#(the conclusion she's gearing up towards in the last two pictures

[infinite-infinite-stars]

What if... Who Killed Markiplier... but it's Ace Attorney Investigations...

"Ace District Attorney Investigations", if you will.

(Everything you see here was drawn by me, with some backgrounds/that one evidence photo being either screenshots from the show, or edits of official photographs of Mythea Castle, where WKM was filmed)

[dxrknessexplored]

[ FIVE NUDES ]  send for five times the receiver almost sent a nude and the one time they do. - dxnisheatingdetective - For when they're together DON'T JUDGE ME OKAY hahahaha xD

@dxnisheatingdetective

1) While calling it a relationship was fairly new, the level of comfort and dare she say it, intimacy, was not. Their friendship had always been like that, a natural pull towards one another and an affinity for traded touches. There were a few awkward moments while they navigated new waters, but it was far easier than anything Lily had been involved in throughout her life. A natural progression of sorts. The teasing banter had just increased, though far more open flirting included than before. Lily was at home and had just gotten a teasing text from the man in question. A flare of insecurity followed it up when he mentioned he would be late and where in Gotham he and Jim were stuck heading to. In that insecurity, the idea of spending him a picture popped into her head. Eyes jumped between the phone and her bedroom. She was halfway undressed when she realized that she needed to stop. No. It wasn't a good idea.

2) Being sent away for a conference to present her research was something that Lily normally appreciated and valued. It gave merit to what she was doing and the work that she had put in. This didn't feel like that, though. All she could think about was Harvey and the stupid little argument that they had before she had left. It wasn't often that the two argued, despite the personalities. If one was upset with the other, they were surprisingly decent at just hashing it out or reigning it in. But the word kept repeating round and round, creating a heavy feeling in her gut. It was stupid. It was silly. It wasn't something that would alter what they had, relationship, friendship, whatever, forever. Logically, she knew that. She knew Harvey would come to the same conclusion, but that didn't stop the naggle of worry. She chewed her lip, sitting in her hotel room. The few colleagues she knew were already breaking ice, drinking, and sharing dinner, but she hadn't felt particularly hungry. She thought about sending an apology text with a picture. Hell, she had even posed and snapped one. Instead, she found herself hitting the call button, wanting to hear his voice..

3) It wasn't often that Lily bothered to spend more time than what was absolutely necessary clothes shopping. It wasn't really a high value pass time for her. Books? Travel gear? Other things that piqued her interest more got more time dedicated. But, this time around, she had forced a bit of thought. With the fundraiser coming up, she needed to buy a new dress. On a whim, she had snapped a few pictures to Harvey to see what he thought. She was on her own and undecided between two. She included one of the new lingerie sets she had eyed and picked up on a whim, simply as a fun little tease. Part of her was feeling bold, and she had pulled off the set, but couldn't bring herself to snap a picture standing there right in the dressing room to send. The final nail in the coffin for the idea came when someone knocked on the door, making sure she had everything she needed.

4) It had been an accident entirely. Lily had just been ready to step out of the shower when the phone rang. Seeing it was Harvey, she went to pick it up but ended up nearly dropping the phone instead as it slipped from her wet hands. In the attempt to catch it, she had hit buttons and ended up with a horrible looking picture of herself. It had been ready to share with his contact since he had been calling, and Lily quickly deleted it, relieved that she had managed to catch it before it sent. That would have been highly embarrassing.

5) The hospital was the last place that she wanted to be but with the accidental spill and exposed, with a few chemical burns to her forearms, that was where she was. She hadn't had a chance to call Harvey yet, knowing that he had a right to know even if they weren't getting together that evening. The last thing she needed was him hearing it from someone else. The problem was the hospital demanded a wash down to ensure that she was free of anything else that might cause arm. Having been playing with her phone for entertainment, she had also take a picture of herself to show that she was okay before she had to clean up. She hadn't realized it was still open when she picked it back up, a picture taken. In her haste to at least text him since she couldn't call, she accidentally selected the wrong picture, realizing it right before she hit send. Thank God.

6) Harvey was a little sensitive about his age. There was no doubt about it. No matter how much reassurance she gave, it made no difference. So, she wasn't surprised to find that he still hadn't told her about his birthday. Lily wasn't going to take that lying down, though. If he thought it would be glossed over, he had another thing coming. There had been the traditional things plotted out without his knowledge. Dinner and pastries were decided upon, but she had to make sure to get things ready in secret so he wouldn't know about it. A new fedora to replace the worn one that he kept wearing was tucked away in the bottom of her closet, along with a new watch that she had spotted and immediately thought of him. Maybe it was a little much, but the man deserved to be spoiled. So, the day had come and she had played it off like she didn't know, sending him off to work like any other day, getting ready herself even though she had taken the day off, to keep from arousing suspicion. A trip to the campus before turning around was a small price to pay, even with traffic in Gotham the way that it was.

Lily had time to make sure that everything was right, hoping that he would actually end up back at the apartment on time. There was a little enticement to help with that. The thought alone made her snicker in complete amusement. Risqué yeah. But it was totally worth it, and a sure-fire way to make sure he would be heading back. As long as no one else managed to get a peak at his phone. Come afternoon, she had the two presents wrapped, the pastries finished, and the dinner in the oven. So, it was off to the bedroom she went to snap as tasteful a picture as she could manage that still was far more than she had given anyone before. A simple message accompanied it. Hope you're on time birthday boy.

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

--

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she���s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

[eunjidrabbles]

Hi. Can I request for a very fluffy jennie scenario just cuddling all day? female reader here. Thank you!

Love language

(Okay so this is gonna be the last request that Imma post for the month of April. Imma be taking a short few days break from writing until somewhere along the first week of May where I can be refreshed and give ya’ll quality content again. Until then my ask box is still open for interactions and requests [although I probably will just be focusing on the Bittersweet series for May]. See ya’ll in a week or so and hope you enjoy!)

Word count: About 1.9k

-

A huff of warm air on your neck tickling you was what roused you awake. Cracking open an eye, you took a shaky deep breath before noticing the extra weight on your chest. Before you could even look down, arms tightened around your waist, soft thighs press closer onto yours and a mop of hazelnut hair was nuzzled into the crook of your neck. Chuckling slightly, you reached your hand around to gently pat the slumbering figure that was on you and to give a soft kiss onto her head. Hearing a little whine coming from her broke a smile on your face as you tried to crane your head as far as you could to see the peaceful sleeping expressions of your girlfriend. There were moments where she scrunched up her face slightly, as if disgruntled by something before she would go back to mumbling something incoherent to you. It was slightly amusing, but seeing as to how she was still resting on you, you couldn’t laugh, or the movements from when you chuckle would definitely wake her up.

Gently pressing kisses onto the top of her head again, you slowly wrapped your other arm around her, pulling her to lean more on you. Another grumpy whine escaped her lips as you traced hear features as softly as you could, admiring the relaxed state she is in. You were distracted enough to not even realize that a pair of eyes were open and studying you until your touch traced back up to push her fringe behind her ear.

"If you take a picture, it'll last longer, you know."

Openly chuckling now that she is awake, you cooed at her raspy wake up voice and gave a poke onto her cheeks. Jennie’s response was a cat eyed pout, waiting for you to do your usual morning greetings.

"Good morning to you too princess."

Beaming up happily to her favorite pet name, Jennie sat up sleepily and yawned as she stretched across your body, keeping you under her. Your hands find her sides quickly and even before you could get a good grip, Jennie started squirming with a squeal, fully knowing that you were about to start tickling her. Using a hand to support herself and the other to fend off your wandering hands, laughter and teasing coos were shared before the hand supporting herself up wobbled and Jennie let herself fall onto your body underneath her. Letting out a dramatic “Ooof” and pretending to be knocked out with a tongue sticking out the corner of your mouth by her sudden weight on you, Jennie let out an offended scoff before landing a few playful slaps on your arms and thigh with her other hand. Unable to keep up your dead act any longer, you laughed along as you squirmed under your girlfriend in an attempt to shift her off of you to stop the assault.

Managing to grab ahold of her hands after a few tries, you pulled them to your lips and looked her right in the eye to press little kisses along her knuckles as a blush bloomed across her face. Pulling her hand back and moving herself so she was back to her original position when she was asleep on your chest, she huffed. “You’re such a dork.”

Humming in agreement, you ran your hand through her hair as you glanced to the clock on the wall to check the time. Looking back down at the woman in your arms, you pinched her cheeks teasingly before her hands came up to slap yours away again and wrap themselves all around you. “I gotta go get ready to start the day, princess. Breakfast is waiting.” A loud whine is all you got a for a warning of disapproval and legs tangled with yours, along with the blankets that were shoved down to probably cool off during the night. An amused sound escaped your lips as you stared at your girlfriend’s pout deepening by the second the more you try to move out of her embrace.

“Are you not hungry?”

Small movements signaled to you that she shook her head and buried herself deeper into your sides. Sighing in defeat, you made yourself comfortable against the bed again while Jennie played her little game of peekaboo with you from your side and you gave a small peck to her forehead each time her cat like eyes meet yours and smiled silly. The timing between each peek became longer and longer until you realized that it had been a while since you heard a giggle from your side and came to the conclusion that your girlfriend probably fell back asleep. Shaking your head, you chuckled at the childish behavior exhibited to you, knowing you were the only one able to see this side of her past the fierce and intimidating exterior and closed your eyes.

The next time Jennie opened her eyes, an annoyed groan left her lips as she moved her hands around the cool empty space around her giving her an idea that you left her alone in the bed for a good period of time. Frowning as she pushed herself up once again, she looked at the clock showing that it was past noon. Giving an annoyed huff, she crossed her arms as she gave herself a few more moments to reorient herself from the extra few hours of sleep against the headboard of the bed. How could you, especially after such a sweet morning to leave your cute girlfriend alone and cold in bed?

Grumbling to herself, she failed to notice that you entered the bedroom silently with both your hands occupied and the soft pattering of Kuma’s feet as her puppy circled around you in hopes to get to a bite of the food you hold on the plates in your hands. You stopped by the doorway in amusement, hearing her grumble and decided to keep silent until Kuma barked to get his mother’s attention seeing as to how you were not willing to lower the food to feed him. When Jennie’s eyes met yours, she could clearly see the grin on your face letting her know that you’ve heard enough as you push yourself off the doorway and made your way towards her.

Offering out a plate as she crawled her way to the edge of the bed to sit, she took it and started happily munching on the sandwich you made. Putting your own plate on the bedside table, you picked up your own sandwiches with one hand and bent down to scoop Kuma up onto your lap with the other as you sat next to Jennie. While you silently ate your meal and occasionally pulling out pieces of ham for the eager pup seated on your lap, you looked over at the satisfied look your girlfriend gave along with the little happy hums and smiled at the simple reaction. When she returned the look questioningly with her head tilted, you shook your head once again and took the now empty plate from her hand to stack up with yours on the table. Opening her arms for Kuma to hop into, you watched as Jennie moved herself back into the center of the bed while cuddling with her fluffy companion. Noticing you staring, she flashed you a gummy smile and blew a kiss in your direction as thanks for the meal. Catching it, you brought it to your chest where your heart would be and flopped down next to the pair. 

It took a while to find a comfortable position, but eventually Jennie found herself sitting back facing you between your legs as you cuddled her from behind, and she held Kuma in her arms as he napped. There was no rush of time for once, and the both of you took full advantage of it to just enjoy the quiet moments that you share. Leaning back into your shoulder, your girlfriend broke the silence. “Why does the sky look different everyday?”

Turning slightly to look at her for the sudden random question, you turned your attention to the napping dog, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “I’ve heard stories, about how when someone passes on, they are given a chance to color the sky.”

“Why does spring come after winter?”

Humming to fill the silence, you can feel Jennie’s eyes were focused on you, expecting an answer. “I guess it’s mother nature’s way of saying that it takes time but life still goes on after a miserable season.” Scrunching your face, you turned to look at Jennie once again to gauge her reaction to your answers.

“Are we playing the one sided 20 questions today? Is that what it is?” Chuckling, you press a kiss to the top of her head as she continued staring at you. “I can hear the gears in your head turning, princess. Is there something you want to say?” Shaking her head as she once again rested her head in the crook of your neck, you nodded. “Alright, then just let me know if you get hungry again.”

Kuma ended up waking and abandoning the both of you to go play with his toys a couple hours of cuddling in bed after. Growls could be heard from both your stomachs before Jennie involuntarily allowed for you to move yourself off the bed and immediately attaching herself to your back in a hug as you both waddled your way into the kitchen. The restricted movements definitely made preparing for dinner harder, but the little pecks you received on your cheeks as you occasionally fed Jennie the cut ingredients over your shoulder was all you needed for encouragement to complete the meal.

The day spent was simple, with no real purpose but Jennie appreciated the downtime of just spending time with you even though you could probably have been doing something else. It made her value the fact that you chose her over everything else as priority. In a sense, she expected it to be an obligation seeing as to how she was always busy with her schedules and there was little time that you two can actually spend time with one another. It still made her little heart sing seeing how willing you were to dedicate all your time to her.

Watching as you collected all the plates on the dining table and brought it to the sink to begin washing up, she silently wondered, just what she did to deserve someone as loving as you are. Jennie knows, that everyone had different love languages, and that she isn’t easy to get along with or please, yet you stuck by her side giving her every piece of yourself that you could offer wholeheartedly. It struck a cord within her and she questioned if she was actually worthy enough for someone like you as she watched your back facing her while you washed the dishes. She gave you calls and messages whenever she could yes, but it didn’t feel enough for the amount of dedication you showed towards her. Yet once again, she has never heard you speak a word of it. You were always happy with her around. She has seen how your eyes lit up when you looked at her, and how everything she did; childish to many amused you, and you would even play along. That isn’t something most people could do. It was almost as if...

Jennie knew what it meant, no doubt. Standing up, from her seat, she shuffled her way to once again embrace you from your back. Jennie knew the answer, but she still had to hear you confirm it. However many times it took.

"You love me."

"Of course I do, Jennie."

That was more than enough to convince her.

[slashbitch2]

Prove Me Wrong, Darling

who doesn't love a bit of enemies to lovers? :)

You and Agatha had never gotten along. From your perspective, it was due to a conflict of interest. Whereas if you asked her, she'd likely say it was a conflict of intelligence, or something else insulting along those lines. Though the issue you had with the fellow witch wasn't her attitude, rather her underestimation of your powers. It'd started with her massacre of the Coven, when she'd attempted to end your life alongside the others. But to her surprise, you'd been strong enough to defend yourself and escape. Since then, there'd been several instances where your paths had crossed, and you hadn't let her live down the failure yet.

This particular occasion was different, however, as Agatha had asked you for help.

It'd taken everything in you not to immediately mock her. But you knew that she'd leave without further explanation if she felt ridiculed, and you were just dying to know what had made her stoop to your level. So, you'd swallowed your pride and attentively listened to her proposal. It'd mostly featured the repeated phrases "immense power" and "huge source of energy," and even a confession that she was baffled by the cause, which only intrigued you further.

Although you weren't too interested in accumulating anymore power, the opportunity to be on level ground with Agatha was too good to pass on. You confessed this to her upon accepting the invitation, which resulted in an unimpressed eye roll. Regardless of her annoyance, you left that same day, arriving in the least expected location. A quaint town in New Jersey.

"Well," You landed behind Agatha in the middle of a road, surveying the picturesque, colourless neighbourhood. "isn't this lovely."

She pursed her lips, looking round similarly perplexed. "Lovely?" She echoed. "This is like every outdated suburban stereotype rolled into one. Like some kind of picture-perfect movie set."

Her condescending comment jogged a memory. "That's what I was thinking of!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands enthusiastically. "Did you ever watch that sitcom- from the 50s? The Dick Van Dyke Show?"

"From the title alone I'm glad I didn't."

"Seriously, it's practically the same setting." You moved to stand directly in front, forcing her to look at you.

"So, what you're saying is someone used this insane amount of power just to recreate their favourite TV show?" She quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your theory.

"Well, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Anyway." You glanced down at the rather eye-catching ensemble Agatha was currently wearing, then at your comparably casual yet modern clothes. "This isn't going to work." With a wave of your hand, the jeans and jumper combo was replaced by a more period accurate pencil skirt and blouse. Satisfied, you looked up at her expectantly.

Taking it as a challenge, she copied the gesture, managing to both create a new dress and fix up her hair. She smirked, enjoying the chance to show off her superior abilities.

"It's not a competition." You huffed.

She placed a hand on your arm fake comfortingly. "Of course not, dear."

The contact caused you to shiver slightly. It felt as though her touch ignited sparks, though the sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. But indulging in it didn't feel right either, so you were grateful when Agatha removed her hand.

Her face dropped, eyebrows furrowing. Slowly, she swivelled round to point at a house. "There. Can you feel it?"

Following her outstretched finger, you tuned into the energy, focusing specifically on the house. "Mhm." Unsurprisingly, Agatha was right. An unfamiliar energy was being emitted from whoever was inside. You tried to pinpoint what kind of magic the user possessed, but found no trace of any familiar type. "Shall we go meet the neighbours, then?"

"You read my mind." She muttered, narrowing her eyes and offering an arm without so much as sparing a glance in your direction.

You hesitated, taken aback by the kind gesture. It hadn't dawned on you until then that an incredibly powerful being was residing little over 10 metres away, and that you were both about to willingly walk into their house. Looping your arm with hers created a naïve sense of safety.

Neither spoke as you approached the house with faux confidence, only pausing for Agatha to summon a potted plant. A house warming gift, you guessed. The simple gesture of goodwill brought a smile to your face.

"I didn't expect you to be such a considerate neighbour." You whispered.

"Gotta make a good first impression." She reached out to knock against the door.

---

You sighed. Barely an hour spent in this black and white world and you were already bored. Everything was so tiresomely perfect, so normal that you questioned how you'd ever suffered through those terrible old sitcoms in the first place. Sitting in Wanda's living room, the only entertainment was your partner in crime Agatha, or Agnes, as you ought to say.

She was currently flipping through a magazine, tracing the page with her index finger and reading aloud to help Wanda prepare for her anniversary.

"Any notable date you can remember? Special occasion?" She asked the redhead. "You know, to remind him of good times." She winked suggestively, briefly glancing at you with an expression that only you could decipher. She was enjoying flustering Wanda a little too much.

"Oh...I don't know." She trailed off, untrustworthy eyes darting around the room. "Do you two have any memorable date? Maybe I could steal some ideas."

Had the sitcom spell effected you, this would've been the ironic moment in which you spat out whatever drink was currently in your mouth. Fortunately though, you'd declined the offer of tea earlier, and opened your mouth to correct her.

Agatha beat you to it by nudging you with her elbow. "Oh don't we just?" She laughed deeply until you joined in with a forced chuckle.

Deciding to join in with her game, you hummed thoughtfully. "What about that picnic we had? In Salem, remember?" Judging by the way her eyes flashed dangerously, she knew you were referring to that dreadful night with the Coven, serving as revenge for the sudden change in relationship status. "Agnes decided the best time to go on a date would be at night- and in the middle of forest of all places!"

Agnes threw back her head in exaggerated laughter. "Oh hush! I thought it'd be romantic. Besides, you're the one who got us completely lost, dear." She continued, further adding depth to the altered anecdote. "And I'd say it went pretty well regardless." She turned to whisper conspiratorially to Wanda. "So I'll spare you the dirty details."

The three of you fell into easy laughter, only interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. "If you'll excuse me." Wanda stood up to answer. "That's probably Vis."

You took the distraction as respite from forcing such an overly hospitable smile, finding that your cheeks were already aching. For the last few minutes, you'd been aware of a pair of eyes watching you closely, and finally turned to face the witch sitting next to you.

"What?"

Agatha said nothing, her invasive eyes never leaving yours as she took a sip of her drink. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought something through, and dreaded to wonder what she was about to say.

Reaching some form of a conclusion, she leant forward to place her drink down on the table. "Kiss me." She murmured through clenched teeth, momentarily glancing at Wanda, who's back was turned.

"Excuse me?" Out of all the possible things she could've said, this request seemed the least plausible in your mind.

"When Wanda turns round she should see us-" Agatha gestured her hand back and forth as if vocalising what she was implying was too sinful to put into words. Her vagueness was met by your blank stare. "Y'know?"

"No?" You shook your head, unable to comprehend why she'd ask such a thing, untrusting your interpretation of her suggestion.

"Just-" Agatha raised her hands to grasp your face. Hesitated. Then threw them back down into her lap and sighed in frustration. The fact she was struggling to initiate contact was laughable, though eventually you took pity on her.

Leaning forward, you kept your eyes open to watch for Agatha's reaction. You found it amusing that upon realising what you were trying to do, her eyes shut impossibly fast. Satisfied that she was consenting, you raised one hand to cup her cheek and continued to chase after her lips. The kiss was chaste and affectionately mundane, exactly at it should be.

In response, she grabbed your knees and pulled you closer, nipping at your bottom lip. Clearly Agatha wasn't on the same wavelength as you. Her hands shifted further up to your thighs, bringing a startling heat to the kiss. You gasped, virtually melting at her touch. You wanted this. One hand slid to rest on her shoulder. But it wasn't the time or place. You gently pushed against her.

Agatha pulled away, breathless. She scanned your face with pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape like she'd just reached some new revelation. You were certain your expression mirrored hers.

Wanda cleared her throat somewhere in the distance.

"Gosh, Wanda I'm sorry." Agnes' cheerful voice reappeared as she addressed the redhead without breaking your intense shared eye contact. "But I think we ought to be heading home now." She said unabashedly. Like you hadn't just been caught making out on the neighbour's couch.

"Of course." You could hear the understanding smile in her voice, the slight awkwardness from intruding. "It's been lovely meeting you both."

Summoning an ounce of brainpower, you turned to Wanda. "And you. Feel free to keep the magazine." Then tugged Agatha up and began dragging her toward the front door. For once in her life she went willingly, allowing herself to be pulled along, calling out a last minute farewell to Wanda.

Upon reaching the end of the garden, Agatha wordlessly took the lead. Staying true to her fabricated story, she set a determined course for the house to the right, waltzing up as if she owned the place. A quick flourish of your fingers and the lock was rendered useless. Now the house was yours.

As soon as the door shut behind you, she turned on her heel and pushed you against it. Her mouth quickly sought out yours with a desperation only appropriate in private. Had you known Agatha was this good of a kisser, you would've done this ages ago, but elected not to vocalise the praise knowing she'd never let you live it down. You felt her smirk against your lips, and briefly wondered if she'd somehow infiltrated your mind. You wouldn't put it past her.

As she began trailing kisses down your neck, any concern about the invasion of privacy became inconsequential. You sighed. She rewarded the sound with a nip at your throat. Due to the haze of lust clouding your better judgment, you didn't register the sound of footsteps until it was too late.

"Woah!" A man called from the top of the staircase, presumably the current previous resident of the house. Agatha froze, her lips still pressed up to your neck.

"If you two beautiful ladies hadn't already broken into my house, I would've happily invited you in." The man grinned obnoxiously, slowly continuing down the stairs.

Agatha disinterestedly waved her hand, incapacitating him. The sound of the stranger tumbling down the stairs caused her to let out a short, cruel cackle, before returning to bury her face in the crook of your neck.

"Not big on roommates?" You joked, sliding a hand up and down her back soothingly.

She nipped at your flesh, a little harder this time. "Trust me, he doesn't want to be here for what I'm about to do to you."

Already impatient, you decided to tease her in hopes it would speed things up. "You're all talk and no action, Harkness."

She all but growled as she returned to your lips. Without warning her hands squeezed your hips. "I don't think you're in the position to be insulting me, love."

"Then prove me wrong, darling."

[mingoyeob-archive]

omg hey, if not done yet, can we please have 51 + jk? also take your time for part 3, no need to rush and stress about it, you're an amazing writer and good work always takes time 💜

under the oak tree drabble game ⚔️🌳 to make up for my delayed release of part 3 of under the oak tree i’ve decided to do a drabble game!

omg thank you for being so kind 🥲 I wanna end under the oak tree in a good way so I've just been pushing it off until I come up with something thats not a complete disappointment?? but I'm hoping these drabbles give you guys more time to enjoy the characters! hope you like it :)

51. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time” | jjk x reader ft yoongi | word count: 2k

The castle was eerily quiet.

Most days it would be loud with the sound of footsteps and the banging of mugs hitting wood tables followed by the clanking of cutlery. However today, no one seemed to want to make a peep; they were as quiet as a mouse. Unlike everyone else who found the lack of noise peculiar, Yoongi enjoyed it - reveled in it, flourished in it even. Nothing made him happier than being able to sit and enjoy his daily morning, afternoon and evening naps and it made studying all the damn protection spells Jungkook wanted for the castle a hell of a lot easier. But there was one thing that threatened his new paradise, a looming cloud over his glorious fantasy, the grey cloud that he called Jeon Jungkook.

Now Jungkook was never one to be in an especially chipper mood, at least not around most people that is (you on the other hand, seemed to be a completely different story). Yoongi distinctly remembers seeing baby pictures of the lad when he was just a baby with a scowl etched permanently on his face under bushy dark brows. He often found it comical. Here was this lumbering idiot, with a silver spoon practically being shoved in his mouth, the glorious savior of the kingdom, but he was walking around as if his favorite horse had died (which it hadn’t, he checked). It was really starting to get on his nerves.

“Kid, you’ve gotta stop scaring the men. I swore I saw one of them shit themselves the other day.” Yoongi said from beside Jungkook. Currently they sat side by side in the great hall, feasting on bowls of hearty beef stew, the kind with giant chunks of meat and half haphazardly chopped vegetables covered in a thick and glorious gravy. Hmm my favorite Yoongi hummed to himself, eyes slipping shut as he drank up the delicious broth with a loud slurping sound. His spoon made a loud clanging sound against his bowl when he dropped it back down, wiping his mouth to shift his gaze back over to the scowling man to his left. “You know if I were you I would be jumping for joy. You’re filthy fucking rich, whats to be sad about huh?”

Jungkook didn’t even let out his usual grunt in response, opting to continue swirling his spoon around in his stew while glaring down at it as if it had wronged him in some way. But the sudden sound of one the knights from across the hall laughing had him snapping his head up to send a growl over to the group of men which had them instantly silencing themselves, ducking down to continue silently eating their food. Yoongi watched the exchange with amusement, “Yeah you definitely need to get laid.”

Jungkook raised his hand to swing at him to which Yoongi merely stopped with a spell, not even bothering to look at him while he took another spoonful of his food. He knew Jungkook would never try to purposefully hurt him if he knew Yoongi couldn’t protect himself, so this was just considered normal playful banter between the two men. “That’s enough, Yoongi.” He mumbled angrily, dropping his fist to bang against the table. The noise gained the attention of everyone in the dining hall, but none of them dared to turn their heads to look at the commotion, afraid the Duke would redirect his anger towards them. “I can’t help the fact that I’m so goddamn moody all the freaking time.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, you know, that's what tends to happen when you don’t get any for a while.” Yoongi sighed and leaned his hand against his hand, gazing pitifully at Jungkook. He noticed the slight twinge of confusion on Jungkooks face and decided to reiterate himself, “It’s called blue balls idiot.”

Jungkook nearly choked on his spit. Yoongi was never one to mince words and this time was no different, but still his blunt words caught him off guard. “Would you keep it down!” Jungkook seethed, whipping his head around to see if anyone had overheard the topic of their conversation. It’s not like he was scared of anyone mocking him (everyone knew better than that) but still, he didn’t need the whole castle knowing that him and his wife still hadn’t had sex yet since he’d been back.

Yes, you heard him correctly. Jungkook had been back for almost three months and you and him still hadn’t even so much as touched each other intimately. Sure they had a few passionate kisses and lust filled embraces here and there which had left your neck bruised with hickies, but outside of that, neither of you had even dared roaming a hand south of the border. He didn’t know why he hadn’t tried it, perhaps it was because he wanted to make sure you were ready this time, instead of forcing himself on you like last time. He wanted to be positive that you enjoyed yourself as much as he did, wanted to bring you to new heights that made you absolutely euphoric. But until you were comfortable with him enough to let him do so, he would stick to his hand and the dirty images that he had conjured up in his head.

“I know what blue balls are, Yoongi. But I’m perfectly fine with how mine and y/n’s relationship is going.” he mumbled, glaring at the sorcerer. “And I don’t need you meddling in my love life so why don’t you just go and frolic with that stable boy like you do and leave me be.”

Yoongi let out a noise of disagreement, throwing his hands up in annoyance, “How many times do I have to tell you, me and hoseok are not frolicking or whatever the hell you’re into-” Jungkooks foot kicked his leg under the table causing him to let out a hiss but nonetheless he continued, “You can’t keep waiting for her to make the first move. Y/n is a lady and a lady from Aster at that. Those chicks never make the first move.”

Jungkook grumbled and pushed his bowl away from him then sipped at his ale in contemplation. Perhaps Yoongi was right, maybe it was time for him to make the first move. “But how can I make sure she’s ready? What if I fuck up like last time?” he questioned, not bothering to hide the genuine concern in his voice.

The sorcerer just sighed, patting Jungkook on the shoulder, “Trust me, kid. If you fucked up, she wouldn’t still be here. And judging by the noises I heard last time, I’m pretty sure she enjoyed herself.” yoongi shuddered. No more late night walks through the hall he promised himself. “Just try to do something nice for her this time. Don’t just throw her around, take it easy. Try and lighten the mood, understand?”

Jungkook was quiet for a second, the gears turning in his head. When he finally seemed to come to a conclusion, he grunted and nodded his head. The corner of Yoongi's lips tilted up in a satisfied smile and he clapped the man on the shoulder, “Thatta boy!”

Immediately after dinner, Jungkook went to the kitchen to request the finest meats, cheeses and artfully crafted desserts they had along with the sweetest wine the chef could find. The kitchen staff were practically shaken in their boots when the Duke had first walked into the room, afraid they had done something to mess up his dinner. But when they saw how shy yet dedicated the man seemed to be (despite how much he had tried to hide it) they were more than happy to help him, promising him that they would do their best. Jungkook gave them a monotonous thanks and had practically run out the room, up the steps and to the bed chamber. He had a lot to do in a short amount of time.

“I am pooped!” You groaned, complaining to Seokjin about how much work you had done today while walking through the hard stone halls of the castle. You had spent most of today working in the library, learning and going over the finances with Seokjin so you could finally start taking on more of your ‘wifely duties’ and relieving him of some of the burden. “I’m still not sure how the conversion from pences to shillings works. Or is it shillings to pences? Ah, oh well.”

Seokjin merely rolled his eyes as he walked beside you, hands clasped behind his back in his usual gentlemanly fashion. “Yes my lady you did work very hard today. I do believe it is time for you to get a good night's rest so we can start again in the morning.” You whined at his words, stopping as you finally reached the door of your bed chambers. Seokjn just let out a small chuckle at your over the top theatrics, “Have a goodnight Y/n.”

You had returned his well wishes, sending him a beaming smile and wave as he walked back down the hallway. Once he was out of sight you turned back towards the door hand reaching out to grasp the knob. But before you got a chance to even touch the brass door handle, the mahogany swung open in front of you, your tall husband's looming figure instantly coming into sight. “Oh hello!” you greeted, surprised by the fact that he seemed to be waiting for your arrival.

Jungkook just stared at you, is he blushing? You asked yourself. The man didn’t say anything, just stepped out of the way and gestured for you to enter. You thought the whole exchange was weird and cautiously stepped around him, not expecting the sight that awaited you.

You let out a gasp, hand flying up to cover your mouth in shock as you surveyed the room. Almost every inch of the place was covered in the most beautiful and fragrant rose petals, the room lit up from the fireplace he had going across the room. Delicious food and desserts covered the tables so much of it that you had no idea how he expected you to finish it all. “Jungkook, what is all this?” you said, whipping around to look at him as he continued to stand by the entrance, stiff as a board.

He ducked his head, hands coming up to fidget as he nervously looked around the room. “Do you like it?” he asked, finally daring to meet your gaze. “I had Yoongi help me. He said you might like all this...or whatever.”

Your irises were practically lit up with admiration, eyes shining with pure undulated joy. You couldn’t believe he had done all of this for you. “Of course I like it! I mean- I love it! But what did I do to deserve this?”

Jungkook just furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, finally crossing the room to cradle your cheek and stare into your eyes affectionately. “What do you mean deserve this? I love you, y/n. I would give you the whole world if I could.”

His words had your eyes tearing up and you brought a hand up to gently hold the one he had placed on your cheek. Your head turned, placing a peck against the calloused skin of his palm as you returned his gaze, letting your eyes show just how thankful you were. “Jungkook...I love you too.” you whispered, watching as his face seemed to light up with your confession.

The rest of the night was spent dining on the luxurious food the kitchen had prepared, mouths full as you whispered sweet nothings to each other and spilled all of your darkest secrets and happiest moments. And despite the fact that the two of you still hadn’t managed to find your way to the bed or explored the rest of each other's bodies that had laid untouched by one another for quite some time, Jungkook couldn’t find himself to care. He was happy enough to be here at this moment, with you.

Blue balls be damned

[therealvalkyrie]

Red Cloak, Silver Dagger

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, canonverse, established relationship, set just prior to the Battle for Trost arc.

Summary: When you’re caught nearly weaponless in the woods, can you talk your way out of a mugging?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, gun violence, blood, death, knife violence, profanity, angst with a tidbit of fluff at the end

AN: This morning I woke up and chose ~angst~ so that’s what y’all are getting:) I will be the first to admit that I wrote this while soaking in the bath in the notes app of my phone well into the evening. The only editing it’s seen is when I transcribed it to a google doc and then one more pass at 1am. So, there may be errors ahead. Either way, I hope you enjoy, and as always my dms/inbox are open if you have questions/suggestions/fun facts about baluga whales! i’m off to sleeb:) ~valkyrie

The man in front of you is clearly scared shitless: hand trembling, face blotchy with red, mouth set in a grimace meant to be intimidating. It would almost be comical, a caricature of terror, were it not for the shotgun.

He heaves two shallow, shoulder-raising breaths before speaking again.

“I said get down on the ground!”

Just like the first time he said it, you do no such thing. Your hands remain held up in surrender, placating and gentle, and you remain where you are, but your calm eyes never leave his.

“Sir, I’m certain we can work this out without needing to dirty ourselves, don’t you agree?” Your voice is even, if a little breathy, and you do your best to sound agreeable. “Is there something I may help you with?”

Your breath clouds out from your mouth as you speak. It’s the dead of winter (colder than a witch’s left tit, as your grandma would say) and you can feel the frigid air begin to creep its way in between the folds of your scarf and cloak. The snow has melted through the hole in your right boot in a similar fashion, soaking the wool sock and numbing your pinky toe.

You’re not scared of this man, you decide, for all his gun-wielding and yelling. He looks like a farmer type, complete with fur lined coat and sturdy boots. Probably just down on his luck, pushed to robbing people in the woods to make ends meet. You’re not scared of him, you decide, even as the cold air catches in your constricting throat and your heart thuds against your ribs.

He’s probably only targeted you because you look so benign today. It is your day off, after all, and you’re wearing civilian clothing, red wool traveling cloak draped over you. Even your hair is down today rather than in a practical bun. Admittedly, you look downright innocent.

And to a certain extent, you are. Without your ODM gear and swords, your training means nothing. The only weapon you have is a dagger tucked into your boot, but even that is useless if you can’t reach for it without getting shot. You’ll have to talk your way out.

The man snorts, a measure of contempt twisting his expression. “The only way you can help me, girly, is by getting on the ground and handing over your money purse.”

You smile sympathetically. “Oh, then I’m afraid I actually can’t help you, sir. I don’t have any money, and I find myself rather averse to laying in a foot of snow.”

“Ha, what a load of shit. You townies always have valuables on you.” His contemptuous sneer solidifies, and he looks at you down the barrel of the shotgun with slightly more confidence.

“Ah, well I’m not a townie, you see.” You hope this is the right tack to take, implying living at the military base through the other side of the woods. It’s a much more serious crime to murder a Survey Corps soldier than a girl who took the wrong path through the woods home. You just hope he possesses the critical thinking skills to come to that same conclusion.

You can see the gears turning for a moment before a gruff, “What do you mean you don’t live in town? You’re not a farmer’s daughter, I’d’ve recognized you.”

The short laugh bubbles out of your lungs before you can tamp it down. “No, I’m not a farmer’s daughter.” Wish I was, right now. “I’m a soldier on the base.”

At this, he pales and starts shaking again. He readjusts his stance in the snow, tip of the shotgun wavering, as the panic starts to set in again.

“Shit,” he says, almost to himself, and shifts again.

“Shit,” you agree. “But I promise you, I won’t tell if you don’t. If you let me go home right now.”

He considers for a moment, gears seemingly hand-cranked at the rate they’re going, then decides you’re a liar.

“Liar,” he says. “Who’s to say you won’t report this directly to your superiors? Who’s to say you’re tellin’ the truth?”

Sweat begins to gather beneath your scarf despite the cold, beads of it slipping down the back of your neck. This is not going as intended.

“I promise you, I have no quarrel with you. Just let me go.” Your voice thins out, nearly pleading, with the last phrase. I’m not gonna die today, in some shitty forest in the shitty snow. I don’t wanna die today.

What would Levi say about losing your cool like this?

He doesn’t seem to hear you, though, as his lips are moving, eyes narrowed and locked on yours. Occasional phrases register: “...can’t be caught…”; “...stupid girl...?”; “...fuckin’ Marcy askin’ me…”.

You lick your chapped lips and try again.

“Please,” your voice cracks on the dry air this time. “Just let me go. I don’t have anything of value, I won’t tell my superiors, please.” It ends on an unexpected sob and you know that you’ve lost any aura of cool detachment you may have had.

Suddenly you’re talking over each other, voices panicked and raised. Yours threaded with fear, his with near mania.

“Stupid girl, you’ll just report-”

“I promise I won’t, I-”

“-can’t afford a charge-”

“-just want to go home-”

“-Marcy would have my head-”

“Please, won’t you just listen-”

“-CAN’T TRUST A GODDAMNED BITCH-”

“I’M NOT A THREAT TO YOU-”

“WON’T YOU SHUT UP!”

The shot rings off the trees and through your ears, a crack of gunpowder that sends crows flying from a nearby beech tree.

In the next split second, you feel the punching pressure in your abdomen and you double over, clutching hands to your stomach. You try to maintain footing, but the snow has other plans, catching under your heels until you land flat on your back. 

Your stomach feels like it’s on fire, searing with white-hot pain. It feels like a brand has been shoved into your intestines and left there to burn away your body.

Not a brand, a bullet, you realize when you stretch blood-drenched fingers up towards the sky. You can’t feel them, but you know they’re yours because the gloves had been a gift from Levi last year. Soft hide leather, lined with fur. At least two months’ salary, now stained with crimson.

A high-pitched keening escapes your mouth, though you don’t know how, because it feels like all the air left your body when you fell. Your chest is tight, breathing ragged, but the sharp air brings clarity with it.

Hands suddenly scramble, gathering as much fabric as possible to press to the wound. A cry punches out of you at the renewed pain the pressure brings, but you grit your teeth through it and push up to sitting. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you alive at this point, driving you to reach with one hand to grab your dagger from your boot.

You look up, now, towards the farmer. He’s trudging through the snow towards you now, expression half horrified, half determined, still gripping his gun. He seems determined to see your death through to the end, so you make a split-second decision.

It’s only a quick shift of your grip on the dagger, a calculated moment of aim, and a practiced wrist-flicking throw before he stops dead in his tracks. The blade is lodged in his neck, blood spurting from his carotid artery in bursts along with his pulse. One beat, another, and he’s fallen to his knees, gun slipping from his grasp. Finally, decisively, permanently, his body thuds face down in the snow.

“Perfect,” you whisper, and smile serenely, before following suit.

Levi and the rest of his squad watch in horror as your body slumps to the ground. It’s quite the picture: blood staining pristine snow around two bodies in the middle of scenic woods, your red cloak spread around you in perfect drama.

They had only caught the tail end of the altercation, riding around the corner just in time to see your impeccable dagger throw. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Levi is damn impressed with the skill of it.

A horrified sound escapes his lungs, and then he’s urging his horse forward towards you. You look deathly ashen against your cloak, one hand tangled loosely in it on your stomach, the other dropped unceremoniously at your side.

Levi slides smoothly from the saddle in favor of running the last few steps to your side before crashing down on his knees to hover over you. Eld and Petra are directly on his heels, the latter shouting something back to the other two. Her voice sounds tinny and distant to his ears as he puts pressure on your abdomen.

Please don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, is caught on a loop in his mind. He leans his ear over your face and catches the faintest touch of hot breath. Not dead yet, not dead yet, not dead yet.

Eld is on your other side, still as a statue with two fingers pressed to your neck.

“There’s a pulse,” he announces, and Petra, who’s anxiously leaned over the trio on the ground, takes a shuddering breath of relief.

“Gunther’s gone back to tell the surgeon to get ready,” she tells Levi. “We need to get her back.”

Levi nods numbly, then swings his own cloak off of his shoulders to help stem the blood.

“Eld,” he directs in a deceivingly steady voice. “You help me get her on my horse.”

The blond nods, maneuvering to scoop you up in his arms.

“One, two, three.” He lifts you with a grunt, still on his knees, then stands while allowing Levi to keep continuous pressure on the wound.

You groan and shift weakly in Eld’s arms, prompting Levi to lean down and murmur directly in your ear.

“I know, my love, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s only for now. Stay with me, darling, it’ll be over soon,” he practically coos as your lashes flutter and face twists in pain.

Oluo brings forward Levi’s horse and the three men manage to wrangle you up into the saddle. Levi settles behind you, one hand gripping the reins and the other firmly around your middle.

With a whinny, his horse wheels around and he’s riding as fast as he dares back to base.

Not dead yet, not yet, not yet.

--

The first night after surgery, Levi stations himself in a chair by your infirmary bed. He practically growls at the first nurse who suggests that visiting hours are over, who scuttles away in alarm but nevertheless leaves him in peace. He passes the time by staring at the candle diminishing on your bedside table and mentally berating himself for letting you go to town alone.

Ha, as if she wouldn’t’ve gone anyway.

You look so fragile in the candlelight that Levi is afraid you’ll start melting away like mist if he tries to touch you. Despite this, he finds himself periodically reaching for your wrist, the steady pulse underneath his fingertips assuring him that you’re real.

The first day after surgery, the whole squad comes to visit, bringing tea and pulling up chairs around your bed to keep vigil with their captain. Hardly a word is said between them, but Petra sniffles occasionally and Gunther leans elbows on his knees and stares resolutely at your right hand.

Oluo tries once, “Did you see that knife throw? Fuckin’ impressive.”

They all murmur in assent as Levi feels the side of his mouth quirk up in a sort of melancholy pride.

Fuckin’ impressive indeed.

The second night after your surgery, Levi can feel himself beginning to split at the seams. When the nurse finally blows out all the lamps and leaves him with a sympathetic look over her shoulder, he dares to crawl into bed with you, lying on his side a careful few inches away.

At first he just stares. At the way your lips are parted in sleep, at the curve of your nose, at the delicate way your lashes lie on your cheeks.

After a while, he gently laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips, leaving soft kisses on the back. His eyes blink shut and he whispers your name against your skin.

“Come back to me. Please. Please, I- I can’t handle losing you, too.”

He falls asleep like this, breath eventually easing to match your own.

It’s in gray dawn light that you finally open your eyes, swallowing thickly against a dry throat. Slowly, you take stock of the sensations in your body. Crisp sheets against your skin, a dull blinding ache in your abdomen, a familiar warm body against your side.

Levi is stretched out beside you, clutching your left hand even in sleep. He’s always beautiful this way, features softer than he ever let them be in waking. You reach to brush his bangs out of his eyes and whisper his name like a secret into the morning.

“Levi.” The second whisper is accompanied by a finger stroking down his delicate nose. He twitches, sneezes once, then opens his eyes to meet your own.

He says your name all lovely with morning grumble, then all of a sudden he’s sitting up, worrying hands everywhere at once.

“Are you okay? Do you need water? Where does it hurt? I’ll get the doctor-”

“Levi,” you rasp, pulling him back in to focus on your face. “Water, please?”

He nods and reaches for a glass on the bedside table. You try to take it from him, but he swats your hand away before carefully tipping the glass against your lips. He only allows a few sips at a time, but lets you drink until it’s all gone and your thirst is sated.

He starts to pull away, saying, “I should go get the doctor, now,” but you gently tug him back before he can escape.

“Stay,” you murmur. “Please?”

And so he stays, curled into your side, arm delicately around your middle, as the sun breaks brightly through the windows.

[fanficparker]

A GAME OF DIAMONDS AND HEARTS // H.O.

>> CHAPTER THREE

"The Gates of hell are open night and day, smooth the descent, and easy is the way..." - Aeneid, Virgil

(Frenemies to Lovers! Mob AU! ) Harrison Osterfield x Fem!OC

Word count: 2.17k words

Warning: Swearing, gun violence, car chase, full on action, cool dudes, anxiety and fluff in case you forget to blink ;)

Synopsis: After the sudden death of his uncle and the eccentric multi-millionaire mafia king Lufian Clarke, Harrison Osterfield’s almost decent life is mostly devastated especially when half of what should be rightfully his fortune is transferred to their immediate rival for reasons he doesn’t know. What’s remaining is him trying to figure out how to deal with this collaboration of two rival corporations that don’t belong together and work on the side of the woman he never knew would ever be referred to as his partner in crime while they are dragged into a mess bigger than what they were trained to handle.

A/N: The amount of time I waste on making these moodboards-- (I literally coloured the black and white pictures 💀 )

<< TWO [ MASTERLIST ] FOUR >>

A moment passed.

A shallow gust of wind tickled Harrison's left ear, making him squirm. He leaned back, pulling his rolled up sleeves down and buttoning them at his wrist followed by pressing the creases on his shirt—a habit of his, a ritual he can't seem to put away even when there was a sniper aimed at his head.

Worse. All this could be a trick.

Worst. It wasn't.

All in all, time wasn't the currency, Harrison had at his disposal. Yet, he found himself shoving a penny straight into the slot machine.

He cleared his throat in a failed attempt at clearing his foggy mind, "Don't you think, you shouldn't have let go of Tom?"

The more men, the better chances of survival. It worked this way, right?

Sandhya sighed, exasperated, the flicker of the candle animating a dance on her face was seemingly more lively than her at the moment.

"We suspect, at least one of your men were involved in Clarke's murder. Also," She paused, chuckling nervously, "I won't lie, I was expecting something like this to happen but not today, not right now." She referred to the rifle aimed at them.

"I am seriously...uh... ugh..." Harrison didn't know if there were proper words in the vernacular to reply to this. All he could do was grit his teeth.

How long will this day go, anyway? What was it? The solstice? Do solstice last this long?

In his prognosis, if he had one more revelation this day, especially if it had something or anything to do with the dead man, his brain would melt and leak out of his ears. On the non-fictitious scale: He would rip off his hair or empty a loaded .44 magnum into the head of the person closest to him.

But there were his men involved in Clarke's murder? His men?

And their respectable leader, Harrison Osterfield was trapped in a life and death situation, waiting for a can of smoke to allow him to escape? And on top of that, he was taking orders from one of their enemies?

What if it was her plan? What if she killed the old man? She had inherited his fortune— it was enough of evidence for Harrison to draw that conclusion even in its scant or flimsy state. He won't be surprised if she wanted him dead as much as he wanted her to be. Or that the sniper was one of her men. Or everything happening was a part of her bigger plan.

He had a pistol tucked away in his sock, maybe he could catch her at gunpoint?

The instant he glanced at the mirror of her flapjack, she had placed between them, he discarded the idea. No avail. The sniper could easily target him.

He was fucked up.

He could hear his life ticking away.

A click of tin hitting the floor ignited the dying flame in his heart. He felt Sandhya's hand slip over his, delicate fingers tapping against the back of his hand, gliding over his square signet ring that was sitting on his middle finger for ages now, moving further away to feel his rough, wounded knuckles, he never seemed to care about.

She appeared as afraid as him. Or maybe it was part of her plan. Harrison wasn't sure if it was the mutual fear they felt or the gesture, the little ministrations she drew over the back of his hand that had managed to ease his nerves, at least for the time being. His eyes swerved up, locking with hers again, her lips forming the words he was waiting to hear.

"Now!" She screamed on the top of her voice, retracting her hand as the smoke leaked out of the can, suspending itself into the air.

Harrison leapt on cue, ducking below the table. A single shot hits the wood of the chair, he was previously sitting on.

He tried to make the best use of the blindness that the grey smoke offered, pulling the table cloth in a swift motion. The wine and the lit candles fell over the fabric, igniting a fire. The flames and the smoke rose quickly, fanned by the stiff breeze, consuming the Pinterest worthy setting in a matter of seconds as he watched Sandhya's shadowy figure hopping off from the other side of the balcony, her red heels discarded by the decorated flower pots.

In a heartbeat, the fire alarm goes off followed by another shot. The people eating in the restaurant shrieked almost simultaneously as the second shot is wasted, their screams never subsiding as they run around, knocking over things, trying to get the hell out of the building.

Amidst the mist, Harrison grabbed the railing of the balcony, hopping off it, climbing down as promptly as he could, hearing more bullets fire on the place he just abandoned.

His planned smooth landing on the freshly mowed grass goes awry as he stumbles, falling over his knee in an attempt at dodging a shot that went over right his head, almost touching his hair.

There were more gunmen. His expressions were that of horror.

He quickly rose to his feet, pulling the pistol tucked in his sock out, looking around and over his shoulder before squeezing the trigger twice.

A man dressed in the waiter's attire fell from the first floor along with his rifle, hitting the ground, crumbling next to Harrison's feet, presumably dead.

Harrison didn't check. He was sure.

Aim. He was good at it. Way too good.

He paced his way with the pistol pointed downrange, pulling the slide back with his thumb and forefinger to the street full of chaos with people running in all directions, fire alarms blaring in the background. A maroon sedan stopped abruptly in front of him, a quarter of an inch away from hitting him and transporting him directly to hell.

He opened his mouth to swear but the driver was the first to flung the door open. He had red-brown shaggy hair, probably a result of the wind and was dressed in a grey trench coat with the belt undone. His eyes were hidden behind black wraparound mirror shades, hiding most of his face.

The only thing that sparked Harrison's interest was the shotgun poorly concealed inside his coat.

"Get in." Two words, another order. The driver was definitely way older than him, he could tell by his deep, rusty voice. The driver pushed the long barrelled gun in his direction.

Harrison groaned, shoving himself into the passenger seat, accepting the new weapon, discarding the smaller gun and shutting the door behind him.

"Where is she? Where is Sandhya?" Harrison demanded, looking over at the back seat, his frown deepening into a scowl but the driver popped the car into reverse and stormed the accelerator, hard, sending him flying backwards, his back hitting against the backrest.

"She'll meet us halfway." The driver replied, his eyes never leaving the road. Harrison settled himself on the polyester seat, taking a breath before the car took a sharp turn, almost knocking his head against the window.

"Watch out!" The driver warned and Harrison peeked at the rear view mirror.

A black Escalade SUV lunged towards them at a speed higher than theirs. At least four passengers were sitting in it, two of them pushed their heads out of the windows, hands holding shotguns, aiming a shot at the vehicle he was sitting in.

They ducked down, both Harrison and the driver evading the bullets fired at them. The rear windshield blew out with a boom and a crash, spraying glass over the unoccupied backseat.

Enough.

Harrison slid his window down, ducking again when more bullets were shot at them, before aiming straight to the front tire.

He fired one— two— three shots, one followed by the other. The third one successfully hits the wheel. He watched with a triumphant grin pasted over his face as the attacker's car tumbled, crashing against the telephone pole, now motionless.

But his grin didn't last long when they crossed the intersection. Two more cars emerged from the two sides, the same model as the one he had just shot down.

The panic was real this time. He could even hear police sirens.

What the actual fuck?

"We need to hurry!" Harrison instructed, restless in his seat, watching the black SUVs and the white police cruisers, red sirens blazing on their head, racing behind them.

It was a real chase.

They zoomed through the street, feeling alternately light and heavy as they shifted in their seats, leaning right and left as the roads forked as they sailed through the busy traffic, ignoring the honking cars, even honking themselves. The buildings, streets and the traffic began to blur as they raced down, veering frantically to avoid their pursuers.

A ray of hope: Another intersection. The signal was three seconds into turning red.

Perfect.

"You can do this..." Harrison whispered like a prayer, eyes glimmering with hope, focusing more on the road than the man operating the steering he knew nothing about, except for his remarkable prowess as a getaway driver.

You can do this!

The driver panted, breathing with his mouth as he puts the car into the sixth gear, pressing the accelerator as hard as he could, flooring the sedan through the blinking signal, it turning red the exact moment they tear through it.

The pedestrian cars came to a halt upon the red signal, breaking hard, forming a chain, successfully blocking the way of both the attackers and the cops.

The driver barked out a laugh, the type falling more into the category of a chortle than an actual laugh (not that Harrison cared), taking off his shades, shoving them inside his coat, a proud smile plastered on his face as he weaves from lane to lane, disappearing under a bridge, finally stepping on to the much calmer highway.

"Kevin." The driver muttered.

"Huh?" Harrison responded with a questioning look. The guy was at least fifty-five years old, Harrison could tell now. His natural grey hair stood in contrast with his dyed copper ones, adding to his overall charm. His adventurous demeanour has previously mistaken him for being any younger.

Stretching a left hand, "My name is Kevin," the driver clarified, his light brown eyes meeting momentarily with Harrison's blue ones.

Harrison nodded, putting away his gun, wiping the sweat on his palm over his pants, before taking his hand for a brief shake.

"Harrison," He offered his own name.

"I know," Kevin replied nonchalantly, shifting his focus back to the road.

The blond turned to the other side, head leading against the headrest, glancing out of the window, watching the scenery move backwards, carefree as a lark for once, until the driver slowed the vehicle down, parking at the side, near a divergence where a 91' Accord waited for them.

He leapt out of the car. Harrison followed suit.

Taking the back seat of the switch car, alongside a woman that wasn't Sandhya, Kevin slumped into the cushions, stretching his hands over his head, shutting his eyes, probably tired (of course), taking the much needed break. The woman, on the other hand, was busy typing away on her laptop, wired headphones tucked into her ears.

Another man emerged from the passenger seat, passing Harrison on the way, his face invisible in the dim highway lights, taking the maroon sedan. Harrison replaced him, getting into the switch car, sitting on the front, the only seat that was left unoccupied.

"Welcome back." The voice on the driver's seat greeted him.

Sandhya.

Harrison snorted, choosing not to turn his neck to meet her face and rather settling on passing a mere glance at her with a side eye.

She was back to wearing her coat, raven hair whipped by the wind, loose strands sticking over her face, her makeup no longer intact and slightly greasy, except for her bold red lipstick, sitting over her smiling mouth, complimenting her smooth dusky skin.

She pulled the gear, pressing on the pedal, putting the car in motion, its engine roaring for a full minute, her right hand on the wheel, left hand ceaselessly turning the dial of the radio back and forth, till Blinding Lights echoed from the speakers. She kept the volume low, possibly because of the other woman busy on her laptop, definitely because of the man dozing off, sitting behind them. But that didn't stop her from mouthing the lyrics or sway her body with the tunes.

Harrison looked away, outside the window, head slightly out, chin pressed against one of his hands he had kept over the window edge, feeling the cold air hit his face harder when she shifted the gear, speeding off the vehicle.

A ghost of a smile flickered over his lips, the upbeat music filling his ears.

He had different plans...

____________________

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…TO BE CONTINUED…

>> Send me an ask or just reblog/comment this post with ‘Tag me’ or fill this NEW TAGLIST to get added to the taglist of AGODAH.

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[bloodfromthethorn]

Bridal Carry

Hiking trips are more hazardous than Riley remembers them being. At least she has Jack there to make her rescue feel as awkward as humanly possible. 

Part two of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge (although this one is much more fluff than whump, oops). 

Also on AO3. 

..

“This is undignified.”

“You’re the one who had to go and break your ankle, you can’t blame me for this.”

“It’s not broken. And you could at least pretend like you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“Ri, you know I’d do anything for you, but carrying you down a mountain is not really what I’d consider a good time.” Jack let that settle for a moment, then shot her a vaguely wounded look. “And you know I’m never happy to see you hurt.”

Even still blushing faintly in embarrassment, Riley couldn’t help but feel a thrill of guilt trickle down her spine. She knew Jack was likely more unhappy about her ankle than she was – when she’d first fallen he’d gone white with panic until he’d ascertained that she hadn’t actually done herself mortal injury. His worry had been genuine enough that she hadn’t had the heart to play it up in a way she might have done with Mac or Boze.

“I know,” she grumbled quietly, unwilling to entirely let go of her displeasure. There really wasn’t a lot of dignity in being carried back to the car like a baby. “I’m still unhappy about it.”

Jack snorted as he stepped carefully over some stones littered along the path. He didn’t seem burdened by her weight in the slightest; Riley knew she wasn’t exactly heavy, but this seemed a little bit extreme.

“Well I’m not exactly thrilled. What was your plan, scampering up that gravel mountain? Thing looked like danger a mile off.”

“It was hardly a mountain,” she contested, not for the first time. “I just wanted to see if I could see back to the river from there.”

“And could you?”

There was a huffy pause. “I didn’t get the chance to find out.”

“Because the gravel mountain collapsed on you.”

Riley shot him a dirty look that he utterly ignored. He’d become immune to her stink eye approximately twenty minutes into knowing her and it seemed like a decade apart had done nothing to blunt his familiarity.

“I didn’t look where I was putting my feet, that’s all.”

“I saw you looking plenty. You kept looking right up until the ground fell out from under you.”

He sounded vaguely like a parent delivering some sort of life lesson to a wayward toddler and it was doing nothing for Riley’s discomfort. She barely resisted the urge to cross her arms. There was nothing she could do about the huff though.

Jack glanced down at her, taking in the downcast eyes and blushing cheeks, and sighed to himself. “I’m not mad, Ri,” he informed her gently, returning his attention to the uneven track they were following. The last thing they needed was for him to turn his ankle over too. “I just get worried when you get hurt. I hate seeing you in pain.”

Riley’s annoyance immediately faded again at the reminder, and she rolled her eyes to allay Jack’s concern. “I’m not really hurt, Jack,” she reassured. “Can barely even feel it anymore.”

“You can’t feel it because you haven’t had to put weight on it for twenty minutes. I’m not letting you even think about walking until someone in Phoenix med has given you a look over.”

Whatever sympathy Riley might have been feeling vanished in an instant and she shot him a disbelieving look. “No way.”

“Uh, yes way? That thing could be broken for all you know. I’m not about to just drop you off at home with a pack of frozen peas and call it good.”

“That is exactly what you’re going to do,” she shot back firmly. “It’s just a sprain! You are not dragging me into work on a Sunday for something that I won’t even remember tomorrow.”

Jack rolled his eyes, undeterred from his steady trek back the way they’d come. He didn’t even have the courtesy to be out of breath. “You can’t walk on it. That’s not the kind of thing you just ignore.”

“It’s a sprain!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had a portable x-ray machine tucked into your rucksack,” Jack shot back drily, hefting the thing swung over his shoulder to prove his point. “Is that why this thing’s so heavy?”

She firmly ignored the comment about the backpack – he’d been entirely unfazed at the idea of carrying both of their packs and her all the way back down the trail they’d just spent an hour hiking up so he could just suck it up. “I’d know if it was broken,” she said instead. “I would have heard it.”

“Not necessarily,” He said smartly, visibly gearing up for yet another life lesson. “You’ve not had anywhere near as many broken bones as I have – thankfully – so you’ve still got a lot to learn. Rule one is that they don’t always make a sound.”

“I’ve broken my wrist before. I remember what that felt like and this is nothing like that.”

“Rule two,” he continued without slowing down, “Is that all broken bones are different and what you might remember from one doesn’t necessarily apply to another. Rule three-”

“Okay, god, please just stop.” Jack broke off with a wide grin and Riley couldn’t help but roll her eyes fondly in return. “You win okay? I’ll let a doctor check me out. But we’re not going to Phoenix for it. There’s a clinic two blocks down from me that’ll do just fine.”

“You’d really rather sit in a waiting room for three hours with me hovering over your shoulder than just head to the place where you’ll get seen immediately and no one will ask you any questions?”

“It’s not like we were doing anything covert. We were hiking in the woods for god’s sake.”

“Okay, fair point. That still leaves the waiting room.”

Riley bit her lip for a moment, then decided she might as well come clean. “I don’t want a report ending up on Matty’s desk about that time I fell over and twisted my ankle.”

To her surprise, Jack didn’t laugh. He didn’t even look like he was trying not to, although to be fair he was good at hiding things like that. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “What? I’ve been there. I get why you’re worried but honestly, there’s nothing to stress about. Matty hears about all kinds of stuff way worse than this and she never even blinks – ask Mac about that time he broke his wrist in two places coming off a surfboard. That was back in Thornton’s days, but man you should have seen the look on her face! Mac looked like a kid trying to pretend the window broke itself and he had nothing to do with it.”

Riley could definitely picture it. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“So the worst that’s going to happen here is Matty’s going to give you a despairing look, and then we’ll all get on with our day. And besides, going to a different clinic isn’t going to make a lick of difference. You really think Matty’s not going to hear about it anyway? I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t already know and had an ambulance waiting for us back at the car.”

Something very suddenly occurred to her and she looked up at him wild-eyed. “You didn’t call her, did you?”

He snorted. “No way, that’s a conversation for you to have with her. I’m not getting in the middle of it.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah, you don’t. But as soon as Matty finds out I was inside a ten-mile radius she’ll blame it all on me and that woman is scary when she’s on the warpath.”

Riley rolled her eyes again, finally starting to feel vaguely settled in her perch of Jack’s arms. It still wasn’t exactly comfortable – there was only so much he could do to minimise the sway of his gait and the summer sunshine was doing nothing to offset their shared heat where they were pressed together – but Jack’s insistence of acting like everything was normal was oddly soothing. He made it seem entirely natural that he should be carrying her when she couldn’t walk herself and it was hard not to copy that same mannerism.

“Okay, fine, if it’ll make you happy, we can go to Phoenix med. It wasn’t your fault though,” She pointed out lightly.

“That usually doesn’t seem to matter. And it’s kind of my fault. It was my idea to come out here.”

“And it was my idea to climb up a stupid gravel pile. You had nothing to do with it.”

Jack hummed discontentedly. “I could have stopped you from trying it. I knew it would end badly.”

“You assume everything will end badly.” She twisted the arm she had wrapped around the back of Jack’s neck to press her palm flat to his shoulder like she could somehow infuse her sincerity that way. “You can’t protect me from everything. Certainly not my own stupidity.”

He paused for a moment to properly look at her, his eyes darting to her traitorous ankle for just a moment before reseeking the honesty in her eyes. Whatever conclusion he came to, his hands on her tightened ever so slightly. “I can try.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling. “I know you will.” There was a pause then, as she fought to battle down a decade of hurt-disguising-itself-as-anger to quietly murmur, “Thank you for that.”

“Always,” was his immediate response. “I wish you didn’t make it so hard for me, but I’ll protect you from anything for as long as I’m able. And longer if I can. That’s my job, remember?”

“I thought your job was protecting Mac.”

“Him too. Truth be told, he’s a thousand times more difficult to watch than you. You’ve at least got some sense when it comes to things like running towards explosions and mixing unidentified chemicals. But you’re part of that too now, Ri. I’m your Overwatch as much as his.”

It was raw and honest and probably everything she’d been waiting to hear since she was thirteen and suddenly without a father again. She had no idea how she was supposed to react. In the end, all she could manage was gripping sharply at the hand tucked under her knees like it was all that was tethering her to reality.

He gripped back just as tightly so perhaps he understood after all.

A long minute passed in silence as Jack carefully wound his way down the path. Even with her weight, the downward slope meant that he was making better time than the pair of them had on the way up. By Riley’s reckoning, they’d be back within another fifteen minutes.

That knowledge in hand, she cast about for another, less sensitive subject, and almost immediately hit upon something sure to get Jack talking normally again. She grinned at him. “So if this is what an Overwatch does for someone with a twisted ankle, does that mean you’ve carried Mac around like a damsel in distress?”

Jack’s laugh was bright, entirely free of the seriousness of their previous exchange. “Once,” he managed after his initial laugh had died down. His face was still broken open in a broad grin. “That kid is far too heavy for it though. He might look like he’s wasting away but he’s tricky like that – nearly put my back out last time I tried something that wasn’t a fireman’s carry. Ingrate couldn’t stop laughing at me for three days.”

He didn’t put much effort into trying to sound offended, too busy smiling fondly.

Riley smiled right back. “Well, a man of your age, you do need to watch out for things like that.”

“A man of my-” He shook his head in faux disbelief, the smile not budging. “Sure,” he said in the face of her laughter, “Mock the person trying to get you out of here in one piece. Maybe I’ll just put you down on that rock over there and head home myself. Leave you behind to look after yourself.”

“You could,” she agreed amiably, still grinning brightly. “You won’t though.”

Jack shot her a dry look, but his eyes were shining in the sunlight and Riley felt warm all the way down to her bones. Her ankle barely even twinged.

“Yeah, you’re right. I won’t.”

[thoughtsaboutshows]

30 for the prompts

30. “Thanks for marrying me.

This one was requested twice, also by @nevergoinouttastyle

This is a continuation of my prompt from Take My Jacket where Sabrina and Nick meet as members of Ambrose and Prudence’s bridal party 

Today was the day.  She’d thought about this day a lot during her life.  What she would wear, eat, dance to.  Most importantly, who’d be waiting for her down at the end of the aisle while she walked down it.  An aunt on each arm.  In high school and shortly after she was dead-set on Harvey, with his floppy hair and goofy smile, to be the one waiting for her.  In college she’d fallen for the exotic artist named Caliban and for a short time she thought she might marry him.  That was until he’d decided that sleeping with the women who modeled for his clay sculptures was “a part of the process.”  

Nick had come out of nowhere, breaking down her walls despite the awful first impression he’d made.  Every day since, he’d complimented her headband and the way he reverently took it off when she told him to take her upstairs made it seem as if he adored it.  He had been mysterious and charming and he’d made her smile in a way she hadn’t in a while.  Maybe Ambrose was right and she needed to have a bit more fun.  So she’d taken a chance in going up to his room, abandoning her cousin’s wedding early.  She tried to steady her heart that beat with anticipation as Nick slipped his hand under the jacket that was draped over her shoulders and onto her lower back, leading her towards the elevator and away from the party so he could kiss her again.  

She awoke the next morning wrapped in the arms of the man her cousin had partnered her with, feeling more sated and satisfied than she ever had.  She hardly knew this Nicholas Scratch but already he had more than made up for his failed first impression, from the way he’d made her laugh or sang along to the songs when they danced to how his lips landed with perfect impassioned precision to her every inch of her body, knowing exactly how to make her shiver.  

She had expected them to brush each other off, chalk it up to a single great night, emboldened by the romance of a wedding.  But instead after kissing her soundly, wrapped up on his sheets, he’d ordered room service and a bottle of champagne.  She slipped on his button down shirt to eat only for him to unbutton it and peel it off of her shortly after.  Needless to say, they were late to the post wedding party her Aunties had thrown for the remaining guests.  He’d stuck by her and didn’t let the weekend end without getting her number and a promise to see her again.

As her cousin had said, stranger things had happened than Sabrina and Nick falling in love with each other.  But as Sabrina got ready before her wedding day to the man who had offered her his jacket two years ago, she came to the conclusion it wasn’t so strange at all.   

Sabrina had no doubt as she geared up to walk down the aisle that Nick was the right one to be at the end of it.  She had known it from the moment he called her a mere day after the wedding festivities had ended and when he’d invited her to travel with him the following Summer.  Her knowledge was solidified even more when he insisted on having the wedding at the same place as Ambrose and Prudence’s, the very place he’d fallen for her. 

So with all the people they loved by their sides, Ambrose in his party and Prudence in hers, they were married.  Ambrose and Prudence insisted they needed to be partnered up.  

“Because we look so good together, cousin.”  Ambrose had insisted. 

But Sabrina had figured it had more to do with how in love with his wife Ambrose was, and how he wanted to rub Prudence’s full and pregnant belly as they walked down the aisle. 

Tears welled in Nick’s eyes as she made her way to him and he didn’t even try to keep them at bay, shattering every notion of toxic masculinity that had been thrown her way.   He did that often, washing away the bad boy image that had been thrust upon him by whispers of people who didn’t even know him.  

Nick held onto her hand throughout the entire ceremony, refusing to let go even when he needed to use both hands.  He fumbled getting the ring from his best man because of it which made Sabrina snort and then smack him for pulling such an unattractive sound from her on her wedding day.   

He thought about kissing her softly and sweetly, being that they were in front of her family and all.  But once he heard the officiant declare them Mr. and Mrs. Scratch he realized that would be an impossibility.  It had been the world’s biggest surprise when she’d announced she was taking his last name and she seemed just as eager as he was when she grabbed his bowtie and pulled him down for their first kiss as husband and wife.  And not a sweet one at all.     

Hilda had worked with the chef at the venue to ensure the food was top notch and from the way Zelda ran around like a drill sergeant Sabrina was sure the night would go off without a hitch.  Their first dance was Elvis’ Can’t Help Falling in Love and he didn’t hold back from kissing her then too, holding her closer than ever.

They’d chosen to get married in the Fall because not only was it Sabrina’s favorite season but it’s when they met.  And Nick would take any opportunity to utilize the chilled air to wrap his arms around her.  As the night went on, it seemed he’d get his wish.  

He’d been chatting with some friend when Sabrina waltzed over to him.  They’d hardly been apart the whole night so when Sabrina leaned in to whisper in his ear.  He quickly excused himself and made his way over to the balcony.  

He found her leaning against the railing, her head-banded veil blowing in the wind.  She was staring at him, her rosy cheeks and red lips inviting him to step closer.  She was a picture perfect memory of when he’d found her out on that very same balcony two years ago.  Except this time was better, this time she was his wife. 

“Hey, Spellman.”  He said when he reached her, automatically reaching for her waist and pulling her to him.  

“Hey, Scratch.”  She bit her lip and reached up, adjusting his collar.  He’d undone his bowtie shortly after the reception began, and Sabrina always appreciated when he did so.  “But you know my last name has been the same as yours for a few hours now.”

“You may be Mrs. Scratch, but you’ll always be Spellman to me.” He flirted with her as his fingers drifted across her exposed collarbone.  Two years together or not, he could still make her tremble with just a touch. She couldn’t take it anymore then and pulled him down by his hair to kiss her.  If their first kiss as husband and wife had been passionate, this one reached maxed out levels.  

When they pulled apart she shivered and he didn’t hesitate to rip off his jacket and drape it around her shoulders.  His smirk matched hers as they both were taken back to that first night.  

“Thanks for your jacket.”  She said with a wink. 

“Thanks for marrying me.”  He winked back and reached over to wipe at her smeared lipstick.  “To be honest, I was surprised you ever gave me a chance.”

“Stranger things have happened, Scratch.”  She shrugged and pulled him down to kiss her again.  Her makeup was already messed up, they might as well mess it up more.  

They stayed out there a bit more, enjoying a reprieve from the attention and soaking up being together just the two of them.  When another gust of wind blew by and not even his jacket and his lips on hers couldn’t keep her warm enough he chuckled and made a suggestion. 

“Why don’t we go inside, babe.”  He pecked her lips one more time as she pouted. 

“Why don’t you take me upstairs.”  She suggested again, waving her eyebrows and daring him to do it.  He nearly opened his mouth to agree, no one would miss them anyways, when Prudence poked her head out the door. 

“Don’t you two even think about disappearing.”  Even in her pregnant state she was scary, maybe even more so.  “Sabrina your cousin is about to do something very embarrassing and I swear the agarvation will send me into early labor.” 

“We’ll be right in, Prudence.”  Sabrina said, laughing at her intensity.  When Prudence didn’t budge from her place in the doorway Sabrina rolled her eyes and grabbed Nick’s hand.  “Or we’re coming now.” 

She stopped in the doorway with Nick and kissed him once on the cheek, and decided not to tell him that he had lipstick on his face.  She leaned in to whisper in his ear again, first in thanks that he married her too and second all the things she was going to do when this night finally ended and they were alone.  Needless to say Nick had to swallow heavy and breathe deep to keep himself from whisking her away right then.  Instead they chased down Ambrose who had decided he was going to do his own version of the dollar dance, taking off a piece of clothing for every dollar he raised for the new couple. 

Sabrina laughed and tagged teamed it with Nick to pour coffee down his throat.  She wasn’t all that surprised that her cousin had pulled a crazy stunt at her wedding to Nicholas Scratch.

Because really, stranger things have happened.

[sarcastically-defensive17]

There’s going to be a part three to benefits right? Like I don’t think I can live without knowing the end of the story.

Conclusions? - C. Hood

Final part of the ‘Benefits?’ Series.

I had planned to release this when my hiatus ended but I have made y’all wait too long, and I was far too excited. This is my fav set of fics that I have done and I’m so glad that people liked them!

I hope you enjoy! Thank you all for reading, you have my love.

Xoxo - Cas

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Against her better judgement, Y/N had listened to Youngblood as an album on repeat for weeks after it dropped. The songs were powerful, perfect even. She had relished in the sound of their voices, the way they worked their instruments perfectly. She longed for her friends every time she listened, and the pain became addictive. Yet, she found comfort in ‘Moving Along’.

Things had been extra tense since her conversation with Calum. Another week had passed, and they were in another state, the men jumping around on stage, singing their hearts out, putting on a show for all of the people who came to see them.

But... Calum wasn’t himself. He shied away from the flashes of the camera. He still sounded perfect in all of the songs, yet he was dejected. Turned in on himself almost. Shy, hurt.

Per the fans requests, she snapped many shots of Calum, adding them to the plethora of shots of the other guys. She was paid to take photos, after all. She may as well earn her money, even if she struggled to look at Calum without feeling hot tears burn at her eyes.

Moving Along started and she smiled slightly. She especially enjoyed the song, moving her feet to the high energy chorus, ignoring the sting the lyrics left in her heart.

What she didn’t expect, was to turn to take another shot of Calum, and have his eyes staring straight at her.

His verse came, and he tore his eyes away from her faster than expected, and her photo turned blurry.

“Is it bad that I’m hoping that you’re broken? Is it bad that I’m wishing you’re so broken?” His voice broke, crackling as the words danced off of his tongue.

It was subtle, not noticeable to those who didn’t know Calum. Who didn’t know his little quirks, the little aspects of his being that alluded the general public. Y/N knew.

From her position at the front of the stage, she could even see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and the way he rubbed his face on his shoulder, disguising it as an adjustment of his ear piece.

It was the second last song of their set, the collaboration with the Chainsmokers being their last, and then Calum would be off stage.

Watching Calum sing the lyrics struck a chord inside of her. The first verse was full of such anger, but as it progressed, Luke’s verse portrayed sadness. Regret. Everything Calum had been trying to tell her the other day.

The feelings were overwhelming. She was furious. She knew that there was another song for Calum to write, having heard many parts of the other songs the guys were working on, but the pieces worked themselves together in her mind.

She had her speculations, but chose to divert her thought pattern. Every time she cast her eyes on him, she felt a ache in her stomach.

For so long, she had near constant emotion flooding her eyes. She couldn’t disregard her anger.

The songs moved quickly, and she climbed on stage to get photos of the group performance to close the pre-show. Andy had already agreed to take the pics for the Chainsmokers, knowing the tenseness of the past week for her. Y/N was looking forward to escaping to her hotel room and mulling over her thoughts.

For 5 days she had been contemplating whether or not she should stay on the tour. She had savings, enough to rent an apartment in another state. She could find photography work elsewhere.

But, she also couldn’t stand to be away from Calum again. There was a sense of hopefulness existing between them. She was far too scared to grace the topic again, and history had told her enough that Calum wouldn’t attempt to converse with her about it again, but still - she had hope that she would work up the courage to move past her anger and the sadness of her broken heart.

She was looking for a new excuse to forgive him every day, and she found them. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. To tell him that she was sorry for leaving.

She couldn’t bring herself to apologise, when he pushed her away.

She worked up the courage and booked a flight. It was a week away. They had no concerts scheduled for the next two weeks, taking a small break in between states.

She had only told Andy, Alex and Drew about her news so far, knowing they would be the most relaxed. Her relationship with Drew had been near non-existent. She had been using him, but when Calum came back into her life, she could barely be in Drew’s arms without comparing them to Calum.

It was cruel of her to do so, so she made the shift to simply friends. Neither of them missed the benefits connection all too much, and their relationship was already friendly enough.

The days moved along faster than expected until she was three day’s out from leaving.

She had planned to break the news to everybody the next day, but she found that the hardest part was already done when a knock sounded on her door.

Calum was bleary eyed. It had been rare for him to be seen without blood vessels visible in his sclera, and he looked no less worse for wear now as he stood at her door.

She stood in shock when the opening revealed his figure. He looked heartbroken, the same as he did in Ashton’s hotel room a few weeks back.

She fought with herself not to embrace him.

“D’you mind if I come in?” His voice was small, making her heart feel smaller.

Her voice wouldn’t work, instead she moved her body aside to make way for his large frame. He was shrunken. His shoulders sagged slightly, his hands clasped together. A clear sign of his nervousness, to Y/N.

She could often read him like a book, and she could see that he was hurting.

She had been looking for a resolution before she left, and she couldn’t help but think that this could be it. Her stomach was vibrating from the force of butterfly wings, and she watched Calum sit carefully on the edge of her bed.

She watched how his eyes fell over the bed, settling on a familiar green blanket. He had gifted it to her a few years back, knowing she hated to use hotel linen. She adored the soft fabric, taking it everywhere when she was in unfamiliar dwellings.

She forced her eyes away from him, clearing her throat to kick her voice box into the right gear.

“What do you need-“

“You’re leaving.” He said, more of a statement than a question. Her eyes grew in size slightly. She had planned to tell them all the next day, so she couldn’t understand how he had come upon the information. “Andy is a big mouth. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. You should see how he acts when he has content that he can share. He’s as giddy as a kid on Christmas.”

He refused to meet her eyes.

“I was planning to tell you all tomorrow. My planes booked for a few days time.” She hadn’t realised that she had folded her arms, her right hand rubbing along her left elbow. “I didn’t want to leave without telling anybody. Without telling you...”

“Like you did last time?” The words were intended to be venomous, but the sniff that followed told her exactly how he was feelings.

However, her anger still flared, “You know why I did what I did.”

He nodded softly, pawing at his eyes gently, turning his head to look out the window of her room. The sun was setting, the horizon mesmerizing.

“When you first left, I was so angry.” His hands were wringing together again. “I started to hate you. I wanted you to be as broken as I was - as I am. But then...” he blinked, a tear slipping down his face as the light of golden hour washed over his sun kissed skin. “Then I wanted you back. I would get drunk, I would sit there with my phone in my hand and want to call you. I wanted to apologize every day that you were gone, but, I didn’t deserve you. Hell, I still don’t deserve you. I’m the one who said those horrible things to you.”

She stepped closer, watching the way his eyes locked on the scenery outside of her window. The picture in front of her was reminiscent of the night in Ashton’s room, except this time Calum is the one who can’t bear to look at her, for fear of breaking.

“I wanted to talk to you before I left.” She spoke honestly, brushing hair away from her eyes. No matter how hard she fought herself, she wouldn’t look away. Who knew when she would see him again, and she was falling in love with the lines of his face all over again. “I wanted to tell you why I was leaving, but... I don’t know, I was scared of telling you why I can’t stay, and finish discussing what we did that night. I couldn’t start the conversation. I guess I am now, because I can’t keep fighting with myself anymore.”

His brows furrowed, his head slowly turning towards her. “What do you mean, Y/N? What conversation?”

Surprising herself, Y/N felt the butterflies disperse. The man in front of her was Calum. Her Calum. Her best friend for years, the man who knew her inside and out. The man who broke her heart, and who pushed her away.

The pain she felt couldn’t be amplified any more. She knew she could live without Calum, but she also knew that every day would be a new kind of pain. She had decided in that moment that she couldn’t make their situation any worse than it was.

“I mean, I love you, Calum. I love you so much that being around you hurts me.” There were no tears, and her eyes were locked on his. The way his face contorted in pain, and the droplets that’s fell down his round cheeks broke her heart, but she couldn’t let her facade fall. She needed to get this out before she left. “What you said the other night, about loving me - I have wanted nothing more than to hear that for so long. But when I finally told you, you rejected me. You did more than that - you made fun of me.”

He was on his feet, face red, eyes bloodshot. “If I could take back every word I said that day, I would in a heartbeat.” His voice was cracking again, she could feel the emotion dripping from him. “Nothing hurts more than when you’re not around. Everyday since we met up again, I wake up and hope that I can do right by you but I know I can never take back what I did. The things I said to you... I hate what I did. I hate that I destroyed something so perfect. Somebody so perfect.”

She felt tears prick at her eyes once again. She wanted to fight it. She didn’t want to spend another night crying over Calum, but the tears weren’t for Calum. They were for the loss she felt. The way she sobbed at night when she wanted nothing more than his presence.

“Don’t, Cal.” She cleared her throat, stepped back. She was retreating in on herself. “Being here, with everyone, it hurts. I spent so long looking for you in somebody else, and now that you’re here, I can barely focus. Every day is like an old wound being reopened. I hear the words you said to me, remember how much it hurt. I just- I can’t be around it anymore,” her voice was a bit higher than a whisper. Neither of them dared to look at the other any longer.

“Moving Along is about you, Y/N,” He sobbed.

It was agony to see him so broken.

He had taken steps towards her and refused to pull her eyes from his face. She wanted to check for any semblance of a lie in his facade. She could read him like a book, and she needed to know his intentions before she chose her next words.

“I have loved you for as long as I have known you, Y/N. I love the way you know nothing about Star Wars, how you’re not afraid to speak your mind. I love you so much that I write countless songs about you. I cant even fucking sleep without thinking of you before. I can’t do anything without remembering the way you smell, the way you smile, the way you fucking do any little thing,” he sobbed again, breathing between his words. “I would do anything, if it means I could have you back in my arms. I would give up all I had, just to see you smile at me again, to tell me that you love me too.”

He walked up to her, hands on either side of her face, forehead against hers. Their heaving breath mixed together, and Y/N fought to keep her cries in.

“Please, Calum,” he felt her tears fall onto his hands. “You can’t want this.”

“I would give up everything, I would leave the band, the public eye, the fans for you. Y/N I would do anything you asked, just to prove to you how much I need you.” He opened his eyes, gauging her reaction. She had pulled back slightly to look into his eyes.

She knew it was a horrible decision, but she kept the thought in her mind that she couldn’t make things worse and she pressed her lips against his.

Their tears fell still, the kiss soft and sad. Calum held her face as if he would slip away if not for the feeling if her skin. Her fingers clung onto his shirt so tightly, afraid that he would push her away again.

He pulled away first, eyes still closed. “If you want to leave, then I don’t want to stand in your way. I just need you to know that I have loved you for so long, Y/N, and I will love you for the rest of my life. Nobody will ever mean as much to me as you do, even if you’re not with me.”

It was as if all of the pieces fell into place. She knew what she wanted, and she knew that they had the time to do it. Once again she reminded herself, what could go wrong?

“Come with me.” She stated, more than asked.

“Sweetheart, I can’t-“

“I’m going back home. There’s just over a week until the next show. Come with me, spend some time, just us. If things go well... I’ll one back.”

“And if they don’t? What happens if we can’t get back to us?” He looked hopeful but the fear was hiding deep beneath his chocolate eyes. “I can’t lose you again, Y/N.”

She offered a small smile, raising her smaller hands to wipe the tears still on his cheeks. “Then I guess we will have to make things go well.”

~~~~~

Despite the comfort they shared in her hotel room, the first few days in L.A. were odd. Tense, but Y/N had never felt more at ease than she did in Calum’s house, her spirits hopeful and a smile on his face whenever his eyes fell on her.

By the fifth day, they were dreading returning to the tour. Y/N had decided that she would go back. They had already booked their flights to Chicago, their next stop.

For now, Y/N sat on Calum’s lounge, her eyes glued to the television as she finally allowed herself to watch Star Wars. They were on the third prequel, and Y/N was fighting back tears as she watched Anakin surrender to the dark side.

Calum was laying on his back, his head resting in Y/N’s lap, his gaze focused on her face.

He was following the curve of his nose, the slight swell of her lips as she unconsciously poured at the television. She was mesmerizing.

He couldn’t bring his eyes off of her. He knew that she was going back to the tour with him, but the thought of losing her again was terrifying. She was his oxygen, and he had spent almost a year struggling to breathe.

“If you keep starting at me, I’ll poke you in the eye. This movie is actually decent, stop distracting me.” She grumbled, pouting further when Obi-Wan and Anakin we’re battling.

“I can’t help it. I’ve missed you,” he said without thinking. The past few days had been about honestly, rekindling and catching up. He saw no reason to hold the truth back now.

His words elicited a smile from her, a slight blush peppering her cheeks. “Suck a dick, hood.”

He snorted, “But that’s your job.”

Her fingers were running through his hair absentmindedly; her heart beating fast. This was Calum. Her Calum. The same Calum that knew her inside and out, yet, he still made her nervous.

The last year has been a rollercoaster, but now, she loved him, and he knew, and he loved her as well. He was free from his fear, knowing that nobody else could amount to the woman that Y/N is.

“I love you,” she whispered, casting her eyes down on him. Her smile was small, adorable and it forced a grin to split across Calum’s face.

“I love you,” he answered. He pulled her hand from his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “What do you say to getting some Mexican food and binge watching Friday the 13th with your favourite guy tonight?”

She deadpanned, blinking at the tv screen. “How can I do that? Ashton isn’t in L.A.”

“Fine, no Mexican food for you,” Calum huffed, sitting up and crossing his arms in protest.

Y/N pouted, latching onto him like a koala and peppering kisses onto his cheeks. “Baby, I’m sorry! I need Mexican food!”

It was safe to say, Y/n got Mexican food that night.

Friends with benefits relationships are always the most dangerous. It is so easy to develop feelings, sharing such an intimate part of yourself with a person, both as a friend and a lover.

Sometimes things are rocky; but other times, the benefits outweigh the negatives.

Tag list: @starshonerose @mantlereid @another-lonely-heart @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @poetnstuff @snookiebrookie @oyesmendes

[shinygoku]

Top 10 CSatM Episodes (2/2)

See part 1 here

As a few paragraphs and pictures for 10 episodes in a row makes a rather long, unruly beast of a post!

The second half of my personal preferred picks for a Top 10, though the order they’re being listed in doesn’t correspond to my favour, but the order how I watch them on my DVDs. I still suggest you read the first half of the list before this one, all the same~

Spoilers below the cut, be warned! ✂

Crater 101

So this ep is pretty much a sequel to Lunarville 7, and is followed up with Dangerous Rendezvous. Neither of those made the cut of my list though, and even isolated from those it makes a solid story. The most Space-y of all the episodes and a visual treat, cause while we mostly stuck to the stark accommodations of Lunarville 7 in that episode, here we see the grey grimy gloom of the outside of the Moon, and the sharp, delightful contrast of the Mysteron’s fantastic plastic Complex. Here, vivid marbled colours and flashing lights join inorganic shapes that suggest something of the Mysteron’s nature, but as always, nothing conclusive.

Moving away from the lovely Aesthetics, this is also a strong one for characterisation. We get some sweet interactions with The Lads and for this episode only, the Best Female Character in the whole show. Linda Nolan is the controller of Lunarville 6, a smart, capable woman who had her own cool space mission referenced and in fact critical to the plot. She is also relatable in that she catches feelings for Scarlet, so while she’s barking up the wrong tree I still have nothing but respect for her, hehee.

Eerie, tense, interesting and still somewhat funny, this is another episode that eeks into an even higher ranking list than 10, I could comfortably put it in 5 and mmmaybe 3. Though I’m not gonna be able to say definitively as the best episodes all bring something different to the table, and this may just be the strongest in the uniqueness regard.

Fire at Rig 15

I get the feeling this may be an unorthodox choice, somehow? But yeah, I just really enjoy it. It’s not a funny episode, but it is rather exciting, and contains some lovely new music and a sweet scene at the end. The Mysteron’s plot is pretty simple, but should it succeed, devastating as it would be crippling Spectrum’s operations by removing the unique type of fuel all the craft uses.

In a way, it’s kind of like a dark mirror to a typical Thunderbirds setup; whereas in that show the initial fire would be more likely to be accidental or just maybe some ne’er do well like the Hood, this time it’s as simple as the Mysterons reopening the master valve. When traditional firefighters would eventually retreat to make room for International Rescue, here Spectrum themselves have a rather passive role as a professional rolls in. And of course, said man finds himself very, very dead due to further Mysteron interference (see picture), with Black seemingly hypnotising the poor bloke into standing too close to the explosion.

From there his duplicate half buries his original corpse and later receives direct instructions from Black to suicide bomb the nearby refinery, and it’s en route to this is where the thrilling car chase takes place! Scarlet saves the refinery but the whole SPV he was driving is completely ablaze at the end of it. Like my thoughts on Point 783, I really appreciate the human touch to the last scene, with soft music as arrangements are made for Scarlet to recover from the horrible state we’re spared of seeing. Seeing how his ability to recover from death is one of the cornerstones of the whole premise, I love it when we’re allowed a bit more insight into what the other Spectrum personnel do in the situations, in this case White specifically instructing Dr Fawn to make sure Scarlet is comfortable as the process takes place.

Treble Cross

A notable and unique spin of an episode, where a rather routine Mysteron threat takes quite the turn when their assassinated target is brought back to life! It seems by the 2060′s we’ll have cool machinery to do CPR for a couple of hours as well as doctors ready to play god when they happen to drive by the car crash scene, heheh

Seriously though, this is a really fresh premise, that the villains who have been using doppelgangers for their devious schemes get the tables turned. This time the duplicate gets perma-killed while the original Major Gravener willingly participates in an undercover mission to help draw Captain Black into a trap at last... However, an easily overlooked factor in the driver who was also killed had been duplicated offscreen, so even with this amazing chance Spectrum can’t catch Black. But the World Capital, Futura City, is saved and Spectrum find the Mysterons themselves can’t tell their own copies from the original person, so it’s all in all a net gain!

Also this episode contains the World’s Happiest Clock, so that’s a neat plus.

Flight 104

We start this story on the incredible note of Captain Blue singing in the shower of the Hotel room he shares with Captain Scarlet. Scarlet then orders them both room service for some lunch. And if that sounds like the start of a fanfic plot, it may well be, but it’s also literally right there in the episode, baybee!

Charmingly domestic opening aside, I love this whole shebang. Again it’s the usual Mysterons threatening of an individual who Spectrum are bodyguarding, but the way both our heroes and villains go about this is different from the norm. Scarlet and Blue are trying to avoid drawing attention, so they spend the whole episode in normal clothes (Blue spending 1/3 of this in that comfy bathrobe!), and don’t have their comms. What’s more, they get a pair of reporters suspicious, and the two trail them looking for a Big Scoop.

When I was first watching this, I was expecting the journalists to get killed by Black to be the Mysteron Pawns, but no! They’re both fine from the start to the end! Then we find Black doing ....something.... to the Flight Crew of the titular Flight 104, but they aren’t killed either, just drugged. Instead, the Mysterons remotely pilot the plane on a slow collision course with the Alps, but are undone when an Electrical Plant interferes with their control.

As breaking into the pilot cabin had the side effect of jamming the landing gear, the plane has to crash land at the airport, but almost everyone being unharmed makes this one of the most gentle episodes of the lot... of course, Scarlet himself is still heavily implied to have been killed from the crash, but even his injuries seem pretty minor this time. And yet, it’s not lacking in excitement, as the tension of Spectrum trying to communicate with the two without their Comms and the inability to override the Mysteron’s control until that pre-established Electrical weakness kicks in holds for a while.

Inferno

Those who know of me from Thunderbirds are Go (the 2015 TV series) discussion are likely to know how much I love the episode from Season 1, Tunnels of Time. It heavily features my favourite ship in that show as they explore an ancient South American Temple which is full of peril. The temple is destroyed by the end of the episode.

So anyway, Inferno features my favourite ship in this show as they explore an ancient South American Temple which is full of peril, and tragically the temple is destroyed by the end of the episode! Heheeheheee~

Ok seriously though, eerie parallels aside this is another utterly beautiful instalment, with set design and lighting that really blows other episodes out of the proverbial water. And the pyrotechnic team clearly had fun with the seemingly unending explosions at the end of the adventure. An all-around visual feast!

Main plot is relatively simple, like in White as Snow, the Mysterons kill a Satellite and its crew and steer the reconstructed version towards their target of the week. Unlike WaS, they succeed in the end, a reminder that they’re still not to be underestimated. No human lives are lost, but the important complex and more tragically, the 800 year old temple that’s otherwise intact, get bombed to smithereens. Something something additional cost of warfare on Culture and History.

But while this is the end of my personal Top 10 list, it’s not all bad, because the Scarlet and Blue antics in the temple are utterly lovely and [chef finger kiss] splendid cinema~!

That about wraps up this Two-part post of mine! Picking 10 out of 32 is easier than 10 out of 100, but it’s still tricky as most of the episodes are very good, with only a few I’d promptly write off as a candidate for the list. And in some ways I wonder if I went about this the right way, some eps I only saw once and might feel strong enough to pip one’a the ones I did choose.

I have been rewatching each of the eps covered, and a few that didn’t make it, but my initial choice was made looking at the full list and letting my gut grab a few, having to think over more as the slots filled. Some fan favourites like Lunarville 7 came close, but I hope I’ve been able to clearly convey what it is about this selection that gave them the edge ;3

I will write further posts on Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons in the future, but after this mammoth and also the Notable Episodes list I’d quite like to enjoy it for a while without thinking about points to talk about, haha

[emmies-archives]

The Quiet Help

Ghost!Shinso Hitoshi X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Death,

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: You move into your new apartment, unknowing it came with a free roommate. Who is also a ghost, and very good looking?

  The first few nights in a new apartment can be a little difficult to adjust. It takes a while to really know a place. Secrets living in the walls aren’t given as a housewarming gift. Everything is waiting to be discovered. Somethings are good; the sun shining in the windows could light up the entire space, or there was a nice breeze if you opened the shutters. Some, were not as relaxing; the way the walls creaked in the wind, or the way the darkness seemed to gather in the corners of the room at night.

Not everyone knows the history of the place when they first move in. Some never even find anything out about the space they live in. It’s those lucky few that are deemed worthy enough to see what a building really has to offer.

That’s what happened to you, though you weren’t sure if you were exactly lucky.

Your parents always told you to be careful with the energies that flowed around you. Messing with something too much or talking something more than you should could bring something into existence.

You knew not to use things like Ouija boards and other items that had a deep connection with the spiritual world. You always seemed to have a keen sense of those things. Something always urged you to stay away from stuff like that. It was almost like you were blessed.

That old saying that a blessing is also a curse that began to reflect on you though.

You started to notice odd things your second week in your new apartment. Surprisingly you had found a two-bedroom apartment for a pretty low price.

Stuff you swore you had placed in one spot was moved. Shadows stared at you from the corner of your eyes, disappearing when you turned to look. Noises in the middle of the night, right outside of your locked bedroom door. The oddities happening weren’t enough to startle you, but you were shaken enough to ask your friend to stay over for a couple nights. Just to make sure you weren’t losing your mind.

“Thanks again, Mina.” The girl grinned at you with two thumbs up.

“No problem, Y/n! I might get to see ghosts!”

“Hey, no. There are no ghosts here.” You didn’t know if you were trying to convince her or yourself.

After a night of watching movies and a dinner of random snacks, you had in your cupboard, both of you fell asleep quickly. Mina insisted on staying in your room rather than the room down the hall.

It was around two in the morning when the Mina was woken by intense thirst. She moved swiftly from your room to the kitchen without waking you. The groan from the pipes as she got a glass of water did though. She smiled when she came back into the room and saw you up.

“You didn’t tell me your roommate was so cute!” She squealed quietly poking your side. In your sleepy state, you just mumbled and moved away from her hands. It took you a moment for her words to actually register in your brain.

“What!?” You gasped sitting up quickly staring at the girl.

“His purple hair is so adorable!” She giggled and pulled the covers up to her chin, “But don’t worry, if you like him, I guess that I can let you have him this time.”

“Mina.” You whispered after a second. “Are you sure?”

“What are you guys just friends, does that mean I can shoot my shot. Oh my go-“

“Mina, I don’t have a roommate.” You cut off her rambling, a panic look covering your features. Her brows furrowed and she looked up at you.

“Um, then who is on your couch?”

Your heart dropped and you almost pushed Mina out of the bed to get to the living room. You could make out a silhouette of a person on your couch. When you turned on the lights, however, nothing was there. You stood staring at the spot for a moment.

“You okay Y/n?” Mina asked standing in the threshold of your room. An uneasy feeling came over you and you turned to look at her.

“Are you absolutely sure that you saw someone?”

“Yeah! I’m one hundred percent sure.” The small smile fell from her face when she saw your worried state. This proved that you weren’t going crazy. That every weird thing that has happened wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

“We’re sleeping with the lights on.”

  Nothing out of the ordinary happened the next few days, you were too busy to even think about the person that Mina saw. You left for work while the sun was still asleep, coming back home at a time no normal person would be up.

Your work was exhausting. You didn’t notice the small things that were happening around your apartment. When you woke up for work, your clothes were nicely folded on the chair in the corner. The night before you had thrown them in a pile. Something from your fruit basket would somehow end up right next to your keys, it would be your morning meal. Even if you came home and collapsed into bed, falling asleep the moment your head hit your pillow; you would always wake up with a fully charged phone that you never remembered putting on the charger.

There was one day that you noticed something. It was a horrible day out and you had woken up late. Because you were rushing, the thought of grabbing an umbrella slipped your mind completely. You were going to be forced to run to work in the rain until you saw there was an umbrella hooked on the strap of your purse. The place you kept your umbrellas was nowhere near you hung your purse. There was no way you could’ve accidentally placed it there.

Weeks passed and the same things kept on. You started to realize the small things slowly, you knew you never did any of them. The previous signs of a haunting were gone, so you weren’t worried. It wasn’t like these things were harming you in any way.

In a way, you were grateful to whatever thing was helping you along. A good morning definitely led you to be less stressed at work, you even felt more relaxed at home.

The only thing you still wondered about was the boy that Mina saw. You hadn’t seen any more shadows around the apartment, you started to thing the silhouette you saw was just your sleepy eyes believing Mina.

Your conclusion that you were just tired changed one day. The paperwork at your agency was a little less relentless and you were able to leave earlier than normal. The nights of you coming home in the dark had stopped, but you were able to leave in the middle of the day.

Wanting to savor the time off, you went straight to your apartment excited to relax. It took almost no time to get through the door and shed yourself of your outerwear. Something in your gut stopped you, and you looked up towards your kitchen just in time to see a flash of purple hair slip around the corner towards the guest room. Your heart skipped and you rushed forward trying to catch whatever it was.

You threw open the guestroom door but you were met with the empty room. Maybe you really were going crazy. You almost said your thoughts out loud. You walked back to the kitchen and saw something that hadn’t been there when you left.

On your kitchen table sat a half-empty mug of coffee, it was still steaming.

  You decided after that day something, someone else was living in your apartment with you. You were glad that whatever it was wasn’t malicious.

On your next day off you went to the leasing office in search of some answers. There had to be a reason the price of the apartment was so low, you hadn’t thought about it before.

The woman at the leasing off looked a little worried when you questioned her about it.

“They were supposed to tell you about it when you signed the papers.” She said and handed you a file. “It was the tenants before you. There were two boys living there. The younger one was the one who moved out.”

You opened the folder and looked up at her. “What about the other one?”

“Well, he passed away in his room in the middle of the night. He had unknowingly suffered from lasting effects of a villains quirk.” She basically mumbled and pointed at the corner of the file at a picture. There were two boys in it. You recognized the shorter one, it was a younger version of the hero, Deku. “That’s him.” Her finger rested on the taller boy, with wild purple hair.

The only word that fell from your lips was a soft “Oh.”

The story that the leasing agent told you was the only thing on your mind. You had to do something about it.

Using the cover of your hero agency, you got in touch with Deku. You said you had a few questions about his hero gear and wanted to set up a meeting with him. He was fine with meeting you at a local coffee shop.

You brought the file the agent let you borrow with you, holding it tightly into your chest. You saw the green-haired boy sitting at a table in the corner and smiled when he noticed you.

“Hello, Deku.” He nodded with a smile.

“Hi Y/H/N! It’s nice to finally meet you!” He said excitedly. The two of you ordered drinks and started small talk about his equipment, your agencies and being a hero.

“I’m sorry, Deku. I’m afraid I wasn’t completely truthful in why I wanted to meet with you.” You set the file on the table between you. You pulled out the picture and faced it towards him.  

“Is that…” Deku trailed off looking at the picture.

“You see, I live in the same apartment you used to be roommates with him.” Deku starred at the picture with so much intensity you thought it would catch fire from his gaze. “I just wanted to know if you had experienced anything weird after.” You stopped yourself, unsure what to say next. You didn’t want to make the boy upset. He was quiet for a moment starring at the picture still. “I’m sorry, this was stupid to ask you. I’m sorry if I brought up any unpleasant feelings.”

“I did.” He interrupted you.

“What?”

“After, you know,” He motioned to the picture, “ I don’t think that he left completely, per se.”

“That makes sense.” You whispered slightly to yourself.

“I’m guessing he is trying to contact you?”

“I’m not sure. Stuff just keeps happening. At first, it was random and spaced apart. Now it seems something happens every day. My friend even saw him one time.” You had shown Mina the picture and she screamed. You knew now that she wasn’t mistaken.

“I would tell you to be careful but honestly, I don’t think he’s bad. It might be a little scary but I really think he is good. When he was alive, he was one of the most gentle, loving people I knew. It was not fair what happened, but sometimes things are better off this way.” Deku smiled up at you, tears were brimming his eyes. “Can I keep this photo?”

    “Um. Ghost?” You said after a while of pulling courage together. You headed back to your apartment promising to meet with Deku again. “I think I met someone close to you today.”

Nothing happened as you seemingly talked to no one, standing in your kitchen. After a while, you felt like giving up. It was already night time and you had to get up early for work in the morning.

“Before I go to sleep, I guess I should tell you that Midoriya says hello and that he hopes you’re doing well.”

It took you a while to fall asleep, your thoughts were a blur. As you were drifting off though there was a warm presence in front of you.

“Thank you, y/n.” A soft voice said. You looked up with the last bit of consciousness you had and saw a faint glint of purple in the moonlight.

The next day at work seemed to pull all of your energy from you. You had fought three different criminals in the streets, you had paperwork up to your ears and you even though you slept the entire night you felt like you didn’t sleep at all.

The morning started out normal, but the day seemed to only progressively get worse. You didn’t even get a chance to breathe in between the criminal attacks. To say that you were exhausted was an understatement.

When you were finally able to go back to your apartment, you still had another report to write. You didn’t remember being a hero was so tedious.

You settled at the coffee table in your living room with your laptop, crossing your legs. About halfway through the report you could feel your vision blurring and decided to take a break. Thinking a glass of water would help, you got up and made your way to the kitchen. In a single second, the ground went from stable to twisting.

You braced yourself to hit the hard tile but instead, you felt arms wrap around you. Your body was limp and you could barely catch your breath. With the last of your strength, you looked up meeting a pair of dark purple eyes.

  When you finally woke, it was with a start. You saw that you were in your bed and confusion set in. How did you end up here?

“You’re up.” You whipped around at the sound of a voice, startled. You calmed slightly when you saw who it came from. The boy from the photo stood a few feet from your bed. He was fairly tall with wild purple hair, dark purple eyes that had heavy bags under them. There was a paleness to his skin. He held his hand at the back of his neck and he looked a little nervous. He took a step forward and you must’ve shifted back because he stopped. “Oh, uh, sorry.”

It took you a second to find your voice, “No, no it's okay.” You looked away awkwardly and picked at the blanket that lay over you. “I’m assuming you caught me.’

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“Really, Y/n. You push yourself too hard sometimes.” Your eyes snapped up at him, widened. He knew your name. You felt a little silly at reacting like that. “Shit, I’m sorry. I must be scaring you.”

“No!” You started, causing him to tear his gaze from the ground. “I’m just surprised, you seem to know me so well.”

“Yeah, sorry. You’ve been here for months now, you’re the only person I’ve seen in a while.”

“Oh right, I guess you would know a little bit about me then.” A soft smile fell on your lips, “Thank you for all the little things you’ve done for me in the past. Like hanging my umbrella on my purse that one time. And stop saying sorry!”

“Oh, sorry.” A blush spread across the boy’s cheeks and he grinned slightly, “You’re welcome. I tried to no get noticed.” You moved over on your bed, sitting up all the way. He hesitantly sat on the edge of your bed when you motioned him over. The two of you were quiet for a moment. “Thank you for talking to Midoriya, I-“ He paused, “I think he was someone important to me when I was alive. When you said his name, a couple memories came over me.”

“That’s good, I guess.” You said and looked over at him. There was a sadness to him, it was ever so slight. “Do you not remember before you, um.”

“Not really. When I try to think about it, it feels like my mind is swimming. There are a few things that I can remember, like Midoriya and emotions. But other than that, there isn’t much.” The sadness grew stronger in him, you could see it on his face now. Without even thinking, you reached out to grab his hand. He tensed slightly, and you were surprised that you could actually hold his hand. When he relaxed and smiled at you.

“I don’t know if I can be of any help, but I want to try. As much as you helped me in the past few months, I want to help you.” You whispered.

“I would like that.” He said quietly and after a moment he leaned down resting his head on your shoulder. You squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’m glad I could help you even a little.”

It was quiet for a while between you two, for some reason you felt so close to this boy. This ghost. Somehow there was a connection.

“So, you know a lot about me.” You started and he shifted his head to look up at you. “Is there anything else that you know about yourself?”

He thought for a few seconds and nodded. “My name. It’s Shinso Hitoshi. You don’t have to call me ghost anymore.” You could feel your cheeks burn a bit until a yawn ripped from your throat. Shinso started to get up seeing that you were tiring again. “I know you don’t work tomorrow, but you still need your rest. Y/n”

“Shinso, wait.” You said pulling him down onto the bed again. “Stay with me.”

Shinso smiled at you and rubbed his thumb over your hand. “I can’t promise that I’ll be here when you wake up. Sometimes I can’t hold this form for long.”

“That’s okay, I just don’t want you to be alone right now.” Shinso felt his chest ache slightly, reaching over to turn the lamp off. He slid down in the bed with you and you nestled yourself into his side, his arms wrapping around you. “I hope I didn’t scare you with the things I did.”

You giggled quietly, “Now that I know that the ghost haunting my apartment is this good looking, I think I’ll be okay with being scared more.” You could feel his chest vibrate with his laugh.

“Go to sleep, Y/n.”

“Good night, Shinso.” You whispered and drifted off almost immediately. He placed a small kiss to the top of your hair.

“I’ll try to still hold you in my arms when you wake up.”

[kokkoro]

Just like Heaven

Living large in a fresh and exciting new relationship, Clarke decides there’s no harm in joining her girlfriend of a month and half on a camping trip into the mountains. Little does she know it’s not the camping she’s used to.

Will she survive? Most likely. Will she enjoy it? That’s still up in the air.

(enjoy a sneak peek of the fic below. Coming maybe soon to an ao3 near you)

-

She should have said no. Is the immediate thought that crosses Clarke Griffin’s mind upon exiting the passenger seat of her girlfriend’s jeep wrangler with a severely under-prepared bag of camping essentials. When she pictured camping, she thought of those tightly packed sites with their numbers and pre-placed picnic tables dented and nicked by previous visitors, a minute walk away from the nearest bathroom--three if you were unlucky. Definitely not the Pinkham Notch Visitors Center of the white mountain national forest with only the trail in sight.

“I’ll be right back,” Lexa says, reaching out to touch her elbow, and Clarke feels a little betrayed by the way her heart skips as she watches Lexa bound up the steps into the visitors office, the lanyard with her keys dangling from the back pocket of her shorts.

Two other cars pull into the small parking lot as the door swings shut with a sharp wire-like groan, squeaky on its hinges. Clarke only takes one glance, seeing the vaguely familiar faces of Lexa’s friends as they roll up their windows and turn down music, before turning back around.

Lexa appears another minute later, and she smiles at the sight of Clarke still by the bottom of the steps. She quickly closes the distance.

“We’re all set,” Lexa says, practically a whisper as her hand finds Clarke’s hip and she steals a kiss.

“Cool,” Clarke whispers back on the exhale, opening her eyes just in time to see the soft curve of Lexa’s smile.

“Do you need help with anything from the car?”

“Uh...” She thinks, unable to piece together a coherent thought in the wake of those very nice lips smirking at her. “No. I’m good.”

Lexa eyes her, and Clarke feels her fiddling with the belt loops of her shorts. She comes to the conclusion pretty quickly, wrapped up in Lexa’s arms, that there’s no way in hell she’s making it out of this alive.

-

“So you’ve… done this before?”

Clarke’s head turns, looking back behind her on the trail. Anya, Clarke remembers Lexa telling her, tall and stupidly in shape much like the rest of Lexa’s close friends. Adidas tank and hiking boots, camping gear all rolled up neat beneath a backpack that has a holder attached to the strap for a water bottle. There’s not one sign of exhaustion halfway through their trek to camp and there’s that spark of jealousy at the ease of motion Clarke watches her weave along the trail.

“I, uh--” Clarke reaches for a tree, pulls herself up forward along the steady incline of the trail. “Can’t really say it's ever been on my to do list.”

Probably would have never been had it not been for Lexa. It’s nice, Clarke guesses, smells fresh. So much so that the outdoors seems to have crawled up her nose, decided it liked what it found, and pitched its own tent.

“Jumped right into the deep end,” Anya says, following step for step. “I’m surprised.”

Clarke glances ahead, around Lincoln and his girlfriend, past Echo and a guy she didn’t bother learning the name of, trying for a glimpse of Lexa leading the way to camp. What she finds is Lexa stealing glances. Head turned, peeking between the others as they wander up the trail. There’s this unmistakable smile in her eyes.

“Me too.”

--

To be honest it reminds her a lot like how they met. Maybe not so much the particulars, but the essence--that fits. Refreshing. New.

Warm.

It’s pretty, too, Clarke will give it that, though it's impossible to ignore the aching burn in her thighs and the way her knees wobble as the group disperses among the clearing, footsteps soft among dirt and crushed pine. Through the break in the trees, the lake isn’t far off, glinting enticingly underneath the afternoon sun, and the gentle murmur of the nearby stream sits just under the breeze that filters through branches. It leaves Clarke pleasantly at ease even as she struggles to (under her breath) regulate her breathing following that last rigorous mile of their hike. Clarke hopes going down is a lot easier than it was going up.

Lexa stops beside her, thumbs hooked around the straps of her backpack, watching as the group squabbles about claiming spaces, dumping bags of clothes and gear and stretching the soreness of muscles.

“What do you think about over there?” Lexa points with her right hand, discreet, to a small patch of cleared forest floor a little further away and closer to the water than the others. Clarke studies it, but finds nothing really to write home about. She chalks it up to the aesthetic.

Bags unzip, this small compact fold out picnic table is assembled in three minutes flat thanks to Lincoln, a small cooking station set up on top that consists of griddle and a couple of pans. The good thing about traveling with near professionals, it seems, is that these tasks are completed without much need for her help, and Clarke is more than happy to be supervisor as Lexa pitches the tent with little interference on her part. Helpful or otherwise.

Clarke doesn’t complain.

--

The fire crackles, roars as it's prodded and poked and fed. Clarke watches the sparks with this kind of weary eyed acceptance, Lexa on the ground in front of her between her legs. She’s draped herself against the plane of Lexa’s back, arms tucked in between for optimal warmth, face pressed against the smooth slope of her girlfriend's shoulder, and the smell of the smoke and what remains of dinner is more than enough to make her drowsy. Her eyes open and close and minutes seem like seconds between them.

The fire is warm, but Lexa is warmer.

“--and he just wipes out, face first.” A ripple of genuine laughter rises from the earth.

Clarke opens her eyes, peering over Lexa’s shoulder at the fire and the way the flames flicker and gasp. The coals glow bright, and Lexa uses the stick she holds to push things around in the lull that follows. Clarke readjusts, unfolding her arms and wrapping them around Lexa’s waist. She feels the little hum Lexa exhales, resting the palm of her hands over Lexa’s stomach, feeling the residual heat from the fire.

Lexa shifts, and Clarke’s eyes drift closed in what she knows to be bliss. A second later she feels the kiss Lexa presses to her forehead. “Are you falling asleep?” Lexa asks, voice quiet.

Clarke nods.

“How long have you guys been together?” comes Echo’s voice from across the fire and it’s enough to sever the illusion of privacy she thought she had tucked close to Lexa’s back.

When Lexa doesn’t answer, Clarke responds, “two months,” and it comes out muffled into Lexa’s shirt. No one needs to know she’s rounding up.

“Two months? That’s it?” Echo responds and Clarke isn’t quite sure how to take the surprise that crosses her face. “Two months and you let this one drag you halfway across the country and six miles into the mountains? Must be love.”

“It sounded nice when she offered,” Clarke half-heartedly defends with a shrug, and she feels Lexa chuckle. No one needs to know that week ago she had been distracted enough that the thought of saying no hadn’t even crossed her mind.

Lexa pats her leg. “Do you want to go to bed?”

Clarke nods again, breathing in the earthy scent that clings to Lexa’s shirt. She lets go when Lexa moves to stand, her arms falling to her sides, and Lexa stretches once on her feet, languid and prolonged and Clarke watches because she can.

“Is the food taken care of?” Lexa asks no one in particular as she helps Clarke up. Once Clarke is standing, Lexa distractedly brushes the bits of dirt and grass off Clarke’s shirt.

Anya waves her off. “I’ll hang it up, don’t worry.”

“Please,” Lexa says as she reaches for Clarke’s hand.

“Hang up the food?” Clarke whispers once they’re out of the main cast of light. The pine needles crunch softly under foot and Lexa flicks on a battery powered lantern hung along the main support of the tent, plucking it from its hook. Behind them the voices carry as the conversation continues without them, but the quiet ring of Lexa’s laughter is unmistakable.

“Bears.”

“Bears?” Clarke squeaks. Her grip on Lexa’s hand tightens.

Lexa glances back at the noise, and Clarke can see bits of fire dancing playfully in her eyes before she turns back around. Lexa gently coaxes her right hand from Clarke’s grasp, reaching for the zipper of the tent and tugging. The zipper whirs. “We’re in the open woods, Clarke. Of course there are bears.”

Lexa ducks inside after slipping off her shoes and Clarke sticks close, scrambling in under the flap. The soft glow of the lantern spills out into the nooks and crannies, and Lexa places it near the edge and then neatly goes about stripping from her tank. She pulls a loose t-shirt from her bag, slips it over her head.  

Clarke follows suit. She finds a pair of sweatpants that are most likely Lexa’s, clothes thrown together, split between two backpacks when they hastily packed the night before. Things pile in the little divot around the perimeter of the tent, shirts Clarke doesn’t have the energy to wrestle back into her bag, stepping out of her pants and into the sweats as Lexa begins laying out the sleeping bags over the air mattress.

“It gets cold at night.”

Clarke lets out a huff of laughter, precariously balanced on one foot as she peels off a sock. “I’m cold right now.”

“There’s something to be said about consistency, then,” Lexa says with this quiet, teasing smile. “I have an extra blanket.”

Clarke shakes her head, tossing her socks in the general vicinity of her bag. Lexa watches them sail past their mark.

“Not a word,” Clarke says as she plops down at the edge of the mattress, glancing towards Lexa but her eyes find the insufferable quirk to Lexa’s lips. There are no words, just the widening of Lexa’s smile as she trails after her, bending over to brace her hands on either side of Clarke’s thighs. The mattress stiffens under the extra weight as Lexa leans in to kiss her.

“I’m glad you came.”

--

She sleeps like the dead, though according to Lexa that isn’t really anything new. It is a surprise considering the current... accommodations, but all things considered, Lexa is with her. Sleep is going to be as good as ever.

And for once when she wakes up Lexa is still beside her.

Clarke blinks, half of mind to think it’s a mirage. She doesn’t bother clearing her throat, and her voice comes out as gravely as coarse sandpaper. “You’re still here?”

Lexa smiles even though she doesn’t open her eyes. “Were you not expecting me to be?”

“I figured you’d be taking advantage of having basically the entire wilderness at our doorstep,” Clarke says, sneaking a cold hand under the hem of Lexa’s shorts.

“We’re here for a week,” Lexa drawls, the sound turning into this low hum somewhere deep in her throat. “I have plenty of time.”

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Alex ze Pirate Mini Review 3: About pacing and terrible dark revelations played as jokes.

And here we are at the second part of the arc, which was titled “Abandoned”. And just as a word in advance: While “Underappreciated” was mostly defined by the shitty behavior Sam experiences by his crew and how Dobson crossed comedic lines to the point Alex and her crew come off more as abusive than “funny” in the way they treat Sam or interact with their environment, this one is defined by another major issue Dobson has in his bigger stories overall: Pacing.

 See, the right pacing in a story is really one of the most important basics a creator kinda has to grasp. He or she needs to know primarily the following things in relation to pacing, when planning out a story: What are major events/storypoints/key scenes I want to work towards to, what happens inbetween these points and at which speed do I get from point A to B, C etc.

Cause the truth is, a lot of stories out there follow certain tropes or expectations, particularly when they are part of a certain genre, so people more or less have ideas when a certain “point” is hit, what the next point, if not even the endpoint is going to be down the line. And people also kinda want to reach the endpoint of a story, particularly if they expect doing so will finally give the protagonists they care for (and the audience itself) some sort of satisfying conclusion.

The one thing you can now do however, which can in the worst scenario totally kill an audiences/readers enjoyment of the story and even break your creation apart, is get the pacing wrong. For example by unnecessarily dragging out your story instead of just getting to the point, especially when people just want to reach the next major beat, resulting in increased annoyance by them. This can e.g. be seen in a lot of fanfics when writers create damn arcs within their own shit, or (to give a professionally published work of fiction as example) the manga Bleach, when instead of fighting Aizen and his two major supporters directly, the “war” against him was unnecessarily dragged out by having e.g. a pointless flashback sequence that barely shed new light on certain characters and gave EVERY damn main and sub captain of the Shinigami a shot at some random villain/minion Tite Kubo created on the spot but no one cared about really, just to make the story arc run longer.

Obviously, the opposite can also be the case, where people just rush too fast from one point to the other instead of giving the audience time to even properly comprehend or explain what happened and why it happened. Which can get additionally frustrated, when by rushing through plot points the work of fiction gets overloaded with concepts and ideas that may on first glance look interesting, but don’t have any real payoff in the big picture of things, making it come off as pretentious in some cases and pointless overall. Like the movie Southland Tales, which deserves to be burned off the surface of the planet.

 The “best” case scenario when pacing a story, is to know when you need to slow things down (give characters and the readers e.g. moments to breath and emotionally comprehend a situation they are in, giving also insight into a characters emotional state or personality) and when to speed things up (e.g. when there is a big battle, to know which moments are meant to focus on, but also when to be “faster”, giving really the impression that time is of the essence, that high stakes in a short amount of time are given and to hit a key event at the right moment to get a satisfying reaction from your audience)

 And now, after giving a glance on my general opinion on pacing, in order to avoid me commiting the cardinal sin of dragging things out, lets just get to Dobson’s actual artwork.

  As you can see, the chapter starts off again with the island, but this time now with Sam not part of the picture and its consequences (no one cleaning up the place in the morning). This is not really a bad thing to start the chapter of, primarily because it creates a nice contrast to the beginning of the first part.

Page 3 to 5 however…

Lets just say I get what Dobson tries to show here, but I think is exaggerated to a degree that kinda hurts the narrative; the fact that without Sam, shit does not quite get done.

The problem is the execution of the idea. See, instead of putting the fact Sam is missing into the forefront, the fact stuff has not been done is. Stuff the crew should be able to handle after a very short time of adjustment easily. I will admit, Talus suspecting they were robbed but then asked if he had also looked into the cabinets, is kinda funny. I mean, it fits the character (and sometimes people in real life) to be so adjusted to seeing a certain situation as routine every day, that when it is slighty changed they may initially assume the worst but in reality just one convenient step of the routine was left out. Less forgivable I think is the fact that seeing how Sam did the clothes the day prior, I have to wonder how dirty those guys are that already everything is left in piles of dirt to the point they have only the following alternative as wardrobe.

Halloween costumes.

…. Ok, why is there Halloween, and likely a modern day variant of its celebration, in a comic set in a fictional world compared to ours, in a time period it would not exactly exist anyway? Christ on a pogo stick, consistency is all I ask for. Oh and of course NOW they realize Sam is gone. Because they finally put together that their daily luxuries they took for granted are no longer available.

Hey now, Talus. You all are guilty of being terrible friends. In fact yu are so terrible, you would make Twilight Sparkle vomit at the sight of yours. Also, why of all characters are you wearing a costume? Unlike those two bitches, you still had clean clothes on a few pages ago. Speaking of bitches, Atea in the middle panel looks readyto be edited in a cumshot video. Just saying for all those “creative” editors out there.

 YAY! Lets get our slave back so he can do all the stuff we care about but do not want to do.

Seriously, if Dobson tries to convince us they want to get him back because they care for him as a person, he fails miserably. Both by the choice of wording in this page, where Atea and Talus react angrier about the fact that without Sam things don’t work smoothly, rather than concern about his well being, as well as any behavior expressed in the previous chapter. These people are not reacting like friends in worry, they act like spoiled brats. Especially Talus who could still get his stupid burgers if he, as the cook of the crew, would just do his job. All he has to do is additionally open a few cabinets. Also, where in the heck is Uncle Peggy? Oh just go to the next pages so we are getting this over with.

Oh great, the lolcat pirates are back. Because they were so hilarious the first time. And look, they got defeated again. And what is their contribution to the story? To give information on where Sam may have gone.

And it is here now where I have to stop and come back to the pacing issue. Cause the last ten pages here? They are a good example of what I meant with rushed pacing and how it ruins things.

Once more I need to say, I get it. I get the major points Dobson wants to get across. That a) Sam is gone that b) without him things are not all that good for the crew anymore c) they decide they want to find him d) they get information of where he is by going after the one feline that can provide a potential hint. Four major story points Dobson wants to get across. And he is free to get them across. But the way he does it, is just way too fast. Neither the characters, nor the reader really gets time to comprehend that Sam is gone and what that means aside of the surface level loss of luxury Alex and Co are now experiencing. The emotional weight of Sam’s “loss” is pushed aside for the sake of cruising through the plot defined by its surface premise, as fast as possible. And considering that the meat of this story is supposed to be how much Sam means to the others as a person as well as his personal tragedy, intend and execution, thanks to this pacing, does not compute.

Pacing and overall structure are way off and fail to engage us in addition to just killing any suspense in what is going to happen next or surprise us in an interesting fashion. In other words, I am not entertained by this story. It is not funny, it is not sad, it is not “adventurous”.

Personally, I would suggest to actually use the “premise” of those ten pages and turn them at least into two independent chapters of this story overall, to give the premise actually some meat on the bone. The first chapter being a multipager with the crew realizing Sam is gone first BEFORE realizing that without him their luxuries are gone (putting also emphasize this way on the fact they care for Sam also more as a person instead of just the things he does for them) and then once they realize he is missing, deciding to go after him. Only to realize that when they want to prepare themselves for the task (getting their gear together as well as lunch e.g.) that everything is dirty or damaged because Sam normally takes care of it. Leading to a sequence of them having to experience doing Sam’s work for once, making them already there indirectly in part realize what he all does they took for granted.

The second chapter would then be them on the sea, trying to think of where to look at and eventually stumbling upon the cat pirates. Only instead of defeating them easily this time and getting the information, expectations are subverted and the cats actually fight back first, leading to a more hilarious confrontation where Alex and her crew can actually also show how they can be funny and badass, instead of Dobson just always “talking” and trying to convince us they are cool. And look, I do not expect a multi chapter One Piece like battle against the cat captain who turns out to be a master of Scratch Jutzu or something the moment he sniffs catnip. But please, give me something in this story. Some conflict, some diversion, something for characters to actually do that shows they can be badass, funny and awesome. Something that is as cartoony as Dobson likes to claim Alex ze Pirate is, but has never shown in its entirety.

Instead we get to this page, where of all characters Talus is the one who finally seems to realize how he and others took Sam for granted.

 And again, even this page is a good example of terrible pacing. Cause this realization, now shoved in within this and the next page? It would mean so much more if it happened in parts somewhere else in this story before or after, slowly to everyone stepwise. Cause then it would actually feel like a “development” of a chain of thoughts and internal realizations. Instead it is half heartedly thrown in all at once in those pages, to get the point across that NOW Sam’s “friends” finally realize, they took him always for granted.

Congratulations on realizing that you are the real scum in this story. What do you expect from me now? To give you hugs and feel pity for you like you are characters in Steven Universe, all because you had an epiphany? You do not deserve mine or any readers sympathy, just because NOW you feel bad for your terrible behavior. Cause if I did, it would just feel rewarding in a certain manner. And you do not deserve a reward. You have to make things up first or at the very least put in some sort of effort to show me, that you are not just feeling bad, but are willing to change for the better. Otherwise you are in the future still just the same toxic abusers you were two pages ago.

... man, that really felt like me already venting at Steven Universe.

Anyway, we have reached the town where Sam is from…

And it looks NOTHING at all like the artwork from Legends implied parts of the town to look like

Where are the badly drawn docks? The houses that imply this is not just a small village on the beach but an actual small town? The twon square where they sell underaged boys as slaves? Jesus Christ, what is the orphanage going to look li-

Nevermind. The orphanage is crushed. And all the people that lived in it are dead.

... WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU, DOBSON! This is genuinely a sick joke here. Look, I am all for black and dark comedy myself, but this feels cruel. I need to remind you, Alex ze Pirate in Dobson’s eyes was also meant to be a comic for all ages. Meaning something also little kids should be able to read and enjoy. Pushing aside how much of that would be bullshit by the shitton of sexist and sex jokes in other strips of the comic alone, this here is not the kind of joke I would like to see a little kid being exposed to when reading any form of story.

Look, I am not saying you can’t make fun about death. But Death is also a major part of life, which many of us are already being exposed to at an early age. And I think it is important that when we talk about death as a subject in a story for kids, we should actually address it in a “mature” manner the kid may understand. That death, as in the genuine loss of a life and not e.g. an awesome interpretation of the Grim Reaper as written by Terry Pratchett, is tragic. That it means permanently losing someone you or someone else loves. That when talking about it, we should talk about it in a serene manner. And there have been great kids stories who tackled the subject directly or indirectly. A Land Before Time for example, the loss of Littlefoots mother and how he “copes” with it while the majority of the plot still focuses on an adventure to find the Great Valley… that is great. But this thing here that Dobson does? To create a shocking revelation and then sell it as a joke based on the fact that Alex, Atea and Talus react with jawdrops to it? It is not handling the death of those children with any form of gravitas in a story that supposedly is meant to be emotional and play with your heartstrings. And yes, we know nothing about those kids, they are essentially non entities to further the plot. But in context of the story, you have to consider, those kids that are “unimportant” to the reader? For the character of Sam, those people were family. At page 14, we as readers start to realize what Sam finding this locket and going back to his hometown only to find out everyone he knew is dead must mean for him. We, people with even an ounce of empathy and understanding how tragedies should be in part written realize, that shit just hit the fan for Sam and that the story should genuinely focus on how Sam would deal with such a tragedy. But does Dobson treat this revelation with any grace or dignity? NOPE!

It is just a bunch of information dropped on us randomly by an old guy who (I guess similar to Dobson) does not even care that kids died. They are just a plotdevice. Oh and also most of those kids died of an infectious disease where most people die of dehydration after literally shitting non stop. Just to add additional gravity and dignity to the loss of prepubescent lives that should count as Sam’s siblings.

You know, I have to change my opinion on Alex. She is not the worst abuser of Sam. The worst person to ever abuse Sam is Andrew Dobson himself. Cause at least Alex did not kill his extended “family”. And to think this “children comic” was written by the same guy who made a “So you are a Cartoonist” strip where he talked about how kids media can tell more mature comics with more gravitas than live action stuff and novels meant for people that aren’t just children, young adults or mentally stucked manchildren. Dobson, after this page you have no right to call your stuff “appropriate for children” or mature anymore.

I am genuinely furious at this page right now as that I can go on. So here, have the last page of this chapter so I can wrap this up and enjoy some good forms of fiction…

Well Atea, everyone he knew from this village and potentially cared about died in an house collapsing with no one having removed the remains still and he is going on a cemetery. UNLIKE DOBSON WHEN WRITING THIS, USE YOUR BRAIN YOU INSULT TO LESBIANS!

[fardell24b]

Mysteries of Lawndale - Esteem of the Investigator - Conclusion

Mysteries of Lawndale 01 Esteem of the Investigator Conclusion

19 September 1997

Lawndale High’s Assemblies were held in the afternoon. Ms. Li was speaking. “And once again, the bake sale was a tremendous success. We raised more than $400, which was subsequently stolen from the office, but I am confident we will get that money back. In a related note, the school nurse will be visiting homerooms on Monday to collect DNA samples. Now, Mr. O'Neill has exciting news about our after-school self-esteem class.”

 “Thank you. You know, self-esteem is a little like your car's brake fluid. You may not even know you're low on it until, one day, you go to shift gears and nothing happens.”

 “That’s transmission fluid!” A student called out.

 O’Neill tried to cover his mistake. “That's... what I said. Anyway, I'd like you to meet two students who have completed our self-esteem course faster than anyone ever before! Please join me in congratulations as I present these certificates of self-esteem to... Daria Morgendorffer and Jane Lane.”

 “Oh, what the hell,” Jane said as she stepped up to the podium.

 There was meagre applause.

 “I just want to say how proud I am today. Knowing that I have self-esteem gives me even more self-esteem.” She glanced at Daria. “On the other hand, having all of you know that I had low self-esteem makes me feel... kind of bad... like a big failure or something.”

 The audience began to chuckle at Jane’s behaviour.

 Jane turned up the histrionics. “I, uh, I want to go home.” She held her arm to her forehead, feigned a sob and ran off.

 “Daria, wait!” Mr. O’Neill called out, and ran off after Jane.

 Daria stepped up the podium. “No one can battle a terrible problem like low self-esteem on their own. It takes good coaching...”

 And so the Assembly went on. Daria concluded by thanking her family, including Quinn and then sat down.

  That night, the Morgendorffers went to the UFO convention, which had come to Lawndale for the weekend. The first thing Daria noticed, was that the convention hall was laid out exactly as it had been at the previous town where Sick Sad World had filmed. ‘That’s not my concern. I’ll be busy with Lawndale,’ she thought.

 “So, Daria, what are we doing here?” Helen asked.

 “We’re going to look at all the exhibits.” Daria hoped to find Artie and offer her investigative services.

  Unfortunately, Artie was nowhere to be seen, but Daria did take pictures of various people (alongside the exhibits) so the evening wasn’t a total loss.

20 September 1997

Daria and Quinn were riding towards Jane’s house. “Why are we going to your friend’s place again?” Quinn asked as they turned into Howard Drive.

 “She’s joining us in the investigation of Lawndale,” Daria answered.

 “Which house is it?” Quinn asked. All of the houses looked as if they came from the turn of the century, or even earlier (as opposed to their area of town, which dated from much more recently).

 “The cream colored house, the one that is second last on the right,” Daria answered. They were approaching it.

 “The one with the weird lawn ornament?”

 “Exactly.”

  Jane, still drowsy from recent awakening, answered the door. She opened it to find Daria and Quinn, standing next to a strange three wheeled contraption that resembled an oversized scooter. “Hello, Daria,” Jane said.

  Daria showed the vehicle to Jane. “It’s a three-person scooter. Up to three people can use it to travel along a street or footpath, at a faster than walking pace. It may not be as fast as a bike or tandem but has come in useful.”

 “Oh, definitely,” Quinn murmured.

 “So, we’re doing more investigation today?” Jane asked.

 “Of course,” Daria answered.

 “Cool, once I have had my morning coffee of course,” Jane said.

  Once Jane had had her breakfast, the three of them set off on the Triscooter (as Jane had christened it) ready to take on what Lawndale could throw at them.