouth, darling. This will help,” he said, cradling the back of her neck so she wouldn’t choke. She only whimpered in response, her teeth clenched. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to open her mouth as he slowly dribbled it down her throat so she wouldn’t choke. 

“It’ll make you feel better. I promise,” he said, tossing the empty bottle aside without a care for how it shattered. All that mattered was that he wiped the pain from her face, that he stopped her suffering. 

It took too long for his liking, but eventually the crease in her brow softened, the tension in her muscles easing, a bit. Her eyes fluttered open, overwhelmed by the size of her pupils as the drugs took effect. 

“‘Star?” she slurred softly, and it made his dead little heart ache.

“Yes, my love?”

“I—I hurt.”

“I know.”

She stared up at him, brows furrowed, before shakily reaching up to trace the cut on his cheek. It was nothing, superficial, but she glared at it as much as she was able in her drugged state. 

“What?” He asked, voice too quiet. She just shook her head, letting her hand drop, but he caught her wrist and pressed her hand back to his cheek. 

“I—You realize how stupid that was, don’t you? You—they almost couldn’t bring you back, after.”

“We held the portal,” she murmured, her words all mushed together, a faint smile on her lips. 

“Forget the damn portal—I couldn’t give a shit about the portal!”

“We promised—“

“You promised you’d watch my back! How do you expect to do that if you’re worm food?” He snarled, sharper, once more, than he meant to. He balked as her eyes welled with tears before she looked away to hide her face from him. “No, I—I didn’t mean it, not like that. I just—I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She didn’t say anything, but he knew—he knew she didn’t believe him.

Why should she?

He reached over to gently wipe away her tears with his thumb, his heart in his throat. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, smoothing back her hair from her face.

Gods, she was covered in so much blood. 

He could at least deal with that, ensure she was as comfortable as possible. 

He stood, taking a shaking breath as he crossed to the door.

“I’m s-sorry.”

The words were tearful, hardly more than a whisper. He turned back to see tears pouring down her face. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Please, p-please don’t leave. Please?”

“Oh—oh shit, darling, I—I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” he said. He opened the bedroom door and hollered at one of the tiefling children from the Grove—the sniveling one Lythra had saved from the harpies. “Hey, you! I need you to bring me clean water and cloths. Now.”

He didn’t wait to see if the boy actually listened, instead crossing to her bedside to wrap her in the most gentle hug he could manage. 

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. She clung to him, as tight as her arms could manage and sobbed into the crook of his neck.

It was the first time he’d ever heard her cry, her voice ragged and broken. 

He just held her, smoothing a hand through her hair, throat tight. He didn’t know what else to do. 

~~~

Halsin knelt next to Thaniel, checking him over once more, even as his head swam. There was something wrong, more than he’d realized before. His friend was hollow, some essential part of him ripped away by the Curse. He wouldn’t wake until he’d found it, figured out how to put him back together. 

He tucked an extra blanket around him in his bedroll, ensuring he’d be warm as he slumbered.

He couldn’t get the sight of Lythra out of his head, her eyes dull and lifeless. 

Karlach had filled him in on what had happened as she carried Thaniel back to camp for him, uncharacteristically somber.

He’d told her to defend the portal at any cost. She’d died, making sure he and Thaniel had a way home, had shielded their path even as her organs spilled out of her. She’d died, and he’d hardly even been able to bring her back.

In fact, he thought he had very little to do with it at all. 

He was starting to suspect there were more Gods on the playing field than he’d previously thought. 

It should have been gold—the Revivify that brought her back—and it shouldn’t have healed all it had. Someone had answered his prayer, but not the Oak Father. 

Someone else had been watching over her.

He thought back to the sword she’d found in the Underdark, a masterwork of one of Eilistraee’s faithful, of the snippet of prayer she’d said almost as a reflex.

He lay down, squeezing his eyes shut. He needed to rest, to quiet his mind long enough to replenish his magic, but it raced, replaying over and over the sight of her dead, on the beach. 

How many times had he gone to her for aid, laid more on her small shoulders while he remained behind, searching for safer answers? How could he keep asking for more, when she’d given him everything she had?

No—no more. He would see the Curse ended, but it would be at her side. She deserved a guardian, a defender, in all this. She deserved to have someone look out for her, for a change. 

Had she ever had anyone protect her? 

He hardly knew anything about her. He knew her father was dead. She never spoke of her mother, though Halsin had a horrible inkling that she was responsible for the wretched magic inflicted on her. He didn’t know if she had other family, or how old she’d been when she’d lost her father or escaped the Underdark, or even where in the Underdark she was from. He didn’t know why she’d moved to Baldur’s Gate, or what she’d done there, or who had taught her to play the lyre. 

He’d learn, though, if she’d let him. He’d be someone she could depend on, someone who’d look out for her. 

Perhaps, when this whole nightmare was over and she’d been cured of the tadpole and the Curse, he’d take her to the Nether Mountains, north of his childhood home, and show her the giant ice spiders he’d told her of, as large at horses. 

She’d like that, he thought. Though, with her track record, he might have to counsel her against attempting to adopt one. 

~~~

 Halsin woke early and hurried to the inn with his bag of medical supplies, as well as Lythra’s pack and an extra pair of spare clothes. It would be no easy task to heal her today, but he would do all in his power to ensure she suffered no lasting wounds. 

Jaheira pointed him toward a room at the back of the first floor, and he crossed to it, going over in his head all of the possible complications that came with a severed spine and disembowelment. 

He paused in the doorway, surprised to hear a voice, soft and soothing. Astarion sat next to her as she lay in her bed, absently combing his fingers through her hair as he read aloud. The blood had beed washed from her face, leaving it pale and drawn. 

The scene was sweet and utterly unexpected, though he could focus on little else other than just how very pale she still looked, still so very corpse-like. Pain was clear enough on her face, even with her eyes pressed firmly shut, though she leaned into Astarion’s gentle touch.

The rogue’s eyes flickered to his and he glared, tensing as he stopped mid-sentence. Lythra’s eyes flickered half open and she stared for a long moment, as if waiting for him to come into focus. Jaheira had mentioned they’d found a very strong tonic for pain, to get her through the night.

“Than? Than-Th-Than—“ she croaked deliriously, her brows drawing together. He stepped forward, alarm overwhelming him as she tried to sit up.

“I was able to rescue Thaniel, thanks to you. It is my belief he can be restored, though I may need your aid once more to do so,” he said quickly, hoping to soothe her agitation. She offered him the smallest of pained smiles and a small hum, settling back against the pillows. 

Astarion bristled.

“She died, holding that damn portal for you. Died. Cut nearly in half, and no one around here has enough power or skill to put her back together, and you’re already asking for more?” Astarion snarled, bearing his teeth at the druid. 

“‘Starion, xuat,” Lythra mumbled, scrunching up her face. “F’sarn ula.”

Halsin couldn’t help but freeze for a moment, the simple word in ilythiiri bringing him back to a different lifetime, a lifetime when he’d been the brash and foolhardy adventurer. It didn’t seem that Astarion recognized it as more than drugged nonsense.  

“You are right, it is not the time to speak of such things.”

“Of course it’s not! Look at her! This is your fault!” He spat voice rising with the accusation. Halsin didn’t rise to the bait, though guilt twisted in his chest at his words. 

“Vrine'winith ol,” Lythra slurred, her eyes slipping shut once more. Astarion’s gaze flicked back to her face, fear flickering over his features before he could mask it with anger.

“I will heal her, to the very best of my ability.”

“You owe her that, at least,” Astarion spat. “After all she’s done.”

Halsin poured his strength into the spell, feeling her spine mend, the connections knit back together, though it fought him the whole way, draining him of far more of his magic than it should. Still, there was so much wrong within her, years and years of scar tissue and malice, wounds he didn’t have the strength to fix, maybe not even at his best. 

What horrors had she endured and for how long?

She cried out as he healed her, face twisting in pain, even through the medicine. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said, working on repairing the damage to her organs, to knit the muscle back properly. 

“It hurts, Halsin,” she whined, squeezing her eyes shut as blackened blood began to drip from her eyes, her nose. 

“You’re supposed to be healing her, godsdamnit!” Astarion spat, reaching over to grab a cloth from the bedside table and wipe it from her face. Halsin ignored him, focusing on Lythra. 

“You must stop using the magic, little one. It’s preventing you from healing properly. I—I suspect it’s draining your life force, as you use it, braiding it together with the Shadow Weave to allow you to use it.”

“I can’t,” she said softly.

“You must—“

“No, I—I can’t stop it, here. I’ve been trying. I don’t—it wields me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I lose myself. It t-takes over. I try, I promise.”

Halsin stared for a moment, mind whirring. Then he nodded, leaning down as he brushed back her hair to press a kiss to her brow. 

“Rest, little one. All will be better when you wake,” he said, ushering her to sleep with a simple incantation, an incantation that should have never worked, had she been raised properly in the ways of their race. Still, he was grateful for it now, if only that it alleviated her suffering. 

Astarion glared at him, fury etched on his face. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours to check on her. I will see what I can find that might be useful to curb her magic.”

“What do you care, Druid, so long as you got what you wanted?” he snarled. “Or is it simply so you can ask for more?”

Halsin turned and left without answering. It would do no one any good for him to rise to Astarion’s bait, even if it made his heart clench in his chest at the grain of truth in his scathing words. 

Not that he didn’t care, of course, but that he knew he would still have to ask for more. The thought sat bitter on his tongue.

[agonycrossbow]

Let's think of this post as the Aeon haters' guide to understanding Aeon, because it's fucking canon whether we like it or not. Goddamn it.

To start off, there's a difference between knowing someone well and being intimate with them. Luis's death scene was very intimate in RE4make, and Leon and Luis knew barely anything about each other at the time of his death. But that doesn't take away from the intimacy of the scene.

I feel like a similar principle applies to Leon and Ada.

Ada was with Leon throughout the majority of what was objectively the worst night of his life. Nothing else comes close to Raccoon City in terms of what it did to Leon -- no matter how much greater of a threat he faces logistically, it's still not as bad as what happened to him in Raccoon City. So, Ada knows Leon in ways that no one else in the series does.

Claire got a glimpse of the old Leon -- arguably, the "real" Leon -- but that's all it was. A glimpse. They weren't together long enough for her to really get to see what made him tick or to understand the perspective he was bringing into the city with him -- but Ada got to see all of that. And there's an intimacy to that all on its own -- especially when you consider that, after RE2, Leon starts building walls around himself made of machismo and bad one-liners that eventually wash away beneath a sea of liquor, which then dampens and darkens everything around it.

But no matter how fast he tries to run from himself, or how many walls he tries to put up, or how hard he tries to become someone else, there's still one person in his life who has seen and remembers who Leon S. Kennedy really is, and her name is Ada Wong.

He's allowed himself to be weak in front of her, to fail in front of her, to get frustrated and angry and overwhelmed around her -- and there is a real intimacy in that kind of vulnerability. And not once has she ever judged him for it or held it over his head or tried to harp on him about how he's changed -- because, to her, he hasn't changed. She can see through all of those new defense mechanisms he's put in place and knows that the core of who he still is is still intact. So, she silently allows him to work through whatever it is that he needs to work through while still trusting that he'll always be who he's always been -- and that's pretty fucking powerful, honestly.

And that's why he feels like he can't let her go -- because he's afraid that, if he does, he'll be letting go of the very last piece of himself that's still alive and holding on from before all the trauma set in.

The sad reality of the ship, though, is that that's not true. If Leon were to let Ada go, he wouldn't be letting go of his old self. Because, while Ada has seen the old Leon -- has met and known and spoken with him -- she is not what's keeping the memory of the old Leon alive; she is not the actual bearer of his legacy. Sherry is.

Even though Sherry wasn't around Leon nearly as much as Ada was and didn't get to know him the same way, that doesn't matter. What Leon doesn't see is that he didn't give up who he was because of Ada. He gave up who he was because of Sherry. He did it for her sake -- to save and protect and take care of her.

That's why he almost breaks down and cries when he sees her for the first time in RE6, when he's never done that when reuniting with Ada. It's because Sherry is carrying with her so many of the pieces of Leon that he left behind in order to properly fill the role of a federal agent. Doing what he did for her makes him more of a father to her than William Birkin ever was, and Sherry knows this. That's why she didn't think twice about following in his footsteps and jumping at the opportunity to become an agent herself -- and, to do that, she trusts Derek goddamn Simmons when she really shouldn't have, but she does it because she's still carrying the old Leon's optimism and trustfulness and faith in humanity. Again: she's following in Leon's footsteps, and the old Leon is the only Leon she ever really knew. Even if she didn't know him nearly as well as Ada did.

I think, on some unconscious level buried deep within his psyche, Leon knows this -- but it's a reality that's too painful to face, so he doesn't. Instead, he projects all of that shit onto Ada, because it's easier that way. Besides, he's been doing it for so long already, so why stop now? There's comfort in the familiar, and Ada is nothing if not familiar.

But, to go back to what I was saying earlier about Ada trusting that Leon will always be who he's always been -- that's also why he believes in her in RE6 when no one else does. Part of it is his projections about his past self and all that bullshit, but there's also an element of... "she would do the same for me." Because she has. She's been doing it for years.

And in that specific regard, there is a real maturity to their relationship that doesn't really get enough attention or praise from the fanbase. The whole "sexual tension" thing is stupid, and you're right to point it out in your ask as being stupid, because Leon and Ada's relationship isn't about sex -- and it shouldn't be! And that's why that line in Damnation is so fucking pointless and stupid AND I HATE IT lmao Leon and Ada's relationship is about two people who accept and trust each other without judgement, even when they really shouldn't.

NOW.

WITH ALL THAT BEING SAID.

EVERYTHING I JUST WROTE OUT IN THAT HUGE WALL OF TEXT IS ONLY APPLICABLE TO THE OG STORYLINE. THE REMAKES DO SOMETHING VERY, VERY DIFFERENT WITH LEON AND ADA. And honestly, the massive changes to their relationship are really the #1 major reason why I believe the remakes are a completely different timeline of events -- because so much of what I just said is not fucking true for the remake versions of Leon and Ada. It's just straight up not true.

Remake Leon does not accept Remake Ada for who she is (he literally asks her to fucking change, for god's sake!! LMAO), and he definitely does not fucking trust her. RE4make basically erased the canonicity of Leon/Ada as a romantic relationship. It's not there anymore; it's no longer a canon romance; it's gone. If it's anything still at all, it's one-sided unrequited Ada having fallen for Leon, and him not being able to get away from her fast enough.

But that doesn't mean that their relationship is lacking in intimacy.

The scene between them on the shuttle is very intimate -- and not just because she kisses him. It's the way she sits so close to him, the way she leans into him, the way she keeps a hand on his knee and gently caresses it with her thumb. It's the way they both speak in more hushed tones, the way she tries to be soothing with the tone of her voice. It's how she kisses him -- close-lipped and gentle, meant only to ease his anxiety and quiet his mind (and also get him to shut the fuck up for two goddamn seconds. god I respect her so much for this LMAO).

And not just that scene, but it's also present in the way she patches him up after he gets shot. We don't get to see it, but if you look again at Leon's bandages? She had to strip him the fuck down in order to do that LMAO home girl was sitting there unbuttoning his shirt and going "this sucks he's unconscious this isn't even fun. pain in the ass." And when he wakes up? Sure, she's gone, but he definitely knows that she had to have been all up in his business in order to do what she did -- and she left her coat behind with him as a fucking blanket and I'm sorry but that's so cute. IT'S CUTE. I'LL ADMIT IT. But it was probably a moment for him of "Wow. She really cares." -- because, again, touch is his love language. AND BOY DID SHE DO THAT A WHOLE FUCKIN LOT.

So, basically.

What I'm trying to say is.

Leon and Ada's relationship is poorly written and poorly executed and I hate it for a myriad of reasons, most of which involve the fact that it limits Ada's character and waters her down to a really unnecessary degree, but... I can't bring myself to say that there's no there there. Are they the hot and sexy spy vs spy ship that the director of Damnation desperately wanted us to believe they are? Absolutely fucking not. Is the ship predicated on only semi-resolved sexual tension? Also fucking no.

Does any of that actually matter...? Again... No. It doesn't matter. There is something to it. Even if they are still mostly strangers to each other, knowing facts about each other isn't what's important about their relationship. It's knowing who the other is at their core that's important.

At least, in OG.

In Remake, Leon can't fucking stand her by the time of RE4. And if anyone tries to say otherwise, they're fucking delusional.

Though I honestly believe that if either version of Ada learned more about who Leon was in the day-to-day, she'd probably like him a whole lot less. Leon, shave your face and stop drinking and why are the fucking Beastie Boys playing in your car when you're driving to work and holy shit are you really watching Casino for the third time this week oh my god