#(tagging it both ways to ensure nobody reads this I guess)

[coraniaid]

Last post on this topic for a while, I promise.

I saw that somebody tagged my recent post about Helpless as ‘anti-Giles’, and – while I can see how you might get that impression (I mean, to be fair, I did use the phrase ‘unambiguously evil’) – it’s not really what I was trying to drive at.  My problem is with the way that particular episode depicts Giles (and to a lesser extent with the broader fandom attitude towards Giles) not with the character of Giles more generally.

What I mean is: I think the version of Giles that exists in Helpless is basically impossible to reconcile with the character we’ve seen in the first two seasons of the show. The Giles of Prophecy Girl who was so appalled by the thought of Buffy dying that he wanted to “defy prophecy” and fight the Master himself surely wouldn’t have taken so long to stand up to Quentin Travers.  The Giles of Innocence who told Buffy that “all you will get from me is my support and my respect” certainly wouldn’t repeatedly drug her and lie to her face about it.  The Giles who spent all summer chasing down possible sightings of Buffy across the country after she ran away at the end of Becoming would not be so willing to risk her life again just to follow orders from a group of people he openly despises. 

And – because the show doesn’t ever come back and address what he’s shown to do in this episode – it’s also impossible to reconcile Helpless with subsequent episodes.  Nobody ever talks about it, at all, and so the impression is that it either didn’t happen or just wasn’t a big deal.  Giles was unfairly sacked, for some reason, by the Bad Watcher’s Council, and that’s all there is to remember.  (The fact that Giles worked for years for the Bad Watcher’s Council and would’ve happily kept on doing so if they hadn’t fired him goes similarly unremarked on.)

But I don’t think a Buffy who had been betrayed by Giles this fundamentally would go back to trusting him as quickly as she does.  If ever.  I don’t think that only a few episodes later she’d be in any hurry to talk to him about the manslaughter she’d unwittingly been involved in, or that she’d so readily listen to him as her unofficial Watcher when Wesley arrives.  As it is, she spends more time being upset by the fact Giles had sex with her mother this season than she does caring about the fact he almost got her and her mother killed.  That just doesn’t make any sense to me.

And, just to be clear: I really do like Giles a lot.  He is one of my favorite characters in the show.  I think the evolution of his semi-parental relationship with Buffy is really well done; I like his connections with Jenny and Ethan and the way he gets to play off of other characters like Snyder and Joyce and Wesley. I think he is generally a very good deconstruction of the trope of the wise and patient mentor.  I think that ASH’s performance as Giles in Season 1 is probably a large part of what got the show renewed for a second season.  I am, in fact, firmly pro-Giles.

What I don’t like is the collective willingness of the fandom to overlook all of his faults. To strip away everything that makes him interesting until he’s just “Buffy’s Nice Dad”. To afford him a level of tolerance and understanding that somehow never seems to extend to any of the women in Buffy’s life. To pretend that Joyce Summers is being ridiculous or unreasonable for blaming him for her daughter running away, even though it is explicitly Buffy’s calling as a Slayer – and the fact that Giles himself insists she keeps this secret from her loved ones – that makes the events of Becoming possible.  [No, Buffy doesn’t just run away because of what Joyce said to her: if that was the only reason, why did she also cut off all ties with Giles and Willow and Xander and her other friends?]  And, yes, to act as if the fact that Quentin Travers, of all people, tells us that Giles has “a father’s love” for Buffy is the only takeaway from Helpless, and to pretend that his actual actions in that episode don’t undermine that reading at all.

Joyce Summers can tell Buffy not to come back home if she leaves the house without permission – in the heat of the moment, during an argument, clearly regretting it the second she says it – and twenty-five years later the internet is still full of posts calling her a bitch and a terrible mother and claiming she wanted Buffy to leave.  Joyce can be compelled to burn Buffy at the stake because she’s possessed by a demon and this is still a running joke in the fandom two decades later (nevermind the time the season before when Giles was similarly possessed by a demon that tried to kill Buffy: that one doesn’t count, apparently).  Buffy can literally tell Giles that she doesn’t “see the point” of living in the world anymore after her mother’s gone and you all act like it’s a complete mystery why she might be depressed after The Body.  Buffy tells her mother she loves her every season, starting from the third episode of the show – the first episode we see her tell anyone she loves them – and you all pretend that it’s somehow a huge retcon when she still loves her mother four seasons later and that she misses her when she dies.

But Giles goes along with a plan that seems all but designed to get Buffy killed, hypnotizes her, drugs her, and lies to her face about it – not because he’s possessed, not because he’s not in control of his actions, but because the people who employ him tell him he has to – and … nothing.  There’s no outrage at all.  The fandom and the writers alike all agree to pretend it just never happened.  I look for any discussion of this, but you’re all just talking about how much more consistently written a character Giles is than Joyce (which … no, sorry, that’s obviously nonsense; the Season 2 Ripper retcon alone is evidence enough of that), and how he should’ve gotten to adopt Buffy after Joyce died (when … uh, Buffy was legally an adult??), and writing  fanfic after fanfic in which Buffy tells Giles he was more of a parent to her than Joyce ever was (nevermind that she says almost literally the opposite in Season 6, or that she didn’t even meet Giles until she was sixteen, after Joyce explicitly uprooted her whole life to try to find somewhere for Buffy to have a fresh start) and … honestly, I don’t get it.

I just don’t get why you all hate Joyce this much, or why the fandom collectively seems to judge her by standards it never ever applies to Rupert Giles.  When did we decide that the times Joyce hurts Buffy are a fundamental part of her character and that the times Giles hurts her can be safely hand-waved away and ignored?  Why was I not at that meeting?

Like I said, I don’t know.

But what I do know is that Joyce is practically the only recurring character on the show who was played by a woman in her forties.

[For reference, Buffy’s recurring female cast includes two centuries old vampires, a thousand year old ex-vengeance demon, her friend the still-active vengeance demon whose exact age we don't know but was active in the 19th cenutry at least and probably for centuries before that, an ancient and immortal hell-god from another dimension and a centuries old ball of green energy that takes human form.  Not one of these characters is played by a woman over 35.  In fact, only one of them -- in-universe, quite possibly the youngest one of them -- is played by a woman over 30.  

The adult woman with the most screen time after Joyce is Jenny Calendar, who is played by a woman who was 27 years old when her character was killed off. A year later, Giles starts a relationship with another woman called Olivia Williams (who the show and the fandom are both profoundly uninterested in: at the time of writing there are more fics on AO3 shipping Giles with Oz than there are fics shipping him with Olivia.). Olivia is played by a woman who was also 27 years old in the only season she appears in, the same season that ASH turned 46. She's also introduced by Giles as an "old friend", which is probably something it's best not to think too hard about.

The one other woman over forty to appear in more than one episode of Buffy was Lindsay Crouse, who plays Professor Maggie Walsh in Season 4.  She appears in eight episodes, anticipates fandom by calling herself an ‘evil bitch’, then dies in an incredibly stupid and pointless way.  That’s literally it.]

So maybe I do get it.  And frankly, it sucks.

[thejustmaiden]

So out of nowhere I was tagged and quoted by a SR shipper for a blog of mine posted in August of last year. Talk about throwback but, hey, gotta appreciate that level of snooping. 😉

Back in the day I actually used to encourage discourse amongst Inuyasha fans- both shippers and antis alike- but I've since realized that it's a lost cause. But for you, @feministmetalgreymon , I'll grant this exception. Just 'cause it's been a while so why the hell not. haha

I want to assure you, however, that nothing you say will ever convince me that Sesshomaru and Rin are meant to be together romantically or that the story intended it so. Nor will you find any validation here. You can ship them for all I care, but please for all that is good and holy while I have your attention try- I mean really try- to understand why it is so many of us Inuyasha fans are so against this pairing in the first place (newsflash: it's not about ship wars), and why we believe a romance between the two of them is completely and utterly out of character.

For those of you interested in reading this, the blog of mine in question that the above shipper mentions in their counter-argument is here for reference. It's titled "Jaken = Rin's Dad?" I'm going to try and keep this short, but I'm also making no such promises. After all, I'm not exactly known for my brevity. haha Now let's get crackin'!

Like you, feministmetalgreymon, did for your recent blog here where you took screenshots of mine to address certain parts, I will be doing the same and dissecting yours accordingly.

[Snippet 1]

I worked with kids for many years as a teacher, and many people in my family have too or still do. Two of them happen to be just over 5 feet which is quite short for the average adult woman living here. I've also worked alongside many a women of short stature, and never did I hear any of them complaining of issues with their students having difficulty differentiating them from their own peers just because they were short as well. I'm sorry but that's just ridiculous. Kids are quite smart and pick up on a lot more than you seem to give them credit for. Height is not the only characteristic they look at to determine who's an adult and who's not, and it's foolish to suggest otherwise. So unless you're a babysitter who's still in their teens and/or who has very childlike features or behavior then I'm afraid what you're getting at is total hogwash. This is just another example of how you shippers offer nothing of real substance to your reasoning, it's only ever cherry-picking or strawmanning from you guys. Stop deflecting from the real issues please, because this certainly isn't one and only winds up being a complete waste of time for all parties involved.

[Snippet 2]

Okay, calm down now. I wasn't insinuating that relationships between parents and children can't change over time in terms of how they get along. Of course that's possible, as all families experience their fair share of estrangement and abuse. What I was speaking about was in reference to the overall dynamic between the two. Because a bad mother or father can still be viewed as a parental figure to their child even if say they're not in said child's life anymore. Since Sesshomaru and Rin share a healthy bond- and just a friendly reminder that in my blog I even said that he doesn't have to necessarily be labeled her father but that a romantic relationship later would still be inappropriate- I didn't deem it necessary to address what you brought up. Plus, it kinda, umm, misses the point?? Please, let's stay on topic. And it's not captured in the screenshot, but stop acting like there isn't a small part of them that idolizes their parents at some point during childhood. Just like you mention later on how it's normal for kids to have innocent crushes on adults that they eventually grow out of? Well, guess what, the same concept applies here. Kids eventually learn that their parents are far from perfect and make mistakes too. Rin is so damn young in the OG series though that we never even get to see her reach that maturity level.

[Snippet 3]

LOL! Alright, okay, so the "unbreakable bond" bit you're mentioning was actually me quoting you sessrinners. Did you not catch that? I literally spelled it out. *sigh* The whole point I was making is that shippers like yourself make hypocritical and contradictory statements all.the.goddamn.time. One moment you guys claim that Sesshomaru and Rin were essentially strangers and meant very little to each other, only to say in the same breath a few seconds later that they were destined to be together and their bond is like no other. I agree, their bond is special, but why must that mean they're going to fall in love?

That is the root of the matter here. Too many animes/mangas have romanticized this older adult man & young girl growing up falling in love trope that it's become way too normalized and widely accepted across the world- and yes, in some cultures more than others. Sadly, you lack the awareness to recognize how this all works. You know how we know that? When we see that you shippers are so desensitized to sexualized images of girls in the media that you share posts like this one below which *subtly* imply a future romance although one half of that pairing is still just a child in the pic and then try and pass it off as cute. That's like super fucking problematic and it scares me that you can't see that (or deny you do). 🤢

After all that's said and done, Sesshomaru leaving Rin in the village with Kaede is to me the strongest indicator more than pretty much anything else he's done for Rin that proves he is her adoptive father. It's so funny to me how you somehow see the exact opposite though. 🤔 What I think is happening is that you got yourself on some squeaky clean ass shipper goggles fresh out of your little echo chamber. Because I hate to tell you, but what you're fantasizing is what you want to see and not what's actually there on screen or was written into the story. I'm strictly talking about Inuyasha and the manga of course. [For the TL; DR version skip to the last paragraph.]

Parents looking after their kids is what parents are supposed to do. A good parent will do anything to keep their child safe and ensure they are cared for, so what he did for her by leaving her there was in her best interests clearly. Besides, as a babysitter, you more than most people should understand that parents aren't always able to be there for their kids so sometimes others gotta step in to help. Haven't you heard of the saying, "it takes a village to raise a child?" Which in Rin's case is literally true! 😂 Sometimes kids are even sent off to stay with grandparents and that's who raises them instead. Or maybe they have to temporarily live with an aunt or uncle because their single parent's job requires they work out of town 4-5 days of the week so they're hardly home. But that doesn't mean that the parents care or love their kids any less, and it's foolish to assume that Sesshomaru must have thought very little of Rin simply due to the fact that he made the decision to leave her in the village. Come on, y'all are acting like he abandoned her there!!

It's just given the circumstances Sesshomaru finally came to learn that Rin traveling with him was no longer safe. I also like to think it's because he wished for her to live a more normal life and to learn how to fully trust humans again. Plus, continuing to travel with him as young as she was would have proven dangerous and unwise. Now for you to know all this and still manage to turn his past actions towards her while she was just a child into a romantic gesture is what boggles my mind. Regardless of how you look at it, from my perspective or your own, Sesshomaru is in the wrong. Either he's a father figure who impregnates his daughter at the young age of approximately 14. OR he's this man she used to travel with who maybe isn't a father to her but who nonetheless basically rapes her since kids her age can't consent to sex with an adult. Idk about you but it sounds to me like nobody here wins with either scenario we're given. In other words, you should be just as mad as we are. If only one side didn't choose to forsake their morals they know we both have in common for the sake of a ship. Welp. 🤷‍♀️

I agree, incest is disgusting but that's not the only problem we have with this pairing. A romantic bond forming between Sesshomaru and Rin would also constitute as grooming.

You realize that over the years he visited her in the village that he brought her gifts too and essentially watched her grow up right before his very eyes, right? I mean, I know you do, but I really shouldn't have to explain further why pursuing a romantic/sexual relationship with each other is plain and simple wrong. And before you say it's not because he didn't have any malintent, please understand that considering their history and power dynamic up to then that yes this is still considered grooming even if Rin supposedly "wanted it" or "made the first move." Whether you consider him her father or not, as the adult who took on a role resembling that of a caretaker in her early life- a critical developmental time for a child- Sesshomaru is obligated to turn down any advances by Rin and most definitely should not initiate any himself. As the first close adult figure she's had in her life since her parents died, it's unfathomable to imagine how Sesshomaru could go through with taking advantage of this young girl who was under his care and supervision since they met. To think he could be capable of betraying that trust sickens me to the core.

This. Now THIS is how a parent/guardian or a similar adult caretaker (babysitter, teacher, etc.) talks to a child. And, in turn, this is how some young children talk to adults. You'd be insane and delusional to deny it! We see it in our everyday lives, do we not? From where else do you think our stories draw most of their inspiration? Yes, obviously these fictional universes have aspects of fantasy that don't exist in the real world, but so how then do you suppose we're able to relate to them? The reason for that being is because these stories are written by people for people, so naturally there are going to be real life aspects embedded throughout. Sure, a little escapism doesn't hurt as we don't need to take everything so seriously, but ultimately we all need to recognize that the messages in the stories we tell matter. Most stories possess a combination of both light and dark themes, but when it specifically comes to the latter we gotta be careful with how we tackle this in children's media since kids are far more impressionable.

So if at the center of a story we have two of the main protagonists whose mom is basically their same age and to top it off she knew their dad when she was just a girl and who just so happened to help raise her, wouldn't you say that's beyond fucked up or at the very least so fucking weird? Like why would we think it's even remotely okay for our children to watch this garbage?? Really think about it. Try and be objective for once and think about how it would sound explaining this storyline to an outsider who's never watched IY or HNY. Well, antis have tried this before many times and we always get the same reaction: Ewww!

Like I said earlier, if you wanna ship it then fine, but 1) please stop seeking our approval or trying to change our minds - your ship wish came true didn't it, so why do you need us to validate it? 2) even though it's not canon, respect that we don't support this sequel portraying pedophilia in a positive light. It's harmful af to not only allow but glorify the continuation of sexualized images of young girls everywhere. And I shouldn't have to say this, but just because this trope is popular as you say does not make it right. Lolicon themes in the media have been an issue forever and it needs to stop. Yes, even some people in Japan or "the East" would agree. Shocker!

We're pissed off and rightfully so because Yashahime's TV rating is 14, not to mention it airs at the prime time kids in Japan watch TV after getting home from school. That's Towa and Setsuna's age, true, but if Rin being the mom when she's like only a year older than them (please don't argue w/ me about the math- antis have so far been right every time with it) is straight-up disgusting and not something we should be supporting or endorsing. Rin's a whole ass child!! Please don't start with the "but times were different then so her having kids at 15 is acceptable" argument either, because we've already debunked that and every other single excuse you guys throw at us. Besides, how or why would you expect young viewers to know these historical "facts" anyway, especially if as you suggest fiction doesn't affect reality so what does it matter? Yet here we are, arguing over a fictional show in real life almost a year and a half into the "Sesshomaru fucks?" sequel being announced. My ass, your ass, hell all our asses fiction doesn't affect reality!

Look, I do apologize if the tone of this blog came off as snippy or condescending at times. I do not wish you any ill will, it's just I'm not really sure what you expected to get out of all this besides maybe getting on my nerves perhaps. haha A lot of you shippers have been desperately scrambling to interact with us, lurking in our tags, jumping onto our posts screaming canon and getting so defensive even though you sought us out first. We've been sticking to our tags, so how about you stay in your lane too. By the way since we're on the topic, have you seen Twitter or Reddit?! SR shippers there are the actual worst and many Inuyasha fans (not just antis) have complained of not feeling welcomed to engage in fandom spaces anymore. Shippers swarm them and scare them off simply because fans don't like your ship and refuse to accept it. It's pathetic, really. No one should ever be bullied or harassed just because they don't like something you might. We're all fans of Inuyasha, aren't we? So let's act like it. Yashahime on the other hand, you guys are welcome to that pungent heap of trash. Fans have a right to criticize it too, but if you like it then good for you, so keep on liking it and don't mind us.

I'm almost done, but real quick back to Jaken! Let's not forget about how the official Yashahime website- which came out after my blog, mind you- described Jaken. This translation isn't the best one available but it's the only version a fellow anti friend could track down. They do recall a better one done by a native Japanese speaker who was also an anti, and that member confirmed that Jaken is indeed called Rin's babysitter. So you see, I was right in my interpretation. In the original post I did compare Jaken to a brother, but after talking to others (some comments can be found under said post) I did acknowledge that he's more of a reluctant babysitter who's not related. And if he's not at least a brother to Rin, then he's definitely not her father.

At the end of the day, the creator Rumiko Takahashi has the final word. Which is guess what? Hogosha. 💖 Probably should've just started out with that and saved us all the trouble, huh? Good day/night to you.

Papamaru bids you adieu now. 🤞

[prettyspence]

Hanging in the Inbetween

Summary: Moving to DC proves to be the right move when you meet Emily Prentiss, finally come out to your brother, and feel like you have a happy future with somebody you could actually love.

Tags: 18+, smut, reader-insert, coming out, internalised homophobia, getting together, smut/kink tags under the cut

Pairing: Emily x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Read on AO3

Smut/Kink Tags: top!emily prentiss (but the lines kinda blur), light dom/sub, fingering, sex toys, dirty talk, kink negotiation, first time

You moved to DC for a few reasons, the first of which was that you wanted to get the fuck out of Virginia.

The move to Richmond from Manassas hadn’t even helped much: you were working in your dream field and had some distance from your family, sure, but Virginia’s still the South. And after you came to a very poignant realisation about yourself earlier in the year, you wanted to get as far away from the bigotry that defined your lived experience there as possible.

The second reason was that you missed Aaron. Your brother had moved away when you were only little, but you’d always been close and he was the only family member left that you felt you could genuinely trust with your secret, even if the idea of telling him that you liked women still left you frozen with fear.

So when he invited you to brunch with his colleagues at the FBI you agreed in a heartbeat, it seemed like a great way to meet new people in your new city and spend time with your incredibly busy older brother simultaneously.

If you had any doubts about your sexuality, Emily Prentiss would have eradicated them. As soon as she’d walked into the cafe, her enigmatic presence had captivated you and you were hooked, addicted, obsessed. She smiled warmly at you but all you could do was stare dumbly at her as you shook her hand, eventually managing a weak smile in return. It was as if she was glowing, the others dimming in comparison as you took in her breath-taking beauty. Every time she spoke your breath caught, aching to bask in her voice for the rest of your days.

It felt so dramatic, childish almost. You’d never understood that ‘take your breath away’, ‘at first sight’ kind of love, but you knew it as soon as you met Emily.

But Emily was this gorgeous, confident woman. You knew she was a lesbian, she didn’t hide that from anyone and frequently made jokes about it, and while you shared her identity, the way you approached it couldn’t have been more different. Sure, if anyone looked hard enough, they would catch the adoring looks you sent Emily at every get-together, the way you blushed at any interaction with her. Hell, even she probably knew.

But it could never happen. After years of conservative indoctrination and being surrounded by people convinced of your ‘sin’, you were still on your journey to accepting yourself, still sometimes sick to your stomach every time you remember that you weren’t ‘normal’, that your parents wouldn’t see you as their daughter as soon as you told them. So you hide under layers of facade, wear a mask of confidence over your crippling insecurity and internalised homophobia, pretend that everything’s fine when it feels like you’re crumbling under the surface.

You thought you’d crumble further when Aaron inevitably discovered the truth about you, but really it’s the moment where your foundation starts to rebuild itself. It happens completely accidentally one evening, you don’t mean to come out at all. You’ve been so careful at using gender neutral language for so long. You always talked about a future ‘partner’, said ‘they’ when talking about prospective relationships, the kind of words that don’t attract questions or attention. But you slip up.

“Have you thought about getting back out there, Y/N?” Aaron asks one evening, when you’re both sitting on his couch having a much needed catch-up. “I know it’s been hard after you and Samuel broke up, but maybe you should think about putting yourself back in the scene.”

“God, Aaron, you are not talking about my love life, please,” you groan, swatting his arm lightly. He’s not usually interested in what’s going on in your romantic relationships as long as you seem happy, but it’s been pretty obvious how low you’ve been recently. It’s sort of sweet that he’s talking about something he feels so awkward about to try and make his sister smile.

“I’m serious,” he smiles fondly. “I want to see you happy again, like you were with Tom, remember?”

You were not happy with Tom. You’re not sure you’ve ever been happy in a relationship (for the obvious reason that none of them were women) but you’re pretty damn good at pretending, so you can hardly blame him.

“Ahh, I don’t know, Aaron,” you grimace. You can’t think about anyone but Emily right now, God you’ve tried to move on but everyone seems to pale in comparison at the moment. “When I finally get a girlfriend I want it to be real, you know. An accidental meeting, nothing manufactured…”

You trail off as you see his eyes widen and face contort in surprise. Immediately, your stomach sinks and eyes brim with tears as you realise how badly you’ve fucked up. Jumping up from the sofa, you run to the bathroom and lock yourself in, barely able to contain the sobs as you feel your world implode around you. Fuck, you’re out. Aaron knows.

You sink down to the floor and fold yourself as tightly as possible, trying to hold yourself completely as you feel your walls crashing down, anxiety taking over. It’s only minutes after you’ve barricaded yourself in the bathroom that you hear the knocks at the door.

“Y/N,” Aaron says softly. “It’s okay, I’m not angry, I was just surprised. Why don’t you come out and we can talk about this? I’m not mad, I promise.”

It feels like it must be some sort of trap. Surely Aaron isn’t really okay with it? Choosing to trust your brother despite your scepticism, you peel yourself out of your protective position and splash some cool water on your face in an attempt to calm yourself down a little before unlocking the door.

You must look utterly miserable because Aaron’s face immediately softens and he envelopes in a warm, protective hug, the kind that used to reassure you in your childhood and still has the same effect today.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” he asks as he guides you to the sofa, voice gentle.

You take a deep breath before you explain everything, finally unloading the emotional turmoil that’s been whirling around inside you for months, connecting with another person properly since you realised yourself. You weren’t lying anymore; Aaron knew the truth.

Aaron basically forces you to stay over that night, tucking you in the way he used to do before he left for college, left for Washington to be a big bad FBI agent. You don’t fight him. It’s nice to be taken care of again, to feel really close to your brother for the first time in a long time.

Instead of crumbling, your foundation is firmer. You genuinely feel like you can do this, like you have a happy future ahead of you again.

⭐️

It’s a Tuesday evening and you’re running across town, butterflies swimming in your tummy. An excited smile is playing over your face on the metro, in the taxi, while you run down the road towards Aaron’s apartment. You keep checking your phone to confirm this is really happening, but the text message isn’t leaving; it isn’t a delusional mirage borne from isolation and desperation.

Hi Y/N, how would you feel about grabbing coffee with me later this week? ;) Feel like we haven’t had a chance to properly get to know one another! Let me know - Emily

You pound on the door as soon as you get there, knowing Jack is at a sleepover with his friend tonight, squealing as soon as Aaron opens the door. He smiles amusedly as he lets you in, practically bouncing with excitement as you thrust your phone in his face. “Is this what I think it is?” you ask eagerly as he reaches a hand to steady your shaking ones so he can read the message.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he says. “It could be. I’ve seen the way Emily looks at you, this looks like an invitation on a date to me, especially with the winky emoticon, but equally, she might just be asking you as a friend.” He smiles sympathetically as he says that, hating to temper your excitement. He’s never seen you this happy over a prospective partner and he doesn’t know how he missed how unhappy you were with men.

You giggle at Aaron speculating over the message as you would’ve done with your girlfriends back home. “She doesn’t know I’m gay,” you reason. “But I’m pretty obvious so she probably guessed. Maybe she really does want to go on a date with me!”

“Well, why haven’t you messaged back?” he asks.

“I wanted to tell you first,” you say, a little shyly. It was just nice to share in your truth with somebody. You couldn’t help feeling so eager about it.

He smiles fondly down at you. “Why don’t you make your message back a little more flirty?” he suggests as he makes his way to the kitchen to get you both a drink.

“Ooh, okay,” you muse. Subsequently, the next half an hour is spent agonising over the appropriate response, giggling and squabbling together in the way you used to before life got in the way.

Emily, I’d love to! It would be a great pleasure to spend some more time with your gorgeous self ;) How does Thursday at Cooper’s work? Maybe late morning?- Y/N

As long as we don’t get a case, I’m there :) - Emily

(If Aaron does his utmost to ensure there isn’t a case, well that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

⭐️

After agonising all morning over the perfect outfit, you hurry across the city to get to your favourite cafe in time to meet Emily. You arrive first, ordering yourself a coffee and a pastry and finding a cosy seat in the bay window, your favourite spot. Thankfully, it’s not overly busy and Emily spots you as soon as she walks in not long after you’ve sat down, grinning widely as she approaches.

“Y/N, I’m so glad we could finally do this,” she says earnestly as she gives you a hug.

“I know,” you smile shyly, returning her hug and revelling in having her so close, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, catching the gentle notes of her perfume.

“I’ll just go order a mocha and I’ll be right back,” she smiles, heading over to the counter.

You sit back and just watch her, how graceful and powerful she looks as she moves, how assertive and confident she is. Her gorgeous raven hair frames her face so perfectly and her body looks so strong under her smart, professional but stylish outfit. She smiles beautifully as she comes back over, holding a pastry in her other hand.

“Ah, another pastry addict,” you say, still a little shy and flustered.

“Oh, don’t you know it,” Emily chuckles self-deprecatingly. “Nothing better than a buttery pastry mid-morning, right?”

“Mm, I’ve got a huge sweet-tooth,” you confess. “I’ll do pretty much anything for a sweet treat.”

She laughs loudly at that, looking at you with so much warmth you think she might light you on fire. “I don’t blame you,” she agrees. “The team knows that if I’m grumpy, all I need is something sugary and I’m back on track.”

“You’re so lucky to have such a wonderful team,” you tell her, smiling back at her. “I’m so jealous of you and Aaron, surrounded by all these amazing people.”

“Oh, I know it,” she says. “Found family is important, and I rely on them a lot. I never thought getting into the FBI would change my life this much.”

“Oh, really? What led you to the academy?” you ask, gazing at her adoringly, not bothering to hide it. If you’ve misread the situation, so be it. You’re fed up of hiding, you’re going to take this risk, dive head first into it.

You chat amicably over coffee and pastry for over an hour, and when she frowns and tells you she has to get back to work, you can’t help the raging disappointment inside you. You’ve never felt this connected to somebody, ever. Maybe it’s just that Emily is the first woman you’ve allowed yourself to crush on properly, but it feels like more than that. It feels real, reciprocated even. You can’t help the burning excitement in your chest as you think about what it might be like to be close to her, to call her your girlfriend, to kiss her, to come home to her.

She gives you another hug before you part ways and the smouldering imprint of her body against yours keeps you warm the whole journey home.

⭐️

It’s nearing 7pm when you hear the knock at the door. You uncurl yourself from your cosy position on the sofa and put down your hot chocolate, leaving the movie you’re watching playing quietly in the background as you get up to answer it.

“Emily?” You’re a little bewildered to be honest. Wrapping your cardigan a little tighter around yourself, you send her a puzzled look, but you’re curious, too. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to tell you something,” she says, face serious. “I’m done screwing around; we’re not children, so let’s talk about this like adults.”

Right on cue, butterflies start swimming in your tummy, partly nerves, partly warm fuzzy hope. “Okay,” you say, still a little confused, but you guide her to the sofa and gesture for her to speak.

“I like you,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I’ve liked you since I met you and you intrigue me. I want to know more about you. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous, inside and out, and I’d love to take you out for dinner, on a proper date.”

You’re stunned for a moment, not entirely sure you’re actually awake. “Yes,” you say as soon as you reboot, reaching out to grab her hands gently. “Yes, please, that sounds amazing. I like you, too, I’ve liked you since I first met you.”

Her face lights up at your admission as you share a heated look before leaning in for a gentle kiss. You scoot a little closer to her and place your hands tentatively on her waist, only feeling emboldened when she leans a hand up to place on your neck, the other finding your hip. As you melt into her touch you feel her melt into yours, a mutual melding; a coming together.

It doesn’t stay chaste and gentle for long, however, quickly finding a rhythm that properly conveys the intense passion and amour filling the room, Emily eventually leaning forward and pushing you back slightly on the couch so she can lean more of her weight on you. This must be heaven. No kiss has ever felt like this, not even with your long-term boyfriends, no-one has ever made you feel the sparks that are flashing in your tummy right now.

“Hey, is this too fast?” she asks as she pulls back a bit, breathing heavily as she reaches a hand up to brush some of your hair away from your face. “Do you want to slow down?”

“No, no,” you deny, desperate to continue. “I don’t want to stop, I just… I haven’t been with a woman before.”

Your confession is shy, tentative; you don’t want to scare her off, but she simply smiles softly down at you, continuing to gently caress your hair. “Don’t worry about that,” she says. “We’ll see where this takes us and if you want to stop or slow down just tell me, alright?”

“Yeah,” you agree before leaning back in to continue the kiss, pushing your hand up under her shirt slightly and feeling her toned abs, the soft curve of her waist. It only serves to make you wetter, the feel of a woman under your palms more euphoric than you ever could have anticipated.

She moans as you explore her midriff, pushing your shirt up to do the same, and if you thought feeling a woman was amazing, being felt by one feels incredible, shivering under her touch as she runs her fingers up and down your waist, pushing your shirt up even more to caress the sides of your breasts.

“Off.” You obey and sit up a little bit to shrug off your cardigan and t-shirt as she does the same, both left only in your bras and pants, pressed skin-to-skin on the sofa. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, Y/N,” she moans, kissing you deeper as she tangles her fingers in your hair, tugging a little at the strands.

“Emily,” you whine as her other hand comes to your breast, teasing you with a finger slowly before running her thumb over your nipple through your lacy bra, squeezing gently. You’re already a dripping mess for her, this is already the best sex you’ve ever had, and you’ve barely started.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she suggests, pulling back a little to sit up before taking your hand and letting you lead the way. “Take your bra off and lie down on the bed.” Her voice is soft but there’s an authority to it that calms you slightly. You may not know exactly what you’re doing but Emily does and she’s going to take care of you.

“I have a few toys,” you confess shyly as you follow her orders, watching her with blown pupils all the while. “They’re washed and clean, and there are condoms and latex gloves, too.”

“Oh?” Emily asks, quirking an eyebrow slightly.

“They’re in the bottom drawer,” you say, blushing wildly as you share your sex toy collection with the woman you’ve been crushing pretty hard on for a while now.

She immediately lights up and rummages through, a playful smirk colouring her face as she pulls out a few options. You take in the fairly sizable dildo -- a favourite of yours -- the finger vibrator you’d bought only last month and a butt plug you’d had for years with hungry eyes, excited for what she has in mind.

“Before we really get going, let’s talk,” Emily smiles gently, leaning over to kiss you softly before pulling back. “What are you into, up for, wanting to try?”

“I’m not really sure,” you say, blushing awkwardly. This kind of discussion is fairly foreign for you. “I’ve never enjoyed sex before because it was always with a man.”

Emily pulls a face to make you laugh before nodding in agreement. “Okay, well how about I tell you a few of the things I like and you can tell me if you’re comfortable with them? And if you do try it and you’re not into it we’ll just stop, yeah?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Great. I like to be on top mostly, I’m quite a dominant person but I can tone that up or down to whatever you like, too,” she starts. “I’m very into dirty talk -- a little mild verbal degradation etcetera -- I love clitoral stimulation and don’t get much from internal simulation so maybe you could use this finger vibrator on me while I tell you what to do? And I could use this dildo on you if you’d like, the butt plug, too?”

“With my boyfriends the only time they could make me cum is if they got really into dirty talk, calling me names and stuff” you confess, “so that works for me, especially if you alternate with praise. And I’m happy for you to top and be more dominant, that sounds… good. All of what you said, I want, except I think the butt plug is a bit adventurous for today?” Your face must be fire engine red but Emily is looking at you fondly so you clearly haven’t turned her off with your inexperience or bashfulness.

She grins at you before leaning in to kiss you again. “Perfect. If I say or do anything you don’t like, tell me immediately. I won’t be offended, okay? I’ll do the same.” You nod in agreement, blush calming down as she settles her body over yours, a comforting, reassuring weight in an unfamiliar scenario.

She quickly gets the lube and condoms out and once she’s ready, Emily trails latex covered fingers down your waist, tickling slightly and revelling in the shiver she elicits, before slipping beneath the waistband and pressing gently, teasingly against your clit. She presses another kiss to your lips, deepening it against your moans as she moves down to push a finger inside.

“Emily,” you cry, panting as the initial pressure against your walls makes you see stars, warm wetness helping to ease her fingers inside. She slowly works you open as she alternates between kissing you, sucking on your neck and whispering dirty, encouraging platitudes in your ear.

“Do you think you’re ready to take my cock, princess?” she asks, tone dripping and sultry as she whispers directly into your ear, licking a stripe over the shell as you moan loudly. She holds the condom-covered dildo directly in your line of sight as she presses her own heat against your thigh, rutting slightly to ease her own immediate arousal.

“Yes, Emily, please” you beg, pushing your thigh up so she can use it properly, getting an appreciative moan in response.

“Good girl,” she praises, kissing you again as she lines up the dildo, easing it into you gently, pausing when your aroused moans betray a hint of pain. “God, you took that so well. You are a dirty little slut for me, aren’t you? Built to take my cock.”

“Yeah,” you whine, writhing as you feel the fullness of the dildo inside you, moaning again as Emily starts to fuck in and out. She starts out slowly before speeding it up, fucking you hard with your own dildo as she murmurs absolute filth into your ear. “Stop, stop.”

She stills her hand immediately, but you quickly ease her mind. “I’m close, don’t want to come yet.”

At that, she beams down at you. “Good girl. I think it’s my turn to get off, don’t you?”

Technically, she’s been grinding down on your leg the whole time she’s been fucking you, but you get what she means and reach for the finger vibrator, dildo still wedged firmly inside you, while she rolls onto her back. You fit the vibe onto your first finger and turn it on, thankful you recently changed the battery recently as you slide on a latex covering over your finger. She smiles encouragingly as you maneuver her hips to the right angle before teasing her a little with your middle finger to ease her into it before pressing the vibe to her folds first, thoroughly enjoying the jerk her hips make at the pleasure, before working your way up to her clit.

She throws her head back and moans wantonly as you work her over, running your other hand up her side before making your way to her breasts, leaning down to suck and bite gently at them as she cups her hand against the back of your neck, keeping your mouth where she wants.

“Keep going,” she moans as she approaches her orgasm, rutting against your finger as you swallow her nipple into your mouth with renewed vigour, desperate to bring her off. She shouts your name as she cums, squirming around your finger as her hips writhe with pleasure, eyes screwed close. It’s a beautiful sight, seeing a woman cum, and it’s so much better than whatever you’ve seen in porn, because you did this. Emily’s orgasm is your work of art and you couldn’t be prouder to sign your name against it.

“Good girl,” she sighs as she comes down. “You did so well. Now, shall we finish you off, baby?”

You’re virtually there already, seeing Emily’s pleasure had been getting you closer and closer to your own orgasm. It only takes Emily rolling you onto your back, kissing you again and fucking you a few more times with the dildo  that’s stayed inside you the whole time while fingering your clit just teasingly enough to get you over the edge, powerful orgasm crashing over you as Emily whispers praise against your ear. It takes you out for a minute, lost in the haze of pleasure and its aftermath, feeling so right in that moment that you never want to leave it, wrapped up in Emily’s arms while you hang in the inbetween of a dreamy daze and reality.

Eventually, you blink your eyes open, meeting Emily’s glassy ones and smile up at her, working the energy up to roll her over and kiss her again in earnest, knowing exactly what she likes by now.

“What was that for?” she asks after you break apart, chuckling a little at your eagerness.

“A thank you,” you murmur, smiling fondly down at her.

“The best thank you you could give me is a dinner date later this week,” Emily grins. “And I’ll thank you afterwards with another mind-blowing orgasm, how does that sound?”

You stare down at her for a moment, wondering how on earth you managed to win somebody so perfect, before shaking out of it and smiling softly again. “That sounds perfect.”

[neon-junkie]

Duality - Chpts 1,2&3

Summary: There's a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you've told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 8837 (ongoing work) 

Rating: NSFW Warnings: Depictions of Violence (Reader is fine)

Tags: Dead Dove: Do not eat, Fights/Arguments, Slow burn, Hate sex, Enemies with benefits, Enemies to lovers, Pity sex, Vaginal sex, Outdoor sex, Creampies, Blood kink, Knives, Choking, Breath play, Rough/Manhandling, Heists & Robberies, Nipple sucking/licking, Making out, Sloppy kisses, Dirty talking, Grinding.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the gang of children that recently decided to start hurdling abuse at me simply because I enjoy Micah character. If he bad then why he make my pussy go brr?? I ain't ever gonna stop writing for him, somebody's gotta love the ratman so I guess I'll volunteer as tribute. This piece is inspired by @deputytrash​ and their work called ‘Micah Bell is a Rat Bastard,’ that I can’t actually link here because Tumblr hates links:))) so please go stalk them for the original fic. shoutout to all the other Micah fuckers out there; we're kinda fucked up but hey, we ain't hurting anybody<3

[Chapter 4]

Some men are born with the purest of hearts; they're full of good intentions, kindness, willingness to help others. They want to see the world go round, they enjoy watching the days go by with their loved ones around them. They want nothing more than love and equality, happiness for everyone, and they strive to achieve that. Those men, such as Arthur, are ones that you obviously enjoy for such reasons, and you enjoy watching them on the sideline, smiling at the way they make everyone happy. You've tried dating those men before and something felt... off about them, almost fake; you wish to enjoy such relationships with the purest of men, but you've never been able to sit in that saddle comfortably. The leather smells off and something constantly jabs at your tailbone. It's fine, honestly, to not sit comfortably in that saddle. Others can enjoy those men, ones who deserve them, ones who are just as pure and wholesome as those men they seek out. You're happy for them, you enjoy seeing them enjoy each others company, they really do deserve it. Only that leaves you with the problem of 'who the hell am I meant to fall for?' There are others who are sometimes split down the middle, with good and bad intentions, men such as Dutch who eventually crack under so much pressure, as expected. But these men have never really taken your fancy either. You curse the Gods for creating you with no intentions to seek out those pure of heart, or even slightly pure of heart. Why can't you be considered normal? You're a good person, yet you don't long for someone as good as you. 

Instead, those who have only ever walked the darker path take your fancy. Those men who have no good intentions in them, who only look out for themselves and sometimes (but rarely) the few people closest to them, if you're stupid enough to get close to them, to begin with. You enjoy the challenge, you enjoy taming the beast, being the one person that someone so wild can trust. It's a generic trope that you've read in romance novels where the princess falls for the villain, but they always seem to have the happiest of endings? and the stories themselves are so juicy, so rich and full of layers. The generic happy couple trope gets so boring, nothing to read into. But if you're given a story about a well-layered villain who softens out within time then you'll eat said story off the dirt if you have to, it's always so rich and fulfilling, though you never expected to end up in one. "Which book are you reading today?" Mary-Beth asks you as she joins you on the beach, leaning back against the log you're leaning against. You do miss sitting on the cliff at Horseshoe Overlook, peering up at the landscape whenever your eyes need a break from being so engulfed in whatever book you were reading. But there's something just as good as looking out at the water, hearing the waves lapping against the shore as you read, enjoying the river breeze on a hot Lemoyne day. "The same as last time, that one centered around the villain," you tell her, your eyes momentarily peeking up to watch as she sits down beside you. "Still? Oh, you and your dark fiction," Mary-Beth replies with a laugh. She'd given your book that nickname after you explained the plot to her. Mary-Beth, as wholesome and pure as she is, couldn't quite understand why you'd get so engulfed in a book where the princess falls for the villain, completely ignoring the stud hero and running off with the bad guy instead. After explaining how layered the villain was, and how his actions were the result of past trauma, she somewhat understood but decided that she's happy with her sappy romance novels. That's understandable, your taste isn't for everyone, and you'd both agreed on that. "Like I said, I just find it more interesting," you reply, your eyes trailing over to the landscape. "Which book have you got?" you ask. "Oh, the same still. I've almost finished it! The poor man in it has finally been turned away from that woman, though they're both in love," she replies. "But from what you've told me, she's not exactly... the best person in the world?" you ask. "I guess not. Maybe I am into a little bit of dark fiction then, hm?" Mary-Beth questions with a soft laugh, finally opening her book to pick up from where she left off. "Maybe-" you begin to speak, but the sound of shouting draws your attention back to camp. You and Mary-Beth peer over your shoulders to watch the commotion in the distance. Ugh. It's Micah again, screaming at Bill for being so kind to the poor dog Jack had found, Cain. He's hollering away, something about not being soft on strays, that they'll only follow you around for food, whatever. You try to hold in your laughter when Micah does the last thing you'd expect, literally barking at Bill before storming off. "That man sure is evil," Mary-Beth comments. "I still ain't sure why Dutch allows him to follow us around, a bit like Cain really," she frowns, turning her gaze away. "He is, funny that he can't see just how much of a dog he is," you laugh along, returning your focus back to your book. "Has he bothered you again recently?" she questions, knowing that your last run-in with him was only a few days ago. "No, he ain't spoke to me, he ain't even looked at me." "Good, probably because he's still got that black eye you gave him," Mary-Beth replies, trying to hold back on her laughter. "Well, he did deserve it." Micah had pestered you a few days ago, stirring up some shit simply because he was bored. You were sat by yourself in camp, playing a solo game of solitaire whilst the wind was quiet, your cards not blowing away for once. He waltzed over, as always, looking like he owned the place; he only acts that way because he sucks up to Dutch, a bit of a teachers' pet, though he's definitely never stepped foot in a school. "Hey," Micah says to you. Well, you were unsure if he was speaking to you as your head was down, focused on the cards, so Micah quickly snapped when you didn't reply. "I said hey. You deaf?" he asks, lightly tapping the back of your shoulder. You let out a long sigh as you roll your eyes and look up. "I didn't know you were speaking to me, Micah," you reply. "Well, who else would I be speaking to, doll? There ain't anyone else around here," Micah says with a laugh, waving his hands about to gesture that nobody was nearby. "I can see that now," you sigh. You begin to put your cards away, knowing that if Micah's here then there's no way you'll be able to play this game in peace. Whatever, you were stumped anyway, considering calling this game quits, and Micahs appearance had encouraged you to do so. "What're you doing?" Micah questions. "I was playing solitaire," you reply, shuffling the cards back together and returning them to their container, an old mints tin that you found fits the cards much better than their old paper box. "And why have you packed up, hm? Is it 'cause I'm here?" Micah asks, knowing the answer. "It is," you say as you stand and put the tin in your pocket, beginning to walk off. The last person you ever want to talk to is Micah, but it seems he really wants to talk to you as he begins to follow you. "Where're you going? I ain't that bad. I know we don't exactly get along but you can't fault me for trying to right these wrongs with you," Micah begins, playing the white knight card as always, batting his lashes as if he hasn't made a handful of remarks towards you in the past, ensuring there's a thick barrier between the two of you. "I ain't interested in making friends with you, Micah. Now leave me be," you snap back, picking up the pace as you storm past Dutch's tent, hoping he'd pick up on the small commotion but his head is buried deep in his current Evelyn Miller book. "Such mean words coming from such a pretty face," Micah pouts, still on your trail, letting out his generic laugh. "Wouldn't you rather have friends than enemies?" "I'd rather have nothing to do with you, Micah," you tell him as you come to a halt, stopping in the dead center of camp. If Micah won't leave you alone then hopefully someone will step in, as their eyes had begun to peer over to the commotion; even Dutch has put his book down. "Easy there, sweetheart," Micah coos with his generic laugh. He goes to speak again but you're quick to cut him off. "I ain't your sweetheart, Micah. Quit calling me those names," you huff. "Of course, you ain't. I like a bit of fire in my women but you're just a bit too reckless for my taste," Micah tells you, his tone slowly turning to frustrated. He's quit the innocent act, lowering his hands as he had them raised as he followed you throughout the camp. If he can't win you over then he'll ensure you never even slightly consider him a friend, beginning to insult you to burn whatever was left of that bridge. "Good, I'd hate to be your taste. What an unlucky woman she must be for the likes of you to have eyes on her." Micah lets out another laugh as he takes a step closer to you, a little too close, and you're quick to cut him off before he can open his mouth. "Back off, Micah. Don't you try and get close to me," you order him. "Why not, hm? You scared someone is finally gonna put a woman like you back in her-" That's enough. Without hesitation, you clench your fist and swing for that vermin of a man, if you can even be kind enough to call him a man to begin with. You were aiming for his nose but hit his cheekbone instead, which is just as good as his eye had swollen up from the impact. Micah stumbled back and hit the ground with the most satisfying thud you'd ever heard, the sound still making you smile whenever you think about it. You didn't stick around much after that, burning the image of Micah lying on the floor clutching his eye into your memory before turning heel and marching off, wandering off into the trees so you could cool yourself off and devilishly admire your bruised knuckles. You refused to bandage them up, even after Charles had practically begged you, but you were eager to show off your trophy, even flaunting it at Micah from a distance whenever he came into your line of sight. His eyes hadn't met yours since, but you could feel his burning glare on you whenever you two were within ten feet of each other. You'd even overheard him attempting to bitch about you to Kieran, who simply nodded along to prevent himself from getting pulled into this mess. Needless to say, you and Micah do not get along. There's a handful of camp members that don't get along, but your burning hatred for each other seems to stand out the most. You're always eager to step in whenever Micahs attempting to chew someone's ear off, and he always gives you that same laugh as he attempts to mock you, but he often turns heel and storms away, calling you a bitch or whatever petty insult he has on his mind. But since that interaction, Micah has stayed well clear of you. Dutch probably told him to stop pestering you after you'd almost knocked his lights out, though you doubt that as Dutch ended up doing something that only seemed to make your 'friendship' worse. ----------- Another day, another dollar, or whatever the civilized phrase is. It's a quote you've heard within towns and cities, something bosses drill into the minds of their workers to stop them from realizing that they're being used as workhorses for less than pennies. At least out here you can work on your own terms, your only boss is Dutch and he always ensures that everybody gets a fair cut. Why slave away in a factory when you can rob some folk that needs robbing and make a few hundred off them? Dutch has a heist planned for you today, one that he says needs a woman touch. Karen is the only other gunwoman in the camp but Dutch has told you that she's a little too reckless for the job. Dutch knows that Sadie is also a gunwoman but she's still in mourning, arguing with Pearson every so often, but she isn't ready to step up to that rank yet.  "And that's why I need you for this job. It's genric and old fashioned of us, but there's a payroll heading up into Rhodes and I was thinking you could play the damsel in distress, hunched over at the roadside, pouting sweetly as you ask them for a ride into town," Dutch tells you outside his tent, a week or so after your last run-in with Micah.  "And if they don't stop?" you question.  "Why would they not stop? A pretty lady such as yourself asking for a ride? When they're already heading that way? They must be some cold-hearted folk in order to turn down such a simple request," Dutch explains.  "What will you and the others be doing?"  "We'll be hiding nearby, waiting for that opportunity to rob them. Once you're on board then they should hand over the cash, I don't see why they'd want a poor innocent woman to be hurt. Hosea will be waiting in Rhodes to bring you back to camp, and you won't need your guns for the job. A kind, working woman such as yourself wouldn't carry them anyway," Dutch replies with a grin, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his shoes.  The plan seems simple enough, and what have you got to lose? So, you agree to the heist, heading into your tent so you can change your appearance to look like the average working woman. You dress in a simple skirt and shirt, your hair neat and your makeup simple, just how the women in Rhodes dress.  Arthur gives you a ride to the location, your horse staying back at camp, as well as your guns. You feel a little uneasy heading out of camp without them, but the boys are hiding behind what's left of a wall nearby. You overheard Arthur protesting with Dutch, saying they shouldn't be robbing folk so close to camp, but Dutch assured them that this would be fine.  Dutch has brought along Arthur and Lenny, and unfortunately, Micah, who still hasn't spoken a word to you, but his eye is now unfortunately better. Dutch didn't even mention to you that Micah would be coming along, seeing as your paths weren't meant to cross. This was meant to be a simple holdup job after all, only this gang seems to be cursed as things always go wrong.  You're walking along the road, acting as if you're exhausted. The sound of a wagon approaching can be heard, and you peer over your shoulder to see it coming into view. You begin to wave your arms, signaling for them to stop, and thankfully, they do.  "Are you alright, Miss?" one of the men questions, the one driving the wagon. There are two more men on horseback behind them, not many guns for a wagon that's carrying payroll.  "I do apologize to ask such a request but my horse bucked me a while back, I'm only trying to head into town. Are you heading that way? Would you be able to give me a ride?" you question. You play out the usual body language, slouched shoulders, batting your lashes, and pouting your bottom lip. This is a mans world, after all, but you know exactly how to play the game. The driver and the shotgun speak to themselves quietly, clearly bickering about the fact that they're carrying payroll, but they eventually come to an agreement.  "You're welcome to climb on the back of one of the horses, though we can't let you on the wagon, Miss," he replies. Well, that's good enough, at least you're still somewhat of a hostage. "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" you smile sweetly, heading over to the nearest hired gunmen and climbing on the back, loosely holding onto his shirt as you get comfortable on the horse's rear.  They return to their journey, barely making it a few meters down the road when one of those slimy Lemoyne Raiders appears from behind a boulder and attempts to hold them at gunpoint. Your eyes peer over to where the gang is hiding and thankfully, Dutch steps in, one gun pointed at the driver and the other at the rival gang member. You're still unsure on what Lemoyne Raiders are. Inbred? Wannabe military? Either way, they're stupid enough to fire without warning, and completely miss Dutch, though Dutch doesn't miss him. The plan goes to shit and you're caught in the middle of the gang war, your gang and the Lemoyne Raiders fighting each other, as well as the wagon.  The gunman that you were holding onto slouches over his saddle, a bullet ripping through his side, thankfully missing you. You think Arthur had shot him, but either way, you're pushing his body off and stealing his horse, riding out from the commotion. What help are you now without your guns? It's best that you run away and fast. As you near the camp, you notice a small group of white hats approaching round the bend - lawmen, so you decide to keep riding forward towards Braithwait Manor, dipping off into the trees before they can notice you. You'll find somewhere to hide out until nightfall, riding through the thick forest until you find a shack down south, close to Shady Belle, but far enough from the commotion so the law shouldn't tread down here.  The stolen horse is hitched by a tree and you're about to head inside, but the sound of hooves approaching startles you. You hide behind the tree, not providing much cover, but hopefully enough so you can decide how to approach the incoming stranger. If it's a lawman then you can simply burst into tears whilst saying that the horse bolted and you couldn't steer it up into Rhodes, and if it's a fellow gang member then you'll be fine. Well, it is a gang member, just you were hoping for anybody but Micah. He slows Baylock to a halt as you come into his line of sight, stepping out from behind the tree looking like an angry kitten.  "You alright?" Micah asks, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off his mount.  "Go away, go find somewhere else to hide. Shoo," you wave your hands at him, only making Micah laugh instead. "What's a matter? Can't I hide here with you?" he questions as he approaches you.  "No, you can't. Go bother someone else, you're the last person I'd ever want to hide from the law with," you huff. Micah isn't budging, he continues to approach you until he's stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as he lets out that awful chuckle of his.  "You don't mean that. Besides, how're you gonna defend yourself without your guns, huh?" Micah questions, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Well, you know that I can swing a punch, can't you, Micah?" you tease, giving him a smug smile which wipes the grin off his face, turning into a frown.  "And here I was just tryna look out for you. Nasty thing, aren't you?" Micah spits.  "I am, and I ain't welcoming to you, Micah," you huff again, resting your hands on your hips.  "Now, I'm gettin' real sick of the way you talk to me, girl. I ain't been nothin' but nice to you," Micah tuts, taking another step towards you. He's pressed up far too close to your chest, puffing his own out as his icy blue eyes scowl into yours. "You may be a big girl in the eyes of Dutch, but you ain't to me."  "I don't care, Micah. I don't need your approval, nor your company, so scram!"  This time, Micah goes for you, reaching out to grip ahold of your arm. He takes a firm grasp of you but before you can find out what he was planning on doing, you're pushing him away, shoving him back by the chest. He stumbles backwards but doesn't slump to the ground, catching his own fall as he glares at you. His death glare makes your face turn sour and you begin to foresee that one of you isn't going to make it back to camp. Micah lunges for you again, grabbing onto your shoulders as he begins to try and tackle you to the ground. You manage to shove him off and land a punch to the same cheekbone, only it's not enough to stop him. He continues to fight you, eventually managing to shove you to the floor. He tries to climb onto you, attempting to pin you to the ground but you land a swift kick to his baby balls. He lets out a choke as his body goes limp and you jump at the opportunity to shove him onto his back, pinning him down instead.  Micah attempts to grab onto you but you're quick, taking his own knife from its holster and pinning it beneath Micahs chin. He stops, freezing up and removing his hands from you, lying in the dirt with his swollen eye locked onto yours. There's silence, no words spoken from either of you, just heavy panting and the sound of the trees rustling. Micah licks his lips, tasting the blood that has trailed down from his nose, and eventually speaks.  "Go on, girl. Do it," he tells you, his Adam's apple bouncing against the blade as he speaks. You don't reply, so Micah jumps down your throat again. "I said do it! Show me what a big girl you are," he says with a laugh. "If I am to kill you then I'd rather do it with my bare hands," you spit at him, pressing the knife sharply on his neck. From the way Micah attempts to flinch back, you're certain you've managed to cut him. Good, he deserves it.  "Do it then. Go on, get rid of me already. Just do everyone a favour," Micah replies, his hands raising yet again, doing that generic innocent pose even as he has a knife held to his throat. As much as you'd love to, you know the consequences for killing other camp members. You could say he died in combat but Dutch knows that Micah can take on a bunch of Lemoyne Raiders with his eyes closed. Plus, it's far too suspicious for you to be the one breaking the 'bad' news. But you might as well scare some sense into Micah, maybe choke him unconscious then bail back to camp before he can wake. Hopefully, he'll finally get it into his thick skull to stay away from you, though you doubt it, but at least you'll have fun.  You remove Micahs own knife from his neck, stabbing it into the earth beside his head. He watches you with wide eyes, attempting to look at his knife but you grip onto his throat. You know how to choke someone to death, and you know how to choke someone unconscious, so you go for the second option and tighten your grip under his jawline, avoiding his windpipe so that he doesn't stop breathing.  He lets out a choked exhale as you begin jabbing your fingers into his throat, pushing more than hard enough to eventually knock his lights out. You know you look a mess, covered in dirt with scruffed up hair, a glare on your face that could easily kill a man; Micah looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he attempts to breathe. You can hear the pressure on his throat with every breath, his lips remaining parted, blood still trickling from his nose, and his eye swelling up more by the second. His clothes are just as dirty as yours, his hat has fallen off his head a long time ago, his white pants are almost brown from rolling in the dirt, and his red shirt is missing a few buttons from where you've grabbed him.  Micahs parted lips quickly turn into a grin as his eyes begin to fall shut. You've never seen him pull a face like this, but he looks... pleasurable. He somehow has enough energy to reach up and grip onto the waistband of your skirt, trailing his fingertips along the band before settling each hand firmly on your hips. He's... enjoying this, isn't he? Your thoughts are confirmed when Micah opens his eyes again; his pupils are blown, wide and full of lust, gazing up at you like a piece of meat, ready to pounce on you (if he could.) You want to feel sick. Why don't you feel sick? Why isn't your stomach turning at the sight of Micah taking pleasure in your attempt to kill him? You push down harder on his neck, wishing you were gripping onto his windpipe instead. His smile eventually fades away, his eyes rolling shut as he lets out slower muffled breaths. His grip on your hips falls limp and you know he's finally unconscious.  This was meant to be the part where you run, heading back to camp before he can wake, praying he never even looks at you ever again. But you remove your hand from his throat, noticing how his body twitches as he begins to breaths properly again, and using the same hand that you just choked him with, you land a harsh slap right across his face. It's loud and sharp enough that it echoes throughout the forest, startling the horses and scaring a few birds away. You instantly regret your decision, your hand throbbing from how hard you slapped him, but the way Micah jolts awake gives you a sickly satisfaction.  He begins coughing, propping himself up on his elbows as he attempts to catch his breath. You don't move off him, sitting back on your knees, his legs beneath yours, watching in delight as he returns to the conscious word. Micah lies back down, his deep breaths eventually turning into a chuckle as his eyes meet yours.  "I knew you were just like me," Micah says with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His nose is still bleeding, turning his moustache red, and now his cheek as he's smeared his own blood across his face. "I knew you were sick..." he laughs.  "I ain't sick, Micah," you frown.  "If you ain't then you won't enjoy this-"  Micah somehow has enough energy to flip your bodies over, pinning you down to the ground, narrowly missing his knife that is still jabbed into the dirt. You attempt to push him off, trying to kick him in the balls again but he's pinned you down as well as you had pinned him down. He does exactly what you feared he'd do, wrapping his own rough hand around your neck, pressing on those spots under your jawline that you unfortunately enjoy.  You try and fight it, attempting to gulp down air, attempting to push him off. But the more you fight him, the more he holds you down, and the more you find yourself enjoying it.  "Give in to it, sweetheart. Just let it happen," he tells you, the words that you didn't want to hear, but only because they're sickly yet tempting.  Micah adjusts his grip and finally hits the nail in the coffin, your mind turning cloudy, the blood pulsating through your brain. That feeling in your stomach begins to burn, trailing down your body and making your pussy clench. You hate this man so much, yet you're allowing him to do this to you. "Atta girl," Micah praises you as you stop fighting him, letting your eyes shut and your mouth part.  You're weak enough for Micah to shift his weight, parting your thighs with his knees and sitting between them after he bunches your skirt up. One hand remains on your neck whilst the under sneaks underneath your waist, pulling your hips up onto his knees. His crotch pushes against yours, his hand trailing over your clothed thigh, moving up to your knee as he adjusts your legs so they're wrapped around his waist. For some reason, you cross your ankles, only encouraging him to grind his crotch against yours, rutting his hard-on against your pussy.  The mewl that escapes your lips is definitely accidental, but Micah tilts his head up to let out a hum of approval as he watches the colour continue to drain from your face. "Such a pretty sound coming from that pretty face of yours. You're goin' pale tho, darlin'. Least you ain't still spittin' venom at me," Micah smirks. The blood from his nose drips down onto your own face, painting your cheek, and the sight of his blood on you makes his pupils turn wide again, licking his lips as he finally removes his hand from your throat.  You gasp, gulping down air, letting out a few coughs as you manage to fill your lungs back up. Micah barely gives you enough time to come back to reality before he's crashing his lips against yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head, grinding his crotch down hard against yours. You let out a whimper as he manages to brush his crotch perfectly against your clit, making him chuckle against your lips as he kisses you. Are you kissing him back? Unfortunately so, but only because the taste of his blood on his lips is making your arousal grow, and he's grinding against you far too perfectly to ignore.  You eventually lap away at his blood, his nosebleed finally coming to a halt, and the feeling of his prickly moustache becomes more and more prominent. It's far too annoying for you to make out with him and ignore it, and it eventually irritates you to a point that you break the kiss.  "What'cha stopping for?" Micah pouts, halting his grinding for the moment. "Your 'stache is too long, it's itchy," you tell him.  "Well, I'll make sure it's trimmed for next time," Micah replies as he rolls his eyes. "There ain't gonna be a next time, Micah," you scowl back.  "Oh, that so?" Micah chuckles, doubting your claim. "Well, I'll just have to make this worthwhile," he informs you.  Micah moves his hands off your wrists, sitting up on his knees and pulling his knife out of the ground. He wipes the dirt off on his jeans then grips onto your undergarments, pulling the fabric away from your skin so he can slice down the crotch, ripping apart the garment and leaving a large hole right in the middle of them. "Micah!" you snap as you sit up on your elbows. "I'll buy you a new pair," Micah monotonously replies, a large lack of sympathy in his voice. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes as well. He holsters his knife and rips apart the hole even more, almost ripping the garment in two, exposing your pussy for his pleasure. Micah hums in appreciation as he gazes at the sight, pushing your thighs apart as he dips his head down and spits onto your folds. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it, and Micah picks up on the glisten in your eyes as he straightens his back up and begins to unfasten his pants, leaving his gunbelt on the ground beside you.  Micah pulls out his cock, an average looking one, rock hard and flushed pink at the tip. You're surprised that his pubes are neatly trimmed, just as dirty blonde as his hair, but he keeps his pubes neater for whatever reason. He ruts his cock over your folds, slicking himself up with his spit and your juices; to say you aren't wet is also a lie, you've been soaking the second he put his hand around your throat.  Micah finally pushes into you, slow and steady, letting out an "ooh" once he's fully sheathed inside of you. "It's always tighter if I don't finger you," he comments, licking his lips as he moves his hands underneath each knee, spreading your legs apart as far as he wants. Why are you allowing this man to fuck you? You're not sure, though you don't regret it, especially when he begins to thrust into you, surprising you with the way he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you with every thrust. If someone had told you this morning that you'd end up spending the evening with Micah Bell thrusting inside of you, after the two of you had had a fight and ended up aroused by it, then you probably would have punched them too after informing them that they're drunk. But here you are, allowing Micah to fuck you senseless, pounding you into the dirt as he lets out surprisingly pleasant sounds. "Shit!" you gasp as Micah shifts his weight, moving his hands off your knees to wrap around your waist. He pulls you up into his lap, lifting your ass off the floor and angling your body perfectly so he's directly hitting your g-spot with every roll of his hips. Micah's fucking you like a rabbit, fast and unforgiving, eager to make your walls tighten around him so he can fill you up with his cum.  Micah begins to bare his teeth, hissing through them as he pounds you. You're a moaning mess beneath him, not holding back on the volume of your moans as nobody is nearby, and your volume level is filling Micahs ego more and more by the second. "That's a good girl," he tells you, his hazy eyes meeting yours. "I always knew you'd be a good fuck, the feisty ones always are," he chuckles.  You roll your eyes at his comment, making him laugh instead. Ugh. That stupid laugh of his, the one he always drags out only because he knows it gets on everyone's nerves. You think fast, moving one hand back onto his throat to cut that dreadful sound out. His lips remain parted, slightly smiling as he continues to fuck you, enjoying that irritated glisten to your eyes. You tighten your grip on his throat, forcing a choked moan from Micahs lips. Micah's already hunched over you but you pull him down to your level, speaking right against his lips as you order him to "fuck me harder." "With pleasure," Micah manages to reply, gasping and straightening his back the second you let go of his throat. Micah keeps one arm underneath your waist, holding you firmly on his lap, whilst the other moves between your legs. His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb moving down to begin massaging your clit, flicking the bud in circles, his cock throbbing every time your muscles begin to shake. He's returned to letting out moans, followed by the occasional grunt through gritted teeth. You've seen Micah come undone before, you've seen that feral look in his eyes as he loses his cool and guns down an army of people. But this? This was a different look, just as feral but fueled by a mixture of lust and spite. Is he just using you for a fuck? Yes, but you're doing the same with him. And do you think you'll end up fucking him again? Possibly, but only if you can watch the life drain from his face again. It's sickeningly arousing, but Micah seems to enjoy it too. "You're gonna make me cum," you sigh, your thigh muscles beginning to shake, your eyes scrunching shut as your head rolls back in the dirt. "I know," Micah confidently replies, rubbing his thumb even firmer against your clit. What a cocky piece of shit, though you admire the confidence. You can't believe you're moaning his name as you orgasm, panting and shaking, wrapping your legs even tighter around Micahs waist as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and earns his own release. His hands grip onto your hips, his forehead eventually slumping on your chest as he pants and groans, filling you up with god knows how many months worth of cum, maybe longer, depending on whoever else has been stupid enough to sleep with him.  Micah eventually straightens his back and pulls out of you, letting your legs slip from around his waist as you untangle your body from his. He looks debauched, his hair and clothes scruffy and dirty, not to mention the dried blood smeared across his face and moustache. You're certain you look just as bad, spending your evening rolling about in the dirt with the man you hate the most. Hate? Or hated? as you somewhat like the sight of Micah like this. Maybe you could tolerate him under these terms, and only under these terms. You attempt to sort your appearance out as you stand up, stretching your legs, hearing your knees click after being bent for so long. Micah does the same as he pulls himself up, tucking his cock away then picking his hat up. He whistles for Baylock who had wandered off into the forest, probably not wanting to be around... that. The horse you'd stolen has managed to unhitch itself and disappear, and you honestly don't blame them, but that means the only way back is hitching a ride off Micah or walking for an hour.  "Looks like you're riding with me," Micah tells you. "I don't want to be seen trailing into camp with you, not when we both look like this," you tell him as he mounts Baylock.  "How's about I drop you off on the edge of camp then spend a few hours away? Would that make you happy?" Micah offers, holding out his hand at the same time.  "It would," you tell him, swatting his hand away and climbing up onto Baylock on your own terms. "So, you'll let me fuck you but won't even take my hand?" Micah chuckles as he clicks his tongue, letting Baylock go at a soft pace as you ride side-saddle.  "Yep, and don't forget that you owe me new underwear," you remind him.  "Oh, I won't forget to buy you some new panties, Miss. I'll buy you a whole set of lingerie if it means I get to cut it off your body," Micah teases but you know he's serious.  "If that's what you want," you reply with a shrug.  "You'd let me?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at you.  "I would," you reply. For some reason, you lick your thumb and attempt to wipe some of the dried blood from his cheek. Maybe the sight bothers you, but Micah doesn't seem to mind as he lets you clean him up, his eyes occasionally flicking onto the road.  "You wanna give me a kiss when you're done with cleaning me up?" Micah asks with a smirk.  "No," you frown, pushing his face away from yours. He laughs as he looks forward, returning his focus back to driving.  You and Micah don't speak another word on the short journey back, apart from a "thanks," from you as you slide off Baylock. He drops you on the edge of the forest, letting you walk down the path back into Clemens Point. You manage to sneak back into the camp; the only person who saw you in your state was Charles who simply said "I won't ask," when you gave him a look that said 'please don't.'  You feel much better once you've cleaned yourself up and got cozy in bed, though your body aches from fucking in the dirt, and you're almost certain you're going to have bruises around your neck by the time morning is here. But the fresh memory of having hate sex with Micah only seems to arouse you again; just like Micah said, you are sick, just as sick as him. But if this unspoken arrangement is a good way of letting out anger then why not continue it?  --------------- It's been a week since your accidental encounter with Micah. He's still not replaced your underwear, nor has he spoken a word to you, but you've picked up on those disgustingly arousing glances he sends you from across the camp. You've been tempted to chew his ear out about not paying you back yet, but he's not been in camp often, and when he has been in camp, it's been during the day and around others. The bastard knows what he's doing, and he definitely knows that you're still angry that he hasn't repaid you yet. You've been assigned guard duty tonight, doing lap after lap around the outskirts of the camp until 3am, which is when you can tap Bill awake and send him on his way to take over. Well, 3am is here and that's exactly what you're doing, prodding Bill awake and handing him the shotgun.  You somehow didn't notice that Baylock had appeared amongst the horses, but you do notice that distinct white hat on the edge of camp. Micahs stood on the beach, looking out at the water with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, the opportunity to chew his ear off. You stroll over, ensuring nobody else is awake, not wanting to question why you're eagerly approaching the man you despise.  "Micah," you greet as you stand next to him.  "There she is, just the girl I was looking for," Micah greets you as he exhales his cigarette smoke.  "You ain't looking for me, Micah. You're stood here having a smoke," you roll your eyes.  "I was hoping I would have fucked that attitude out of you. Seems I ain't fucked you hard enough," he says with a laugh. You peer over your shoulder, reminding yourself that nobody is awake, nor nearby, but you don't want to risk your chances. "We don't talk about that in camp, alright?" you threaten. "Fine, whatever you want," Micah shakes his head as he finishes off his cigarette, flicking it onto the floor and stomping it out. You're about to begin questioning him on your missing underwear but he begins to walk off, heading further along the beach.  "Where are you going?" you scowl as you follow him.  "Over here so I can sit down. Was gonna ask if you're joining me but it seems you are," he says with a laugh, leaning back against a large boulder. You frown at him but settle beside him, turning your attention to him again.  "I only came over here to ask you-"  "-s'on your bedroll," Micah tells you.  "What?" you question.  "That new underwear I promised, I've just placed it on your bedroll whilst you were on guard duty. Plus a little something extra to make up for how long you've waited for it," Micah answers, his eyes fixated on the water.  "Hmm..." you ponder, unsure if you believe him.  "What? Don't you trust me?" Micah questions as he finally looks over at you.  "Not at all," you scowl again.  "Well, you'll see that I'm telling the truth sooner or later. Go check now if you want, I don't care," he shrugs.  You stare at him again, trying to look for any signs of lying, but he gives you none; his nose doesn't twitch, his eyes stay glued to yours, he doesn't rub the back of his neck. Micah is probably telling the truth, knowing that you'll whack him over the head with a bottle next time you see him if he lies to you.  "See, told you I ain't lying," Micah snickers as he looks back out over the water. You don't reply, you just lean back against the rock and turn your attention to the landscape. Your brows remain furrowed, arms loosely crossed, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the moonlight only just providing enough light as you're far enough from camp.  A few minutes pass and Micah turns his attention back to you. "Why're you still here?" he bluntly asks.  "I ain't sure, I'm going to bed," you shrug. You begin to stand, barely getting off your ass when Micah reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a slight thud. "What do you want?" you snap, picking his hands off your waist in disgust, making him laugh at the sight.  "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favourite camp member," he replies, though you're unsure if he's being sarcastic. "Well, you ain't my favourite," you huff.  "Always so feisty towards me, ain'tcha? What's wrong? You still hate me even after you let me fuck you?" Micah questions with a throaty laugh, grinning from ear to ear.  "I hate you even more now," you tell him, shuffling about on his lap until you're straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, your chests almost touching.  "That'd explain why you've just got comfortable on my lap rather than walking away," Micah chuckles again, knowing he's damn well in the right. He slips his hat off his head, placing it on the ground beside him, not wanting it to get in the way. You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes. "Ain't I allowed to just take some attention from you, Micah?" you question, batting your lashes and removing the frown from your face.  "You're allowed to take whatever you want from me, s'long as I get something in return," Micah tells you as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. "So it's agreed? That we'll just... enjoy this pity sex? But only because it lets off some steam," you place the offer down, finally trying to decide on this agreement.  "It is agreed, sweetheart. You can call it pity sex or whatever else you want, but maybe I'll just fuck you so good that you'll end up likin' me?" Micah chuckles, pulling you onto his lap more as he speaks to you in a husk tone. "I ain't your sweetheart and I ain't ever gonna like you, Micah Bell," you spit. "Sure you ain't," he grins. So, this is what it's come to. You're sleeping with the enemy, pity fucking the man you hate the most, allowing him to pry into your private life and between your legs just for a little bit of satisfaction. Do you care? No. Should you care? Probably. But you're getting pleasure, finally, after waiting for so long. The gang is always on the move, running from the law and whoever else is chasing you, depending on where you are and who you've pissed off. You've flirted with other gang members before but it's never escalated anywhere, so if sleeping with Micah means you'll finally stop humping your pillow every night then why not?  And maybe you can fuck some sense into him, maybe a bit of kindness of basic respect? You doubt it, but it'd be nice. A life where Micah isn't chaotic would be perfect, or one where he entirely didn't exist. But this is the way the world currently is, so you'll just have to make do with what you've got.  You're still going to bark back at him whenever he kicks up a fuss in camp. If anything, you're eager to put him in his place. Maybe you can punish him every time he steps out of line? Maybe this... enemies with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, could whip Micah into shape and prevent him from being such an annoyance towards everyone. Probably not, but you can still hope.  Micah tightens his grip around your waist as he lets out a pleasing hum, tugging you down to his level so he can kiss you. You're reluctant as his moustache was so irritating last time, but to your surprise, Micah has trimmed it to prevent the irritation, his 'stache brushing against your upper lip rather than prickling it. Micahs kisses are a lot more tender this time, not covered in blood and heavy breathing, not battling for dominance whilst both your minds are hazy from all that choking. Micah moves one hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair, cupping the back of your head.  Your lips soon slide open, your tongue greeting Micahs. He bites your bottom lip softly, letting the skin slowly slip from his grasp before kissing you again, earning himself a soft moan as you shuffle onto his lap more. Things are slowly turning heated, Micahs kisses getting sloppier yet firmer by the second, drawing more moans and whimpers from your lips as he continues to make out with you.  You pray that nobody has woken up, not wanting them to see... this. How would you attempt to explain this? Could you say you tripped and fell into Micah after not seeing him sat there, and you'd just accidentally kissed him on the way down? Could you say this way a new way of fighting, to show him what he's missing out on if he'd just be a good boy? Yeah, those excuses are rubbish. But you're sure you'd hear anyone approaching, not unless they're stealthy.  Micah moves his hands to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt, stopping at your lower ribs. He breaks the kiss so he can pull your shirt open, cupping each of your breasts and leaning his head into them. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking at it surprisingly gently, flicking his tongue over the nub, tenderly kissing it. His hand massages them, kneading them softly. Micah moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process, sucking on your tits as he lets out a satisfying hum.  "I ain't sure what my favourite part of you is, these things, or that nasty bite of yours," Micah says with a soft laugh between kisses. "Oh, you have such a way with words," you roll your eyes. "You know, I think we'd get along much better if you'd just tease me with these things in camp," Micah replies, returning his focus to your breasts. "I'll remember that in the future," you say, making a mental note. Maybe you could find a way to manipulate him? Using your womanly charm to tame this beast? It's a push but it's worth a try. He continues to suck at them, making your arousal grow, and you know he's getting aroused as you can feel it pressed against your thigh. Micah moves off your breasts and gently pulls your head down, enjoying another kiss, still tender, not the style you expected a man such as Micah to have.  Micah breaks the kiss, urging you off him. "Now, come on. Before I start thinkin' with my dick and fuck you right in the middle of camp. But you'd like that, wouldn't you, you whore?" he questions, buttoning up your shirt for you.  "You admit to thinking with your dick, yet I'm the whore?" you smirk, pointing out the flaw to his logic.  "Real smart, ain'tcha girl?" Micah mocks, shooing you off his lap once your shirt is fastened. Micah stands first, pulling you up afterward. His hand lingers for a little too long in yours, though you don't move your hand away either. He begins walking with you back to camp, readjusting his hat as he walks. Micah dips before you approach camp, not wanting to risk anybody latching onto your agreement. Thankfully, nobody is awake, but you head straight to your tent anyway. You fasten the tent flaps behind you, lighting your lantern, and begin getting ready for bed. You notice the tailor box on your cot and open it up, revealing the replacement underwear, as well as the 'little something extra' that Micah had promised you. It's a full set of lingerie, an expensive-looking set too, a frilly white chemise, corset, and stockings. The chemise is definitely that short for a reason; you wonder what Micah's planning, though he did say that he wanted to cut it off you. You hope to at least get some use out of it before he does that.

[rebeccatherine]

Reconnaissance

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Mature Characters: Sharon Carter (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Arthur Parks Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espionage Summary: Sam Wilson accompanies Sharon Carter on an undercover SHIELD mission.

Read on AO3 under the pseud rebeccavis or below.

Sam had offered to sleep on the floor. He said he was used to it from his days in the military, which Sharon understood; Steve had mentioned to her offhandedly before that his bed never felt quite right. However, on this occasion the bed was probably the safest place for both of them. As she had pointed out to Sam, they had a clear view of the window from there should they need it and, if anyone decided to check in on them, it would look a little strange for a doting wife to be alone in a king-size bed. Sam, after looking horrified by the notion of someone spying on him while he was asleep, eventually conceded. 

“Sorry.” Sam’s whisper had been preceded by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. “Why do they give you so many dang pillows?”

Sharon chuckled. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “Rich people shit?”

Their backs were turned to each other and, even if they hadn’t been, Sharon doubted she’d be able to see much of anything in the darkness of their isolated cabin. She heard a soft rumble from next to her, though, and could see Sam smiling in her head. “Rich people shit,” he agreed.

Sharon supposed she was meant to go to sleep now. While she hadn’t served in the military, she’d had her fair share of sleeping in strange places as a SHIELD agent, many of which had been far less comfortable than where she was at the moment. Even so, this was maybe the first time she was worried about having trouble drifting off. Her mind was usually where she felt it should be: focused on the job and what steps she needed to take to ensure its success, including getting a good night’s sleep. Tonight, her mind was for some reason lingering on terms of endearment, unexpected compliments and arms wrapped tenderly around her waist. 

She felt Sam’s weight shift slowly next to her and suspected he was turning over onto his other side. It was something she had been thinking about, too, although now it meant they’d be face to face, which would be weird. Or would it? She settled for rolling over onto her back instead to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and she could just about trace the outline of the wooden beams above her head.

“Hey, Shar?” Sam’s voice was soft, but so unexpected that she froze for a split second. “Can we talk?”

*

“Sam? Is my purse out there?” Sharon had raised her voice a little, hoping she’d be heard from outside the bathroom where she was putting on her makeup. 

“Uh...yeah, I see it, baby,” she heard Sam reply, emphasizing his last word significantly more than was necessary, “Do you need it?”

“Oh, I think I left something in there, but I can…” Sharon trailed off as she heard footsteps in her direction and then a gentle rap on the door she hadn’t bothered to lock. “You can come in. I’m almost done.”

The door opened with a click and Sam stepped in, offering up a smile as his eyes met hers. She could tell there was a slight nervousness to his expression, at odds with how comfortably the bespoke dark suit he was wearing fit him.  

“Almost, huh?” he said, his tone playful.

“Wouldn’t want to forget my lipstick,” Sharon explained, reaching over to take her small silver clutch from his hand, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’d look terrible without it,” Sam teased, to which Sharon chuckled. 

Having reclaimed the missing item from her purse, Sharon turned back towards the mirror to apply the deep red shade to her lips. It reminded her of the colors her aunt had always been fond of wearing, perhaps even more so because, like her aunt once had, she was currently sporting brunette shoulder-length curls. Her dress, on the other hand - red, full-length, with a front slit and a mostly open back - was probably something Peggy would not have opted for unless she had also been undercover.  

“Just to be clear - you look amazing, Shar.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Sam’s words, then directed a grin at him.

“So we’re not going with ‘baby’?” she asked. 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Damn it.”

“It’s OK, you don’t have to worry. While you were out I put a bug killer in one of the lamps by the bed, so nobody’s listening in on us,” Sharon assured him as she turned around, “It’s good to get some practice, though.”

“I just thought ‘baby’ would be easier,” Sam explained, “I’m worried I’m going to forget to call you by your cover name.”

“‘Baby’ works great. I’ll go with it, too.” Sharon gave a nod to indicate she was ready to go, then emerged with Sam into the bedroom. “Look, I know this undercover stuff isn’t exactly your thing, but I promise you’re in safe hands,” she added, “Besides, it’s not like you have to put on a British accent or anything.”

“Thank God,” Sam noted, “I bet you can do a great British accent. You have family from there, right?”

“Yeah, that’s an easy one for me. My grandfather’s whole side of the family is British.”

“Did they teach you any fun British slang?”

“Plenty, but I’m pretty sure it’s all from the fifties so I’m totally out of date.” Sharon gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “You know my aunt used to call me ‘Shaz’ sometimes?”

“Shaz?” Sam echoed. His eyebrows raised as he shot an endearing glance at her, clearly entertained by the idea. “That’s amazing. Can I call you ‘Shaz’?”

“Absolutely not,” Sharon replied, though she kept her tone light.

“Noted. Although I make no promises after this mission is over and I’ve found the nearest place where I can get a daiquiri,” Sam noted, “You don’t have to join me, though.”

“Maybe I’d be OK with it under those circumstances,” Sharon conceded with a smile, “I do like ‘Shar’, though.”

Sam looked pleased with himself. He made his way over to the bed to pick up Sharon’s coat, which he offered to her. “Trust me, I’ve worked with you enough and heard enough to know I’m in the safest of hands,” he affirmed, “I just don’t want to get in your way. Do the photos look good?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re perfect. All you need to do is distract Parks and I know exactly where I need to go,” Sharon slipped her arms into the outstretched garment, shrugging it over her shoulders and gently tugging her hair out from underneath it. “Tell Redwing I said thanks.” 

“I will,” Sam replied after a small pause, “So we’re in, we talk to the party guests for a bit, you go download the files, and we’re out. Pretty straightforward apart from the fact that our ride isn’t coming until tomorrow morning.”

“So unlike Maria to not come pick up her friends after a party, but what can you do?” Sharon joked, “I think we’ll be OK to spend the night in our luxury log cabin.”

“I can always take the floor,” Sam said. 

“We can talk about that later. Let me give you your comm.” Sharon’s purse didn’t have room for much besides her lipstick and some cash, but the communication devices - one of which she handed to Sam - barely took up any space at all. “Is there anything else we need to go over?”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we have these,” Sam admitted, then something seemed to occur to him, “Oh, I was going to ask you about ground rules. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I know we’re supposed to be married...I guess I don’t know how this usually works.”

“When we’re in the field pretending to be a couple we tend not to go overboard on public displays of affection unless the intention is to make someone else feel uncomfortable. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I trust you.” Sharon exchanged a small smile with him, and was glad to see he looked a little relieved. 

“Alright, then, Mrs. Dixon. Let’s go.” Sam offered up his arm, which Sharon took as they made their way down the wooden staircase to the living room. “This is some really weird rich people shit, you know. What kind of person owns what looks like an English mansion in upstate New York and makes his friends hire out nearby log cabins with no cellphone service just to attend his party?”

Sharon laughed, partly because it sounded a lot like something Tony Stark might do. “I’m glad you got that off your chest,” she commented, “And you’re right. Unfortunately, tonight I think we’re going to have to deal with a lot of rich people shit.”

*

“Name?” The man at the entrance to the mansion was dressed as a butler and peering at Sam as if he was a curiosity, which gave Sharon a strong urge to kick him in the face with one of her high heels. 

“Dixon. Sean Dixon,” Sam told him with a confidence that meant Sharon didn’t have to force a smile. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, having kept her own wrapped around it for most of the drive over.

“Ah, yes, and you must be the lovely Cherie Dixon.” The butler pronounced her name with a perfect French accent, so Sharon naturally had to correct him.

“Oh, it’s ‘Sherry’, but believe me, if I could say it your way I would,” she declared. The giggle she gave along with her words was fake but well-practiced, unlike the smile the butler gave her in return which was simply fake.  

“If you would be so kind as to step into our testing area,” the butler instructed them. 

Sharon gave a small nod which Sam mirrored, and the two of them made their way inside. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed that their ride - a chauffeured limousine that had been provided by the owner of the mansion - was still waiting in the extended driveway. She wondered what instructions the chauffeur had been given should she and/or Sam turn out to be mutants.

They had both been briefed early on that the party had a strict policy against mutants attending. It wasn’t a particularly new development; there were many, particularly those in power, who didn’t like that mutants could often hide in plain sight unlike most of the Avengers. What wasn’t clear, however, was how such policies were being enforced, and that was one of the things she and Sam had been tasked with finding out.

“Please give me your left index finger.” Sharon had been ushered along with Sam through the first door on the left, where a line of men and women dressed as old-fashioned footmen and maids were holding anachronistic devices that were roughly the same shape as a large calculator. She glanced at Sam, who just barely raised his eyebrows, then turned to the woman who had addressed her. 

“Here you go,” she said, letting go of her companion’s arm to present her left hand to what she assumed was a lab technician-turned-maid. The woman clearly didn’t have much in the way of bedside manner, as she pricked Sharon’s finger with a needle without so much as a warning. She then instructed her to press the small drop of blood to a pad on the device she was holding, where a bright light shone behind Sharon’s finger before she received a reading. 

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed. 

“Is that good?” Sharon asked, her eyes wide.

The woman who had tested her all but rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’s good,” she said, then turning to Sam, “You’re up next.”

Sharon’s eyes darted around to the other would-be house staff while Sam was similarly tested for his lack of a mutant gene. The devices they were using were unfamiliar to her, and she could almost make out a logo on the back of them but not quite. For now, she just made a mental note to try to steal one of the devices before they left the mansion for the night. 

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed again, and Sam was also cleared to go out the door and back into the foyer.

“I feel like she drew way more blood than she needed to,” Sharon remarked, shaking her head. The needle prick didn’t really bother her at all and she’d had far worse injuries in the field, but Sam had been very quiet so far and it was starting to unnerve her how differently he was acting compared to his usual self. She hoped that she might be able to help him relax by drawing him into a conversation. 

“Oh, yeah?” Sam’s response wasn’t very encouraging but he did offer her his hand, which she took. 

“Maybe she was just jealous,” Sharon mused playfully. Sam had taken her hand in both of his and gently turned it over. “What are you doing?”

“Just surveying the damage,” Sam said with a hint of a smile, “You think she was jealous of your ring?”

Sharon had managed to almost forget about the 2 carat, heart-shaped engagement ring and matching wedding ring on her left finger. Sam clearly hadn’t, though, and she was glad he seemed to be settling into his role. “I think she was jealous of my gorgeous husband,” she replied, “You do look very good in that suit, baby.”

“Well, you look good in pretty much everything, baby,” Sam replied. Something about the way he was looking at her took Sharon off guard, and she was surprised to feel the back of her neck grow hot. Sam was apparently a better actor than she had given him credit for.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended at first. She cleared her throat and then added: “You’ve always known how to compliment a girl.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” Sam teased. He let go of her hand and offered his arm to her again. 

“One of many reasons,” Sharon replied with a grin. She accepted his offer and then nodded towards an open doorway that led into what appeared to be the living room. “Everyone seems to be heading in there and it looks like they have drinks, so I vote we go check my coat and then we follow,” she suggested. 

“Lead the way, Cherie.” Sam managed a pretty decent impersonation of the butler from earlier, and Sharon laughed.

“Shut up.”

*

“Sher-ee.”

“Sher-ee,” Sharon repeated, butchering the French guttural ‘R’ sound as if she hadn’t had plenty of practice speaking French in her line of work.

“Eh, close enough.” The woman seated in a small, cream-colored armchair across from Sharon and Sam shrugged her shoulders with a smile, tossing her shoulder-length blonde bob. Sharon didn’t know too much about her yet but she did know that her name was Marie, she seemed to speak better French than Sharon did even when she wasn’t pretending, and - most importantly - she was their ticket to the person they were looking for. She seemed younger than Sharon, maybe twenty at most, and eager to make conversation. Sharon had spotted her chatting with the host of the party earlier, and all they needed to do now was get her to lead them to him.

“Didn’t you tell me your name means ‘darling’?” Sam asked, glancing at Sharon. They were sitting on a powder blue couch, his arm resting gently around her shoulders. 

Sharon all but batted her eyelashes. “That’s what my mom always said.”

“Yes, she was correct,” Marie said enthusiastically, “From chérir, to cherish.”

“Like the Madonna song,” Sharon joked. Sam chuckled, but Marie’s blank expression suggested to Sharon she’d been right about the other woman’s age.

“Clearly your mother chose well,” Marie continued, “You make a wonderful couple.”

“Thank you. I feel like I can barely remember what life was like before Sean,” Sharon said, all smiles, “We’re a good team. He makes up for all the things I’m missing.”

“Come on, baby, there isn’t anything you’re missing,” Sam insisted. 

“It’s OK, I know I’m not the smartest cookie in the cookie jar,” Sharon retorted, “But you, on the other hand...I’m telling you, Marie, you’re looking at the world’s next Tony Stark.”

“My wife likes to brag about me,” Sam told Marie, “I also love to hear it, though, so it all works out.”

“So you are interested in technology?” Marie asked.

“I’m working on starting up my own tech company,” Sam explained, “Cherie’s father is an investor and I’m looking for a few more.”

“In that case, you should definitely talk to Arthur if you haven’t yet. I know he’s always looking for new collaborators,” Marie said, “You know the mutant detectors that scanned your blood when you first arrived?”

“So that’s what they were?” Sharon mused out loud.

“Wait, did Parks provide the lasers they use in those?” Sam piped up.

Marie grinned. “Yes. He and Trask are hoping they’ll be able to make them available to the mass market soon.”

“That’s impressive,” Sam said with a nod, “Do you work with him?”

“Oh, no.” Despite Marie’s reply, Sharon could tell she was flattered by the notion that she might be involved in Arthur Parks’s company. Nice going, Sam. “I’ve just known him since I was very young. Arthur’s wife, Lucy, knew my father and when I was growing up he wasn’t around very much...the Parks practically raised me.”

“Well, clearly you’ve picked up a lot from them. I’m around Sean all the time and I still don’t really understand his work,” Sharon said with a laugh.

“I actually had been hoping to get a chance to talk to Mr. Parks. I’ve never met him directly but from talking to friends of his I really think we’d have a lot to offer each other,” Sam affirmed.

“Then allow me to introduce you,” Marie offered, “Trust me, it would be my pleasure.” 

*

“Alright, Sam, I’m in the study. Clear your throat if our friend is suitably distracted.”

Sharon soon heard Sam’s subtle assurance over her comm, although she almost didn’t need it because she could also hear Arthur Parks droning on in the background. She felt relieved that she had only had to stand next to Sam and pretend to be interested in the man’s work for a relatively short time before, as she had expected him to, Parks had invited ‘Sean’ to join him and a couple of other men for a cigar. Sharon had then spent a few minutes in Marie’s company before excusing herself to use the powder room. Her companion had offered to go with her, but Sharon had managed to convince her that she needed some privacy when she implied that she might be taking a pregnancy test. 

“I’ll be as fast as I can and keep you updated. Sorry this has to be a one-way conversation,” Sharon told Sam. 

When she thought about it, there were quite a few things she felt as though she wanted to apologize to Sam for. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission in the first place, for one. The original plan had been for Steve to accompany her, until the discovery that more than a few guests at the party had ties to HYDRA had made it impossible for Steve to go incognito. Sam had the technical expertise to both help in the field and impress Parks, so he had been the natural choice. The world of espionage was far from Sam’s natural environment, though, and even though he’d been doing well so far, Sharon felt a sense of responsibility in making sure nothing happened to him. That feeling was coupled with a decent-sized amount of guilt that she would actually rather be on a mission with Sam than Steve at the moment. 

“I’ve got to admit I’m a little envious of you, Dixon. It sounds like your story’s just starting and you have a world of opportunities ahead of you. I remember when it felt that way for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she took her lipstick out of her purse and popped a concealed flash drive out of the bottom of it. She had little to no sympathy for the plight of someone like Arthur Parks. 

“I do feel very lucky,” Sharon heard Sam’s voice say, “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had to hustle, but the hustle was worth it.”

“Hacking in now,” she informed Sam quietly, the flash drive now inserted into Parks’s personal laptop. 

“Mmmm, and I’m sure having a rich wife can’t have hurt. I wasn’t so lucky.”

Arthur Parks’s use of the word ‘wasn’t’ gave Sharon pause. They hadn’t been given any intel on his marriage having recently fallen apart, although it was a little odd that his wife Lucy didn’t seem to be in attendance at the party.

“A word of advice, Dixon, although it’s probably too late,” Parks continued unprompted, “Always sign a prenup.”

Sam gave what sounded like a slightly nervous laugh. “I don’t think I need to worry about my wife.” Sharon was about to tell him not to be afraid to throw his wife under the metaphorical bus if he needed to, but a third person with an English accent spoke up before she had a chance. 

“I think this one’s a lost cause, Arthur.” Sharon had heard the man introduce himself as Jonathan Wilson a little bit earlier. “You and your wife seem very much in love.”

“I really think it’d be hard not to fall in love with Cher,” Sam declared. Sharon noticed his ‘Cher’ sounded a little close to ‘Shar’, but hopefully nobody else would pick up on it. “I mean, you’ve all seen how beautiful she is but on top of that she’s so...brave, and talented, and just so competent…”

Sharon couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features for a moment, even if it quickly vanished as she realized she was listening to a bout of silence. Either something had gone wrong with the comms or Sam had paused awkwardly mid-sentence and although the latter was preferable, it still wasn’t ideal. 

“...at making me happy, you know what I’m saying?” Sharon heard a few ripples of laughter following Sam’s joke, and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. 

“Nice recovery,” she told him, “Alright, I’m in. Just keep doing your thing, but maybe don’t lean into the doting husband role too much. I don’t see so much as a picture of Athur’s wife in his study and it sounds like things got ugly.”

The conversation took more of a business slant again and Sharon was able to relax ever so slightly, continuing to listen while she went through the files on Arthur Parks’s laptop. She had always found it a little ironic that the objective of any given mission, like this, tended to be the easiest part. Getting in and getting out were usually the parts that you had to worry about. 

“Looks like the intel we got was solid. Parks is definitely trying to build himself some kind of team, but I think SHIELD will have to dig deeper to find out what for,” Sharon informed Sam, “I’m copying the list of contacts and his correspondence. Lots of familiar names here, several associated with HYDRA...and Georges Batroc. Interesting.”

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of listening to me by now. Maybe I can get my laptop and show you some photos of all the places Parks lasers have been used. Who knows, I might even give you some ideas about where they haven’t.”

Sharon stiffened as she glanced at the progress bar in the corner of the computer screen. “I’m not done,” she said after hearing Arthur Parks’s words, “Sam, can you stall him?”

“I...think I already have some ideas, actually,” Sharon heard Sam say, “Marie mentioned you were interested in music, and I…”

“Marie thinks she knows a lot more than she actually does,” Parks interrupted, “My wife is the music lover. Not that her taste in music is any good.”

“Marie’s just a kid,” Sam noted softly, “They always think they know a lot.”

“Not that much of a kid.” Arthur Parks’s voice was quieter than before and Sharon was having a hard time hearing him. “It’d be nice if she acted like more of an adult every once in a while.”

“Almost there,” Sharon said to Sam. Her fingers were hovering over the flash drive, ready to retrieve it the moment it was finished copying the files. “Just keep him talking.”

“Well, she has nothing but nice things to say about you and your wife, so it seems like you taught her something,” Sam said, managing to keep his tone jovial, “She said you practically raised her?”

“You seem to be very interested in Marie,” Parks commented. Sharon thought she might have heard the sound of a clinking glass. “Wilson?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered at the exact same time as another voice that Sharon presumed belonged to Jonathan Wilson did. 

Shit. Sharon watched the progress bar creep towards the end far too slowly for her taste as Arthur Parks offered Jonathan Wilson a drink. 

“Sorry. I thought you said Dixon,” Sam said sheepishly.  

“Well, I was also going to ask you a different question,” Parks said, “You a Scotch drinker?”

 “Sometimes,” Sam answered. 

“Sometimes,” Parks echoed with a chuckle, “Where are you from again?”

“New York,” Sam replied, “City. The City. Harlem.” He clearly remembered his cover story but seemed to be having trouble keeping his nerves under control. 

“Right, right.”

“Got it,” Sharon declared, “I’m going to close up here and I’ll come knock on the door looking for you.”

“There’s something about your accent, though…” she heard Parks muse while she stowed the flash drive away back in her lipstick tube, “Sometimes it sounds a little off to me.”

“I can’t pick up on anything...but then, I don’t suppose I’d be able to,” Jonathan Wilson commented with a chortle.  

Sharon stood up after closing Parks’s laptop, making sure it looked just as it did when she had first found it. She felt as though she could practically hear Sam’s heart beating faster, or perhaps it was just her own. “Hey, don’t be afraid to change your backstory a little if you need to,” she encouraged him, “The easiest lies to tell are the ones with a bit of truth.”

“How did you know?” Sam said, feigning being impressed, “My dad is from Louisiana. I don’t even notice it most of the time but Cher tells me sometimes the occasional word slips out.”

Sharon smiled to herself. The door to the study was closed behind her and from there it was only a quick trip across the hallway to where she needed to be. Granted, it was quite a large hallway. 

“I knew it,” Parks declared, “I’ve been to Louisiana a couple of times. New Orleans is a great…” 

Sharon knocked loudly at the door. When Arthur Parks pulled it open, he was greeted with the sight of her with her hair slightly dishevelled and grinning from ear to ear. 

“Can I help you, Mrs. Dixon?” he asked. 

“I just thought I’d stop by to rescue my husband,” Sharon answered.

*

It was getting in and getting out that you had to worry about. Getting to the party had required a lot of planning, from SHIELD providing Sharon and Sam with aliases and a mission briefing to their conversations on the flight to New York. During that time they had also planned how they’d be getting out, but that plan hinged on everyone perceiving them as nothing more than party guests. To that end, what they couldn’t do was leave the party at the nearest opportunity. Rather than make more small talk, Sharon had suggested they head to the ballroom and she didn’t think she’d ever seen Sam look more relieved. 

“So do you think I thoroughly destroyed your chances at entering into a business deal with Arthur Parks?” Sharon wondered playfully. She had to lean in close to him to be heard over the music, but that was easy to do when they were dancing.  

“Oh, I think those chances are pretty much roadkill by now,” Sam replied, making her chuckle, “That’s alright. I think if I’d had to listen to him for another half hour I’d have lost my mind.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. It’s his loss, at any rate.”

“Sure is. For a successful businessman, he seems pretty good at losing things.” Sam lifted his arm and gently twirled her around while she barely hid a grin. 

“You can spin me more than that,” she said, “I used to be a figure skater, you know.”

“Wait, really?” Sam closed the small distance between them as the song changed to one with a slower tempo, his hands coming to her waist. 

“Oh, yeah. My mom taught me to ice skate when I was a kid,” Sharon explained, “Have you ever tried it?”

“No, I haven’t, but I always thought it looked fun,” Sam replied, “I guess it’s probably a bit like flying.”

 “Well, I’ve never flown, but to me it feels a lot like flying.” Sharon let her arms rest around Sam’s shoulders almost without thinking about it. “I’m a little out of practice, but I still go sometimes. I’ll take you - maybe before rather than after we go to a bar for that daiquiri.”

Sam seemed to like that idea if his grin was any indication. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He glanced over his shoulder momentarily and then leant in so that he could lower his voice even more, speaking softly  close to her ear. “You just need to go on a few more ops with me if you ever want to try flying.”

Sharon was surprised not by Sam’s gesture but her own reaction to it. She’d seen him harmlessly flirt with other people before, especially Natasha, and she enjoyed flirting herself when the occasion called for it. The unusual part was feeling her neck grow hot and letting her gaze linger on his lips when he pulled back. “I’d like that,” she admitted, “You’re a good partner.” 

Sam smiled again.

Sharon swiftly decided that she should keep talking, mostly because she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she didn’t. “Hopefully next time you’ll get to have a little more fun,” she told him.  

“Hey, I’m having fun,” Sam insisted, to which Sharon raised her eyebrows. “I am now, at least.” Sharon laughed. “I do wish the music was a little better.”

“Mmm, some Marvin Gaye, maybe?” Sharon suggested.

“For starters,” Sam replied, a hint of suspicion in his smile. 

“You know who probably would’ve picked better music?” Sharon said. She was struggling to keep a straight face before the punchline of her own joke, which she decided to attribute to a combination of both the high and relief from having completed a large part of their mission. “Arthur Parks’s wife,” she just about managed to get out before she burst into laughter, hiding her face in Sam’s shoulder. She heard him laughing as well, which only made it more difficult for her to compose herself, but at least she figured the other party guests wouldn’t think much of it. 

“You’re a great partner,” Sam declared, then adding, “We’re good to stay here for the rest of the party, right?”

Sharon nodded, pressing her lips together to suppress any remnants of her giggles. “I did just tell you that I’m pregnant, after all.” Sam’s eyes widened almost comically for a moment before he seemed to remember the excuse Sharon had used to get rid of Marie. 

“Of course,” Sam joined in, “We can name the kid Laser.”

Sharon had to cover her mouth with one of her hands to muffle a guffaw. 

*

“Hey, Shar? Can we talk?”

Somehow, Sharon had a feeling Sam didn’t want to talk about the mission, which had gone remarkably smoothly, all things considered. The intel they needed was stored on the flash drive in Sharon’s purse, which was sitting on the nightstand next to something else they had also managed to bring back. Just before they left the mansion, they had returned to the testing room with an excuse about Sharon having misplaced her wedding ring. While Sam distracted the woman who had tested Sharon earlier, Sharon had managed to grab one of the mutant detectors and the staff seemed none the wiser. The only real concern now was the fact that they had to spend the rest of the night in their cabin, which meant if Arthur Parks or anyone else did suspect them, they would know where to find them. Sam was aware of all of that, though, and she would be very surprised if he wanted to go over what to do if they caught a glimpse of someone staring at them through the window. 

“Sure,” she replied, her eyes still on the ceiling. She let out a small exhale before she rolled over onto her side to face Sam, barely able to make out his expression in the darkness. “Is everything OK?”

“Yeah. I just...I’m not even sure I should be saying anything, but...y’know, aside from almost forgetting New York was both a state and a city and being called ‘entertaining’ by some weird British folks, I actually had a really good time tonight.”

 Sharon couldn’t help a small smile. “I kind of meant it when I told Marie we made a good team.”

“Did you mean it when you said we should go ice skating and then for drinks?” That question caught Sharon off guard, particularly in how hopeful Sam sounded when he said it. “It’s OK if you didn’t,” he added quickly, before she had a chance to respond, “We’ve known each other for a while, but we’ve never…” Sam paused. “Tonight, when we were dancing, I just felt like…”

“I felt it, too,” Sharon said quietly. 

“OK.” She was starting to be able to see his face better as her eyes continued to adjust to the light, and she realized a smile was slowly spreading across it. “OK,” he repeated with a nod, “I’m kind of getting the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming, though.”

“There’s a ‘but’,” Sharon admitted. His delight at the notion that they both felt similarly was already making her reconsider what she was about to say, but she wanted to be honest with him. “I’m not ready, Sam.”

“Ah. There it is,” Sam said. His grin vanished, as she expected, and he gave a small nod. “I understand. You did break up with Captain America. That had to have been pretty crazy.”

“Or, as my extended family likes to tell me, I’m the crazy one.” Sharon flashed a humorless smile. “I don’t...I’m not in love with Steve anymore, but that breakup wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even anyone’s fault, really, it was just...well, I’m sure the last thing you want to hear is gossip about your best friend.”

“I did just kind of admit to having a crush on my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, though,” Sam noted.

“I guess you did.” Sharon’s smile was genuine this time. “God, I wish we’d figured this out sooner.”

“I’ll take some of the blame for that. I was too busy staring at redheads.”

“And I was too busy thinking if I stuck around long enough Steve might fall in love with me.”

“Shar…” Sam’s voice was soft, and Sharon suddenly felt like she might have said too much. 

“If you were just a hot stranger this would be a whole lot easier,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Sam teased back, “It’s OK, Sharon. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right.”

“I just meant that if it was someone I didn’t really care about, maybe I’d go on a date or two and it wouldn’t end well but it wouldn’t be a big deal. If it was you, though...I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

“If it was you, I wouldn’t want to mess it up, either.” Sharon’s breath caught in her throat. “Can I...can I ask you a favor, though? If you do feel like you’re ready someday, and assuming you haven’t met anyone even hotter, can you let me know?”

“What if you’re dating Natasha Romanoff by then?” Sharon asked, not entirely unseriously. 

“In that case I would like everyone to please give us as much privacy as possible,” Sam replied with a smirk. 

“Wow, OK. She’s really your type?”

“Are you jealous, Shaz?”

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little. Is that OK?”

“Yeah. That’s OK.” Sam’s eyes had what could only be described as a twinkle in them. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

[ivarthebadbitch]

Strange things can happen

Chapter 17 summary: The real work begins.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1831

Notes: This is it! Thanks to all for the likes, reblogs, comments...every single one is appreciated <3

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret @punkrocknpearls @istorkyou

CHAPTER 17: Strange things happened

“Well, this is unexpected news,” Ecbert remarked over breakfast to his granddaughter and her husband. “You’re absolutely certain you consummated the marriage?”

Aldreda and Ivar glanced at each other and then looked away, both turning red. Ivar cleared his throat. “You did instruct me, King Ecbert.”

“So I did,” he said. It still seemed rather unlikely. He glanced at Ragnar on the other side of the table, who was rubbing his eyes blearily as Ubbe leaned over to whisper something in his ear. For once, the Northman seemed significantly more hungover than Ecbert after a late night of drinking, discussion, and sundry other activities. Ragnar briefly met his eyes and then slumped down in his seat, tilting his head back. 

“Aldreda,” Ecbert addressed his granddaughter. “Is this true? Lying is a sin.”

“Father…” Aethelwulf complained, gesturing around the table at Aethelred and Alfred, who both were staring very intently at their porridge. “This is hardly an appropriate place to discuss such matters. The children are present.”

Ecbert brushed him aside. “We’re all family here, and besides, the boys will be married eventually and so they should learn now what will be expected of them.” He turned once again to his granddaughter. “Well, Aldreda?”

She blushed and looked away. “It’s true.”

Ecbert considered the pair for a moment, toying idly with his spoon. “Until very recently, neither of you were forthcoming about the status of your marriage. Are we to believe you now? Shall Ragnar Lothbrok and I stake our alliance on your word alone?”

Ivar and Aldreda were quiet, neither daring to even look at each other. Ragnar, though obviously still nursing a severe headache, let out a humorless chuckle and whispered something in Ubbe’s ear. Ubbe snorted in response.

As the silence stretched on, Judith finally cleared her throat. All eyes turned in her direction. “If the marriage has been consummated as they say, it does save the archbishop some paperwork, and the trouble of having to organize a second wedding,” she observed. “No expense was spared for the first wedding, and it would look rather poor to our allies for Aldreda to have to wear the same wedding dress twice in two months.”

“A good point,” Ecbert concurred. “But the validity of Ivar and Aldreda’s marriage should not be subject to doubt. Not in the eyes of our allies nor anyone else.”

“There will only be doubts about the marriage if those of us inside this room allow it,” Aethelwulf argued. He set his spoon down firmly on the table and shook his head. “Judith is correct. Father, your own judgment will be in question if the marriage is disrupted under such circumstances, especially since Aldreda and Ivar both claim it was consummated and they no longer wish to seek an annulment.”

Ecbert looked from Aethelwulf to Judith and back at Aethelwulf again, mildly surprised. It was rare for the two of them to be in agreement. He stirred his porridge thoughtfully, smashing the lumps against the side of the bowl. “I will take your point into consideration,” he said. “However, this matter equally concerns Ragnar, as it affects both of his sons.”

Ragnar, who had quietly been conveying the details of the conversation to Ubbe, finally straightened up with a skeptical expression on his face. Ubbe crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring at his younger brother with raised eyebrows. “Come on, Ivar,” Ubbe said in Norse as Ecbert turned his head and pretended to not understand. “You didn’t really do it. Somehow you convinced her to go along with this.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “I didn’t convince her of anything.”

Ragnar scoffed. “Oh, something was agreed to,” he said to his sons in his own language. “But I don’t think Ivar was the one doing the convincing.” Having turned his head too quickly, he winced and rubbed his temples, and then lowered his forehead to rest on the table.

“There’s something else,” Aldreda spoke up in the silence that followed. “Ivar misses his home, and I would like to see Kattegat. With your permission, we would like to arrange for both of us to return there with his father and brother, for at least a year or two.”

Aethelwulf looked up sharply. “Aldreda…”

“I want to see the world outside of Wessex, Father,” she explained. She glanced at Ivar with a small smile. “And I will not be alone. This is what both of us want.”

Ecbert studied the conflicted expression on his son’s face—pride and doubt and fear. Just over a month ago, Aethelwulf had objected to his daughter even traveling to Mercia. Kattegat was considerably farther away, and not even a Christian kingdom. But finally, Aethelwulf nodded reluctantly. “One year,” he insisted, looking from his daughter to Ivar. “You have my blessing. I trust you will take care of each other.”

Aldreda beamed at him and turned to look at Ecbert. “Grandfather?” she asked in a small voice.

“Hm.” He looked from Ivar and Aldreda, both with anxious yet hopeful expressions on their faces. It was more than saving the archbishop paperwork or the expense of another wedding on Ecbert’s mind, of course: it had not escaped him that it could be very useful indeed to have one of his own in Kattegat to ensure that the terms of the trade deal were being followed and who could reliably report back on other matters concerning the Northmen. And although Aldreda was young, her word would still hold authority as his granddaughter and representative. Perhaps it was time to put her to the test.

“The marriage will not be annulled,” he said at last. “Indeed, any such suggestion that an annulment had ever been considered will be dismissed as baseless rumor. I will also allow one year to be spent in Kattegat. If my friend and ally Ragnar Lothbrok is satisfied with this resolution, then so am I.”

Ragnar shrugged and fixed his gaze on his son. Some silent communication passed between the two of them. Ragnar looked away first and sighed. “I am satisfied.”

A huge grin spread across Ivar’s face, and Aldreda clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Around the table, the boys were giggling, Judith and Aethelwulf were looking at each other with surprising warmth, and even the skepticism on Ubbe and Ragnar’s faces was beginning to ease. Ecbert tapped the side of his bowl with his spoon and raised his voice.

“Well, that’s all settled, then,” he concluded. “Everyone, finish your porridge; we have much to make ready.”

Despite his order, nobody else was paying much attention to breakfast at that point, least of all Ivar and Aldreda, who still looked rather dazed by the turn of events. Ecbert shook his head, smiled to himself, and dug back into his porridge: the two didn’t realize it yet, but now the real work was about to begin.

                                                            **

It took several weeks of preparation, but at last, everything that needed arranging had been arranged, Ivar and Aldredea had said their farewells, the carriage was packed to the brim with Aldreda’s trunks, and they were on their way to the coast. With Ubbe and Ragnar going ahead of them on horseback, that left Ivar and Aldreda crammed in together in the carriage and practically sitting on top of each other. 

“Why do you need to bring so many clothes?” Ivar complained as he wiggled around in the seat to try to get more comfortable, pushing her to the side with his body. “We could find you something to wear in Kattegat, you know.”

She pushed him back not very gently and stared at him as though he had just suggested that she travel to Kattegat naked. “They’re my clothes,” she said, sounding absolutely scandalized. “I need them.”

He rolled his eyes. “When I came to England, all I had with me were the clothes I was wearing.”

“Oh, I remember. You and your father were absolutely filthy the first time I saw you. Some of us have higher standards. Besides, I have to look my best when I meet your mother.”

He grinned and took her hand. “She’ll like you,” he said, and then backtracked. From the impression he had gotten from his father and Ubbe, his mother had not taken well to the idea of his marriage. “Well, maybe not right away. But eventually.”

“That’s why I have to make a good first impression,” she replied tartly.

He smiled and looked down at their intertwined hands. None of this still felt entirely real to him—that they were still married, that both of their families had agreed to it, that they were in a carriage headed to the coast and from there, to Kattegat. “What if they figure it out?” he asked quietly. “That we didn’t really...you know. Consummate the marriage.”

She squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter that much if they know or don’t know,” she reassured him. “They were willing to go along with it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“I guess not,” he said, still not entirely convinced. 

“The most important thing is that we’ll be together,” she said firmly. “Besides, we will be in Kattegat for an entire year. Who knows what will happen in that much time?”

“It’s enough time to make a pagan out of you,” he joked. “I can teach you how to sacrifice a goat. That would please my mother for sure.”

She smacked his shoulder with her free hand. “I’m sure there must be other ways I can please your mother.”

“Your father tried to make me learn about your bread god,” Ivar complained. “I think this is a fair trade.”

“You had to sit down one time with a priest to learn a prayer, and you didn’t even do that. That’s not the same thing as me sacrificing a goat,” she said dryly.

“Fine, no goats,” he agreed. He looked down, running his thumb along her palm, thinking back to the last time they had been together in a carriage like this. 

Aldreda rested her head on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just remembering the journey from Mercia back to Wessex,” he said. Aldreda had asked him to tell her about Kattegat. He had thought back then about what it would be like for him to take her to see his home and meet his family, and how impossible that had seemed. And something else had happened as well…

“Oh.” Aldreda blushed and sat up. She was obviously thinking about the same thing.

“You kissed me.”

She turned even redder, but she didn’t let go of his hand. After regarding him for a moment, she asked him shyly, “What if...we did it again?”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

So she kissed him and laughed, and to Ivar, her laugh sounded like joy, like hope, like the beginning of something wonderful.

[averagesmw]

Penny Haywood x MC- Come with me (1/4)

Game: Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery

____________________

The time for the holidays was approaching Hogwarts. The colorful lights and gentle snowfall made paved the way for the most peaceful time of the year

A time when there was no such thing as an enemy and tensions were indeed at an all-time low

This would be an ideal time to celebrate and surround yourself with loved ones, but after a brutal sixth year, festive wouldn't be a way to describe how Y/N was feeling

It was so hard to believe that it was over, that after... everything, they were free. However, it didn't feel like a victory

In fact, it didn't feel like anything. Even Beatrice wasn't as gloom

This behavior did not go unnoticed, however. Across the Great Hall, while the Curse-Breaker was staring at their giant sandwich, their friends were plotting

Well, at least the ones who hadn't left for Christmas yet

Tulip, Liz, Tonks, and Penny were waiting on Chiara, who was holding a plate with barely eaten food

"They didn't even eat. They just took a bite to not make me feel bad..."

The silver-haired girl sighed, earning sympathy from the girls, except for Penny, who was looking back at them

Not many students were left, but Y/N was so lost in thought that they didn't notice the girls

"This isn't good. Y/N has been as lonely as Talbot"

"...Who?" Tonks asked

"The point is, there has to be something we can do to help them"

"I tried cheering them up with Puffskeins, but Y/N just ended up falling asleep..." Liz sighed in defeat

"Have you tried taking them to Hogsmeade?" Tulip suggested to Penny

"Yes, but they didn't want to go. Said there were too many memories"

There was silence after that, at least until more ideas brewed

Y/N went through unimaginable lengths to protect their friends and even ensure their happiness. After everything that happened with Rakepick and the Vaults, it was only fair that they got some of that as well

The girls were devastated to know that wasn't the case, and they made it their mission to correct it immediately

Unfortunately, every attempt at improving their friend's mood had failed, and with Christmas approaching, time was running out

Unless...

"Wait, you said Hogsmeade brought Y/N bad memories?"

Penny nodded at the question, curious to see what Tonks had come up with

"Why not take Y/N somewhere else? Maybe a change of scenery would help them"

"Brilliant idea, Tonks! It could do wonders for their health if the environment is right"

Chiara's comment earned a proud smile from the methamorphmagus, at least until Liz came in with another question

"But where would it be ideal for that?"

With her hand on her chin, looking around for an answer. Her blue eyes eventually landed on the Christmas tree that was decorating the place

That's when she got a fragment of what could be an idea. She just needed a bit more intimation

"Where are you going on Christmas?"

The girls seemed to pick up on this idea, but their reactions didn't help much

"Y/N L/N is one of my best friends, I wouldn't let them anywhere near my parents"

With Tulip's parents working for the Ministry and Y/N being...well, Y/N, it only made sense

" I'm staying to help Hagrid look after the creatures"

Liz's statement made Chiara look at her with surprise

"And I will learn from Madam Pomfrey. Maybe we can get together for lunch!"

The silver-haired girl smiled at the idea as soon as she heard it

"I'd love that!"

The girls' excitement only made Penny worry, seeing as her options were running out. But that's when she thought about what she'd be doing in the holidays

Visiting the countryside, away from conflict and just near family and friends from a nearby village

"Then I'll ask Y/N to come with me for the holidays!" She thought out loud, gaining the attention of her friends

"You sure your parents would let you?"

"I'll send them an owl to ask them. Hopefully, they'll say yes"

Shortly after that, her gaze shifted to the student at the table

"But first, the guest of honor"

Without further due she approached Y/N and sat in front of them, her presence making then snap out of it

"Oh. Hey, Penny"

She returned the greeting with a smile

"Hi, Y/N. How are you today?"

"I'm holding up. I thought you'd be going with your family for Christmas"

This provided Penny the opportunity she was looking for, and she wouldn't waste it

"Actually, that's what I came here to talk about"

The suspense that accompanied that statement made Y/N look at her with concerned eyes

"Is everything alright?"

The Hufflepuff picked up on this and gently smiled at them

"Oh yes, don't worry about it. See, I was thinking..."

A sigh left her soft lips before she finally allowed herself to be as honest as she could with Y/N, or at least enough to proceed

"You've done far too much for us, especially this year, and while it has been difficult, it's been even worse for you"

"That's...a way to describe it, yes"

"But you deserve to enjoy this breath of fresh air, Y/N, and I was wondering if you..."

If she had their attention, now she also counted with their curiosity

"Yes?"

Her blue eyes met their e/c eyes as she finally asked what she came there to know

"If you'd like to come to the countryside with me for the holidays"

Penny waited for Y/N to politely decline the invitation as they would probably do given their mood

However, something that the young lady didn't account for was that talking to her would always help to cheer them up, even now

So rather than declining such an offer, Y/N showed surprise

"Really? You want me to go with you?"

Their reaction was as if they had forgotten just how much they meant to Penny, but seeing this change in behavior gave her the boost she needed to continue

"Of course! There's nobody else I'd rather spend them with"

She could tell that the curse-breaker was moved by her words, but also that they were seriously considering her offer. It was only a minute, but it felt like an eternity to the blonde witch

"Well, I could use the scenery change"

There she was, the confirmation she needed to get started. Penny got up and flashed one of the brightest smiles Y/N had ever seen

Not literally of course, but he had to be dead for it not to be heartwarming

"Brilliant! I'll send an owl to my parents to tell them about it. I'll tell you when we're leaving and...Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity"

Without further due, she left the Great Hall and headed straight to her Common Room so she could write a letter asking her parents if Y/N could indeed tag along

Penny would explain that they were responsible for saving Hogwarts on multiple occasions, including the Haywood sisters themselves and also the fact that they didn't quite deserve to spend such a gloomy Christmas by themselves

The owl left as soon as she delivered the letter. Fortunately, the weather was calm enough for it to fly normally and there weren't as many letters going around

It took a day for Penny to receive an answer, and what she saw made her squeal with overwhelming joy. Y/N would spend the holidays with them

For Y/N it might be just a change of scenery, but for her? It was all she wanted

To spend the best time of her year surrounded by the people she loved the most, no exceptions

And so, she went to find Y/N and tell them that the time to leave was near...after eating breakfast, of course

They all ate together and wished Y/N a pleasant trip. One could tell that more than saddened by their departure, they were glad they were taking their time

Except for Alanza, she wouldn't let go, literally. Even if she wouldn't admit it, that made Penny a bit jealous

Regardless, the Haywood sisters and Y/N found themselves walking into the Hogsmeade train station, with their baggage included

The plan was to take the train, get to a specific location where they'd meet Penny's parents, and from there continue with the holidays

Nothing Penny hadn't done many times before, so it wasn't all that complicated to follow

"I'm so glad you agreed to come with us, Y/N!"

"I think you'll find the countryside rather charming. Even I still enjoy it" Beatrice added

"Then I guess I really have to see it for myself"

"You'll love nature in there, it's so relaxing. There, let's find a seat!"

Penny grabbed Y/N's hand out of instinct as she guided them through the station, with Beatrice not far behind, chuckling at the sight of it

Plenty of things had taken place during their sixth year at Hogwarts, most of them dreadful, but one exception was Beatrice's relationship with both Penny and Y/N themselves

While still adjusting to her new self, she found comfort in the curse-breaker's company and help. Now she was ready to move on

And it showed, while they were all waiting for the train, the chatter was not gloomy or resentful, but rather charming instead

It even brought some semblance of normality

Something that seemed like such a rare commodity nowadays

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long for the train to arrive. They had timed their arrival perfectly, which was a relief considering that the station's clock cannot be relied on

It didn't take long for them to find a place to sit while the journey began, Penny and Beatrice sat on one side and Y/N on the other. Regardless, the window provided a breathtaking view of the landscape

As if the mountains and fields weren't beautiful enough, the snow gave them a refreshing new look. That was perhaps the best thing about winter, it made everything look brand new, even if it was older than you

An hour and a half went by with nothing to report. A hint of orange had taken over the scene, reminiscing the colors of the past season in a gentle way

Beatrice fell asleep in no time, practically leaning on her sister, who was reviewing potion materials when she noticed this

"Hey Y/N? Do you mind if I sit with you?"

The curse-breaker, on the other hand, was reading a book that Madam Villanelle recommended for the long trip. They lowered the book to look at the blonde and immediately understood what she meant

And so, Y/N moved so that there was enough space for Penny. She wanted to give her sister more space to get some rest...and it was also the perfect excuse to scoot a bit closer

"Thanks!"

In a swift motion, the blonde gently laid her sister to rest and got up, switching seats so that she was now beside her other companion

Said companion found themselves unable to return to their book, as the light that made it through the window highlighted Penny's delicate features

From the way her braids were done, to the softness and color of her lips, and more importantly, her joyful attitude

Y/N found themselves lucky just to be witness to this, but it also came to them that so far, they hadn't said anything to the girl, they had just tagged along

Perhaps now would be the right time to correct that

"Penny?"

The delicate way her name left Y/N's lips got her attention in seconds, and when she saw them put away their book, Penny was genuinely intrigued

"Yes?"

They scratched the back of their neck as words failed to come out at first, but after a sigh, that was no longer a problem

"Thank you for taking me with you. I mean it"

She gave them a sympathetic smile, she knew why she was doing this and didn't feel like she was owed anything

"There's no need to thank me, I didn't want you to stay alone in the castle"

"I'm not precisely alone, but I get what you mean"

"You didn't have to do it"

This time, both of them shook off the nervousness

"But I wanted to. You saved Hogwarts, Y/N, but you also saved my word. I want to share it with you"

The curse-breaker didn't know how to answer that. Although their surprised expression and later smile said everything

Penny spared them of the silence and chose to continue, with a softer approach this time, and one closer to the truth as well

Her truth, of course

"Besides, I like spending time with you outside the school. Like that time we went to the dragon reserve"

Y/N chuckled at the memory of that "field trip", choosing to focus on the less lethal parts of it, but also going with the flow of the conversation

"That time when we roasted marshmallows together and slept in an oversized tent?"

"Exactly! But...less dangerous"

They laughed at this comment, taking the opportunity to go over the events of the last year together

Not only the dragon reserve but also getting to welcome Alanza to the school, the times they had snuck out together to investigate or just talk in the Courtyard

It wasn't a Celestial Ball or a tournament, but there was no denying those small moments

Of course, it had been a dark year, but it wasn't one without its lighter moments, and even if Y/N couldn't find enough of them, Penny would provide light, for both of them

This chatter lasted for at least another hour, soon, both of them returned to their respective books, smiling tiredly after making the journey much sweeter

But then, after a few minutes of reading, the Hufflepuff felt a gentle weight on her shoulder. Glancing over, she discovered the familiar h/c hair so close to her

Did...did Y/N just fall asleep on her shoulder?

Yes, yes they did

And they looked so peaceful as well

Penny found herself smiling fondly at this

" I could use a little rest..." She thought

Penny didn't think it twice before she closed her book, putting it to the side

Then, she got comfortable and snuggled closer to Y/N, allowing herself to cuddle up and just...close her eyes too

[thewhizzyhead]

you very much Should Keep going (if you’d like) I’m reading your tags like 👀👀👀 I wanna know More!!!

dude believe me i only just thought up 90% 9f this while doing my math homework last night so yea this is very barebones and this is very very new have very little to offer but um imma try to explain a bit more fjdjdc SO ANYWAYS GRADE 11

Warning: this is very long and I am very sorry aaAAAA also i only just thought of this last night and a while ago while attending class so um yea it's chaotic.

the songs i've mentioned so far in the tag ramble aren't um consecutive so yeah there are a lot of blank spaces in between fjsjsj and yea I haven't figured out the other leads and their arcs yet (probably 5-6 leads). for now um the planned songs feature 3 of the leads:

Kate - basically answers the question of What If Eva Sanchez Was The Protagonist and What If Eva Sanchez Saw The Hell That Is Don't Even (in this show, this song is called "Anakpota?" or "The Fuck?"); she's a transferee and is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the new school environment; her reasons for transferring run a bit deeper than just "humanities is a lot more interesting than stem or business shits"; i guess her main character themes are burnout, the want for childlike wonder again and overcoming the fear that comes with chasing what you really want and no i am definitely not self projecting what are you guys talking about smh rhhdhs /hj (altho i admit that this is loosely based on my own experience with deciding to transfer schools) and yea she's a very closeted lesbian that slowly starts to comes out to others and to herself more throughout the course of the show. and also she gets a girlfriend YAY

Noel - rn i don't have that much planned out for him cause u know barebones plot but so far um i guess he's the chill dude, overall good guy, rantaro amami from danganronpa v3 vibes, and he's initially framed as the "love interest" for Kate esp in the song "Ikaw Ba Ay..." or "Are You..." (i wanted that to be a play on the typical Filipino Teen Hetero Romance CAUSE THAT SHIT IS IN EVERYWHERE JFJSJD I AM GONNA MAKE A WHOLEASS RANT ON THAT SOON AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME) but surprise motherfucker BOTH OF THEM ARE GAY AND BOTH BOND OVER IT AND BECOME BEST FRIENDS YAY WOOOO i kinda want him to be like the typical "Filipino Teen Heartthrob" star student with the twist being that he's gay and not make that a throwaway joke cause um yea that's a throwaway joke here that someone who is real catch for the heteros but is actually gay is "sayang" or "worthless" here.

Ella - ngl she is probably gonna end up as the main lead here fjdjd i'd say she has riley+chess vibes aka The School's Hotshot Achiever and Student Leader That Is Very Intimidating But Is Actually Really Freaking Kind and i guess with a dash of Kate Dalton-ish snark. Like i said the plot is barebones rn so i dunno anything but i do imagine them being the one that drives the plot forward due to her outspokenness. I also imagine her to be the one (along with Noel) that makes Kate a lil bit more comfortable with her sexuality and yup you guessed it Ella is gay too (bi to be specific oh and she uses she/they pronouns) and altho still a bit closeted, they're a bit more comfy with it. also they become Kate's gf yay!

those are the leads that i have kinda planned out so far but yea i still gotta expound kna lot of atuff and make up more leads for this but then again i just started conceptualizing this last night so ANYWAYS HERE ARE THE OTHERS SONGS THAT I LITERALLY JUST THOUGHT UP LAST NIGHT (aside from the ones already mentioned)

+ "Nakakapanibago" or "Well This Is New" - Ella and Kate work together on a school project aaand gay panic ensues. both of them take turns in addressing the audience and panicking over each other in um er an "Oh My God She's Very Fucking Cute What The Fuck" way. it kinda has What Is This Feeling from Wicked vibes if you remove the aggression and antagonization jdjsd and i kinda emphasize on how overwhelmed they are cause for Kate, everything - from the school to the subjects to the people - is new and her attraction to Ella is like a cherry bomb on top of a chaos cake while for Ella, who has studied in the school since kindergarten which is why nothing about the school fazes her anymore, Kate is a literal breath of fresh air and the spontaneity scares them and excites them at the same time. The number is comedic (and is chance for me to add a shit ton of wordplay cause yAY WORDPLAY) but i guess also hints at their fears which will definitely come into play later.

+ "Mabuting Laban" or "Good Fight" - a group number led by Ella, this is the first song in the musical that isn't mostly comedic. like um the musical so far (before this song) is mostly somewhat of a parody-just-for-laughs-don't-take-this-seriously piece but with this, the show finally hints to something a lot more serious and insightful. so basically ella tells kate (this scene comes right after the Nakakapanibago sequence) that they have noticed that the latter is um very very shocked at the blatant show of LGBTQ+ stuff. Kate mentions that altho many students have since then spoke up for LGBTQ+ acceptance, things were a lot more conservative back in her former school (once again wooo definitely not self projection /hj) so like seeing all this is very new to her. Ella then mentions that things weren't always like that - a lot of fighting had to be done in order to get to that point. and because most of the students already were branded with a rebellious reputation (for a lot of delinquent behavior), they really didn't give a fuck anymore if they were being controversial or not. What mattered was that they would make the school environment a lot more welcoming for themselves and for others. That sentiment is also shared by other leads singing along as they go out of their way to ensure a much better environment for everyone (in terms of lgbtq+ rights, undoing the stigmatization of mental health matters, student activism yadda yadda)

(oh and also this kinda serves as something that bridges the prejudices between the two schools since Ella's school is famous for a lot of student delinquency while Kate's former school is famous for being known as the "Best School In The Region With The Best Students" (which is why Ella understands why the students in Kate's school are a bit more hesitant to speak up because Kate's former schoolmates got way too much to lose) and the rivalry those schools have with each other cause students from ella's school think those from kate's school are pompous little shits while those from kate's school think that ella's schoolmates are delinquents and yes this is commentary on the dynamic my former school'scstudents and my current school's students share) (i should probably give this its own song)

+ "Ayoko" or " I Don't Want It" - (this does not come right after Mabuting Laban fjsjd i honestly dunno where to put this) this comes right after a conversation regarding her reputation in her former school and yea this is Kate poking fun at the "I Want" song musical trope. Like um she addresses the audience saying something along the lines of "oooohh wow complicated backstory exposition! you are probably expecting a song rn ala "How Far I'll Go" from Moana but guess what bitches fuck you all cause i'm gonna sing a song about the things I don't want just to fucking annoy you." it starts off as incredibly satirical and um Kate Dalton-vibes all throughout the scene with lots of pettiness which will then gradually transition to her singing about how she threw all the opportunities presented to her by the former school just because she really didn't want to do them and was tired of saying "yes" just to be enough for them. She then starts singing about her taking control of her own narrative by finally leaving the school. She still laments about those lost opportunities and admits that she still kinda wants to pursue those, but if she has to sacrifice rest for greatness, then she doesn't want it. The song ends with a verse akin to most I Want songs as she finally admits what she really wants the most: rest and wonder.

also here's a verse i made up just a while ago

Diyos ko, sabihin mo, ano pa ang kailangan kong gawin/upang mabawi ang mga ninakaw sa akin/upang maibalik ang pag-asang nawala/upang sa wakas ako'y makakapagpahinga/sapagkat hindi na ako nagnanais ng kadakilaan/ang hinihingi ko lamang ay ang aking kabataan

translation (i'll try my best to make it rhyme): My God, tell me, what else do i have to do/so I can take back all that they have taken from me/so that I can bring back the hope I've long so been deprived of/so that for once in my life, I'll be able to breathe/ cause I no longer want all the greatness that you say I could've had/ I only want to wonder, I only want my childhood back

+ "Halos Lagi Nalang"or "Almost Always The Same" - if this sounds familiar yes i rambled about this before gjdjdjd I started conceptualizing this song even before i even started conceptualizing the musical. So yea this is in Act 2 the song starts with mentioning the exhaustion that comes with being an LGBTQ+ teen in the philippines cause yup same old conservative religious bullshit same old same old shit and despite many a lot of people advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, nothing ever changes around here because well conservative religious bullshit. so yea this is kind of an extension of "Good Fight" but make it more about the burnout felt by a lot of teens that want something better than whatever we have right now. Then it will also apply to the other causes that the leads fight for (activism,destigmatization of mental health stuffs, etc). I'd say it's a combination of Before the Breakdown + Move On musically speaking (yea PMA has influenced me by a LOT). eventually this becomes one of the star numbers fo the show cause yea all the leads will do a shit ton of singing and harmonizing (but for here i'd say Noel and Kate have a tiny bit more of the spotlight since for now they are the ones with the very LGBTQ+ based plotlines). I really REEAAALLY want this song to work aaaa i've been playing around with the melody a lot recently and if i can't write the whole musical, then i'll be content with at the very least writing this song

+ "Try Lang Natin" or "Let's Try It Out" - this is a very barebones sequence atm but basically it's a scene where both Kate and Ella come to terms with their fears related to uncertainty and go "fuck it we don't know jackshit about the future anyway so why not ondulge a bit and ejoy what we have today" and decide to start going out with each other YAYYYYY and also this is like one of the few scenes here were Ella is much more visibly nervous compared to everyone else in the scene so yay for helping each other come to terms with their own vulnerabilities WOOOOO (also paige i remember you saying once that kate and eva could've had a Forever reprise duet right? And correct me if i'm wrong but i think u said it could be about eva assuring kate that she won't go anywhere? WELP I'M STEALING THAT JFJSJJDF /lh /hj AND YUP KATE AND ELLA ARE BASICALLY UM KINDA KATEVA IF YOU SQUINT SO THANK YOU PAIGE FOR THAT IDEAAAA)

AND THAT'S IT SO FAR WOO THIS TOOK ME 5 HOURS TO TYPE IT ALL OUT FJDJSJFF i'm kinda impressed with this ngl considering that i literally started making this up last night and i hope that i can make something out of it woo

And if you guys somehow reached the end of the post and have read every single thing, I'm sending you a lot of hugs and a lot of milkshakes

[bookocd]

Light As Air Chapter 5

Alright I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope it makes a couple of you chuckle. Thank you for reading and if anyone wants to be added to the tag list let me know!

Tag List:

@wxstedhexrt

Summary:

In the aftermath of Kingdom of Ash, Fenrys finds himself connected with a mysteriously powerful fae female. With the confusion of her past and vast amount of power, the Aelin’s court becomes weary of Fenrys’s involvement. 

Fenrys is still reeling after Connall’s death and while joining Aelin’s court has been a dream, his nightmares are still plagued by Maeve. 

Vel will do anything to get the help she needs, but her past controls her emotions, and her hopes for the future clouds her judgement. 

Maybe together they can mend what has been broken, but Vel’s strange origins will continue to keep them apart. 

Link to Master list!

Chapter 5:

The plan was to let him think she was sleeping.

The plan was to wait for him to leave.

The plan was to sneak out of this room and out of the castle and never come back. 

Plans fucking change. 

Looking at Fenrys was the equivalent of looking into the sun. It hurt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. This was the only reason she allowed him to maneuver her into the position they were in now. She knew that his training ran deep and when she loosened her hold ever so slightly on his hand that he would take the opportunity to gain back his dominance. 

The new plan was to look at him and then throw him off of the bed all together. It only took one shift of her lower body and legs, and then he would be on his ass. 

Vel found herself unable to buck him off, because she couldn’t stop staring. The scars on his face were now just subtle red lines and somehow the almost nonexistent scars allowed him to look real. Vel had never seen someone who looked as perfect as him. Given that she had never met more than five people in her life, until recently, but the characters in her books had nothing on the male hovering a couple of inches from her face. 

“Are you going to behave if I let your arms go?” His voice brought Vel out of her thoughts. 

A rough laugh filled the chamber and she flashed him her teeth in anger. He was speaking to her as if she were a small child. “Probably not,” she gritted out.

“Then I guess we are at a standstill sweetheart.”

“Do not call me that.”

His eyes shone and she knew her mistake. He would never stop calling her that now, but her emotions got the best of her. The only person that had ever called her that was her father. 

Fenrys made to speak again, but Vel beat him to it. 

“Is this how you like your women? Pinned down, unable to move?” Her taunt was gross, uncalled for, and only said for the purpose of getting him off balance. His hands let go of her arms almost immediately and his face went completely blank. 

It was a look of utter nonexistence, a look of nothingness. Vel just watched, eyes wide, as the warrior in front of her started the shake. His breathing started to quicken and then he was across the room. Vel sat up and looked upon the male. He was sliding down the brick wall while hyperventilating, eyes glazed over, like he was living in a nightmare. 

Knowing the signs of a panic attack and having personal experiences with them, Vel slowly walked over to where the male now had his head in-between his knees. 

“Breath, just breath,” she started to say as calmly as possible. “You are safe. Try to slow your breathing.” Nothing happened. “I need to know how to help you. Please tell me how to help you.” The whimper she heard from him nearly broke her heart. She kept repeating commands of breathing, but she realized that maybe he was more like her than she realized. There was only one thing that would get her out of a severe state like this. 

She knew what she had to do.

—

Fenrys didn’t know how he got here. His panic attacks never came on this fast and never with someone else in the room. He was happy with keeping his problems to himself, but with peace came more time for thought. His thoughts were never good and neither were his memories. 

He faintly heard Vel speaking to him, but it wasn’t his humiliation that kept him from looking up at her. It was the fact that for one second, she turned into another black haired female. He had been in that position before, many times and never with his consent. Her commands came back to him in a flood and then he was transported to a lavish room in Doranelle being forced to be the whore the whole city thought him to be. 

His thoughts of Maeve’s face were interrupted by a hand on his knee. Still not looking up he tried to focus on the voice in front of him, instead of the sultry voices of the past. 

“I was really young when magic was taken away and so many magical families and fae were killed. My father felt the only way to ensure my safety was to keep me in a secret cellar at all times. It wasn’t until I was 13 that I was allowed out of the cellar, 15 when I was allowed outside of the cabin, and 17 when my father allowed me to travel with him. He had finally deemed me mature enough and smart enough to know I would die if anyone found out what I was. This is only relevant to the story, because I need you to know that I was fucking stupid when it came to social interaction and normal everyday activities having to do with people.” She huffed out a slight laugh and slowly but surely his breathing started to slow as she continued talking.

“I went into a village with my father, so we could gather some food and because he finally got fed up with me pestering him everyday about getting out of that cabin. This town was larger and had both an Inn and connecting bath house, along with a farmers market and several small shops. It was far enough from Orynth that it wasn’t attacked, it wasn’t valuable enough to pillage, and definitely not large enough to be a threat, so they were left mostly alone. I stayed quiet with my head down and tried to slouch as I walked, to hide both my teeth and unnatural tallness, but still people were kind to me and I actually enjoyed myself. At one point toward the end of our journey my father wanted to talk to an elderly man about his book collection, which ended up taking hours. Once he got talking about books, nobody could stop him.” It was at the sad tone that Fenrys finally looked up. Her hand was still on his leg, tethering him to the real word, and there were tears in her eyes. When she met his gaze a small smile formed on her lips. He still couldn’t speak, but he pleaded, with his eyes, for her to continue and she seemed to know what he was asking. 

“I started to get stir crazy and reckless. I also had never had a real bath. The closest I got was a stream by our house, which was not the same thing. It was getting late and the most people had already gone home or to the pub in the main floor of the small inn. I thought I could be quick, in and out, so I headed over toward the bath house.” Her hand finally left his knee and covered her face as a blush was slowly creeping across her cheeks. 

Through her hands he could barely hear the smothered words. 

“I also need to tell you that I was wearing boys clothing because… well, that’s a story for a different day.”

His heart soared at hearing her talk about the future, even if she probably hadn’t meant it. 

“So yea, I walked toward the bath house and when I went inside no one was in the main room and there were only two doors leading to the baths. The wall with the two doors was covered with a huge landscape painting of a Terrasen forest in the winter. To this day I can still picture it, the snow covered evergreens and mountainous background. Anyways I didn’t see any difference between the two so I just decided, without using any common fucking sense, to walk into the left door.”

Her eyes peaked out in-between mangled fingers at Fenrys, but he still wasn’t quite sure where this story was going. With a huff she dropped her hands and all but yelled, “I saw penis’s okay!?”

His eyes widened as she went on. “In the artwork on the wall connecting to the baths, there was a doe on the right door and a buck on the left, to signify which door was for which gender. This only became clear when I walked in to see all the farm hands, who apparently all bathe together after a hard days work instead of going home, which is what I thought they did. There was at least 12 men spread about the room. In the actual water, lounging in chairs, wiping themselves off with towels, but all fucking naked. I saw several different cock’s and I looked like a boy so no one covered themselves when I walked in. The asked me to JOIN THEM! I was mortified and scarred for life, and I ran out. When I finally found my father, who hadn’t realized I had left, we walked home in silence and he asked me several times what was wrong. Of course I said nothing, but later that night I found myself asking my brother what the average size of a penis was and ended up telling him the whole story. He laughed so hard that fell out of a chair. I never spoke of it since, well except for right now. So yea… penis’s. That’s the end of my story.” 

Fenrys didn’t know what to say, so instead he burst out into a fit of laughter. 

“You’re fucking k-kidding with me-e?” He managed to get out in-between wheezes. 

Her miserable face was enough to answer his question, but she nodded and said, “And apparently, from the information my brother gave me, they were all rather unimpressive.” 

“Oh. My. Gods.” Clutching his stomach his laugh worsened and he keeled over onto his side, tears blurring his vision. She started to laugh with him slightly and covered her mouth with a hand, but her eyes gave away her smile. 

“Fenrys it’s not funny. I couldn’t close my eyes for weeks, because all I saw were small flaccid dicks.” 

All of a sudden everything was silent. He quickly righted himself and just stared at her. The laughter was gone, some tears were still falling down his cheeks, chasing each other. Her smile vanished and a worried look replaced it. 

“What did I say. I’m sorry about what I said before, I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to get you flustered so I could kick you off, but I know it was wrong and I just—“ Fenrys cut her rambling off with a hand to her impossibly soft cheek. 

This female had successfully gotten him out of a panic attack, made him laugh like he hasn’t in over 100 years, and then when she said his name it was like the sun parting two storm clouds. A sun that was now shining down on him. 

“You said my name,” was all he said. He dropped his hand when she started to look guarded again. “Well that was the worst story I have ever heard and I think I have doubts about your observation skills.” 

“I was 17, I’ve learned a lot since then,” her taunting tone coming back in full force. 

“I’m sure you have, but I’m still going to go around the city and write Male and Female on all of the bath house doors.”

Her laughter fell around him like silk.

“You are not!” She said still laughing, but they both were turning as the chamber door opened. 

—

Vel tried not to think about the story she had shared with him, the mention of her family almost sent herself over the edge, but she had the strangest urge to help him, even if that meant hurting herself. She also was trying and failing to stop thinking about the look her gave her after she spoke his name aloud for the first time. The look was so warm and the absence of lust is what struck her. It had nothing to do with him being sexually attracted to her, which was evident in his hardness that he had tried to hide earlier, and he was definitely larger than those men in the bath house all those years ago. A lot larger. 

She was very thankful when the door opened, cutting off her laughter at his last comment. She watched as the head of the queen popped out from behind the door. The shock was clear on her face at seeing Fenrys and Vel both sitting on the ground and there was no way she hadn’t heard them laughing, but she quickly schooled her face into one of neutrality. 

“I hate to break up the party, but dinner is being served and I wanted to see if either of you wanted to join.” She then looked directly at Vel and continued, “Or if you are still not feeling well, we can have someone bring something up for you.” 

Vel was shaken by the kindness, and almost agreed to come down, but she was not ready to face their whole court yet. Not after what happened with her powers and what had just happened with Fenrys, so she said, “Thank you, but I think I should probably head home. I already feel as though I have taken too much of your time and kindness, and do not want to be a burden any longer.”

“You haven’t eaten anything all day, so you will not be leaving to go walking through the forest at night. I will have someone bring food up to you and if you try to leave, which I seriously doubt you are strong enough to do so, we will have someone guard your door.” The voice was that of a queen, but Vel knew that she wasn’t keeping her here to make sure she was okay, but to make sure that the kingdom was safe, from an uncontrolled powerful fae female. 

Vel just nodded and Aelin relaxed slightly. Fenrys then stood and put a hand out to help Vel do the same. Without looking at the queen he said, “Aelin I will meet you downstairs in a couple of minutes. Don’t let Lorcan and Rowan eat all of the meat.”

Aelin let out a small laugh and left mumbling something about bastard fae males and their bottomless pits they called stomachs. 

Alone again, Vel looked to Fenrys and suddenly felt exposed. She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around her waist. His lips angled downward, as if he was unhappy. 

Even with the light gone from his face he still his voice still managed to flow with warmth as he spoke. “Thank you for helping me.” He continued, but sounded more unsure, “The others don’t know about… um my… uh episodes. I don’t think it will come up, but if we… could um keep that between us.”

“I would never tell anyone and thanks are not necessary,” she said and watched him nod and turn toward the door. She didn’t move as he turned back towards her. 

“How did you know that telling me that story would work?” 

“It’s what my father used to do for me, when I went through the same thing.” His eyebrows raised at the admission, but wisely didn’t ask her to say anything further. He closed the door with a small smile.

Vel turned back toward the bed and sat down. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and would probably fall back asleep before her food was delivered.

She had only just laid down when she heard a knock at the door. Shooting up into a sitting position she watched the door open and Fenrys’s head to come back into view. He cocky grin was back and she felt relieved at the more normal behavior. 

“Oh and Vel, I want you to know that fae males have quite a significant difference in average length than that of human men.” Her eyebrows raised. “And for scientific and comparative purposes only, I would gladly show you one above average, even for fae.”

The door closed quickly as a pillow went hurling through the air and hit the door with a thud. 

[wunderlass]

I’m feeling so deflated to be writing this post. S1 had its flaws but those could be placed at the feet of a freshman showrunner who could learn from her mistakes going into S2 and up her game. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen, and S2 was a mess.

S1 had a clear central plotline: the mystery of Rosa’s death, leading to justice in the form of Noah’s death and Rosa’s resurrection. S2’s central plotline was…um. The kidnappings? Leading into the plot to blow up Crashcon? I think? But there was so much other stuff gong on it’s hard to tell.

Carina – if you happen to come stumbling into the tags for reactions – you’ve already acknowledged that you struggle to edit your scripts down for length. And it does show in the finished product. But you also struggle to edit your ideas down to fit into the episode count you have. There were too many extraneous plot threads this season, too many guest characters, and the ideas you had were shoddily and sloppily executed.

There were shining moments scattered here and there and the occasional good episode, but for the most part this season lurched from badly paced episode to badly paced episode. Stuff was crammed into each episode and yet somehow the plot also treaded water until 2x11 when it all kicked off – and this was because so much of what happened in the earlier episodes didn’t feed into the main plot. Even Max’s death, the overarching motivation for many characters at the beginning, was shoved to the side for other ideas.

And the payoffs for each of these storylines was too often underwhelming. Max can’t come back because he’ll be full of dark energy and a destructive force! Resolved in 30 seconds by him blowing up a pile of stuff. Max can’t remember Liz! Fixed in the same episode. That pattern continued with the finale feeling like it was trying to wrap up all these storylines without really having a story of its own. The various cliffhangers from Crashcon were tied up before the title card and then let’s spend the next 40 minutes treading water again.

There were good moments in the finale. Max and Isobel’s discussion, the Maneforrest kiss, Rosa and Helena’s reunion. But as for the rest? Hear me whine:

-          Jesse’s death was anticlimactic. His line about “no more Manes men” makes no sense given as far as he knew Flint (and maybe Clay?) is still alive. His death should have been poetic because one of his son’s killed him but it didn’t hold the weight it should have, possibly because it came so early in the episode.

-          It would have been far better if Jesse had discovered that Harlan killed Tripp and buried him beneath the shed. How awful would it have been for his entire worldview to be shaken by that revelation? How perfect would it have been if he discovered that Tripp loved Nora? If he died after learning all of that, becoming desperate and sloppy in whatever scheme he was trying to pull off (self-immolation via the bomb?), it would have been a fitting ending.

-          So many characters this season were badly served. Alex, Michael, and to a lesser extent Max, had real arcs and progression. Alex especially you can see them setting up his growth for a payoff in the finale. 

-          Kyle was shafted, shoved to the side for the Steph storyline that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere, and I suspect we got a lot of that cut away to make room for other stories.

-          Rosa’s story started off strong and then mostly got tied into rehab or helping Isobel. Them having her out and about in public in Roswell is complete nonsense.

-          Max had a line for Isobel about her becoming her “entire self” this season, and that rang false to me. We’ve only seen Isobel develop her powers. Her personality has shifted each episode, fractured and inconsistent, dependant on what the writers needed her to do. She didn’t get much of a storyline of her own – the abortion was redundant, serving as a political soapbox for Carina rather than anything that served the character – and while she’s found out more about her heritage, that’s never been as important as Michael or Max finding out about theirs. She said she wanted to become more like her mother and that never went anywhere.

-          I was so hopeful that Carina had listened and understood the criticisms with Maria’s handling in S1 and worked to improve it. She certainly gave her increased screentime. Except, so much of that screentime was tied into Michael, and latterly Isobel. She lacked interactions with Liz or Rosa. She was in two whole scenes in the finale and after she broke up with Michael, she disappeared from the story, and if that doesn’t say it all…

-          And that break-up was contrived bullshit. I’m not saying this as a shipper. It felt like they’d planned to have them break-up in the finale and wrote it even though the motivations hadn’t been properly established. Seeds were sown but they were communicating well as a couple and resolving their issues as they went along. Suddenly those issues got un-resolved and were enough to break them up.

-          The most galling part is that so much of what follows comes from Tripp’s diary, and Maria is excluded. This is her story too! Louise was her great-grandmother! Rather than sitting around her in the hospital room reading this stuff, they do it in the Crashdown.

-          Which fits the pattern of what’s happened all season. Maria found out she was part alien and it was about her powers, rather than her legacy, rather than what happened to her great-grandparents.

-          And it became clear that it was done so they could do the Nora/Tripp and Malex parallel.

-          Which completely solidifies for me where Carina’s priorities lie. She’s been clear that Malex is her favourite ship on the show and Michael is her favourite character. But this season has shown that she’s incapable of ensuring her favouritism doesn’t screw over other characters.

-          The sad thing is this really does show up in marketing. Carina always pushes and praises Vlamis and barely ever mentions Jeanine on her SM. Media outlets write about Malex as the centre of the show and they aren’t supposed to be. We have a sci-fi show with a Latina leading lady and nobody cares – not the showrunner, not the media (outside of Latinx-centric publications), not the fandom. I’m not Latina and it frustrates me so I can’t imagine how actual Latinx people feel about that.

-          Maria was dragged into a love triangle that Carina never had any intention of doing justice to. Maria and Michael were always only ever meant to be a pit-stop on the way to a big Malex reunion. Sadly it’s clear the same goes for Maneforrest. Why write something if you’re only going to do it half-arsed? And it clearly was. That’s why the Maria and Michael break-up was so perfunctory and illogical.

-          While I’m on the subject of Maria – last season Mimi was clearly deteriorating and didn’t recognise adult Maria anyway. Now that seems to have shifted to Mimi’s mind moving through time. It’s still unclear if this is the alien DNA or what was done to Patricia Deluca in Caulfield. I don’t understand why they introduced both elements – apart from being able to give Maria a line about unethical science which OH BOY what a contrast with Liz.

-          Speaking of Liz.

-          Wow.

-          If the central storyline was the kidnappings and Crashcon shenanigans, she really had no involvement with that all season apart from the very end. All the investigation went to other characters. Her mother was involved, but not Liz.

-          Let me repeat that.

-          Our lead character was not involved the central storyline of the season.

-          Alternatively, if you think Max learning about his history, and all of the reveals about 1948, and Maria’s heritage etc etc were supposed to be the main storyline…

-          Doesn’t matter because Liz wasn’t involved in any of that either!

-          Liz was a subplot in her own show after they brought Max back. Hell, she was a subplot even when she was working on that.

-          The narrative focus really has centred on Michael, Alex, and later Max.

-          I wonder what they have in common with each other.

-          If you don’t believe me, check out the screentime figures for this season. Liz had the fourth largest amount of screentime in the finale, and she’s only had majority screentime in a handful of episodes all season (2x01, 2x07, 2x11).

-          And then realise that the plot kept moving after Liz left Roswell. She’s just not part of it anymore.

-          I watched the finale and kept asking myself where Liz was because she kept disappearing for whole chunks of time.

-          She was in her own subplot about science for the back half of this season, and honestly, I’m going to have to write an entirely separate post about Liz and ethics in science because NOPE.

-          Max was right. Liz deserved to follow her calling but she had options that didn’t involve risking the aliens.

-          As such the Echo break-up was stupid but whatever, based on this season I guess it needed to happen.

-          Did Max even care that Liz left? He loved her for twenty years and then when he had her, it didn’t matter anymore? What the fuck? Are we ever going to get answers as to why he fell so hard and loved her for so long, or is the “Malex is cosmic” story more important?

-          Also the whole thing about the Genericorp lady not being interested in Liz based on meeting her at the Crashdown was stupid. You hire scientists based on the previous work they’ve done and their credentials. Diego’s word should have been enough to convince her, and then maybe an actual proper job interview to make sure she was a good fit. Not “let’s sneak into her secret lab to look at what she’s working on”.

-          When Liz does leave, she only says goodbye to Rosa and Kyle. Arturo is mentioned but not seen. Which means the whole ICE sequence this season, which should have been a solid motivation for Liz to take the Genericorp job on its own, has been resolved without a proper payoff. All that stress – scenes that I know felt genuinely stressful to some viewers because of how close to home it hit – and we don’t even get to see Arturo seeing his “genius daughter” leave with his future secured.

-          It’s plausible that Liz said goodbye to other characters – Maria, Isobel, Michael – off screen BUT SHE’S YOUR LEAD CHARACTER AND HER LEAVING TOWN SHOULD CARRY SOME EMOTIONAL WEIGHT FFS

-          Compare Liz leaving and arriving at the ocean to Buffy Summers leaving Sunnydale in Becoming Part 2. There is no contest.

-          It’s clear to me that the audience Carina writes this show for is herself. And that’s fine. Plenty of writers do that. But that means she’s writing a show for the women in fandom who like epic mlm romances with lots of angst. And the problem with that is that this show has a Latina lead who is not being done justice.

-          This is not me railing against Malex. There is space in the show for both things. This is me expressing my frustration at a showrunner and creative team who are not taking care with all characters equally.

-          Carina uses her platform to throw in politics and use characters as mouthpieces without considering their impact. She thinks she’s educating the straight white people in the audience without thinking about how scenes of ICE intimidation, homophobic violence, and racism will affect the people who are impacted by those things in real life.

-          Am I done with the show? Probably not. I’ve got fics I want to write and while I’m not hubristic enough to think I can write better than a team of professional writers, I’m going to at least try and do some of these neglected elements of the show justice.

-          Hubris. Remember when I thought that was going to be a theme of this season? Apparently not. There was no theme, unless “no editing, we die like men” counts..

[aion-rsa]

15 Worst NES Games of All-Time

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The worst NES games of all time are a truly special breed of bad video games. Say what you will about the downsides of the modern video game industry (and there is certainly a lot to say), but there is, in most cases, a baseline standard of quality ensured by better, cheaper technology, experience, and more controlled distribution channels. You may get the occasional indie game that is basically a scam, but when it comes to major releases…well, even Cyberpunk 2077 was pretty good in a lot of ways.

That wasn’t the case during the NES era. At a time when console gaming was basically the digital wild west, it was incredibly difficult to tell good games from bad ones, and developers often exploited that fact to get us to buy titles that refuse to leave the deepest, darkest parts of our nostalgia all these years later.

That’s the thing about these games. Are they among the worst NES titles ever? Absolutely, but years later, there’s something about remembering the pain of playing them and sharing those memories with others that is strangely enjoyable. 

15. Tag Team Wrestling

Even with all of the other bad wrestling games for the NES (and there were many), Tag Team Wrestling manages to stand apart largely by virtue of being fundamentally unplayable in nearly every way you can imagine.

In a dream world where you manage to overcome this game’s all-time bad animations and unresponsive controls, you still have to deal with the fact that there are times when the opponent A.I. difficulty is raised to such a degree that it becomes quite literally impossible to win. If it weren’t for the fact that this game eventually inspired Homestar Runner’s Strong Bad character, it would be entirely worthless.

14. Friday the 13th

There are some who will credit Friday the 13th for being unique and ambitious. We shall not speak their name in this house of truth where we recognize that the Friday the 13th franchise was never scarier than the moment you tried to play this game as a child.

This game’s bewildering map and unforgivable controls were practically designed to eliminate the possibility of fun. It’s easy to love Jason’s weirdly stylish purple jumpsuit in this 8-bit nightmare, but much like Patrick Bateman, no amount of style can hide the monster beneath.

13. Super Pitfall

There’s no shortage of NES games that are difficult to the point of being fundamentally unenjoyable, but Super Pitfall may just be the king of that particular trash heap.

Super Pitfall‘s developers seemed to believe that the reason people love video games is that they offer the chance to listen to repetitive music while dying all the time to obstacles you have little to no chance to avoid. Just in case that level of abuse wasn’t enough to make you love their project, the developers decided to just go ahead and fill their game with essentially invisible items that no sane person would ever find organically despite the fact that they’re required to progress. To it’s credit, this game does recreate the sensation of being trapped in a dank underground cave.

12. Operation Secret Storm

While it almost feels too easy to pick on developer Color Dreams (the studio responsible for many terrible unlicensed NES games, many of which were based on the Bible), Operation Secret Storm is really on another level in terms of all-time bad games.

Even if we can put aside the often blatant racism and bizarre Gulf War storyline, we’re left with a game where control commands are more of a polite suggestion and hit detection is a bug, not a feature. From top-to-bottom, this may be the “best” example of just how bad those old-school unlicensed NES games could be.

11. Where’s Waldo?

You know, it’s pretty amazing that Where’s Waldo? the video game can’t offer an experience comparable to the Where’s Waldo? books considering that the books weren’t exactly the great American novels.

Beating this game will either take you five minutes or 50 years. It really all depends on your ability to determine which of the blurred on-screen figures the game is trying to pretend is supposed to be Waldo. It’s truly impressive that this game manages to botch a concept this simple, but that’s the magic of the NES era. 

10. Back to the Future Part II and III

The first Back to the Future game for NES was bad, but at least it followed basic video game logic in terms of its level structure. Back to the Future Part II and III, meanwhile, somehow beats Primer for the title of “most confusing use of time travel in entertainment history.”

To be honest, I still don’t know what this game expects from me. It’s supposed to offer a time travel adventure that spans the scope of the last two Back to the Future films, but I dare you to play this for more than 20 minutes without feeling tears in your eyes and the words “What do you want me to do?!?!” escape your lungs. If it’s not the most unintuitive bit of 8-bit game design, it’s certainly one of the most unenjoyable.

9. The Adventures Of Gilligan’s Island

There are two things worth remembering about Gilligan’s Island: the theme song and how annoying Gilligan was. To its credit, this game nails both of those elements.

This game is basically the result of escort quests and bad comedy games forming an unholy union. Imagine being dropped into a hedge maze and being forced to endure the constant jeers of the dumbest man you’ve ever met while trying to figure out where to go. Also, your legs are tied together. That’s basically the Adventures of Gilligan’s Island experience. 

8. Bad Street Brawler

It’s tempting to overlook the golden age of beat ‘em ups for their seeming simplicity, but as Bad Street Brawler shows, it’s very much possible for those kinds of games to go incredibly wrong.

Bad Street Brawler was designed to be used with the NES Power Glove, which should probably tell you everything that you really need to know about what it’s like to try to “play” this game. Manage to master its nearly unplayable controls, and you’re left with a beat ’em up with bewildering visuals and fundamentally unsatisfying gameplay that leave you wondering how the industry lasted this long.

Read more

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7. Mario is Missing

Look, there are a lot of bad video games on the NES, but there’s something especially insulting about a terrible Mario game on NES that passes itself off as an educational experience.

This game feels like it was made by a dentist who wanted to give young patients a way to pass the time in the waiting room while also making them less afraid of the impending pain. Nothing in this game makes sense, and the fact it fooled young gamers into thinking it was an actual Mario game makes it that much more infuriating.

6. Ghostbusters

You know, it really shouldn’t have been that difficult to make a respectable Ghostbusters game. Honestly, the only way to go wrong is to pass up the more obvious genre opportunities and try to do something weird and stupid that nobody ever asked for.

As you probably guessed, that’s exactly what we have here. Ghostbusters has the audacity to try to be this strange combination of various gameplay concepts when the fundamentals of controls, visuals, and logical progression so clearly elude it. It’s genuinely hard to believe someone had the chance to make a Ghostbusters video game and came up with this.

5. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

There are some who say that you really need to learn to play this game before you can judge it. The fundamental flaw of that premise is that it assumes that there’s a game here that’s worth playing in the first place.

I genuinely can’t imagine what Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’s developers were going for when they concocted this unintuitive blend of confusing mechanics, overwhelming (yet unimpressive) enemies, and controls that only seem to work seconds before you convince yourself to give up on the game entirely. You can read every guide about this game that’s ever been written to try to understand how its needlessly complicated mechanics work, and they still wouldn’t answer the one question everyone has about this title, “Why are you like this?”

4. Action 52

It almost feels bad to pick on Action 52 considering that it is an unlicensed collection of 52 small games that were clearly made by underfunded and inexperienced programmers working on a project that legally probably shouldn’t have been “released.” Then again, that’s perhaps all the more reason to make fun of it.

Against all odds, not one of Action 52’s 52 games manages to be even remotely playable. These games would have been embarrassing even if they were released for the Atari 2600, but in the age of the NES, they offered young gamers the chance to quickly realize that the world is full of scammers and they will try anything to part you with your money.

3. Deadly Towers

Every NES gamer has that one game they just couldn’t beat and never seemed to understand no matter how hard they tried. Well, Deadly Towers is all of those games of your respective childhoods rolled into one.

There is not a single aspect of this game that makes any kind of sense that I’m familiar with. Imagine you’re trapped in the maze from the movie Labyrinth, but instead of getting to meet sexy David Bowie at the end, you have to listen to Eric Clapton tell you what’s wrong with your generation. That’s about what’s it like to play Deadly Towers. Even if you bother to learn the game’s structure, you quickly find you don’t want anything to do with the “rewards” that follow. 

2. Dragon’s Lair

How do you take a game like Dragon’s Lair (an innovative arcade experience that combined FMV visuals with QTE gameplay) and port it to the humble NES? Well, if this port is any indication, you…don’t.

I don’t know if there’s ever been another game that inflicts so much pain on its first screen. I’m willing to bet that 90% of Dragon’s Lair players never figured out how to cross that first bridge and actually enter the castle. That’s probably because the solution to that “puzzle”makes no sense and is fundamentally unenjoyable to execute. Those 90% will be happy to know that the game only gets worse from there. 

1. The Uncanny X-Men

Imagine how easy it would have been to make a decent X-Men game for NES. Just take Batman, Mega Man, Castlevania, or any number of the other great NES games, throw some X-Men designs on the whole thing, and you have a game most of us would probably fondly remember to this day.

Infamous NES developer LJN decided to go a different route, though. They decided to make a top-down action game where hit detection is basically non-existent, the music constantly assaults your ears, half of the characters are essentially useless, the graphics are so bad that you quite literally can’t tell where you are or what you’re supposed to be doing, and the AI is useless to the point that I”m pretty sure the in-game characters have become aware of the game they’re forced to exist in and are doing everything in their power to get out.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

There’s no shortage of bad NES games (clearly), but when it comes to wasted potential, this is truly the worst of the worst. 

The post 15 Worst NES Games of All-Time appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[dragonologist-phd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Cousland/Anora Mac Tir Characters: Anora Mac Tir, Female Cousland (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Gay yearning, thats it just a lot of gay yearning, I'm Sorry, pre-game Summary:

Anora Mac Tir knows what she wants- she wants to marry Cailan and become the greatest Queen Ferelden has ever known. But on the eve of her wedding, a visit from Sirena Cousland reminds her that there might be other she wants, as well.

(Alternatively, read below!)

It was the night before Anora was to be married, and try as she might she simply couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

Of course she couldn’t. How could anyone expect her to, with such a momentous event looming on the horizon? She’d known her entire life that she was meant to one day become Queen of Ferelden; tomorrow, with her marriage into the Therein family, that destiny would become official. And while any wedding had its share of preparations, the marriage of a future king and queen required a good deal more than a gown and a recitation of vows before a Chantry mother. There were public appearances to be made in front of the Denerim crowds, long speeches to be delivered beneath the Chantry roof, and of course a reception to be held for the visiting nobility who were traveling from all across the country to witness the union.

Anora had never been one to sit back and let others make arrangements in her stead; she had been involved in every step of the preparations, and had poured hours of effort into ensuring that everything would go exactly according to plan. Truth be told, she would be quite relieved when the whole thing was over and done with- the trappings of the wedding were important, a vital part of the image she and Cailan needed to display to the country, but Anora was long ready to turn her attentions to something a bit more stimulating.

She would have the freedom soon enough, she kept reminding herself. She just needed to get through the coming day. And although she knew a proper night’s sleep would help with that, that logic didn’t help as her mind continued to circle over the details she had so carefully planned out for her future.

The restless energy buzzed through Anora like a gnat she couldn’t swat away, filling her with the need to do… something. At last she threw her sheets to the side and rose from her bed, abandoning the pretense of peaceful slumber. What she needed was to move, to occupy herself, to do anything other than sit still and wait for morning. At the very least she could wander the palace gardens- perhaps the fresh air would be enough to free her mind until fatigue finally caught up with her.

As she pulled a warm woolen cloak over her shoulders, Anora told herself she wouldn’t be long. The last thing she wanted was for someone to come across her like this, with undone hair and tired eyes; or worse, for someone drop by her empty room and think her missing.

But as she stepped outside Anora was greeted by a gust of refreshingly chilled wind, and the night sky above was clear and full of stars, and for the first time that day she felt some of the tension leave her body. Even as the hour grew later and later, Anora found herself lingering, her thoughts drifting as she strolled aimlessly along the dirt paths. Perhaps there was no need to rush, after all. She’d memorized the guard’s schedules long ago, and knew how to avoid them; no servants had any business in the gardens this late; any nobles still awake were probably deep in their cups, just as Cailan likely was.

Just as Anora had convinced herself that her solitude was complete, however, a voice rang out across the gardens.

“Anora? What in the world are you doing out here?”

The sudden voice made Anora jump, and she heaved a sigh of annoyance as she realized she’d been spotted. The annoyance fled, however, once she realized who it was that had done the spotting.

“Lady Sirena? Is that you?”

A closer look revealed that it was indeed the Lady Sirena Cousland, who for some reason was perched on a garden wall, one leg hanging carelessly off the side. She laughed and leapt from the wall, heading towards Anora with a grin. “Oh please, don’t lead with the Lady. If you do, I’ll have to call you ‘soon-to-be Future Queen Anora of Ferelden’, and as lovely a title as that is, it’s quite a mouthful.”

Anora fought back a smile. Nobody else would ever speak to her in such a way, but this was Sirena- always ready with a teasing response, hardly worried about any offense she might cause. The Couslands ruled over Highever, and were, along with the Mac Tirs, one of the most respected noble families of Ferelden. That reputation, coupled with Sirena’s disarming smile and easy temperament, was a perfect recipe for the effortless confidence that constantly radiated from the youngest Cousland child.

That disarming smile was now turned upon Anora in full force as Sirena asked, “Really, what are you doing out here?” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I’m interrupting a clandestine meeting under the moonlight? And on the eve of your own wedding?”

A huff of laughter escaped Anora’s lips even as she rolled her eyes. “Oh, banish the thought. I was just thinking how pleased I was to see you, and now you’re making me change my mind.”

Sirena just laughed again and wrapped an arm around Anora’s shoulders, pulling her close for a hug. Her long dark hair smelled of rain, and she wore a thick fur cloak over plain traveling clothes; she must have arrived very recently.

“How was the journey from Highever?”

“Too long, as always,” Sirena answered with a shrug. “But you don’t want to hear about a boring carriage trip through the rain and mud. How are you? I am genuinely curious as to what brings out so late on this of all nights.”

Anora waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s not that late. And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Too excited?”

“Too preoccupied, rather. There’s so much to think about for tomorrow. Every time I close my eyes, I remember yet another detail that I want to check up on.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Sirena said. “But don’t you have people to do that sort of work for you?”

“Of course I do,” Anora admitted. “But if you want something done correctly…”

“Do it yourself,” Sirena finished. “You’ve been living that motto since we were children.”

“And it’s still true,” Anora pointed out wryly. “Anyway, I could ask the same question of you. How did you end up out here instead of in our rather lovely guest chambers?”

Sirena shrugged and looked back in the direction she’d come from, her gaze traveling over the garden, toward the training ground, beyond the towers that looked over the Denerim marketplace. “Oh, traveling always leaves me nostalgic. I was just wandering around, revisiting a few spots before they’re filled up with people tomorrow.”

Anora could guess as to which memories Sirena was reliving. They had both spent many days at the Denerim palace, watching their parents go about the duties of nobility, knowing that someday they would take their places.

That knowledge had been with Anora for as long as she could remember; her entire life, she reflected, was a preparation for rulership, and it had always been a perfect fit. Even as a child, Anora had loved listening in on the courtly proceedings and hearings, things that bored Cailan to tears as he dutifully followed her lead. In sharp contrast, the silly games and childish play of the other children had always seemed, to Anora, to all be horribly dull.

But even at a young age, Sirena was hard to miss. Always something of a troublemaker, she was direct and honest and said things as they were without layers of political machinations. Her friendship with Anora was something of a mystery, even to Anora herself. But she had to admit there was something about Sirena’s easy confidence and strangely insightful remarks that managed to hold Anora’s interest where few others could.

“It’s been too long since you’ve visited,” Anora remarked, and Sirena’s focus shifted from the palace grounds back to Anora. Her dark eyes were, for a moment, unexpectedly thoughtful. But only for a moment- they quickly brightened again as Sirena gave Anora a warm smile.

“It really has, hasn’t it? We should catch up. And you obviously need to relax a little.” Her grin took on a mischievous edge. “And I have just the thing for that.”

“I need to sleep, not drink myself into a stupor.”

Sirena gave a bark of laughter as she poured the liquor into two glasses and held one out to Anora. “Cailan and his buddies are getting good and drunk out in the courtyard as we speak. Why should they get all the fun?”

The two women were back in Anora’s quarters, having quietly returned after making a quick detour in the kitchens to pilfer a bottle of spirits. Sirena now sat cross-legged on Anora’s carpet, the very picture of temptation as she waggled the glass in her hand towards Anora.

Anora simply rolled her eyes. “You’re relentless.” And yet despite the scoffing she sat down anyway, gathering her skirts around knees, and graciously took the glass. Sirena had chosen a strong liquor, one of the more expensive selections from the wine cellar; today, the choice seemed appropriate. “But I suppose I can’t refuse a toast on the eve of my wedding.”

“Exactly.” Sirena turned her attention to her own glass, carefully measuring out the drink before holding it aloft. “To the bride, and future Queen of Ferelden.”

Anora brought her glass to meet Sirena’s with a soft clink, and then swiftly lifted it to her lips and swallowed the entire drink in one quick gulp.

Sirena downed her drink as well, then laughed in delight. “That’s the spirit I was looking for! I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t tell me this comes as a surprise,” Anora said with a smirk. “Handling one’s drink is a requisite of Ferelden nobility.”

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot. They fit that right between the lessons on Andrastian recitations and history of the Fereldan Rebellion.

With a grin, Anora held out her glass for more liquor, and Sirena happily obliged. As they drank they fell into conversation, a simple rhythm of chatting and drinking between two longtime friends. It was, Anora had to admit, a situation that she was not particularly accustomed to. Cailan was the one who happily entertained others for hours on end, the one who brought about conversation and laughter. Anora was the one who already was known as serious, severe, domineering. This reputation rarely bothered her- it was a good reputation for a future queen to have.

But simply being a woman chatting amicably with pleasant company was nice, too.

“Tired yet?” Sirena asked eventually. She gave Anora a look that was half-joking, half-sincere. “You can tell me to leave whenever I start to get annoying. Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first to kick me out of a room.”

“No, no, stay,” Anora assured her. “If you begin to annoy me, I will certainly let you know.” She giggled- an effect of the drink, of course, for under normal circumstances Anora was most certainly not a giggler. “Believe me, you wouldn’t be the first I’ve kicked out of a room. I’m not exactly known for my gentle disposition, am I?”

“Oh, please,” Sirena said, rolling her eyes as she poured another glass. “Who needs a gentle disposition?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Anora agreed. “Better that they think my too hard than think they control me. I decided that a long time ago.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sirena said, raising her cup. She was quiet for a moment then, and Anora thought she may be dozing off. But although her eyes held a distant look, they did not close, and eventually Sirena said, “Anyone who would try to control you is an idiot, by the way. You’re smarter than everyone in this castle combined. They should just…get out of your way and let you work your miracles.”

Anora smiled, surprised to feel heat rushing to her cheeks at the compliments. She blamed the drink for that, as well; she knew her own worth and was hardly unaccustomed to recognition. A simple compliment from Sirena Cousland shouldn’t have such an effect on its own. She looked away, hoping the redness in her face wasn’t obvious to the other woman. “Thank you.”

“And you’re going to make a marvelous queen!” Sirena continued. “Ferelden is lucky to have you. I mean that, truly. Nobody else could do a better job.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Anora said. “I have been preparing for this my entire life, you know.” She sighed, tilting her head back as she thought of all the work she had put forth, and all that lay ahead of her.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the next words spoken quietly by Sirena. “Cailan is lucky, too.”

Anora blinked, startled by the apparent change in subject. Recovering quickly, she gave a thin smile. “Ah, yes. I’m certain he’s thanking the stars that he will have someone to handle the details of his future rule. He’s wonderful with people, of course, but try to talk to him about economics or resource distribution and he’s completely lost.”

“That’s true enough,” Sirena agreed, pushing back a long lock of hair from her face. “Although I did mean something more along the lines of…” She paused, and seemed to fumble for words for a moment. “He’s lucky to be marrying someone he’s actually fond of.”

“Oh.” Anora wanted to say more, but she didn’t quite know how to respond to that. It felt such an odd subject to bring up- but her wedding was tomorrow, after all. Perhaps it was a natural point of conversation, after all.

“Not to pry, of course,” Sirena said quickly, noticing Anora’s hesitation. She paused, chewing on her lip for short moment as she regarded Anora with curious, measuring eyes. “I mean, you are fond of each other, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Anora said at once. Realizing her reply came a tad too quickly, she sighed and leaned back against the wall, resting her head against the cool stone. “I’m certain you’ve heard me complain about him, and he can be quite the fool at times. But he has his talents, and he loves Ferelden, and he knows better than to try and order me about. We make a good team, he and I. We know each other, our strengths and weaknesses. As far as arrangements go, it could have been far worse.”

Sirena nodded, turning over Anora’s words in silence. She shifted her position until she, too, was leaning against the wall, close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other. “Do you think you could grow to love him at all?”

This time, the question did not take Anora by surprise; in fact, it was something she had often asked herself. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “But I hardly think that’s the most important thing in marriage. Especially between rulers.”

That earned her a chuckle from Sirena. “You’ve always been a pragmatic one.” Anora frowned, and Sirena gave her an apologetic smile before she playfully bumped her shoulder with her own. “And right, of course, I know you are. I only hope I’m that lucky if I ever get married.”

Anora was so relieved by the lack of judgement from Sirena that she nearly missed the implication in her words. Almost. Her brow furrowed, and she gave Sirena a questioning look. “If? Certainly you have your pick of suitors.” It only made sense- the Couslands were a family of wealth and renown, and Sirena herself was certainly not lacking in beauty. More than that, she was intelligent and skilled with a blade and easy to speak with; any lord would be lucky to win her hand.

But Sirena only shrugged, a playfully crooked smile on her lips. “Oh, there are plenty of men sniffing around for a chance at marrying into the Couslands. Some are even somewhat tolerable. But…”

“But none quite meet your standards?” Anora finished. Her tone was teasing, but she knew the feeling well enough. After all, if she hadn’t been promised to the future king at such a young age, she would probably have found herself in a very similar situation.

“They’re fine enough. Fine enough for flirting and dancing with at parties. But fine enough isn’t something I went to settle for in the long run.” Sirena sighed and looked down, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass. “It’s just that I grew up watching my parents, never realizing what a rare thing they had. They’re so in love that people have written songs about them. That sort of thing doesn’t happen often. Not when marriage is something for duty and politics and…”

“And pragmatism?” Anora asked pointedly, and Sirena gave her another apologetic grin.

“No offense. Like I said, you have the right of it. Eventually I shall likely choose someone, and I’m sure it won’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be. I know my parents would never marry me off to someone I dislike.” Her eyes flicked up to Anora’s face. “I just don’t think the odds of marrying for love are very high.”

Sirena’s voice was low and sorrowful, a startling change from her usual light tone. Without thinking, Anora reached out and put her hand over Sirena’s. “You never know. The future may surprise you.”

Sirena seemed startled at the contact, and Anora wondered for a moment if she was being too forward. But she didn’t pull away, and neither did Sirena- in fact, the other woman shifted her fingers, securing the grip. They stayed that way for a long moment, until at last Sirena recovered herself enough to straighten her shoulders and give Anora a bright smile. “I don’t know about that. But we’ll see.”

Something unfinished still lingered in her words, but for now she at least seemed comforted by Anora’s presence. Anora knew she wasn’t the most comforting sort of person, even at the best of times, but she was happy that she seemed to be doing some good. She gave a firm nod and continued, “And should you never get married, you would be just as well off. If I had been born to royalty on my own, well…as I said, Cailan and I make a good team. But he needs me far more than I need him.” Anora felt a small twinge of guilt saying that out loud, but it was true, and they both knew it, and saying it made Sirena laugh.

“You’ll hear no dispute from me,” she said. “In any case, I have far more exciting things to look forward to than marriage.” She stopped suddenly, and closed her eyes in apparent embarrassment. “Which is probably not what I should say to someone about to get married, is it? We’re supposed to be celebrating you, and I’ve gone and turned it bleak!”

“Oh, please,” Anora said with a laugh of her own. “I believe I’ve made my position on the whole situation rather clear. And I’m interested in hearing more of these grand plans of yours.”

Sirena still looked sheepish, but she obliged. “Well, Fergus will inherit rule of Highever. First-born gets all the perks. But I’ll still be around to assist. I’ll likely take command of our troops.” A small smile crept onto her face. “That’s something I’d be good at. I’d have them all whipped into shape in no time.”

“And if a lord swept you off your feet, you’d have an entire arling of your own to whip into shape. Troops and all,” Anora pointed out. Sirena looked unconvinced, and on impulse Anora added, “Or you could always come here to Denerim. Become a staple of the court. We certainly have plenty of troops that need the help. And I wouldn’t mind having a…”

Anora stumbled over the word friend. Even under the influence of the drink, it was difficult to let something like that slip out so easily. Anora was not accustomed to having friends. She had Cailan, of course; she had her father; she had servants and fellow nobles whom she trusted to varying degrees. But her friendship with Sirena was something different from any of that.

“…a confidante,” she said finally, hoping Sirena hadn’t noticed her momentary conflict. She glanced at the woman from the corner of her eyes, and was satisfied to see that she looked pleased at the notion.

“A tempting offer, I admit,” Sirena said. A smirk played on her lips. “What would my duties as a confidante entail?”

That smirk made Anora oddly flustered, and she had to glance away before she could respond. “Oh…this sort of thing, really. Keeping me company. Listening to me complain. Suppling me with alcohol.” She smiled and raised her empty glass in the air as an example. “You’re doing a splendid job already.”

“And those are just a few of many talents,” Sirena laughed. “I’m honored by the offer. I’m sure there must be fierce competition.”

“Oh, certainly,” Anora agreed. “But most of the other competitors care less about me and more about the power I will wield. They simply want to be close to the Queen.” She grimaced. “Or the King. It’s difficult enough to reign him in without my own companions making eyes at him.”

“Their loss,” Sirena said definitively. “All of them. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, and as…well, Cailan is an idiot and a fool if he even looks at another woman when he has you.”

Maker, Anora could feel herself blushing. She straightened her shoulders, trying desperately not to show her sudden nerves. “I admit, it’s a pleasant change of pace for someone to rush to my defense like this. I certainly tell Cailan the same often enough. Honestly, I would hardly mind if he could at least be discreet about it. But he never thinks of things in such a way. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s found so many who are ever so eager to indulge him. I’d be thankful to have at least one woman around who’s not chasing after him.”

It was a jest, but the possibility was a heavy weight in Anora’s chest, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t lighten when Sirena wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste. “Cailan? Maker, no.” Her expression faded into something more contemplative as she looked at Anora. “If I’m to be honest…I was always chasing after someone else.”

That was unexpected- it took Anora a moment to process her words. That same heaviness was back, which made no sense; why should she care if Sirena was holding a torch for someone after all, so long as it was not Cailan? “That’s an unexpected revelation if I’ve ever heard one. What happened to never finding love?”

“Ah. That.” Sirena looked abashed and quickly shook her head. “It would never have worked out. Not with me. They’ve got other things in their life. Other people.”

“Not married, are they?” Anora inquired. She didn’t know why she was still pressing. She didn’t want to know about this person, didn’t want to know who it was Sirena was pining after. But she couldn’t stop the questions from coming.

Sirena was quiet for a moment, although her dark eyes never left Anora’s face. “Engaged, actually.”

Anora’s breath caught, and when she spoke the words were soft and quiet. “Engaged?”

“But only for one more night.”

There was soft moment of realization, a quiet oh in the back of Anora’s mind, and before she could think better of it she whispered, “Then you still have time.”

And suddenly Sirena was kissing her. It was soft at first, uncertain, her lips barely hovering against Anora’s, but as Anora leaned in she became more confident and soon enough the kiss had deepened. Sirena brought a hand to Anora’s face, gently caressing her cheek, and Anora threaded her fingers through Sirena’s long hair as she pulled her even closer. It was like nothing Anora had ever experienced; this was no polite show of carefully cultured affection, no hesitant testing of what was expected of her. This was passionate and earnest and real.

Anora wanted more. She wanted to pull Sirena to her bed, to get even closer, to explore every inch of her body, to completely and utterly forget about everything else in the world-

And then it was over. Anora’s eyes fluttered open, and she realized Sirena and was hastily rising from the floor, muttering hurried, half-formed apologies. “I’m sorry- that was stupid of me- I didn’t intend-and tomorrow you’re-Maker, I’m sorry-”

Anora hurriedly stood as well, reaching out for Sirena as the woman was turning for the door. Her fingers brushed Sirena’s wrist, and although the touch was light Sirena froze in place.

“Sirena, I…”

Anora faltered. She was accustomed to knowing what to say. Knowing exactly what she wanted, and how to get it. But now…now she had no idea. She wanted to be the Queen Ferelden needed. She wanted to follow through on the promises she’d made. She wanted Sirena to stay. She wanted too many things, and those desire could not exist in the same space.

She couldn’t hold on to everything. And that wasn’t fair, not to her or Sirena. But it was the way things were.

“I’m sorry, too,” Anora whispered as she pulled back her hand. As she let Sirena go.

Sirena closed her eyes for moment, then nodded and left the room without another word. Anora numbly reached for the bottle she’d left behind and drained what little remained, trying to chase away the taste of Sirena’s lips. Then she went to bed, and once again she did not sleep.

Sirena almost didn’t show her face the next day.

But if she hid out all day she’d eventually have to explain why. So the next morning she dragged herself out of bed, threw cold water on her face, donned her formal attire, and watched Anora get married.

The ceremony passed in a blur, with the songs of the Chant and the words of endless speeches lulling the day into a hazy rhythm. The only moment that stood out was when Anora entered the Chantry. She walked in with her head held high, the picture of beauty and confidence draped in gold and ivory-white. Just looking at her sent a piercing pain through Sirena’s chest.

She was being ridiculous. Childish. Selfish. Sirena cared about Anora, and she knew this was what she wanted, and she had no right to the longing and jealously that burned through her.

What had she been thinking last night? She’d done so well all these years, fighting back those feelings, telling herself it was a passing crush…and then last night it had all come crashing out. Maybe it was Anora’s suggestion to come to Denerim. The idea of seeing her every day, of being so close to her…all while she was married to Cailan.

Sirena wasn’t capable of such cruelty towards herself. But oh, she’d been tempted.

At least the slip in her defenses hadn’t ruined Anora’s wedding. She was still here, betraying not a single doubt or worry as she recited her vows with clarity before the Maker.

And that was a good thing, Sirena told herself throughout the ceremony. The only thing worse than Anora rejecting her advances would be Anora risking everything she had and everything she wanted over her. That was what Sirena told herself during procession back to the palace. That was what she told herself in the reception held in the ballroom for the new husband and wife, when drinks were had in honor of the happy new couple.

Someone thrust a glass of wine in her hand, and Sirena realized with a start she was being called upon to make a toast. She wavered for a moment, looking across the room and meeting Anora eye to eye.

For the first time that day, Sirena thought she caught a hint of something mournful through Anora’s well-practiced mask of assured certainty. She remembered Anora’s lips against hers, wanting, drawing her in closer. She remembered Anora’s hand on her wrist, silently pleading for something she couldn’t voice. She remembered those whispered words. I am sorry.

Sirena raised a glass and gave the room a smile, big and bright, just what they expected from the ostentatious Cousland girl. “To the bride and groom,” she said, her eyes never leaving Anora’s. “To your bright future. I know you will do amazing things for Ferelden, and it is my truest hope that this life brings you every happiness.”

Anora smiled at her- a small, sad smile that that spoke volumes more than any speech and utterly broke Sirena’s heart. It was there and gone in an instant, wiped away as the next person stood to make their toast. But every now and then her gaze would return to Sirena, and that smile would come back. Never for long. Never noticed by anybody else. But Sirena saw it, and she knew she would never forget it as long as she lived.

[libermachinae]

Drops in a Bucket, Splashes on the Ground

Also available on AO3! Tags: Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gen, Whirl (Transformers), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Whirl is Primus AU, Angst, would you believe me if i said i didnt set out to write another angst fic, whirl's just like that Wordcount: 4202 Notes: I would highly recommend you read "Bullets" or at least be familiar with Whirl's abuse of Rotorstorm before reading this fic. The scene containing graphic violence begins with "Tacticians always struggle..." and the scene referencing abuse begins "He shoves his way..." Please feel free to reach out if you need any further information.

~*~

“And I guess old Primus makes five.”

“Hah! No, no, no. That’s not Primus… you’re Primus.”

~*~

 Whirl has never been intimidated before. Not so intentionally, not by bots whose forged bodies have been piled on with armor and weaponry, no expenses spared by the ganglords. The Heavies rolled up on treads that left gouges in the streets, painful marks that tomorrow’s taxes will go to fixing, and their transformations took a full five seconds as excess plating moved out of the way while their protoforms tried to bend per their original configurations. They wear identical red visors and dark gray masks: faces, certainly, but only in the barest sense of the word, enough to separate them from lowlifes without affording them identity. It is impossible to tell one from the other and Whirl knows, intrinsically, that it will not matter.

 ~*~

 Rung is the only one who doesn’t flinch. Whirl stands over Adaptus’ body, freshly relieved of what they can all agree was a spectacularly ugly head, and puts away his gun.

“Right,” he says, with a meaningful glance out the window. “Want to agree none of us heard that?”

“Whirl!” Rodimus shouts. “You can’t just kill a god!”

The body explodes into a pile of dust.

“Sure I can,” Whirl says, shaking it off his foot even as he leans down to inspect the scrapple. “Hey Ratch, can you rig me to explode next time I get shot?”

“Is it true?” Nautica asks, doing her intellect a massive disservice by stepping in front of the unhinged bot with a blaster.

“Obviously not,” Ratchet says. “He was lying.”

Whirl nods.

“Yeah. You think I would keep it a secret from any of you if I was a god? You think Cyclonus would ever hear the end of it? Nah.” He stands, kicking pile and sending a spray of metallic dust into the air. “Awesome way to go, though, can’t say I’m not jealous.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him for it.”

“So, you’re not Primus?” Nautica asks. She hasn’t moved, her arms crossed in front of her. If Whirl had been her creator (and he isn’t, he already has his claws full with a nest of scraplets), he would have been pretty proud of her right now.

“Nope!” he says. “I’ve never vouched for the universe before, but that kind of joke would take on an extra level of cruel, don’t you think?”

“Got to agree with Whirl, here,” Rodimus says, a hand on Nautica’s shoulder drawing her back. “I could buy pretty much anyone else. Maybe not Rung, but, say, Velocity? She could be Primus. Or Roller. I guess not Megatron, since we saw him come online, but—”

“The point, Rodimus,” Ratchet deadpans.

“The point is, not Whirl,” Rodimus said, sweeping his hands up to gesture at him. “I get Primus is disappointed in us. We are a textbook example of why a race of sentient war machines should never be left to their own devices, combined with a case study on how to avoid learning from every mistake you’ve ever made. But I really don’t think that disappointment would translate to actively hunting us for sport. Isn’t Primus supposed to be all about forgiveness and loving your cellmate?”

“Right,” Whirl says, clacking his pincers together in his approximation of a snap. “An angry god is so cliché.”

“I don’t think anyone knows what Primus believed,” Rung says. Oh no. He’s taken off his glasses. “I don’t see any reason he couldn’t be Whirl.”

“How about we start where the part where gods don’t exist, and Whirl does?” Ratchet suggests.

“I… I am Solomus, though.”

The whole group turns to the offending voice. Whirl goes for his gun and Rodimus knocks it out of his hand, a stern finger silently telling him not to kill any more gods. As if being an ex-Matrix bearer gives him some sort of say.

Tyrest has not stopped touching his gaudy mantelpiece, poking at the holes. It wouldn’t be so disturbing, except he’s staring at Whirl while he does it.

“Primus, don’t you remember?” he asks.

“Hey, let’s watch the fragging language.”

“Adaptus wanted to send our creations to pointless war,” Tyrest goes on. “Violence for the sake of violence, conquests built on the backs of others. We fought him.” He steps forward and reaches for Whirl. “Together, we—”

Whirl jerks back with his claws extended out.

“I will cut your hand off, I swear to—I swear.”

He is saved from any more interrogation by the ground violently rumbling underneath them.

“Okay, so regardless of whatever’s Whirl’s deal is, we do still have at least one Primus to worry about,” Rodimus says, looking out the window at the approximation of what Whirl, personally, had always assumed god would look like. “Solomus, you still got your teleporting rigged up?”

 ~*~

 No one ever considered giving The Institute a waiting room, so Whirl stands to one side of the hallway while the butchers discuss his case. He knows his proposal intrigues them: they have never had an opportunity to shadowplay a willing subject before. What is there to learn from a brain that does not fight them every step of the way? What backdoors exist that every other victim kept hidden? Whirl does not care about the potential scientific advancements his offer provides. He just wants to stop dreaming of gears, lose the phantom aches of his fingers. He wants to look in a mirror and see nothing: not himself, not a monster. Just an object, fulfilling its purpose.

The scientists who walk by him in the halls stare. Everyone stares, but the look they give him is different. They do not find him exceptional, nor do they feel for him pity or contempt. He is no marvel. He is a creation, perfectly engineered to suit its purpose, every detail minded with care to ensure it all works together as an ideal mechanism. He wishes he could see himself through their eyes.

The door beside him slides open and a bot he has never seen before steps out. His helm comes up no higher than Whirl’s waist and his large yellow optics do not look up from his datapad.

“Whirl of Polyhex, the panel has elected to reject your petition,” he says. “I am to remind—”

“What?” Whirl startles; his new head shoots upward, forcing him into an angle that is both unnatural and instinctual. “Why? Ice Pick said he could—”

“I am to remind you that you have signed a nondisclosure agreement; failure to comply will result in penalty of death.” The little bot flares his plating, the click of a motor lock setting it in place. “You will now submit to full stasis and be escorted back to your home.”

The jack comes from behind.

 ~*~

 “This is my hab suite.”

Whirl knows the tonal difference between a bullet hitting living metal and a wall. He scowls and gives up, waving Cyclonus inside.

“My room’s a mess,” he says. “Think I’m gonna crash here for a while.”

Cyclonus comes in and sits beside Whirl on the berth. When the door slides shut, they are visible only by their biolights: Whirl closed the shutters when he came in, the stars too much like blinking numbers. Cyclonus is a surprisingly quiet machine. His presence comes with none of the usual hisses and clicks one would normally get with their kind, like each component was designed specifically to work with those around it. Compared to Whirl, whose body is a wreck of pieces that almost fit together, clinking and scraping through their standard functions, he practically doesn’t exist.

“This is slagged, huh?” Whirl asks.

Cyclonus thinks on it a moment, then there is a shift of plating as he nods. Is it an admission, a confession? Pri—frag, Whirl doesn’t want to have to start thinking about that.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t need to—”

“Scrap, you’re right. What am I doing?” Whirl laughs. “I’m infallible now, right? It’s all been part of my grand plan for Cybertron. I should be saying you’re welcome; you should be thanking me.”

Cyclonus sighs, a rush of air out his vents.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks.

Whirl pokes and pinches at his own plating, trying to make sense of it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Start praying, and keep Megatron far away from me.”

 ~*~

 He’s spent two days in the holding cell before he realizes no one else is coming for him.

That Orion Pax… he’s good, and Whirl’s not sure whether it’s the kind that gets people hired or gets people killed. Not that it matters, not that he cares. The Senate’s going to crush all of them one by one, like little cans of oil under a rolling tank. He thought being a tread would come with some measure of relief; instead, it just landed him in a hole.

He digs a claw tip into the wall, another score among a small collection. He has been trying to reconstruct the miner’s face, what it looked like in the split second between recognizing he had been struck and realizing there was more to come. He can’t relish a memory if he can’t keep it, and he’s already struggling well enough to accomplish the former. This assignment was supposed to be a release. Look down at the big thinker and imagine in his place Senator Proteus, Sentinel Prime, the faceless Functionist Council. Tell himself that this is what it would feel like to rip their plating open until their priceless energon spilled onto a dirty floor.

The face, though, it’s escaping him. How can he fell anything about a person with no face? What relief is there to be found in beating the slag out of a nobody? He is trying so hard to adapt, but it’s like his processor is working against him, reminding him how far he got before he was reeled back in. The silhouette of his sketch is familiar.

His claws hurt where he has worn the tip blunt, and the portrait is still incomplete.

 ~*~

 “I don’t make Matrixes,” he insists. The group was polite enough to knock once they found him, but they’re failing to pick up the hint that he wants all of them to go away, right now, and leave him alone forever.

“Well, Epistemus says you can,” Rodimus says, dentae blocked together. “Why do all the other gods have their memories back, but not you?”

“I dunno, maybe Needles can stick me and figure it out.”

It’s almost cute, the way Rewind steps protectively in front of Chromedome.

“Rodimus,” Rung says, trying to get between them, “this isn’t helping.”

“Thank you,” Whirl says. “Now can we get to the part where we storm the planet, guns a-blazin’?”

“That won’t help either.” Rung turns to look at him. “Your memories haven’t been deleted, Whirl. Somehow, there should still be some part of you that remembers creating the Matrix.”

“The Functionists probably took it out,” Whirl says.

“That’s not how mnemosurgery works.”

“Says the dropout.”

“You told me once about your earliest memory,” Rung says. Whirl should be furious that he’s doing this here, in front of people who have no business knowing what’s in his head, but he’s more interested in the way Rung has taken off his glasses and is squinting up at him. “What happened just before it?”

They did not bring Ratchet, a testament to the fact that they will not leave before he gives them answers. He could start lying again, or find another way to forgo the question, but something about Cyclonus’ presence at his back helps him settle down the compulsion. Everybody lies about their forging. Everybody wants to say it was overseen by the Prime, or that they settled into their form like resin poured into a mold, instant and perfect. Whirl has a set of seven stories he deploys on rotation, ranging from heroic to beautifully tragic, and he spends a moment picking through them, trying to remember which was the real one.

“I showed up at the Functionsts’ place to get my docs in order,” he says. “I was… I was trying to get Polyhexian citizenship.” Awful city, but he had always sworn the energon tasted better there than anywhere else.

“But you said you were forged in Polyhex,” Rung says.

“Yeah. It was easier that way.” Whirl puts a claw to his head. “I… augh, nope. No, this is stupid.”

“Whirl—”

“No, I’m done,” he says, pushing Rung away. “Fully done, Rung. That’s right. You were god’s therapist, and he fired you. I’m gonna go take out a planet.”

 ~*~

 Tacticians always struggle with where to put Whirl on a battlefield. On the one hand, he’s an attack helicopter, equipped with long-range cannons and advanced aiming modules. Keeping him in the sky is the perfect way to set up a terrible surprise for Cons on the ground. On the other, he’s Whirl, and facing him head-on can be just as chilling and or fatal.

In the end it rarely matters which call they make because, as stated before, he’s Whirl. He will do whatever he damn well feels like. Right now, that means skimming over the top of the battlefield, sights trained on the odd dot who tries to disgorge themselves from the fighting mass. He is supposed to be providing support to the ground troops, peppering the Decepticon line so they can break through, but no one is going to complain about a few more dead soldiers.

A truck breaks free and he pitches down, giving chase, machine guns firing before he’s got a lock on. The ground explodes in shrapnel as they try to serpentine out of the way, but he keeps firing and soon enough their paths cross.

He riddles them. Their roof is already a puckered, punctured mass of warped metal before their back tires blow and they go skidding and flip onto their side. Their plating shuffles, uncoordinated, as they try to transform, and Whirl goes for the underbelly, shattering the exposed protoform in a burst of pink energon. They slump with their legs disengaged. There is a buzzing, crunching noise as the dying t-cog tries to settle into either mode, then a jet of smoke erupts from the body. The engine has seized, locking it in a permanent limbo.

Whirl spins around to track down his next prey. He loves his job. The Autobots have a need, and he fills it with a gusto that only occasionally gets him in trouble. He’s no hitmech: he lacks the finesse, the style. But he can rain irreverent murder down from the sky, send Cons fleeing just long enough to make them think they had a chance, and he can do it without questioning an order. The war needs people like him.

Two soldiers are trying to escape together, one with their arm over the other’s shoulder, a sparkling stump of a leg between them. Whirl gets low, following them until the roar of his rotors is unmistakable, until they cannot help but turn and he sees their optics. Then he fires.

The wounded one falls first, knocked onto their front and grasping uselessly until their hand is blown off and they go still. The other gets their legs knocked off and goes spinning, landing on their head with a crunch. Whirl keeps advancing, keeps firing, tearing open their plating and reducing their inner working to molten slag, spattering the ground with used energon. They flop, over and over, until Whirl gets bored of the show and hauls off, leaving them almost indistinguishable from the carnage of the land itself.

Whirl hovers over the fighting and looks down while he scans for a target. This high up, visuals are useless for determining Bots from Cons. Little Cybertronians run around, whacking and shooting at each other, falling down, down, down. The metal under their pedes is slippery pink with energon. It splashes against their plating, over their insignias, until they are all just little wandering targets.

Whirl has his job, and he loves it, and he does it well.

 ~*~

 He should feel something, but his spark is a void as he tosses the rest of the guns into the shuttle, all the stuff he held off using because he wasn’t ready to get kicked off the ship. He is not coming back from this. He knows it, so better to take it all.

He’s just fastened the locker when he hears the footsteps on the hatch and looks up. It’s Tailgate, of course. Tailgate, who has a pack hanging from one shoulder and a gun holstered at his side. It’s a shrimpy thing, something Cyclonus taught him to shoot in case they ever got separated, more useful for making noise than taking down an aggressor. It has room for one round of ammo and Whirl doubts he brought a bullet more.

He comes aboard without saying anything and stops beside world, continuing to say nothing. The hand on his pack is clenching: he’s being brave. He’s also waiting for some grand speech, some sacred insight to the nature of their quest and their places in the universe. Well, tough. He should know Whirl better than Primus.

He lifts a claw to shove Tailgate backward and down the hatch, but it stops an inch before Tailgate’s plating. What does it matter? Cyclonus can’t kill him where he’s going and Tailgate himself is just a drop in the bucket. Standing there with his chest puffed out, optic band steely and focused, he looks like any other Cybertronian, never mind a few years left behind.

Whirl retracts his claw. Tailgate nods at him.

Another drop in the bucket.

 ~*~

 He shoves his way to the front row, slamming himself into his chosen seat just ahead of a little spy plane who had been angling for the same spot.

“Buzz off,” he says. Never mind the spy plane outranks him. This is his big day! He got here early so he could get this seat, right in front, though he can barely hold it as the audience fills in around him, so many Bots he does not know and who do not matter. The only one he cares about it up on the stage, smiling with an air of detached cooperation, off in his own head again like he always was. Whirl thought they had made progress on that, but some habits were just too hard to break.

The opening speech is long and predictably boring, lots of talk about this base he has never been on before. Whirl’s engine clicks in agitation. When bots give him dirty looks, he sneers.

“Chronic fanbelt lockup, ever heard of it?” he hisses at them, adding in a few extra ticks for good measure. They go back to minding their own business, but Whirl still catches the optics glancing at him, and his engine goes from annoyed click to angry hum. He knows what they see.

Luckily, the speaker eventually gets over himself and moves on.

“Rotorstorm, will you please step forward?”

Whirl is on his feet before the other copter has a chance to rise, his cheering rising well above the swell of the crowd. He shouts, he stomps his feet, and he bangs his claws together until the bots on either side of him wince, and he gets even louder when he knows Rotorstorm has noticed him.

“Go on, get up there!” he shouts. “You earned this, didn’t you?” The rest of the crowd has calmed down, but he stays standing, arms dropped to his sides. He stares at Rotorstorm as he crosses the stage, shoulders pressed back, each step placed so precisely in front of the last that it must be calculated. He waits until Rotorstorm has reached the edge to sit back down, and then still his optic is pointed, refusing to let Rotorstorm look anywhere else. Rotorstorm’s own optics are wide, though the rest of his expression is slack. His biolights are steady, his ventilations manual and even. He’s perfect.

“Rotorstorm,” the presenter says, “I hope you will forgive us; this is an honor that is long overdue. During the Simanzi Massacre, you singlehandedly scouted a pass through Mount Helix that allowed for the rapid evacuation of the 9th Battalion. Your commanding officers estimate that your decisive actions saved upwards of one thousand Autobot lives.” Whirl’s engine is silent. He’s drinking in every word. “Today, we present you with the Novic Medal for Outstanding Honor. ‘Til all are one.” Rotorstorm ducks his helm as the award is magnetized to the right of his cockpit, finally breaking his optic contact with Whirl.

“’Til all are one,” he repeats, though most of the crowd does not hear him over Whirl’s cheers.

Rotorstorm turns without looking up and returns to his seat. The next recipient is called forward and Whirl walks out.

 ~*~

 He can’t do it. He’ll blame it on the way Tailgate’s plating quietly rattles or Cyclonus’ entire personality as he starts to board, but he shuts off the shuttle’s engine and disembarks with them trailing behind. He retreats to his hab suite, and though he does not invite them he’s glad when they make it inside before the door closes.

“Nobody in the mutiny is allowed to have any of my stuff. I don’t care if Thunderclash is dying again and my innermost energon is the only compatible fuel in the galactic sector, he can’t have it.”

Tailgate nods along, his fingers in a death grip around Whirl’s pincer.

“And when you guys are talking about me later, no one call me anything but Whirl. I’m serious. I don’t know about anything I did before that, so what could it matter?” He looks up at the ceiling. “In fact, don’t tell anyone about the Primus thing. No point.”

Cyclonus is a solid, immobile presence on his other side.

“Am I forgetting anything? Oh, tell Roadbuster I’ll be waiting for him in the pit.”

“Do gods go to the Afterspark?” It’s not clear who Tailgate is asking.

“I definitely don’t plan to stick around and watch over you or whatever. Think I’ve had enough of this universe.” He chuckles, a strained sound. “Yeah. So, that’s it. Better get this show on the road, huh?”

“We’ll be with you the entire time,” Tailgate promises.

“For as long as you want us,” Cyclonus amends.

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs, laughs again. “I’m not even really scared of the whole dying thing. I’d made peace with that. Whenever there was something I needed to do, I took care of it, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it if the right bullet finally found its mark.” He glances between them. “Now, though… you two better behave, I swear. I’m making it your Primus-sworn duty to take care of and listen to each other, okay?”

Cyclonus nods, and the way he takes it so seriously makes Whirl almost glad he’s on his way out. He couldn’t handle being looked at like that all the time, and especially it’s the way they reach across his lap and entwine their hands that really does him in. He hates them dearly.

“Okay,” he says, winding up his t-cog for the big spin. “Okay, twelve Matrixes. No problem.”

 ~*~

 Whirl times the blinking numbers to the rotations of his spark. 1,600 exactly. He’s done it.

He leans back in his chair but cannot stop staring at the little device in his hands. It is perfect. After years of researching, studying, trying, and failing, the pieces have come together to allow him to create this one perfect thing. He loves it, and a dangerous feeling of pride fills his spark, the kind that has so long been missing from his work in the Aerial Corps. If there is a Primus (and he’s still not sure, whatever the Functionists insist), this is what he built Whirl to do.

He gets up from his desk and walks across his small living space to a shelf. Nearing capacity, it has just enough room for him to push a few previous attempts aside to make room for the latest version. Surrounded by its brethren, it becomes lost almost immediately amid the sea of blinking lights, indistinguishable even from those he considers lesser. Some defects are more obvious than others: one has sat at the same time since the moment he brought it online, while another counts one klik backward for every two forward. But most are just slightly imperfect, necessary steps to get to this point, and he loves them all dearly.

He stands back. It feels like the work of a lifetime, these clocks, though he knows he took up the pursuit relatively recently. It’s just hard to remember how he filled his time before he had this project to work on, and he is again grateful he discovered it at all.

It is a gift to be able to create, he thinks, to cast a broad eye over his creations. The numbers blink at him, all out of tune, and he lets himself imagine being content doing just this for the rest of his life.

[smuggsy]

“You’re overdue on this book and I want it so I’m tracking u the fuck down” sounds funky as a modern au prompt, especially if it was a younger sibling of one of them or a real obscure/hyperfixation of the reader(s). If you don’t want to write it, don’t worry! Hope you’re doing well

COLLINS / FARRIER AU. Okay, so here it is, poster-thingy included (couldn’t help myself).

The kind girl on the counter makes a face at seeing him approach, Collins can only guess what a pitiful sight he is: bags under his eyes, uniform in disarray, hair unwashed and an empty coffee cup on his hand. If he'd crossed paths with any of the prefects roaming around he would've definitely got an earful for it -- that's no way to present yourself as a student! Fix that bloody tie!

 Ah, that would've really been the icing of the cake. A real shitty way to end his day indeed.

 "I thought maybe you'd forgotten to notify me" Collins smiles, aiming at friendly conversation but coming out rather miserable, "perhaps you'd lost my ID number?"

 "No, I'm sorry" is all she says, genuinely sounding like she means it, and Collins knows she means it, so maybe he'd get lucky today.

 "Are you sure it's not returned?" he insists, and having a look around to ensure nobody's within earshot he leans in closer, "I can go get it for you, kill two birds with one stone, aye?"

 Collins looks at her name tag and puts on his most miserable wet-puppy face. It's no use trying to flirt at this point, it's the fifth time he turns up this week looking like a zombie from The Walking Dead and she's been over the counter every single time. The fact that he doesn't remember what she's called is clear evidence of his exhaustion.

 "Sally..." he looks up and puts both his hands together in sign of prayer, maybe even pouts a little, because who cares about decency at this point? "Pleeease?"

 She shakes her head at the screen with a frown.

 "I'm really sorry, I'm not allowed to give out students' personal details. I'll give him another call later, how about that?" She offers, and Collins lets out a sigh and nods pathetically, thinking it's a he, what a fucking twat.

 He's ready to turn on his tail and leave without the only copy of Crónicas de la Guerra Civil Española in the whole campus yet once again. Except Sally then shouts a warning, pointing over his shoulder to one of the tables behind, "I said no drinking -- for heaven's sake" she storms out of her seat to the two young girls.

 Collins doesn't waste any time, he stretches his hand over and turns the computer's screen towards him, sloppily fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick photo of it and puts it back in place before the librarian has even turned around. When Sally comes back making an exasperated face, Collins tries to walk away in the same tired pace he walked in and not give himself away.

 Outside, out of her field of vision, he checks the photo. Some idiot named Farrier, block D, apartment 201. A law student.

 Fucking superb. Bunch of self-centered pricks.

 He storms out towards the east side of the campus, praying to all the powers that be for a quick exchange of words and a successful retrieval. He only even needs to read four chapters, but he's got only two days to do so, digest the information and have a decent sleep to sit a decent test.

 Collins gets quite a few odd looks as he strolls into the hall and turns directly to the stairs. His sweater gives him away as a Humanities student but he's sure that's not what's getting him stared at. If he bumps into any seniors here, he's bloody done. They'll revoke his pass on account of his appearance. They're known to be a bit of a pain in the ass, the prefects from this block... Then again, it's not like he goes out at all. Wouldn't be much of a loss, really.

He can't hold back his rotten mood as he knocks on the blue door exasperatedly, eager to get this whole business over with so he can return to his dormitory, have a proper shower and put something in his stomach that isn't an energetic beverage.

 Ten seconds pass by and there is no sound coming from inside the room. He tries again, letting out a whine.

 Nothing.

 He's pushing his luck, but he tries on the doorknob anyway.

 Locked.

 He bumps his fist on the door a couple more times and he's short of losing it right there and then -- all the stress from midterms weeks about to come flooding out.

 "Fuck’s sake, I ain’t your bloody landlord Peter!" the door finally swings open, "I told you to get a dupli-- oh", and behind it is one of its room's inhabitants, wearing nothing but a towel over his hips and dripping water over the wooden floor.

 On any other day, Collins would've taken a moment to appreciate the sight before him, but today isn't 'any other day' so he goes straight to the point and pays that six-pack little to no mind.

 "Are you Farrier?" he barks. The stranger blinks, mouths something but makes no sound, taken off guard by his hostility, no doubt. "Are you?" Collins pushes.

 Now this manages to put a scowl on the guy's face, and he crosses two tattooed arms over his chest. He's built like a brick wall and it only manages to set Collins' teeth on edge even more.

 "Yeah, who's asking?"

 Collins hears himself let out a sigh.

 "Look, I need a book you have. Spanish Civil War, just give it to me, I have a test." He adds, feeling like his soul is leaving him and taking his eloquence along with it. His eloquence and his ability to make himself sound less Scottish for other people's sake.

 Collins finds he doesn't give a shit about other people's sake today. It's their problem if they don't understand his accent, so they should sort it the fuck out.

 Farrier smiles at him, at his extended expectant hand.

 Collins feels like a ticking time-bomb about to go off.

 "Have you got the book?" He asks another time.

 "What are you, the library police?" Farrier scoffs.

 "Gimme the fuckin' book, alright? You're way overdue" he snaps, his brain catching up with his mouth too late.

 (Although even later he finds he doesn't care).

 "Jesus mate, it's only a book" he turns around and disappears for a couple of seconds, when he returns he's no longer sporting that amusing smile and he looks Collins up and down in anger before putting the heavy paperback copy on his free hand. "Take a fucking break."

 Collins stumbles back as the door is slammed on his face.

 The sound brings him out of his reverie, and he blinks at the book on his hand, considering an apology for the briefest of moments before turning around and walking towards the stairs. By the time he's outside the rush of adrenaline is gone and there's a slight pain on his chest. Still, he pushes on until he's back at his own block.

 Should probably cut down on the caffeine...

                                                             *  *  *

 They meet again one week later.

 "Hey"

 When Collins has fallen asleep on his usual spot, a hidden table in a secluded corner of the History section of the library. The usual drill.

 "Hey, Spanish Civil War…"

 He jerks awake, somebody’s insistent hand on his shoulder.

 When he looks up Farrier’s staring him down, but Collins only realizes it’s him after he’s put his glasses back on and ran a hand over his drooling mouth.

 He checks the time on his phone, disoriented.

 “Yeah, they’re closing up”

 “Ugh”

 Just then, the lights over them go off, and Collins stumbles to his feet, knocking his book over to the floor and almost slipping on a pencil trying to get it back. Farrier strolls over the corner of the towering shelf of books and shouts: “Hang on!”, then he returns and gets Collins’ laptop under his arm and the backpack hanging from the chair as well, like he’s picking up his child from school.

 Farrier takes a step away but stops when Collins quickly starts running his hands over the table to clear the remaining balls of paper. Then he makes sure the chair is quickly tucked in place and bends over to check there’s nothing being left under the table.

 Farrier clears his throat.

 “Take your time” he says sarcastically.

 The remaining set of lights go off.

 “Shit” Collins mouths, running along now, “don’t think they heard ye”

 “You don’t say -- wait!”

 They catch Arthur at the door.

 “Blimey, boys. Almost left you!”

 “Sorry Mr. Cornwell” Collins grins, sheepishly.

 “Ah, Collins!” the old-man adjusts his glasses and leans over to him. “You again.”

 It sounds incriminating, and Farrier lets out a small laugh next to him.

 “Should get you a key, I should…” he mumbles as they pass him to get outside. Collins shudders and makes a sudden stop, causing Farrier to bump right into him.

 “Shite, forgot me ja--”

 “Well then, night to you gentlemen” but Arthur is already biding them farewell and very bent on returning to his own cozy and warm room. Collins doesn’t have the heart to stop him.

 He’ll make a run for it.

 He tugs at his bag, hanging from Farrier’s broad shoulder.

 “Thanks” he mutters under his breath, and Farrier hands him the laptop as well.

 “So, how was your test?”

 Collins ignores the question for a brief moment, as he puts the laptop inside the backpack and then puts the backpack on.

 There’s no reason to be a dick, he thinks. Except he kind of wants to be a dick to this guy.

 “Dunno” he retorts. He rubs his hands over his arms, only a thin shirt on, and nods in Farrier’s direction without actually looking at him. “See ya” he takes a step forward only to be stopped by that arm again.

 Sighing, he turns to look at him now, and Farrier’s undoing his thick woolen scarf, much to Collins’ dismay.

 “Your dorm’s further” he says, aiming to put it around his neck as well. That’s when Collins reacts, pushing his hands away along with the scarf.

 “What’s your deal?” he asks, nodding again in Farrier’s direction and feeling his nose starting to drip already. Couldn’t have been a coincidence, this guy turning round a corner and finding him passed out exactly a minute before the lock-down. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Collins knows, on the contrary: the library sofas aren’t comfortable at all, and the air conditioning is turned off at night.

 He’d have woken up with a cold and a stiff neck.

 “What’s my deal? What’s your deal, mate? You always this snappy?”

 “Fuck off, I’m not snappy” Collins says, and closes his eyes in defeat just a second after. “Maybe I’m snappy. I’m having a shitty semester, why are ye following me around?”

 As Collins puts his hands on his trousers’ pockets to warm them up Farriers quickly takes advantage and rolls the scarf around his exposed neck before he can stop him.

 “Well, you’re the prettiest guy I’ve seen in a while and I think you need someone to keep you in check ‘cos you clearly overwork yourself” Farrier quickly explains, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

 Collins blinks, taken off guard, and he steps back.

 “What…?”

 “Yeah.” he shrugs again, nonchalant.

 Collins has a look around but sees no-one except for a couple of pigeons and a curly-haired blonde running back to the cafeteria. Is there a camera hidden somewhere near? Is someone hiding inside that trash-can with a cellphone?

 “I like a guy in glasses, sue me.”

 Collins lets out a disbelieving laugh.

 “Okay, bye” he’s resolute to leave now, and Farrier doesn’t try to stop him this time. He catches up with him, though, openly grinning.

 “I’ll walk you”

 “Alright” Collins stops on his tracks and faces him. “You want an apology for last week, I’m sorry I was a dick, as I said: I’m having a shitty semester,” he takes the scarf off and feels the cold embracing him fully back again, and his nose is impregnated with that fucking cocoa axe deodorant. “Please kindly fuck off.”

 “So that’s a no to the date?!” Farrier shouts as Collins hurries away.

 By the time he’s back at the dorm he’s openly shivering, Farrier’s perfume is stuck in his shirt and he quickly takes it off and locks himself in the bathroom to have a hot shower and pretend what just happened most definitely was a figment of his imagination.

[writersrealmbts]

Train Tracks: Part 1

Description: Hybrid!Reader x Taehyung: As a hybrid you have no worth and your means of survival is digging through the trash, working odd jobs for those who are more kind-hearted, and--unfortunately--pick-pocketing. When you choose the wrong target, things take a strange turn as this obviously wealthy man enters your life.

Warnings: I allude to sexual assault so, know your triggers and don’t read if it even is a little trigger-y.

Posted: 04/28/2019

Tags: Taehyung, Human Taehyung, Hybrid Reader

Angsty I guess: 4,003 words

A/N: I ended up cutting what was supposed to be the introduction to a two-track story (with different endings and outcomes) into two because there needs to be more in the introduction but I couldn’t do that. Honestly, I’m just sort of stuck on this story all around (as well as pretty much every other thing I’m working on, aside from the Prince Jungkook story and another story that I didn’t even intend to work on as much as I did) so I thought I’d at least give you guys the first part of it and see if you were even interesting in the rest of the story. Also, this really was inspired by his gold outfit but I couldn’t find any good gifs of him in that suit so...

You woke up shivering, and it took you a moment to remember why you weren’t safe inside your home, but asleep beside a dumpster with a splitting headache. Your body aching and with sharp pains. Then you remembered getting attacked. You sighed, pushing it from your mind and gathering your findings from the day before. Some thrown away clothing you would repurpose or use, some food that you liberated, and some yarn that nice old lady didn’t want anymore. Scraps. That’s when alarm prickled along your spine an your ears and tail fluffed out. It was cold. Fall was approaching. Which meant winter would soon follow and you had to prepare yourself and your home for the unrelenting cold. It was time to pick pockets. You shivered again, but this time because you were scared. You remembered what happened to your friend when he was caught pick-pocketing. His scared eyes, the spasms as the sedative knocked him out. His body carted away to a mass grave for hybrids who had no legal status and according to the populace and government deserved no humane treatment or proper burial. You had climbed amongst the bodies to retrieve him and bury him in the forest. Then had been unable to sleep for four months. You just had to be careful with your targets, is all. You’d stay out of sight, not take so much that they would notice. But you weren’t careful enough.

Your seventh target—a young man who’s affluence was obvious and whose attention to his surroundings seemed questionable—whipped around and caught your wrist as you returned his wallet. “What do you think…you’re…” His words died in his throat as he studied you. You were trembling, terrified out of your wits over getting caught. “P-p-please…I’ll give it back! Please don’t call the police!” “Shh. Follow me. Don’t make it obvious.” He let go of your wrist and walked away. It surprised you how quickly you followed, easily blending into the crowd. Nobody wanted to notice a grubby hybrid in rags, except some men. He walked through the crowd, and you could see people moving out of his way. He had a powerful presence and chiseled features that commanded attention and respect. He was tall, not the tallest man you’d ever met, but his demeanor made him seem even taller. You, on the other hand, just about got trampled, but managed to continue following him from a distance. Fear of what he might do kept you going, even after you got shoved over—scraping your hands and knees and forcing you to scramble to get your scavenged items back in your basket so you could keep him in sight. He ducked down an alley and you went down one that connected to it, walking cautiously towards where they connected. He was waiting, leaning casually against the bricks like he wasn’t wearing a suit that probably cost more than everything you’d ever owned combined. He pushed off the wall, holding up the wallet. “You didn’t take anything.” You swallowed hard, then pulled the money you had taken from him out of the pocket where it had been stashed. He frowned, letting you dump the bills and coins into his hand. He stared at it for a long while. “I’m sorry,” You whimpered.. “This…this is four dollars and sixty seven cents…” He looked back up at you, eyes flicking up and down your body. “Even a second-hand coat costs more than this. Why didn’t you try to take more?” “You only have large bills. People like me never have large bills unless we stole them,” You turned your gaze to the cement beneath your feet, catching sight of the blood dripping down your leg. The scrape on your knee looked more like your skin had been shaved off your knee. You winced, feeling the pain from all of your cuts, scrapes, and bruises now that you could see how bad some of them were. Your back stung, and your legs ached. Your head hurt, and you were scared. So scared. “Show me how much you’ve stolen today.” You bit your lip, tears wellign up in your eyes as you shakily handed the money over to him. “Is…this all?” He spoke lowly. You started desperately feeling your pockets to ensure you had given him everything. He quickly caught one of your wrists. “This isn’t even fifteen dollars. Are these the only clothes you have?” You shook your head. “I have some warmer clothes back at the—” You froze, stopping just short of telling him about your home. His hand came to your face, tilting it up towards his. “Show me your hideout.” Your heart dropped into your stomach and you nodded slightly. He nodded as well, then held out the money. “We’ll pretend I never saw this.” You stared at his hand, at the money you had stolen. He sighed heavily, then grabbed the small bag you kept fabric and yarn scraps in and opened it. He looked through the contents for a second, then dumped the money into it. You were frozen as he dropped to a crouch and examined your knee. What was he doing? He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and folded it carefully before tying it around your knee. “Actually, let’s go get these treated. I have a friend who will fix you up, no questions asked. Come on.” “I’m fine,” You whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “No, you’re not. I think your knee needs stitches and if your wounds aren’t cleaned and properly treated you could get an infection. You could die.” He glared at you. “You got hurt while following me at my request. I’ll take responsibility for the treatment. Now, come.” You obeyed, letting him lead you to a neighborhood you had no business being in, to a house you wouldn’t dare enter, but getting pulled into it anyway. “Jungkook-ssi!” The man called out, gesturing for you to sit down. “Bring your first aid kit to the living room.” “Taehyung-ssi?” Another man came out carrying a large box, his eyes widening when he saw you. “Oh, hello.” “She needs treatment. Can’t go to the doctor’s or the vet. Think you could…” Jungkook nodded, slowly coming over to you. He knelt in front of you. “Hi. My name is Jungkook. What’s your name?” “Y/n,” You replied quietly. “Can I treat your injuries, y/n?” You nodded, not daring to defy the man—Taehyung. You opened your hands for Jungkook and let him look at those, as well as your elbows, knees, then your head. Jungkook was frowning as he stood up. “I need to get cleaning supplies. There’s a lot of dirt in them. But…how did you hurt your head?” “I didn’t stay still like he told me,” You answered in a whisper. “Who?” Taehyung asked, voice deeper. You whimpered slightly. “The man, last night. He scared me and I hit him. I should have stayed still.” Jungkook slowly nodded. “Alright. We’ll talk about that after we get your injuries taken care of.” He went to get the supplies. “You should fight against men like that. They shouldn’t do that.” Taehyung’s voice seemed even deeper, more intimidating. “He’d just kill me…” You replied, staring at the spot that Jungkook disappeared from. He was nicer, not as scary. “I try not to stay out past sunset. Once I’m home I’m safe.” “What about animals?” “They don’t bug me. I’ve marked my territory with ashes. They respect it. I help them when they need.” You studied the scrapes on your hand. He dropped in front of you, eyes big. “You’re in tune?” You tilted your head. “You can communicate with animals?” You nodded hesitantly. He grinned suddenly. “Whoa…all animals?” You frowned a bit. “Well, not fish…” He looked a lot less scary now. “That’s so cool!” “I suppose it is…” You shrugged. “Alright, let’s do this.” Jungkook came back in with an armload of supplies and carrying a bucket of water. He set them down around you on tables, chairs, and the floor. “She’ll be able to walk when you’re done, right? I’m walking her home after this?” “Your home?” You froze. “Hers. I’ll explain later.” Jungkook started carefully washing your bad knee, wincing with you. “Um, I can wrap it so that you won’t tear your stitches but can still use your leg. You’ll be unable to bend your knee, though.” You nodded. “If I can move, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay around home a couple days.” “I’ll give you some extra bandages and gauze,” He replied, washing around the wound as well. “You’ll need to keep your wounds and the areas around them really clean.” You nodded. Treating your knee and head took the longest, and when he was done he held both of your hands in one of his. “We need to talk about what happened last night,” He started softly, suddenly looking nervous and uncertain. “You’re not on any sort of control are you?” Your ears went back and you lowered your gaze. You hadn’t been able to afford even the cheapest version ever since your friend had been killed. He could usually find odd jobs that would give you both a little extra. He would make sure you had your control, knowing how dangerous it was for you to go into heat. Both of you pretended it wasn’t because of the way any man with the intention to use you could without legal consequences. Especially if your friend wasn’t around to protect you. He’d been a Siberian tiger hybrid—big and strong. You were a Singapura cat hybrid. Not only were you “delicately structured”, you were small. The cat breed was one of the smallest and it showed in you. You had the strength to survive but not to fight off a man. “I doubt if he used protection…” He sighed. “I need you to come back to get stitches out. If you start feeling…off, I want you to come here. Okay? We’ll keep you safe and take care of you. Okay?” You nodded again. “And if you get attacked again, I want you to run here. We’ll protect you from them.” He gently squeezed your hands. You met his eyes, nodding even though you doubted if you’d be able to. Taehyung held out his hand. “Let’s get you home.” You took his hand and he kept you steady as you put weight on your knee again. “Go as easy as you can on that. Try not to put too much weight on it. I’ll see you in a week, okay?” You nodded again, slowly testing your leg. It would do. “I owe you one, Kook.” “Yes, you do. I’ll collect later. See you Taehyung. Y/n.” You waved, a little nervous to be alone with Taehyung again, but leaving anyway. He was still holding your hand. “We have to leave the city, right?” You nodded. “East side.” He started walking, but  looked back when you hadn’t moved. “That’s north-west,” You told him, turning toward the east. You sighed, seeing that you lost the whole day. It would be dark not long after you got home. You had wounds, some scraps of both food and yarn and fabric, and less than fifteen dollars for two days. Your scraps of food would be your breakfast before you went foraging. He caught your wrist. “Don’t leave without me. I’m with you until I’m satisfied that you’re safe. Besides, you’re supposed to be taking care of yourself and going easy on that leg.” “I am going easy,” You replied softly, shrinking away slightly when you realized that you had taken the wrong tone with him and that you would probably be punished. “Still, you should let me help you keep the weight off of it. At least part of the way.” He flashed you a smile. You were even more scared now. He had been grumpy all morning, but now he was smiling at you and acting all friendly and charming. So he wanted something, and given the way he stuck close to you, it was easy to guess what it was. But he had seemed against it at Jungkook’s. He received stares at the gate from the hybrids and homeless, but they didn’t even try to approach him or slow him down. They also didn’t slow you down, refraining from their usual catcalls, groping and general unpleasantness. Which meant that the next time you saw them they’d be all over you. One of the women forcefully brushed past you, hissing, “Slut.” Taehyung was glaring at them, but didn’t say a word as you both reached the outer village. You led the way through the village, walking as quickly as you could so that he wouldn’t get bombarded. The villagers were definitely noticing him, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Thankfully, you passed through the village quickly and traveled down the deserted road. After a ways, you diverged onto an overgrown trail, getting a little bit ahead of him while the path was narrow. He followed wordlessly, catching up once the path widened, and seeming to be in the same good mood he had been in since leaving Jungkook’s. Maybe that meant he’d go easy on you, or be gentle. He tucked his arm under yours, helping you lift the weight off of your leg. If he was aware of his expensive clothing getting dirty, he showed no signs of it. He would glance at you ever now and then, but mostly he looked at the surrounding countryside as it was bathed in the dying light of the sun. Normally you would pause to take it all in, but you still had to get through the tunnel. That wasn’t easy without light at the other end to show where your home was so you wouldn’t run into it face first. When you got to the mouth of the tunnel, stepping onto the long-abandoned tracks, he stopped. “What is that?” “The tunnel. I live on the other side.” “These are train tracks.” “Your point?” You asked, hoping that this wouldn’t be the time where he punished you for your words and tone. He hadn’t lashed out so far, so maybe he didn’t care too much? You entered the tunnel, half-hoping that he would be too scared to enter. He quickly caught your hand. “What if a train comes through?” “There hasn’t been a train in years. They shut them all down.” You silently cursed him for being so brave. What did he want from you? Why couldn’t it have been Jungkook walking you safely home? At least he wasn’t scary and moody. At least he seemed to be gentle and completely against what so many others considered to be fine. Both of your footsteps echoed in the tunnel, and hearing the second set of footstep made your heart ache for the times when you weren’t alone in the world. The times when you were learning how to survive from the tiger-hybrid who seemed so large and safe to someone as small as you. Times when it was so cold that you two curled up together to keep warm and he would make you laugh to get your blood flowing a little more strongly. You should have known something bad would happen without him around to make sure you at least made it home safely. Scare off any man who tried to get near you. Stopped Taehyung from coming to your home. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel as it outlined the train car that you called your home and dread settled into your stomach as you mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable. He followed you out of the tunnel with an amazed sound. You set down the basket and bag and dropped his hand as you went up to the door, using all of your strength and weight to open the door. “Aish! What are you doing?!” He scolded. “Your leg is hurt!” You just looked back at him. “I had to open the door…” You murmured, looking inside your home. He picked up the bag and basket, still looking upset. He stepped up, then followed you in as you backed into your home. You kept your head lowered submissively, but held your hand out for the basket. He was looking around in the dim light. “You live here?” “Yes sir.” He set the basket and bag down on one of the seats, looking around. He moved through your makeshift kitchen, looked at your bedding area, and then around the passenger car with a look you couldn’t read. Because the car was a passenger car, it had been rows of seats with tables in between. Most of those were still there, but towards the the very back the tables had been removed and the seats from the kitchen area had been taken out and adjusted to fit into the space between those seats in the back. Those had been the beds of you and your friend. The kitchen area was lined with sheet metal and stones, with sand as well, to prevent your fire from spreading. The tables that were removed had been turned into shelves for the other areas that had had seats removed for storage. You hadn’t been able to help much, but you had done your best to be helpful by carrying stones, buckets of sand, and looking for useful parts in your wonderland of lost things. You had sewn together scraps of cloth for the curtains on the windows, mended his clothes, and cooked him food. Taehyung was checking the windows, then he examined the doors, giving you an upset look when he felt how hard it was to open and close them. You had grabbed the basket and bag and were putting away your scavenged supplies, except for the money, when he gave you that look. You froze, blinking rapidly at him. He closed the door, then moved over to look at everything on your food shelves, then he came over to where you were sorting scraps of clothing and fabric. He grabbed your jar of scrap yarn and started putting your new yarn scraps into it. You worked silently beside him, darting glances at him. “Is it alright if I use the other bed?” You flinched at his sudden question, then glanced at the beds and nodded. “I’ll make it for you.” He placed his hand on your shoulder. “No, it’s—” You ducked out of his grasp. “Please.” He was quiet, and didn’t try to stop you as you limped over to the beds and started making his bed with the clean blankets and sheets that you had. The best ones that you had because there was no way you were making him use the scrappy blankets. Not that anything you had was great, but there were better ones and worse ones. When you finished he was lighting your lamp and the candles in two of the lanterns. You looked around, realizing that he probably was as hungry as you were and your options for food were scraps and he definitely didn’t want those. Well, there was also the fresh food you had gathered a couple days ago that should still be edible. He was pulling food from the bag you had apparently overlooked him carrying. A loaf of bread, some oranges, and then something that smelled like meat. Sausage. You were amazed you hadn’t smelled it before, but now you did and it made your mouth water. He found your knife and cut the bread, then the sausage. He made a sandwich and held it out to you. You stared at him. He came over and took your hand, putting the sandwich in your hand before heading back and making another for himself. ���Do you have cold storage?” You nodded, starting to limp over but he held up a hand to stop you. “Tell me where.” You swallowed hard at his tone, shrinking and pointing toward the door. “Outside, underneath the carriage on the side that’s closest to the tunned. There are stones holding down a metal sheet that’s over it.” He nodded tersely and headed out after wrapping the meat again. You slowly savored the sandwich, the taste of the meat filling your senses and making you wish you could melt into your bed. Fresh meat. Sausage, so technically it wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t going to go bad anytime soon. But the only meat you’d had in the past year had been from dumpsters. Already partially eaten. Mixed with trash. Taehyung came back in and sat with his own sandwich. “You should rest, Jungkook said to take it easy.” You carefully sat down keeping him in your peripherals but making sure not to look directly at him. “After we eat, I’m gonna need to hit the hay. Had an early morning today.” He was already almost done with his sandwich, looking around the place. “You live here in winter?” “Yes.” He frowned, but didn’t say anything more. You finished your sandwich feeling full for the first time in a while. You were grateful that it didn’t take much to fill you. A few minutes later he stood up and stretched and came over to the bed areas. He looked between your bed and the one you made up for him and he had that same angry look as he had the rest of the day, making you shrink back. He knelt in front of you and you mentally prepared yourself for what was next. He took your hands. “Do you have enough blankets to be warm?” You glanced back at your bed of scrappy blankets, then nodded. He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Alright.” He straightened and took off his suit jacket, seeming to fold it and then drape it over the side of the bed. He looked around and then back at you. “Hey, are those…men’s clothes?” You followed his gaze to the shelves. “Yes.” He went over, looked through them. “Can I borrow some? This isn’t the most comfortable outfit to sleep in.” You nodded, dropping your gaze. “They’re clean.” “Where did you get them?” “They were my friend’s. He’s gone now.” “Where did he go?” You looked up in surprise, staring at him. He met your gaze, his honesty and innocence evident. “He was put down after he got caught picking pockets,” You told him. His eyes widened and he seemed frozen. “Put…down…” You nodded. “I pulled him from the mass grave and buried him in the woods.” He sat down hard. “Your mate?” “No. We were just friends.” “He must have been a large hybrid.” “Siberian Tiger.” He shook his head slowly, sitting down. “Because he picked a pocket…they executed him.” “The blue shirt would be best for you, and on the second shelf up are some softer pants. The gray ones.” You shifted and started carefully moving up your bed to sleep. He didn’t move for another few moments, then you could hear him moving to get the clothing. You adjusted your blankets and curled up, hoping that the blankets trapped enough heat to keep you warm through the night. It was getting chilly and since you hadn’t cooked there wasn’t heat from your cook-fire warming the car. It got quiet after a while, then you felt part of your bed sink. He lay one of the in-tact quilts over you, tucking it around you. “Goodnight, y/n,” He whispered, then went back across the car to his own bed for the night. You didn’t sleep for a while, listening as his breathing eventually evened out and let you know that he was actually asleep, and finally starting to grow warm from the quilt overtop of you trapping the little bit of heat you emitted.

Masterlist. ~ Part 2. 

[too-many-baes]

That Couple

Pairing: fem!reader x Peter Maximoff

Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: 1.6K

Request: I just found your blog and read for stories in a row, you are so good xxx Can I please request a Peter Maximoff x fem!reader super fluff in which they have been going steady for years but they still behave like cute couples in the honeymoon phase and everybody else around is annoyed and ask for advices at the same time? xxx - by Anon

A/N: I hope this is fluffy enough for you Anon! Thank you for your request! (also I kinda loved writing squad convo’s with the X gang)

On a seperate note - it’s been brought to my attention that a lot of my works (mainly my Peter M. ones, but most of the work I’ve posted) do not show up under their tags. I would usually never ask, but on the off chance you read my work and happen to like it, a way you could help me out would be by reblogging my work. Otherwise there’s not really a way for my writing to reach other people. Obviously this is completely optional and you are absolutely not obligated to do so, but if you enjoyed it enough it would been a lot to little ole’ me. Hugs and kisses xxx

Masterlist     Requests Open

                                                      **********

The quiet hum of the television. The dim light of the fire. Peter’s strong arms snaked around your waist as you lean your head on his shoulder from your spot on his lap. This is how you wish you could spend all of your time, engulfed by the boy that makes everyday a new adventure. The boy who brightens up your life just by being at your side. When you were with Peter it felt like nobody else existed, it was just you and him and everything was perfect.

Without warning Peter starts tickling your waist. You are helpless to do anything but squirm and laugh as you’re totally trapped within his grip. You writhe and laugh, pleading with your boyfriend to stop.

“You guys, do you mind?” Scott’s voice prompted Peter to stop but not before giving your waist a final squeeze. You had almost forgotten Scott was even in the room. In fact, all of the young X-Men were. It was movie night which brought all of you down into the shared living space. Kurt was seated beside you on the couch, and although he was too polite to say anything, he had a clearly irritated look on his face from being kicked by your flailing feet.

“Sorry Scott, sorry Kurt.”

“You’re such a party pooper man.” You and Peter spoke in unison, showcasing your different dispositions. “They’re just jealous that they don’t have what we have babe.” He says into your ear, causing another giggle to bubble from your throat.

“Not deaf Peter.” Scott grumbles from his spot on the sofa neighbouring the two seater you and Peter were on. “I also have a girlfriend”, he says raising the hand joined with a less than interested Jean’s, “in case you forgot.”

You and Peter weren’t listening, having already retreated into your bubble again. Scott rolled his eyes at you both, not that you could tell through his glasses. Despite the teasing and the annoyance, Scott couldn’t help but admire what you two have. Looking at you no one would guess you’d been together for years. In fact, when you’d first gotten together your peers in the mansion had speculated amongst themselves that it would be a fling and nothing more.

“I dunno Ororo, it just feels like we’re always going to be like this” you remember musing to your friend. “That’s what they all say Y/N.” Despite all their doubt and bets on when you’d end you had proved them all wrong. You never stopped holding hands down the hallway. You never stopped placing kisses on the others cheeks whenever you could. Most importantly, you’d never left your honeymoon phase, every week passing feeling as though you were reliving your first week together over and over. Your friends were outwardly sarcastic and snide about your ‘too good to be true’ relationship, but inwardly they were happy for you, if not puzzled. How did you two do it?

“Am I sneaking in tonight?” You whisper to Peter as you make your way upstairs, the movie you had paid no attention to now over. “Of course. Give it an hour, Scott should be snoring by then.” You kiss his cheek closest to you, his cheeky grin making the apples of his cheek prominent. This has been your little habit of late. You’d wait until Scott was fast asleep, slink into bed to cuddle with Peter, and there you’d stay until the gentle morning rays awoke you with the reminder you’d have to return to your own room, lest you should be caught in the act.

You were smiling at yourself in the mirror as you brushed your teeth in the communal girl’s bathroom, already counting down the minutes until you’d be in Peter’s arms again. His head resting atop yours and his lips pressing light kisses on anywhere he could reach; the memories and anticipation causing butterflies to take flight in your stomach like a school girl with a crush. You guess in some ways you were. Was it lame to say you had a crush on your boyfriend? Maybe. But who cares? Certainly not you.

“Hey Y/N?” Jean’s voice pulls you out of your daydream. “Can I ask you something?” She queries as she washes her hands. Your nod prompts her to continue, “You and Peter... How do you do it?”

“What do you mean?” Your words barely make a coherent sentence past the toothbrush and toothpaste still in your mouth. “You know what I mean”, she’s reluctant to say what she’s thinking, the confused look on your face forcing her to, “how are you guys still so happy after so long?” She’s embarrassed, her eyes darting all around the bathroom. You spit out your toothpaste before answering, deeming a clear voice was probably necessary for this unexpected conversation.

“Are you and Scott-” “No no, we’re fine it’s not that”, she interrupts, “it’s just we’re still new. I want what you guys have when me and Scott have been together for that long.” The two were still a relatively fresh couple of the mansion, only having been dating five months by this stage. Honestly, you don’t know how to answer her question. You didn’t think you did anything, you were just happy. “I mean, there’s no magic rule we follow or anything...” you don’t know what to tell her without making her want to vomit in her mouth. “Just don’t take him for granted. Appreciate the other person for who they are and let yourself be happy. Don’t let little things get between you, that’s all we do”, you surmise with a shrug of your shoulders. The flush of a toilet and opening of a stall makes you realise that Ororo was in the room the whole time.

“Good thing I’m not lactose intolerant”, she says washing her hands, “otherwise I’d be even sicker than I already feel.” Despite her words there was a smile plastered on her face, making Jean snigger and you shrug. “Well consider yourself lucky”, you say as you exit, toothbrush in hand, “that was me going light on the cheese.”

Time tics by slowly as you wait, minutes seemingly taking hours as you wait for the small digital clock to flick it’s digits over to 11:00pm, the time that would ensure Scott and your roommate Ororo were both asleep. The soft breathing coming from the other side of the room indicates you were safe on your end, and when the clock finally ticked over you were gone, stepping softly and silently down the hallway to Peter’s room. You stealthily open and close the door without making a sound. The dark proves no obstacle as you make your way to his bed, having done it so many times now you’re sure you could make the journey blindfolded.

“What took you so long?” He’s made that joke enough times that you really shouldn’t laugh, yet you just can’t help yourself as you slide into his waiting arms. “Traffic was crazy”, you say as you snuggle down, his arms securing their permanent position around your waist as he kisses your shoulder blade. You and Peter loved to spoon. While sometimes Peter enjoyed being the little spoon, most of the time you happily took that position, just like tonight. You take a moment to enjoy the mere feeling of being snuggled next Peter, as you usually do, the butterflies still in flight within your stomach now mixed with the little exhilaration at the idea you could get caught.

“So Jean asked me an interesting question on the bathroom today.” You have your whispering down to a fine art. While you were sure that a bomb could go off and Scott’s snoring would still continue, it wasn’t a chance you overly wanted to take. You move your face to see his hovering over your shoulder, his eyebrow arched suggestively, earning a small flick upon his nose. “Nothing like that you pervert”, he rolls his eyes at your name calling, “she was asking how we were so happy”, you regale.

“That’s funny”, you widen your eyes a little in intrigue to prompt him on, “Kurt asked me the same thing in the guy’s bathroom.” You look at each other in the eyes, flicking back and forth between each pupil. You both crack at the same time, letting your shared giggles fill the air around you. You both encouraged the other to stop, but nothing quelled your laughs except time to let yourselves calm down. “What’d you tell him?” Your curiosity almost too much to bear. “Uh-uh”, he tsks, “ladies first.” You roll your eyes playfully yet oblige his request regardless, recounting every sentiment you had passed on to the girls. “Your turn.” You wriggle around in his arms to face him, eager to hear what he’d said.

“Nothing.” You furrow your brow in confusion. “Nothing”, you repeat in disbelief, “you had no advice for the poor guy?” He shakes his head at your misunderstanding. “I told him that when you find someone who makes you this happy”, he brushes his nose against yours briefly, “that there wasn’t anything you had to do. I do nothing every day and I reckon I’m the happiest guy under this roof.” You laugh, his words vacuous to some made your heart swell. He was right, you’d spent many a day doing nothing at all, yet you felt like you could have been a top the Eiffel Tower or in a gondola down the canals in Venice for how full and happy you felt.

“How did we become that couple?” You ponder out loud. Peter shrugs, his bottom lip slightly sticking out in wonder. “You like it don’t you?” The glint in his eyes tells you the answer before he even says it.

“Is it bad that I kind of love it?” His questions almost rhetorically.

“Not at all”, you bury yourself into his chest, ready to nod off in the secure hold he has around you before continuing, “I hope we’re always that couple.”

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Tagging:

@evanpeters-petermaximoff  (cause I know you’re still feigning mister Maximoff  😘)