#I wonder if anyone will read these far enough to find this hidden section

[thedeskofaltoclef]

I 166% believe that the completely tore up zoned out Meri is the best possible way to describe her high. What is she thinking about? What is going on in that sweet lil brain?

And to your question, as all things should be shrouded in some mystery, there is a non zero chance your idea has been canonized because at minimum it 100% has been added to the Deskverse

my friend wanted me to draw her and ani getting high i also threw meri in there since everyone was drawing her with a blunt

(the small crying man is my other friend he felt left out)

[asteroidzzzn]

stargirl | part 3

pairing: rockstar!ellie x bartender!reader

warnings: cursing, smoking, eventual sexual themes, ellies kinda an asshole, reader is delulu (are u sensing a pattern here)

songs in this chapter: crybaby - the neighborhood rip 2 my youth - the neighborhood knee socks - arctic monkeys true blue - boygenius cool about it - boygenius why'd you only call me when you're high - arctic monkeys

word count: 2.1k

a/n: i just couldn't resist

summary: the fireflies is a new band consisting of three people. after being cheated out by their former bassist, they needed to find a replacement, and quick. who better than you, the cute bartender that hasn't touched an instrument in years?

fireflies gc🌟

dina <3: you guys better prepare i have great news

your phone flickered with dina's message as it lay on your chest. the ringing broke the unbearable silence between you and ellie.

ellie sat on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, scribbling in her journal. you figured it must be some sacred text, considering how she never let anyone read it but herself. it probably included random blurbs and ideas, but she would only let the rest of the band see the finished versions of her writing.

you interlaced your fingers together. cracked your knuckles. looked around the room. twirled your finger in the stray string hanging off the bottom of your shirt. pulled it. you were very bored.

dina had urged you to be early to practice today, but she got caught with jesse in traffic on the way. she was an estimated fifteen more minutes away. leaving you and ellie alone. together.

"dina says she has great news for us," you told her. you got no response.

her eyebrows furrowed and she flipped her pencil around, erasing a whole half page of information, flicking the excess off that landed on her shirt. it was the third time she erased a major section. you figured she had writer's block.

"can i read what you have so far?"

"no," she responded promptly, not taking her eyes off the paper.

"but i could help."

"no, you couldn't."

"rip out a page for me."

"what?"

she looked at you like you killed her whole family.

"yeah, could i try writing something?"

"you—ugh. sure, fine, knock yourself out," she flipped to the back and handed you an uneven sheet of paper. you grabbed a stray pen from the coffee table.

"have you ever written a song before?" she folded her arms and leaned against the arm of the couch to face you.

you hesitated. "one."

"about?"

"an ex," you mumbled, embarrassed at the recollection of your angsty teen attempt at writing a sad love song.

she groaned, shoved her pencil into her journal, and shut it aggressively. now that she was done with her own writing, she seemed to want to bother you about yours.

"let me read the lyrics. or listen to it," she said while throwing her journal somewhere to the ground.

"only if you let me read one of your songs."

she scoffed. "ultimatums are rude."

"you've probably done worse," you bit back.

she couldn't argue with you. she waited for you to pull up the doc to the lyrics before she gave you the journal. she reached for your phone, but you pulled it back before she could grasp it.

"i don't want feedback. it's old and bad and i'm aware. also there are three on this, so i get to read three of yours."

"fair enough about the feedback. thought we agreed on one for one, though?"

"i know you well enough to know you'd read the other two anyways."

she tilted her head down to smile out of your sight, but you caught it before it was hidden. "yeah, you're not wrong," she dropped her journal in your lap and you handed her your phone.

it was very vulnerable for both of you. song lyrics tend to be very intimate and personal. you hoped she liked them. but also that she wouldn't share her thoughts.

her opinion mattered an odd amount to you.

you noticed her fingers tapping on your phone. her knee bounced. maybe she was just as nervous as you. you wondered if you were the first person she shared this part of herself with. probably not. but the thought lingered on your mind for a while.

you carefully opened her journal to where the pen was. apparently, this was also her sketchbook. countless messy faces, animals, and instruments littered the pages, to the point where there was no blank space left.

there were only eraser marks on the right page, and a song titled crybaby on the left.

crybaby didn't seem like it was written by ellie. it was too...honest. it revealed things about her. while reading the lyrics, you felt connected to her. you understood what she was feeling.

crybaby (name is work in progress).

i think i try too hard

how i look, what i do, what i'm sayin'

i spend too much time explainin' myself

i hope there's a chance some time to change it

you glanced at her beside you. she avoided your eyes, continuing to scroll on your phone, knees tucked up to her chest.

note: keys heavy for this song.

i've got this anxious feeling

but it goes away for a minute when I'm with you, being breathing

i can't fake it i can taste it, my heart's breakin', please don't say

that you know, when you know

you flipped to the page before it, with two new songs.

(??? no name)

note: shit ton of treble or i'll sound dumb

i don't believe it if i don't know you

i don't believe it if it's on the news or on the internet

i need a cigarette

i'm just telling what's true the truth

and you could play this at my funeral

tell ******, "don't cry and don't be sad

i'm in paradise with dad"

close my eyes and then cross my arms

put me in the dirt, let me be with the stars

you almost wanted to stop. it was too personal. you skipped to the third song.

knee socks

when the zeros line up on the 24 hour clock

when you know who's callin' even though the number is blocked

when you walked around our your house wearin' my sky blue lacoste

and your knee socks

note: this part repeats like 4 times. we'll see. maybe would sound cool with reverb?

you and me could have been a team

(zeros)

each had a half of a king and queen seat

(lined up)

like the beginnin' of mean streets

you could be my baby

you cleared your throat.

"i'm done."

ellie nodded, lip in between her teeth. "almost done."

you waited for a few more minutes, trying to remember which three songs you wrote all those years ago, and imagined what she was thinking at that exact moment.

"ok, i'm done too," she gave you your phone, and you handed her the journal. there was a moment when neither of you dared to breathe too loud.

"so... what did you think?" she asked, not moving her head up from her lap.

"oh? thought you didn't want feedback?"

"only if it's good."

"well, then i couldn't say anything," you teased her, which drew out a chuckle.

"i'll only tell you good things, too."

you sighed. "ok. you first."

the two of you shifted on the couch to face each other. you propped your head on your hand, staring at her with anticipation.

it was a long moment before she spoke. "true blue is really good, and cool about it is... kind of tragic. why'd you only call me when you're high is a fucking mouthful of a title, but the lyrics aren't bad."

you smiled. "so, which one was your favorite? and why?"

"depends on my mood. if i'm...angry, i guess, or bitter is the better word. it's why'd you only call me when you're high. if i'm sad it's true blue. even more sad, it's cool about it. that's an evil song, man. like really. heartbreaking."

you shrugged. "i tend to have that effect on women."

"yeah, whatever," ellie rolled her eyes. "tell me about mine."

"it's kind of the same for you, actually. a sad-ish one, evil and heartbreaking, and a little angry."

"and your favorite?"

"definitely crybaby."

she groaned in disgust and covered her face with her hands.

"damn, i thought i ripped that page out. that one sucks."

"i thought it was great. it's honest. and relatable."

she scoffed and turned away from you. you had noticed it was a habit of hers to avoid the situation when she became defensive. and being rude usually never helped. "yeah, totally relatable—"

"i'm serious, ellie. you're a good writer. they're good lyrics. why haven't you performed it yet?"

"it's not really your business."

but it is, you wanted to say. you were part of this band too, now. but she didn't act like it, and it made you furious. you sighed. it wasn't worth it to start a fight now.

"ok, fine," you at least made it evident in your voice that you were disappointed. ellie had let you read her journal, but it wasn't enough. you wanted more. to learn everything about her. to figure out who she really was.

it was extremely difficult to accept the fact that it would most likely take a very long time.

in almost perfect timing, dina and jesse pushed through the door.

"guys, i am so sorry, traffic was a bitch and i had to pick something up for us."

you shook your head, "don't worry about it. come on, sit down," you moved to the left slightly so dina could take up the space in between you and ellie. jesse took the white box dina held into his own lap and sad on the floor near the couch.

"so? what's the big news?" you asked dina, who was beaming.

"this is huge for us, it could mean—jesse, don't open the box yet. i haven't told them."

jesse swiftly placed a cupcake back inside the box. "sorry, i'm hungry."

dina continued, "ok. drumroll, please."

everyone patted their thighs.

"we're going on tour with the fucking strokes! we'll open for three of their shows on the east coast in two months!"

"oh my god..." you breathed. "that's huge!"

ellie blinked. "you're serious?"

dina nodded fervently. "yeah, dude. we could get so much recognition for this. it's the opportunity of a lifetime."

you brought your hand to cover your mouth, and realized you were shaking. were you ready for this? would they find a better bassist to go on the tour? would you become famous? no... this was a part-time thing. just something on the side.

you swallowed, and spoke just barely loud enough for them to hear.

"would you want me to go...or....?"

the three turned to you, unsure of what to say. you had made it clear you were simply a temporary fix for the real bassist that would be joining the band. and you would leave, and be on with your life.

dina bit the inside of her cheek, eyebrows furrowed. "that's up to you. i... i'm not sure we could find a different bassist in the next month and a half that's like... you. y'know? don't feel pressured, though. we could make—"

"i want you in the band," jesse shared while licking the sprinkles off of a blue cupcake. "you're basically already in it, anyways. not much would change. think about it, we'd love for you to be apart of it officially. right, guys?"

ellie and dina shared a quick look. dina nodded, "of course."

"yeah," ellie added, giving a brief, small smile.

your heart raced. this would change everything. but you were willing to try.

"ok. i want to stay. i'll go on the tour with you."

dina pulled you into a hug.

"welcome to the fireflies, y/n. for real this time. now, let's get to work."

༊*·˚

the next sixty days flew by before your eyes. you sat down with the band and allowed them to read one of your songs. you did a bit of revising, and they loved it.

you urged ellie to share knee socks with the others, telling her that it was the perfect "tour song", and that everyone would adore it. she didn't understand what you meant. she did it anyways.

it was two days before your departure to the first destination: seattle, washington. you had to take a few weeks of leave from work to go on tour. your boss was very understanding. with a laugh, you promised you would remember her when you were out and about as a famous rockstar signing tits.

ellie, dina, and jesse sat on the floor on their phones. you yawned and gripped the couch to help you stand up. as soon as you were upright, you fell back down again.

with your face pressed into the cushions, you mumbled, "g'night."

dina chuckled. "you want a ride home so you can sleep in your bed? that couch probably has rabies and it feels like a rock."

"don't care," you sighed, sinking into it.

after a few minutes, you had nearly drifted off to sleep. you suddenly felt a chilling leather material cover your upper body. you heard someone sit down.

"aw, you're so sweet, taking care of her," dina teased under her breath.

"shut up," ellie whispered back immediately.

"just saying."

"a—what's that supposed to mean?"

their voices became fuzzy as you drifted into sleep.

"whatever you make it mean."

a/n: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ellie putting her leather jacket over reader when she's asleep oh i'm ill i need a doctor ASAP! hope u enjoyed !!!!!!!!!! so excited to write the next chapter i'll actually die. i do need to go to sleep rn tho it's 12:44am so, goodnight (❁´◡`❁) also,,,,, since reader's officially part of the band now should i change the pairing? since she's not a bartender anymore,, really,,,, i don't know.

taglist: @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD: Chapter VIII: The Fisher King

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Teach me how to ask for forgiveness, even when I know I don’t deserve it. 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: angst; PTSD; very brief mention of infertility in the first section, description of injury

A/N: Art is Breach by Keith Perelli (2006-2007)

Word Count: 4.2K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VII: The Fisher King

But still. Still.

Bless me anyway.

I want more life. I can’t help myself. I do.

I’ve lived through such terrible times, and

There are people who live through much worse, but… You see them living

anyway. When they’re more spirit than body, more sores, than skin, when they’re

burned and in agony, when flies lay eggs in

the corners of the eyes of their children,

they live. Death usually has to take life 

away. I don’t know if that’s just the animal. 

I don’t know if it’s not braver to die. But I 

recognize the habit. The addiction to being 

alive. We live past hope. If I can find hope

anywhere, that’s it, that’s the best I can do.

It’s so much not enough, so inadequate but

…Bless me anyway. I want more life.

-Tony Kushner, Angels in America

“Do you think you’ve been happy, so far?” you ask her one night. 

“I think so, yes. Have you?” Her answer is immediate. She’d never been one for much indecision – that was always your role.

“Yes. At times. I’ve also been very sad.”

“Me too.” You can hear it now, that sadness, in the quietness of her voice.

“I hope we can be happy in the future. That we’ll be together, always.” The two of you are laying under the stars, hidden in the forest, in your old sleeping bags. She says the trees guard you, keep you safe. If you’d had more experience, you’d have felt very close to death in that moment. 

“We will be. Don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t want either of us to die,” and you can hear how young you sound, how naive. Despite all you’ve been through, you’ve not been able to let go of that part of yourself. When you’re older you will think that, perhaps, that was not such a bad thing. 

“We won’t. That won’t happen.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can. I have a plan. If we stick to it, we’ll be okay.”

“Alright.” Your trust in her is implicit, after all. 

She is very quiet for a while after that, you think she’s fallen asleep, but then suddenly: “You know, I can’t have children.” 

“How do you know?”

“Things were off – Dad was able to run some tests.” That sadness is there again, echoing in her voice, and it is a very painful thing to hear from someone you love so much – someone you know would want that for themselves. 

“I’m sorry.” For there is nothing else to be said in light of such a tragedy for her. She would make a wonderful mother.

“It makes me really sad.” There’s quiet again, for a long time, but then: “I know it’s a terrible world. Not safe – but still… It makes me very sad.” 

“I’ll have one for the both of us. We can share.”

One of the last times you ever hear her laugh – you should have cherished the sound more – branded it in your memory. “I’d like that.”

Beth is dead two days later. 

-

He sits by your sick bed for days. Shrouded in darkness, he lets his fear, his nightmares swallow him whole – the great gaping maw of a monstrous dream come to fruition. He thinks of Sarah’s mother, his ex-wife, for some reason – can’t understand why she comes to his mind in this moment, honestly. He hasn’t thought about her in decades, that woman he’d known so long ago – can hardly remember her face now. It makes him indescribably sad.

He’s trying to prevent his mind from dissociating. To keep himself present, in case you wake, in case you need him. But the sight of you, small and pale and broken. So still. It fractures his mind in a way he cannot understand. The days of you being lost – of his mad flight to find you, out with teams of hunters, combing the forest for any sign of you, the way he’d screamed at Maria and Tommy and Ellie and anyone else who got too close, spoke too loudly. He’d been extremely close to violence, of the unimaginable sort. That terrible last night, his own destruction, flashing over and over and over in his mind, the things he’d said to you. He could not compare the terror to anything else he’d ever experienced before. The pure horror of that being the last memory you’d ever have of him, of coming across your dead, mangled body, of never seeing your bright, unguarded smile again – in decades filled with fear, day in and day out, he now felt he’d been infected with the most unimaginable of diseases. A stabbing, bone melting pain to his mind, his heart, his flesh, again and again, all of his own making. 

This is his fault. He did this to you. Pushed you away. Made you feel like you needed to flee, escape him. He wants to be angry with you for being so stupid, for going out there without him. But how could he not understand it – for what choice did he give you? That you’d prefer to face the monsters out there, rather than the one inside, the one in front of you – rather than him. He thinks he too would rather face the horrors out there, a thousand infected, than face himself. Face his own guilt, his own shortcomings. 

He still isn’t speaking to Maria – can barely look at her. He’d told her if you were dead it’d fall on her head. That he’d blame her for it forever. It was a viciously unfair, nasty thing to throw at her when he’d been the one to push you away, the one to tell you to leave, when this was really all his fault alone. 

He thinks of Tess – how he’d not been able to keep her safe either, all that time ago. A regret so profound, he’s sure he’ll swim in it for the rest of his miserable life. 

Ellie had said sending you away that night had perhaps been the worst thing he’d ever done. The sight of you in this bed proves that fact, and he is filled with a rage so black, so all consuming, it cripples him, will send him to his grave if you don’t come out of this. 

He hasn’t slept in days. Merely closing his eyes to rest his racing mind a few moments at a time. The baby you’d had with you has been with Maria. Tiny, squealing, rageful thing that she is. She only quiets when Maria brings her into your room, lays her beside your sleeping form. As if she knows already, even now, that the best place in the entire world is at your side. He closes his eyes in the quiet interminable moments of waiting and tries to picture Sarah’s mother in his mind. To remember her face. He cannot. There’s only a flash of dark curls. The sound of her voice, gone to time. All he can conjure with clarity is the image of Sarah’s smiling face that last morning he’d spent with her. His most precious memory. Something he exercises in his mind every morning when he wakes, lest, he too, forget that. He wonders if she’s still alive, what happened to her after the outbreak. He hopes she survived – hopes she lived a life not too full of terrible, painful things. Although, he isn’t entirely sure there exists any other version of this life anymore. He hopes he can find it, if it does, and give it to you, if you’ll let him.

He looks back at your resting form. The welts and scrapes that had marred the side of your face are healing well. The swelling receding into angry bruising. Nancy was worried you’d sustained a head injury, as an explanation for your prolonged unconsciousness, but neither the bones in your face, nor your skull were broken. Perhaps only a mild concussion, she thought. It inclined her to believe this was simply a side effect of the blood loss you’d endured from the wound in your side, the exhaustion and trauma.

Joel thinks he might become a religious man after this. Thinks he might start going to church, prostrating himself at the effigy of the cross to thank whatever higher power there exists for bringing you back to him, keeping you alive, allowing him another chance to see that smile, even if it’s never directed at him again. Because that is something else he is terribly afraid of. That his last words to you that night, will be the only thing you’ll ever be able to remember of him. All you’ll ever be able to see of him, going forward. He is so, so afraid of the consequences of his own terrible actions. Terrified that the moment he cast you away will be the only moment the two of you live in together for the rest of your lives.

And he thinks: Joel Miller, you are a man made up of fears. 

-

The first thing you see when you finally open your eyes again are his hands. They’re scarred. Tiny, faded marks of a life past, marring the lines of a map of all his pain, his history. Your body hurts, one large throbbing bruise. But the fire in your shoulder, the muscles of your back and arm, has abated. You say a silent prayer of thanks that you’d been able to keep from straining it more. Any more damage and you’d have probably lost function of the limb entirely.

His eyes are closed, his temple pressed against his fist on the arm of the chair pulled up to your bedside. The house is entirely silent – dark and peaceful. You stretch your legs under the blankets, no terrible amount of pain, and his eyes spring open immediately at the subtle sound of your shifting. So attuned to you, that the mere rustling of the sheets brings him to wakefulness. You watch the dilation of his pupils, everything else frozen in place. Head still resting against his fist, he stares at you wide eyed and unblinking. You take in his face – his eyes are bloodshot and rimmed in the harsh purple bruising of exhaustion. His too long, messy curls lie limply across his forehead. He looks haggard, wrung dry. The most defeated you’ve ever witnessed him. Neither of you say anything as you study the other. He still hasn’t moved and the look in his eyes – afraid, resigned, like you’re a predator about to come in for the kill strike. 

You feel indescribably sad for him, seeing him like this. Brought down low. It’s wrong. Not an image of the Joel you know that should exist in the world. You’re sure you mustn’t look much better. Broken, the both of you, in this shared moment. You slowly start to slide your palm across the bed towards him, and like a flip bringing him back to life, he melts onto the ground from the chair. Coming to kneel on the floor at the edge of the bed, he grasps your outstretched hand and presses his forehead into your palm, his grasp so, so gentle. His other hand snakes up, under the blankets to grip your bare knee in his warm palm, his thumb slowly sweeps over the bend.

His shoulders begin to jerk, in tiny little gasps. He’s crying.

“I was so afraid.” It is choked and guttural, a confession of the highest order, an admission of weakness, a supplication for mercy, for forgiveness. 

You know that his words are all encompassing. He was afraid that night, when the two of you were attacked, when he told you he loved you, when he sent you away, when he couldn’t find you. He’s been afraid for decades, since the moment he met you, since the moment his daughter died. Your heart cleaves in two at the sight of his defeat. The hot slide of his tears through the spaces between your fingers, pooling in the cup of your palm, the liquid feel of them burns you, incites a violence in your heart to rise up at the sight of his suffering, of his pain. But you say nothing. Too weighed down by your own terror, your own pain. 

By the prospect of having to tell him the truth. The secret you’ve been carrying with you, that you’re pregnant. Terrified of his reaction. Of his possible rejection. For it isn’t just you anymore that would feel the loss of him. There’s two, three, of you now. And you’re terrified of having to ask him to bear this with you. Don’t want to have to ask. And part of you knows, is positive, that he’ll be there for you without you ever having to even ask. That there would be no question of it. No other alternative. That if anything else, the man before you is honorable and good – despite his violence, despite his sins, despite his fear, he is good. He would never abandon you to face this alone. But still, you’re afraid. Just as he is, just as he has been. So you say nothing, simply bring your other hand up to cup the back of his bent head. 

There are no words that could fit in the quiet space of your room in that moment – so swollen is it with all your shared fears, all the things left unsaid. You let him cry. 

-

Ellie finds him sitting on his front porch, guitar in hand, strumming gently – a mug sits by his side. There is no fight to be had now, this she knows. Perhaps no reconciliation, either – not at this moment. But there is much to be said, still, or even perhaps, merely silence to be shared. This is her olive branch. In the days since your disappearance, and then since you’d been found, recovering, she’s had a lot of time to think. To consider her choices. 

“Hey.” The look on his face as he watches her walk up guts her – so full of reluctantly glad surprise. 

“What’re you drinking?”

“Coffee.”

Of course. “Where’d you get that?”

“Uh… those people that came through last week. A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it, but … it’s not bad.”

“Oh,” she’s slightly at a loss for what to say, how to continue. Their once easy banter seems so unreachable with so much laying between them. “You need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.”

“Okay,” he says succinctly – like he’s not going to take her incendiary bait. He looks away, considering what he’s about to say next. “Dina. Is she your girlfriend?”

And nope, she sure as fuck hadn’t been expecting that one. “No! She – That was just one kiss. It doesn’t mean anything,” she denies, referring to the kiss he’d accidentally witnessed last night when he was on his way home from trying to see you. “She just… I don’t know why she did that.”

He tilts his head contemplatively, gives her a knowing look. “You do like her.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are, but I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

And she knows she told herself she didn’t come here to fight, but he’s so damn aggravating and nosy, she can’t help it. “You’re such an asshole!”

“I’m not trying to –”

“Just – just leave it.” She snaps, looking out at the dark road. “Have you been in to see her today?” Veering towards less conflictive ground. 

“Nancy didn’t let me in, said they were both restin’.” He drags his hand tiredly over his face, “Haven’t had much of a chance to talk at all.”

“But before… how’s she been?”

“On the mend – tired, I think. Nance said she’s recovering well. But quiet. She– she doesn’t much want to see me, to be honest …” Maria had said you’d been withdrawn. Not really wanting to see anyone besides Nancy and the baby.

“That was – When we couldn’t find her… Scared the fuck out of me.”

He looks down into his mug of coffee, his jaw shifting side to side, “Yeah… yeah. I– it was–” She knows he can’t discuss it, can’t even voice the terror that gripped him at the thought of losing you. Something about the confirmation of knowing how much he loves you, settles something within Ellie. Reinforces the resolve in her heart. 

“Not just for her though. I was scared for you too.” The look he gives her then – she sees that flicker of desolation she was so scared he’d be lost to forever if you’d not come back – if you’d died. There isn’t much left in Ellie that’s overly sentimental, but she could cry at the relief of knowing you’re okay, the both of you. 

“Kate’s cute as fuck,” she smiles. 

“She is… got those big blue eyes.”

“What are you gonna do? With them?”

“Not much I can do, I guess. ‘Cept take care of ‘em. Keep ‘em alive. If she’ll have me…”

“Love them,” she adds, and he hums in agreement, tilting his head a bit. No point in hiding it, he’s gone soft, everyone knows now, might as well embrace it. Put up a sign. “Well,” she continues, “We both know you’re good at doing that, at least,” her eyes are full of laughter, full of memories. “Taking care of misbehaving girls that can’t ever do what they’re told.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo. You listened sometimes.”

“Yeah…” she chuckles, “You’re right, there was the rare occasion.” Her grin is roguish.. 

“Guess I’ve got enough practice ‘bout now, don’t I?

She goes suddenly serious, “Do you ever feel ashamed? When you remember what you did?” The question is abrupt, as if she wasn’t expecting herself to ask, but couldn't help it. She could be referring to so many things, so many sins. 

He thinks about the day after Sarah died, when he’d been so ready to follow her to whatever end. His mind shies away from the memory – that is shame –  a wound healed over, but still tender if pressed on too harshly. But he considers it now, in light of her question, how the overwhelming feelings driving that choice had been acceptance in that instant. A readiness to be done with all that continuing in a world without his daughter promised. Fate had granted him the opportunity to flinch, a chance he’d then passed on as a gift to Ellie. No matter how she saw it, he’d given her a chance to flinch. Something perhaps, one couldn’t recognize had they never consciously held that cold gun in their hand, pressed it to the tender nook of their temple and looked their own mortality in the face. But he’d given it to her, and not even an entire life of reliving all he’d endured as of yet, could ever, ever make him regret that choice. A parent did what they could to give their child the gift of choice. That was, in the end, the only thing one could do. The gift of choice, something he now had and so arrogantly squandered. Birdie was his choice. Fate had given him a gift once again, now he had to consciously decide to flinch or not. 

“No. Never.” There is no doubt – no room for doubt. “I told you once, if I ever had the chance to do it again, I’d do it exactly the same.” There was a space where one could exist with their sins and not resent them. Joel knew it well now. There was only one road that had led him to this moment, to this place. He could not regret the decisions that’d brought Ellie to this life of peace and safety. That had brought him to your door. You had never felt like a sin. The sight of you, it made him calm, so free. There had been fear, too much of it, but never regret, never shame alongside your name.

“Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?” he asks her, and he can see the question takes her aback, a second of shock crossing her face. It’s all the answer he needs – for the thought to never have even entered her mind. She shakes her head, sharp and quick, “No.” She pauses, and then says, “Fuck your fear, Joel. If that’s what’s keeping you from her you have to let it go. It’ll be the thing to kill you in the end. Maybe not dead in the ground, but in a worse way.”

“I know…I know, Ellie.”

And so what if he had been afraid? In a world, a life, overrun with the worst possible outcome playing out in real time, what was one more terror? He realized it wasn’t the fear of loss that held him back. It was the fear of himself. Of his own inadequacy, his own monstrousness. Because he’d already lost you. Could feel the current loss of you, your absence, acutely. Like a gaping, putrid wound. The days you’d been missing, that he’d been so fucking terrified that he’d never see you again, that you were dead, as he searched desperately for you – he was already experiencing that which for so long was the reason for his denial. And he could think of nothing now that could be worse than not having you. Of knowing his little bird was existing out in the world and that he couldn’t touch you, hold you, kiss you. Fuck his fear indeed. 

What did it matter if the world was vast and cruel if, in the end, they had one another?

“I struggled a long time with surviving. And no matter what, you keep finding something to fight for, something to be brave for,” he repeats his long ago words to her.

“You keep going for family… And she’s family.”

“Yeah… she is.”

“All this, it can’t have been for nothing.”

“It’s not. It won’t be.”

Existing in a grave for all those years, only to be violently pulled awake by a forest fire of a little girl – it changed the nature of a man. His nature had been changed irrevocably. And he needed to give this new version of himself to you now, in its entirety. And what struck him most was that despite all this, despite all he’d changed, lost and grown, since the start of all this, since Sarah died – who he was hadn’t entirely been determined yet. There was still possibility within him. There was still hope for more. And you saw that, you’d always seen that. 

In a sudden startling way, he could perceive what he was, what he lacked, what he could be. You shared that perception; your vision of him was another gift. What was it about this sudden acute sense of self perception that was so close to madness, and how was it that suddenly, when you realized you were in love, it was as if you were able to see the world as it really was? Cordyceps had blanketed the earth in a film of death that he now saw in spectrums. There was a spectrum to death as it existed in the world, as what you allowed it to shape itself, and you, as. How did you perceive death – loss? How did you let it affect you when it inevitably touched your life? Was it to overwhelm you – or exist alongside you as simply another phenomena of nature? He could exist on that spectrum set about by nature or he could break free from it. Cordyceps – and all humanities’ basest desires it catered to – could go on existing, could continue to subjugate the world to its will, but he would break free from that subjugation of fear, of death, of failure, he would live his life now as he chose to. He could perceive with such clarity now what was real and what was not. His little bird was real and alive and waiting for him. This was no delusion, no farcical whim; it was a glance down into time – into the realities he’d once known and lived in, a world before calamity and fungus and dead little girls – and it wore the staggeringly beautiful face of you, a glance at the woman he loved. 

“She’s angry with me. I– I hurt her.”

“Hmm… True… but she isn’t like us… she’s good. Kind. She’ll forgive you. She understands you.”

“Perhaps,” he says, but he isn’t sure, is terrified of the alternative, will try and make it up to you for the rest of his life if you need him to. 

“Maybe time’ll be the thing to heal this wound” 

He pauses at that, “It wasn’t time that healed it… remember?” The memory of their past hangs, once again, heavy in the air, but perhaps now, in this moment, a bit lighter than before. 

She shakes her head, gives him a small smile, “I remember.”

 She’s quiet for a moment, pensive. He’d missed her so much. This easy casual nothingness between the two of them. Just being together, talking. And as he takes her in, her chin tipped to the breeze, eyes closed, he thinks: if he could have done it all again, he would have loved her better. Perhaps made better choices. But he could not have loved her more. 

How broken, how small he must have been, just a short time ago, to have found that thought so difficult to confess, even just to himself. 

“Go find her, Joel. Tell her what you need to tell her.”

Chapter IX

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[fruitycasket]

She Knows (ALTRVerse Fic)

Fic about one of the Twins unveiling a secret Marvin would rather keep hidden and threatening him with it. Also up on Ao3 under the pseud RottenFruitz. Comes in at about 1,746 words.

Written because I support women's rights and women's wrongs <3

Don't trust the Magic Circle.

Those words, Ramesses's words, often play in Marvin's mind when he's alone with his thoughts.

Doctors said the old man's mind was going, but Marvin wonders how much of it is an act.

An ordinary man speaking too openly about the Circle's misdeeds might be called a conspiracy theorist, or he might suffer a friendly visit from a white mask. An old, insane man who spends his time rambling about cosmic entities on the street is always ignored unless he's being laughed at—or given some spare change.

If it's a disguise, entirely or partially, it's a good one. Because he is old. It is possible some things are getting away from him, and it wasn't like he had all his ducks in a row to begin with from what Marvin can tell. But then, he'd helped Marvin get into the Circle, and you didn't manage that if you had zero respect.

All that was to say when Ramesses told him, Don't trust the Magic Circle, Marvin believed it.

Sometime after that ominous decree, Marvin got to work on his mask. A shiny new (illegal) spell later, it was capable of salvaging memories as they were tampered with, among other things.

He had not been expecting the little trinket to lay bare the sheer expanse of what was taken from him.

The weight of what he doesn't know and can't remember is enough to crush him some days. Sifting through that enchanted mask, sometimes it has nothing new to show. Sometimes the sheer pettiness that memory-erasing spells are used for staggers him. There are Circle members who insult people, then swipe the memory of it as if it never happened. And if something as tiny as that is worth messing with someone's head for, how many big things is Marvin missing?

Once he starts thinking about that, if he's not careful, he'll spiral far enough that he'll be out of it for a whole day.

Perhaps it's this knowledge that drives him to indulge in these little rebellions, to sneak or talk his way into places he's arguably not supposed to be in.

One of those places is a little, out-of-the-way library. Devoid of other readers save for himself, the place is dark, lit by a couple yellow lamps, and furnished by a handful of chairs and desks. The books here are interesting, a little more advanced than he's allowed to read about, but not anything he thinks will get his tattoos burned off and his Circle status revoked—excommunication, some people called that.

So far, however, that threat hasn't erased the thrill of poking around where he's not allowed.

He's the Chosen One anyway, marked by the claw of something pretending to be a white cat in his dreams. (Though, given all the blood that came out of that "mark" he's not sure that prophetic dream wasn't a prophetic nightmare.)

What's wrong with the Chosen One wanting to get smarter?

His eyes alight on About Magic and the Mind. The title on the spine hooks into his flesh and reels him in until the book's in his hands, being gingerly laid open on a dusty, scratched table.

There's a little note at the front warning that the book's contents are illegal to anyone who's not a magician, or a magician under a certain class, which he ignores in favor of skimming the contents for things that look interesting. He skips immediately to the section going over the dangers of playing in the mind.

Leafing through the pages, he finds many spells he's heard of but knew little about prior. Mind's Eye is one of the few that gets its own fancy name, the rest are plain: Possession, mind-walking, memory-erasing, memory-replacing, and so on. They're safe enough if done well, says the book, but done poorly or with malicious intent, or if a single mistake is made, they're effective ways of turning a healthy human mind into pudding.

It becomes clear the author did or does believe that these spells need to be banned. Period. There's too much bad it can be used for, and a brain was too complex a machine to mess with.

"Marvin."

Marvin jumps. He scrambles to collect himself before he spins around, but his efforts are for nothing once he realizes who's standing at the library's entrance. Seemingly an ordinary white mask at a glance, the flicker of red hair and voice give it away.

One of the Twins.

The sister, he thinks, based on how she's a little taller than him, rather than a full head.

How? Why? Did someone see me come in and report to them?

He has both heard and seen the sway the Twins, both on their own and as a unit, have on people. Seasoned white masked magicians, flinch away in fear when the Twins turn cold eyes on them. To make one angry at you must be a cataclysmic event of life-ending proportions—sometimes literally, if all the rumors Marvin's heard as he's grown in skill are correct.

Is it the brother or the sister they say is most dangerous?

Seeing this Twin stalking towards him throws all preconceptions about being Chosen out the window. She pulls down her hood, and takes her mask off and sets it on a table beside her, and he thinks that maybe that huge white cat is punishing him for his earlier bravado.

"Ma'am," he says, "I'm sorry I…" got lost? Confused? He averts his gaze and worries at his shirt, running the pad of his finger against the little cat mask necklace lying against his chest. "Uh…"

"I'm not a wild animal, you can look me in the eyes, lad," she comes closer and the door lock magically clicks shut.

That's that, then. I'm dead.

Marvin does not raise his head or his eyes. Maybe she's not mad about the library and this stuff isn't particularly off-limits. Surely she would have led with that, otherwise. "Was there something you…?"

As she draws close, she looks down at him with some deep, aching hunger and Marvin has never felt so far away from an escape route before.

"…something you needed?"

What is she going to do to me? Can I get away?

Her eyes aren't visible from where she's standing. Or maybe she's just made the entire room darker by being in it. "I'm just here for a talk."

Would it matter? If I attack her they'll take… they'll take everything. I can't live like that.

Marvin closes his book like that will make his reading of it less incriminating. "About?"

"A little birdie told me I'd find you here. I can't say I'm surprised." When Marvin has no reply, she continues, drawing closer in slow, painstaking steps. "You're young, stupid. Everyone is, at some point. You, me, my brother… Ramesses."

"I, I don't understand"—Marvin barely gets the sentence out before she grabs the front of his shirt, plus the necklace beneath it, gloved fingers grazing his skin harsh enough to bruise. He sputters, unsure if that was on purpose or if it's a happy coincidence. Either way, the horror on his face makes hers light up in turn, though she doesn't smile.

"No, I don't think you do," she pulls Marvin in so close their foreheads all but touch.

This is beyond overkill given his only crime so far has been sneaking into some dingy old library, isn't it?

Unless that's not what she's mad about.

Marvin's blood flash freezes. He tries not to look as terrified as he is. "What do you mean?"

"You're hiding something from us," she hisses, "and I have half a mind to pin you against this wall and tear whatever it is from your skull." Every time Marvin tries to squirm away she yanks him back. He stops entirely when she brings her second hand down on his shoulder, too close to his throat to not be a threat. Her palm is warm with a spell desperate to escape its caster and sear itself into his skin. Or maybe it would just erase all thoughts of escape from his head. Or maybe something is already being cast, something to ruin his necklace and all it holds, it's hard to tell. "But I'm not as monstrous as they say, Marvin, and I'm told to expect great things from you. I'd rather not have to leave you raving on some sidewalk like that old man."

Thrown for a loop by that last comment, Marvin stammers, "I, I'm loyal, I've never—I've done nothing wrong."

"Remain obedient from this point forward and you stay," her eyes narrow, disbelieving Marvin's plea and her own words, "Am I understood?"

Marvin nods.

She must know. And now she's—no, they, the both of them—are going to hold it over my head until the day I die.

His precious mask and necklace had just become his choke-collar and leash.

After a long moment of staring into his eyes, the Twin lets him go.

Marvin scrambles back as far as the claustrophobic library's walls allow, his body refusing to stop backpedaling until he hits a wall. The Twin continues to watch him with that hungry look, but its fading, whether from boredom or because she knows the game is over, he isn't sure.

"Starting today, you'll be getting private lessons," she says, "It'll do you some good. I know how young upstarts can be without a firm hand to guide them…"

And threaten them into behaving. "Private lessons? But I"—

She gives him a look that could wither roses. "But nothing. This isn't a choice." She comes back towards him, and he's embarrassed to realize he tries to back up again even though his back is still against the wall. When she reaches him, she lifts his chin up with her finger. His skin crawls. "This is a privilege, an honor. You say you're innocent? Then you have nothing to fear."

Satisfied, she lets him go and starts to leave. The door unlocks, opens, light spills into the little library. Marvin's disheveled self is laid bare in a way he can't stand.

He can't believe it's not storming or dark outside.

The Twin puts her mask back on and readjusts her gloves as she leaves. "Clean yourself up, lad. Lessons start in an hour. If you don't arrive, someone will come get you."

Marvin doesn't move until she's gone and he's alone.

Then he shuts the door and cries in the dark for a long while.

[ohmypawsandwhiskers]

A Hundred Small Deaths Part 1

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC (Lozen)

Summary: After resigning from the Scouts and leaving in the middle of the night without so much as a word to Erwin, Lozen finds her path crossing with his once more.

Content Notes: The first part is really to set the scene and tone, as well as a character study of Erwin. This takes place prior to the events of Of Devils and Monsters (x) - you don't have to read it to understand this fic. Established past friendship and comradery. Eventual smut in part 3. Swearing. Angst. Setting takes place right before the events of A Choice with No Regrets. OC is native-coded.

Word count: 3751

The evening sun setting low colored the sky in soft pastels, casting the empty office in pink and orange hues that felt too calming. A sharp contrast to the task at hand as Lozen slipped through the office door, shutting it gently behind her. It provided a serenity that she could not afford to sink into- not with the short time frame to find the information and leave before the office's occupant returned.

She glanced over to the grandfather clock stationed beside the door. 13 minutes past seven- she had about 17 minutes, give or take, to find what she was looking for and get out. Had it been anyone else's space, 17 minutes would've been more than enough time, but the Captain... not only was he paranoid, but his organizational reasoning was like reading a completely different language- nonsensical to anyone but himself.

Amber eyes scanned the room, looking for any indication of recent use. He wouldn't have had time to dust, not with the amount of meetings he had since arriving mere hours ago. Hours she could've used to retrieve the needed information were it not for Lovof and Vincent stressing the importance of finding and delivering of those documents- they'd practically exhausted the dictionary in the detailed explanation on what she needed to steal from her old friend.

Part of Lozen's heart- the part sectioned off and kept under a strict lock and key- panged with guilt at the thought of undermining someone that would forever hold a place in her heart, even after four years of separation and active avoidance. Were it not for the Circle's protection being tied in with pleasing Lovof, she would tell the Lord to fuck off and find someone else. No, unfortunately it was his only term in negotiating with her- Erwin's plans for the preservation of their homes and land.

As much as Lozen cared for Erwin, her people's survival and future would always come first. If she couldn't be venturing outside the walls for the advancement of humanity, she would protect what little space they had behind the walls. Her brother and cousin could be the adventurers, and she would remain the Circle's backbone- at least until Chief was better.

"If I were blackmail documents, where would I be?"

She stalked around the room, eyes roaming over the space. Desk drawers would be too obvious- too commonplace for Erwin. Still, to be thorough, she checked each of the gold-knobbed chestnut drawers to be certain- a double bluff was possible, as was the possibility of some hidden compartment. Letters, meeting notes scribbled illegibly, scouting reports and ledgers- all were in its place and contained nothing she didn't already know, even if her eyes traced over the iterations of his newly approved scouting formation. Notes and scratched out plans that evolved into complex but messy diagrams- the ever hastily penned scrip in the margins running scenarios based on any potential Titan encounter.

It was a key to the inner workings of a madman's mind- arguments and counter-arguments, some stopping mid-sentence, ranging from lunacy as her argued with himself to brilliance. No wonder nobles were nervous about his quick rise through the ranks. If this was merely for scouting formations, his own machinations to leveraging information and political power plays must be far more complex. Beyond the walls, Titans were the only threat, but within the walls, people were unpredictable variables.

It was the thought of finding and comparing his own information to hers that pulled her away from studying the process and reasoning behind the scouting formation. Self preservation. That's what drove her to keep focused on her goal.

Not finding any locked hidden compartments in the desk, nor anything that resembled political blackmail, Lozen turned her attention to the wall of books that lined the right of the room. Old, worn spines of military history, scientific discoveries, and the mythology held by various groups within the walls were interspersed with more recent books on law and order, as well as the ever-developing field of psychology and game theory. Their leather still retained some of its original shine, and save for the legal texts, most had the beginnings of a well-loved crease etched along the spines.

When in the hell did he have time to read all of these? She'd always know him to be a lover of knowledge, eager to devour any new snippet of information, no matter how mundane, but Lozen assumed that with his busy schedule, he would be too busy to continue the avaricious reading habit.

Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. She was to get in and get out- not reflect on who Erwin Smith had become over the course of two years. Lozen glanced over at the clock and swore under her breath. Eight minutes remained, and she was no where near close to figuring out where he was hiding the information Lovof so desperately desired.

Her eyes resumed their systematic study of each row of books, first taking in where the dust of a month had been disturbed. Any interruption in that uniform coating could help to at least narrow down potential newer additions- ones that might have a note or two stashed inside. Based on that method, there were five newly-added books to Erwin's Stohess library: a 6th edition revised copy on Titan physiology; 'A forgotten people: A journey to the underground', that was a different topic, she noted and filed it away as a possibility; The 100 Year War, Standard Edition; Rethinking the Board: Developing Creative Strategies for Chess- she rolled her eyes at that one and how well-loved it appeared, and while the temptation to believe it would be hidden in such an obvious book was present, it seemed too transparent that he would place would place vital documents in a book relating to his publicly well-known enjoyment of the game; and lastly a Farmers Almanac for that year, no doubt to anticipate expedition conditions as much as possible.

Lozen raised a hand to the almanac- something that appeared far too mundane to arise suspicion- and removed it from its resting place, carefully and gently so as not to disturb the dust or placement around the neighboring books. As she quickly flipped through the pages, she found Erwin's careful script- one intended for others to read- in the margins of a couple of pages, probably marking expected expedition dates that her mind quickly filed away. He clearly didn't expect to lose funding, which told her he was certain whatever intel against Lobov he possessed had teeth.

It took her a moment to realize the smirk on her lips before she replaced the stoic mask she crafted. She needed that information, not just for the Circle's survival, but for her own peace of mind. Insurance in the event anyone in her network tried to turn against her and Vincent. As she put away the book, the pros and cons to delivering the information to Lovof played in her head. On one hand, better the Devil you know, but on the other hand, if Erwin was confident enough to be planning for expeditions months in advance despite the upcoming council vote- where the prevailing sentiment was the disbanding of the Scout regiment, spearheaded by Lovof- maybe this was an opportunity to push Vincent into taking control over Lobov's land holdings, making the dissolution of the Circle a moot point.

Now, that was a very tempting thought- its promise of security shining against a backdrop of possibilities for her people. For now, though, she would hold off on making a decision. She needed to see what Erwin had before approaching Vincent with this fledgling idea.

Three minutes remained. That's all she had if she wanted to get in and out undetected. There was no way in hell that would be enough time to find and copy the information- the allotted 17 minutes had been cutting it close enough, even if it was meant to test her skills and prove her worth to the Lord.

Adapt. The word chimed in her mind as she leapt into action, grabbing some matches to start a fire in the hearth. She meant to surprise him after all these years with a visit. To catch up after so long and extend an olive branch.

Creator, she could laugh at how ridiculous the plan was, but she needed more time. Flames, tiny and golden, began to lick the dry fire wood, illuminating the underside bark into golden crevices. One minute. Lozen couldn't tell if it was the sound of approaching footsteps or the pounding of her own heart in her ears as she dashed to the water pump in the adjacent room and filled the copper kettle, but whichever it was didn't matter. Regardless, she would be finally seeing Erwin after years, and it would be preferable to act like it was planned rather than being caught in her attempt to steal information.

After hanging the kettle over the growing fire, Lozen hiked up her dress to crouch before the fire and began to stoke the flames. Moments later, the click of the door interrupted the steady beating in her ears.

Breathe. You meant to surprise him with a visit.

"I wasn't expecting company." Erwin's voice betrayed no hint of surprise. Just smooth confidence, gentle in its demand to know who had broken into his office.

Lozen took one more deep breath in, steadying herself as she rose to stand and return the hot poker to its home. "I heard you were in the area and wanted to catch up over tea."

She spun around in time to see the stern, fiery gaze shift into surprise. As fire clashed with ice, those ever-furry eyebrows furrowed.

"Dani?"

She shrugged at her old nickname as though it didn't summon the butterflies flitting in her stomach, dusting her palms on the skirt of her flaxen dress, a compromise with the urge to fidget with her hands, as she continued, "I hope it is alright that I let myself in. I was hoping to have everything set up before you arrived back but I guess my timing was off."

His eyes searched her face for any sign of a lie- any sign of contradiction to her statement. After a moment, he turned to remover the tan Scouts jacket, the wings of freedom appearing in a brief taunt before being stored on the coat rack.

" A letter in advance would be more suitable, would it not?" There was no mirth in those words, not that she expected there to be. "Surely there are more appropriate hours for a visit-"

"I didn't want to chance being rejected, or worse, ignored." The lie came easily, because in fairness, it would've been the truth had it been her original plan. In truth, she knew she would've avoided him just like every other time he was in Stohess, but necessity drove her here.

Coward.

The thought was a knife to the heart and was only twisted deeper at the impassive face that barely glanced her was as Erwin stalked towards his desk. The full cheeks of youth were gone, replaced by strong, dignified features. No, just as time changed her, it changed him as well. Youthful features smoothed into marble- cold and beautiful in its angles. She busied herself with stoking the fire as he brought his attention back to her.

He would throw her out. Lozen could feel it coming. Part of her welcomed the chance to retreat and reassess her strategy, but a small part, tucked away deep in her chest, hoped to be allowed to stay. That piece of her heart she'd stifled and buried three years ago when she turned her back on him without so much by way of an explanation. Long she believed it to be dead, but the diagrams and notes to herself breathed life into that space once more.

"Why now? What prompted this change of heart after years of silence?"

Lozen jumped at the scream of the kettle and rather than look at him, mouth agape as she grasped for words, she busied herself with its removal from the heat. Welcomed the painful heat of the handle as she hurried over to the reading nook, where an assortment of teas had been left out.

"Because I finally have a way to make up for disappearing- something to offer up by way of apology for not telling you I was leaving the Scouts." She wasn't quite sure why she said it, and the high collar of her dress seemed to grow tighter. It was a gamble, one she hadn't carefully considered but instead offered as a last resort, one last play to offset the inevitable dismissal. Self-preservation, she would call it.

The two pure white porcelain tea cups clinked against saucers as they were placed on the low table, and she loosed a breath. She bought time, it seemed as silence stretched on. She didn't dare look at him, as though her own honeyed eyes would betray her nerves.

"You'll have to forgive me. I'm not sure how you take your tea anymore," Lozen said quietly, pouring the black tea into both cups.

"It's still the same," she heard him say, a somber tone melting the words as he took a seat on one of the lounge chairs.

Two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk, just enough to soften the darkness. Common ground- that was at least something they still shared.

Carefully, she leaned over the table and passed him the twin cup, careful not to knock the carafe of milk over with the slight volume of her dress.

"I have to admit," Erwin said as she took the seat across from him. "I never believed a day would come where you would willingly wear a dress."

"You've seen me in dresses before."

"Regalia, sure, but the operative word, I believe, was willingly."

The tension eased in the air as they both chuckled, Lozen conceding the point with a shrug, sipping from the cup she cradled in both hands as she leaned back in the chair. "Being in Stohess gave me a new appreciation for them, I suppose."

It had been a change when she moved two years ago, one she initially chafed under until she saw just how useful they were as a tool to blend into the background or stand out. What began as a useful way to manipulate perception developed into an appreciation and affinity.

Expectant silence fell between them, three years of distance settling in with the current of desired explanation. Reason was summoned, but all Lozen could offer was her own gambit of intel. There would be no more pleasantries- the expectant look leveled at her over the rim of the teacup told her as much. If she wanted to remain, it was time to deliver the peace offering. And for a moment, the weight of three years of guilt crashed into her.

"Lobov is attempting to figure out and destroy any blackmail evidence you may have." She paused, studying the stern face across from her. If this was news to him, he showed no sign of it, so she continued. "He is aware of your plans to make a move against him, and the fact that he requested my services in procuring those documents tells me two things: One," Lozen held up her thumb, counting off as she leaned forward, "he sees you as a very credible threat, even without knowing what the documents contain. This lends itself to point number two," an index finger joined the thumb, "you have a very real chance of swaying council support in your favor, even if your support has been waning in the past. The majority follow Lobov's leave, and you are clearly aware, but I will still state it, that taking him out will be key in sustaining the Scout's future for the time being."

"And what precisely are you offering, since you assume I already possess those documents?" Erwin's voice was cool and even in his disinterest as he considered her carefully, no doubt trying to figure out her own angle. The words carefully chosen to neither confirm nor deny the existence of such information, still wary of her, and Lozen couldn't blame him.

"A way to both take down Lobov, secure funding for future expeditions, and gain an incredibly skilled and valuable new member for the Scouts."

That earned her a laugh before Erwin commented, arching a furry eyebrow, "You still believe you possess the same skills after all this time out of practice?"

"I wasn't talking about me. My place is here in Stohess, and even if work didn't require me to remain here" she leaned back in the seat once more as she crossed her legs, "I've grown quite fond of the luxuries like fast-heating water and frivolous fashion for every occasion." Her head cocked to the side, returning his small smirk. "No, I have a lead on someone self-taught, incredibly skilled in both combat and use of ODM gear."

A furrow formed in his brow as Erwin scoffed- he hadn't expected that, apparently. Self-satisfaction bloomed at finally having piqued his interest in whatever she could offer.

"That's not likely- this individual could only have access to ODM gear through the military. You don't actually expect me to believe you."

That last bit stung, a low blow, even if true, as the gap in years resulted in eroded trust, but she couldn't blame his suspicion. Only a naive fool would take her at face value.

"Of course not, Erwin," she cooed as she brought the cup to her rouge-painted lips once more, "but I wouldn't just hand over that information to simply then be cut out or even brought down alongside ol' Nicholais' demise. This may be an apology gift, but I need some assurances."

"Assurances?" Again, she received an incredulous look that asked for elaboration.

"Yes, assurances. If you do, in fact, have the intel, and it is damning as I believe, then I don't need to explain the type of company Lobov keeps behind closed doors. If I return empty-handed tonight, well," Lozen's pursed her lips in an attempt to remain unattached, but it faded as she saw genuine concern flash in those sky blue eyes across from her.

"Why are you even sought after by a man like Lobov? Why work for him?"

Because I am a selfish monster, she wanted to say, but that felt too raw. Too vulnerable. It would open the door to too many questions she didn't want to answer. So, she settled for an easier, more obtuse truth. "Everyone is a slave to something, Erwin. He just happens to know what my something is."

Not just the Circle, but the power she gained with each successful scheme she pulled off in the name of protection. When she entered into the information broker field, it was because she would lie, kill, steal and cheat for the Circle. The unintended reward to doing so, and doing so well, was the growing influence she held- one that would continually ensure the Circle and her safety.

The last piece from the mask of indifference he wore crumbled away, the open concern in the soft "Dani," that fell from his lips, forcing her to look away. To feign interest in the floral design of the rug beneath them to avoid the care shining in his eyes. Hate she could handle, even disinterest. This, however, was like staring at the bright sun. One that would burn her to a crisp if she lingered in this space any longer.

"Look, if you give me some minor piece of information- something that I can bring back to Lobov, I can pitch my plan to him, getting you not only time to finally deploy your new scouting formation, but also get you a force for humanity's future in the form of a soldier. Once Lobov agrees, I will give you more details about the plan as well as the full file of the individual who will be sent to kill you."

A hint of amusement pulled at his features. "You plan to have me killed?"

"No, that's what I'll pitch to Lobov. Once it's clear that even the most skilled intel broker can't locate an unimportant piece of information, he'll jump at the idea of taking you out of the picture completely. So long as you're still as skilled as I remember, there's no actual threat to you." Lozen quirked an eyebrow to mirror his own expression, exaggerating the height in jest. "It would hardly be an apology if your death was my true intention."

"There's no need for atonement in death."

She scoffed, feigning offense with a dramatic flourish of her hand over her heart. "You wound me, Erwin."

She merely received an eye roll in response as he rose to his feet, taking a slip of paper from his breast pocket. The piece of paper, folded crisply in half, was extended out across the table, pinched between thumb and forefinger. An offer of trust.

Lozen jumped to her feet and reached out for it, only to have it tugged out of reach. She found fierce glacial eyes boring into her soul.

"You intend to deliver on your promise?"

Nostrils flared as she huffed in annoyance. "Obviously, Erwin." Hands flew to her hips as she said, "If it puts your mind more at ease, we can plan to rendezvous at my house. That way, you'll know where I live if I do renege. Plus, Chief would probably enjoy a visit from you."

The silent offering of being invited back into her life after being shut out for so long hung like smoke in the air, and when the paper was extended back to her, it was a gesture of acceptance, however hesitantly it fluttered.

Before Erwin could have a chance to change his mind, she snatched the parchment from him and folded it into her handbag. "In a fortnight, after your long range Scouting Plan is approved, stop by for dinner. I'll have the rest of what you'll need prepared." She withdrew white lace gloves from her handbag and tugged them on. "I'm on the corner of Markham and Rose, number seven in the Lionsbrook neighborhood.

And before she read into the expression that met her, she quickly slipped out of the office, leaving not as empty-handed as she had feared.

[nabataprophet]

without hurting or being hurt

Whenever you lose track of your father, you always find him in the same place. You round the corner of the library and find him, as always, tucked into the back with a thick tome in hand.

You tug at his robes to get his attention. Whenever he's reading, no matter how much you try to raise your voice, you can never draw his attention unless you do this.

"Sophia?!" He yelps, nearly dropping the heavy tome. He catches it at the last moment, breathing a sigh of relief to not have beaned his young daughter right on the head. "Sorry, were you calling me?"

"...Is it... fun...?"

Your voice is shot from playing with Fae all afternoon, but your father knows you well enough to interpret your vague statement and the pointing of your finger.

Your father's face lights up. "Dark magic? Oh, there's so much to learn! I could study just the knowledge gathered in Arcadia alone and not make it through even half—no, not even a fourth—of it in my lifetime! Isn't that incredible? I consider myself pretty learned in the ancient language, too, so just imagine how much faster I could read if I were completely fluent! To be honest, I was also thinking about asking the village elder to help me translate a few sections."

Excitement colors his voice as he launches into an impassioned explanation. Recently, you've noticed him moving slower than usual, but seeing him so passionate soothes your anxieties somewhat.

"Can I... learn, too?"

The bright smile on your father's face fades, replaced by a more complicated expression. He takes the tome in his hand and returns it to its home on the shelf, far above where your tiny hands can reach.

"Honestly, you're my daughter, so you may have a talent in dark magic, but I hope there never comes a day you have to use it, Sophia."

"...Why?"

"Hmmm... let me put it this way. The people who live outside of this village aren't very nice people. They like to hurt other people, especially if they have dragon blood like you do. You're a very kindhearted girl, Sophia, so I hope you never have to hurt another person. Do you understand?"

You nod quietly. You don't want to hurt anyone, either. Sometimes when you close your eyes, you see flashes of visions of people attacking each other with weapons. It's all incomprehensible to a little girl who has only known the safety and peace of a true Utopia. You don't understand why a person would willingly hurt another person.

Your father scoops you up in his arms, holding you close.

"You really do resemble your mother more and more by the day." He strokes your head, affection in his eyes and regret in his voice. "...But I can't help but wish you resembled me as well. Ha ha, forgive your selfish father, Sophia."

It's many years later when you finally understand what he had meant when he told you those words on that day. He is long gone now, his lifespan mere days in comparison to yours. Sometimes you wonder if he had already known at that point that he was never going to be able to see you grow older.

It's not until after the war that you return to the library of your youth. You're tall enough now to pluck that tome off the shelf without even needing to stand on tiptoes. The well-loved pages of the book open easily under your fingers. When you were younger, you had wondered what kind of secrets the book your father had kept hidden from you had contained. By all means, it's just a normal dark tome just like the ones sold in the village's shop.

It's the particulars of the spell that stand out more than anything else. The tome details the usage of a spell that restores life force at the expense of another; the second level of dark magic. It's not particularly complicated magic and indeed, you've handled far more complex magic while traveling with Lord Roy's army.

Your father had been right, though. You still wish that you would never have to hurt another person, but you had no longer been afforded a choice in the matter. There's no way that your father could have known that in the future, your perfect untouchable paradise would be under threat of being invaded or that you would end up being taken prisoner.

He was only human, so how could he have known?

I hope you never have to hurt another person, your father had said. He had hoped you would stay nestled safely within paradise for your whole life.

But a life without hurting or being hurt is impossible, after all.

Class Mastered: Dark Bishop

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

Reality Check - Chapter 2

Oh my Odin!  I can not thank you all enough for the love you gave Reality Check’s first chapter.  Each and every comment has brought a smile to my face.  Thank you so much.  Seriously.  And I can’t wait for you all to see where this goes.  We’re only going up from here on out, so buckle up. 

Summary: Y/N and Wanda were very close after returning in 2023.  The two bonded over the loss of their partners.  It wasn’t enough to keep Wanda grounded after she found Vision’s body though, and Wanda wants the best for her friend.  Unfortunately for Y/N, this means she’s going to be thrown into a reality she wasn’t expecting.

Taglist (Let me know if you want to be a part of it!): @dpaccione

Missed the first part?  Read it here! 

Running through the eternal palace halls to hide from the God of Mischief seemed like an impossible task.  You had to find a hiding spot soon.  Unfortunately, the halls were open wide.  The golden pillars were large, and wider than three men, so maybe you had a chance behind them.  You could give it a try since you had nothing to lose.  

With the book gripped tightly in your hands you ran behind the pillar, leaning your back against it.  It wouldn’t be much longer until you could hear his footsteps approaching.  As long as you run around the pillar at the right time you should be able to escape him.  

His footsteps came rushing towards you and then stopped suddenly.  You held in a breath, fearful that he could hear even the slightest noise right now.  If there’s one thing you could remember at the palace halls, it’s that a pin dropping could echo through them.  You tried it once.  

You started to look to the left, taking a glance around the pillar.  You didn’t even hear him approaching you from behind.  His hands quickly stole the book from your hands as you jumped, turning around faster than lightning to look at him.  He was smirking at you.  “If you’re going to steal my book, at least don’t get caught walking out the door.” 

“Well maybe I wanted to get caught.  If I hadn’t, perhaps you would never come out of that library.”  You huffed, causing him to laugh.  

“Oh come now, I’ve only been in there for a few days.  It hasn’t been that long at all.” 

“Only a few days?  Loki, you’ve been in there for a week.  There are three hundred thousand books in that library and I guarantee if anyone has read every single one, it’s you.  What are you doing in there?” 

“Reading, isn’t it obvious?” You rolled your eyes at the response.  

“Why are you shutting everyone out and simply reading all day every day?” 

He hesitated before answering you.  You knew him well enough by now, after several decades together being each other’s confidant.  “It’s nothing.” 

“If it were nothing you wouldn’t seem so determined to return to that library as soon as possible.  Is it about the coronation?”

“In a way, yes.” He couldn’t lie about the situation to you.  If anyone deserved to know the truth it would have been you.  “Don’t worry about it, love.  There’s nothing that can be done about it now anyway.”  He said it almost as if he was trying to convince himself that it had no effect either.  

“Do you promise there’s nothing on your mind?” 

“I promise.” 

______

“Are you sure you’re alright, Loki?  I’m worried you’re going to make your fingers bleed at this rate,” You said, watching him practice a song on the guitar for the hundredth time in a row.  

“I’m 100% sure that I will be fine once I’m able to perfect this song.” You raised an eyebrow at his statement as he tried to restart the song again, this time ending up with a broken string.  The canned laughter you heard in the back of your head was (for once) hidden by your own stifled laughter.  Loki glared playfully at you. 

“This is just a talent show, you know.  You don’t have to be incredible.  The fact that you’re willing to do this at all is admirable.” You smiled.  

“If I’m going to do it I may as well be the best one in it, darling.” 

“It’s just a talent show for the children!” You exclaimed, laughing at his ability to make anything a competition.  

“And the children deserve only the best.” 

“Yes, well I doubt the children will care if you mess up a single note.  Your wife, however, will care if you manage to hurt yourself by the end of this.” You walked up to him, slowly taking the guitar out of his hands.  “How about this?  I’ll go down to the store to pick up some new guitar strings for you while you focus on… Anything else.” 

He pretended to contemplate it momentarily while you grew impatient.  “Well considering I can’t exactly play with a missing string I suppose this will have to do.” 

“Alright, Hank Williams, go work on the car or something.  I’ll be back before you know it.” You kissed his cheek and walked out of the house.  You spun around quickly to see Loki smiling softly at you as you closed the door.  Despite the fluttery feeling you had in your chest by his reaction, a sense of dread was quickly replacing it.  

You began to walk across your lawn, taking a glance at the neighborhood.  It seemed slightly different than yesterday.  Newer cars?  New designs for your homes?  You couldn’t tell exactly, but it was just enough for you to wonder.  Maybe you weren’t the most observant person in the world, but you assumed you would be able to take note of someone getting an upgrade on their house.  

As you started making your way down the street and to the store, you spotted Agnes across the street with Wanda.  It looked like the two were politely chit chatting about something before you saw Dottie walking closer to them.  You internally groaned at the idea of having to talk to Dottie.  She always seemed pompous and uptight to you.  You’ve never had to deal with her face-to-face thankfully, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hear about her from neighbors who knew her.  

You decided to walk past them, waving to both Wanda and Agnes.  Agnes smiled brightly towards you and it almost froze you in place.  Agnes out of everyone here frightened you the most.  She was too nice, too neighborly.  It seemed like all she ever did was try to butt in to everyone’s lives.  There was something off about the look in her eyes.  She looked at Wanda with an almost kind of sadness when she said something.  Wanda seemed to be amused by whatever she had said, so why did Agnes seem so disheartened? 

Perhaps it wasn’t your place to ask.  You had to get to the store.  Talking to Wanda and Agnes could wait.  

--

You walked into the store and were greeted by no one.  At least the world was working in your favor for that one, you didn’t have to dodge people left and right just to grab a few things.  

As you walked down the seemingly endless aisles of the store you could find a couple people every once in a while.  They seemed to be stuck though.  They would just stare at a single item as if it was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.  It sent chills down your spine as you passed by them, not a single word being spoken.  You don’t even know who these people were.  None of them looked like they wanted to be there. 

Fortunately, there was no one in the music section of the store.  The section had countless musical instruments including guitars, flutes, and drums.  Each one was uniquely designed, with price tags on every single one of them.  When you tried to read them, you couldn’t figure out what they were saying.  The numbers were blurred and blended in with one another.  

Maybe they were removing the tags because there was a sale going on?  You looked around for any indication of that and found nothing.  Maybe water got on to the tags and the ink leaked, but there was no damage or any sign of a leak anywhere around the store.  

That’s when you noticed the bright red guitar pick on a shelf.  It was an electric red, far brighter than anything else in the room.  You walked towards it, confused by the color.  When you picked it up, it slowly lost its color.  The red that seemed to radiate off the pick faded until it was a dull grey.  

“Excuse me, miss-” 

You jumped at the sound of someone’s voice.  You turned towards the man, noticing that he was the one you bumped into only yesterday.  Once again his green eyes were what caught your attention.  He was dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry, you startled me.” You laughed breathlessly.  

He smiled politely.  “No, I apologize.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.  I was just wondering if I could ask you a question or two.” 

“Of course you can!  Although I believe a proper introduction may be needed beforehand, especially after I ran into you.  I’m Y/N,” You held your hand out and smiled. 

“I’m-” He stopped himself for a moment before shaking your hand, “I’m Scott.” 

“A pleasure to meet you Scott!” You smiled.  “It’s nice to know more people around here.  Are you new here?” 

“Well, it seems like it.  I don’t really know if you could call me new to the town though.  I just know that I feel out of place here.  They all seem to cast me out before I can even have a chance to introduce myself,” He chuckled.  

“Yeah, I understand that feeling.  Right now it seems like something’s changing around here.  I can hardly keep up with it!” 

“It’s nice to know I’m not alone then,” He smiled.  

“Agreed.”  A brief moment of silence was shared before you remembered he wanted to ask something.  “So, you said you had a couple questions?” 

“Oh yes, but I would prefer if we talked about it outside.  The walls have ears around here, you know.” He said it with such a serious tone that you were almost afraid to question him.  His eyes held a level of somber that you hadn’t seen in anyone in years.  Whatever he wanted to discuss, it had to be something that you wouldn’t forget.  

“Who’s going to want to listen to our conversations?” You laughed, attempting to lighten the mood a little. 

“You may not want to know.” 

[dreamescapeswriting]

Cravings ~ JJK [Request]

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

GENRE: established relationship, pregnancy au, fluffy with some angst

PAIRING: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

A/N: I hope this is okay for you, I didn't want to go too dramatic with it as it involved pregnancy so I did this!

Throughout the whole of your pregnancy, you had been scared to do pretty much about anything on your own. Going out into the streets like you used to was hard since everyone knew who you were or rather who you were dating since Jungkook and your relationship had been admitted to everyone about 6 months ago. The only reason it was even outed was that you'd fallen pregnant and Jungkook no longer wanted to hide the fact that he was in a loving and committed relationship with someone. 

"Baby please," You begged down the phone with Jungkook as you laid on the sofa in your house, legs hanging over the arm of the sofa as you rocked them back and forth. 

"I'm busy babe I promise I'll stop by the store on my way home..." You rolled your eyes at Jungkook and looked at the time, 

"That's not for another seven hours." You grumbled, you were craving the ben and jerry's birthday cake ice cream terribly and it was starting to bug you. All night long you'd had a craving for it but you'd run out last week and Jungkook kept forgetting to pick it up for you. 

"Send one of the boys if you're busy, I need it. The baby and I need it," You whined as you tried to convince him but it wasn't going to work. Jungkook and the boys were already in enough trouble with always leaving work to go and get you everything you were craving. Jungkook had been in trouble with their manager that week for leaving the house at 4 am to go and get you McDonald's hashbrowns...Worth it though since you'd been craving them at all hours of the morning.

"Baby I can't, we're already in enough trouble." You sighed at him as you thought back on the manager yelling at him before. 

"Fine. I-I'll go by myself," You slowly got up off the sofa, moving around when you were almost nine months pregnant wasn't the easiest of things to do. You pulled back the curtains on your window to see that the garden was empty of people, BigHit has issued a statement claiming that if anyone was caught on the private property they would be sued. 

"Baby no. Stay at home. I'll bring some when I come home," You rolled your eyes at him, 

"Fine. I'll stay at home." You lied as you waited for him to go back to work so you could go and get ready to go out. It was no big deal. You could stay hidden under a hoodie and sunglasses, it wasn't like you were the famous one in the relationship. 

"Stay at home my ass," You mumbled as you began waddling up the staircase towards your bedroom, finding out some maternity leggings and a giant oversized hoodie that would at least make the bump look a little bit smaller than it was.

It wasn't so bad so far, the streets were empty and you'd driven yourself into town and parked far enough away from the store you actually wanted so no one would know you were inside. No one seemed to have noticed that it was you walking towards the store which was great. Maybe the fact that Bighit had threatened to file lawsuits was getting to them and they were going to finally leave you alone.

"Thank you, dear," An elderly woman said as you held open the door to the freezer store for her, you smiled softly before grabbing a basket and making your way straight to the dessert section of the store. The only thing you wanted to do was get the ice cream and head straight home, curl up on the sofa with a movie and just eat all you could before Jungkook got home and told you off for leaving the house without him. 

Looking through the glass doors to see if you could spot your favourite flavour but it seemed as though they were out of stock, nothing but an empty section when the flavour should have been sitting. 

"Excuse me?" You asked as a worker walked behind you carrying a clipboard, she turned to look at you with a smile and you smiled back at her. 

"Could you tell me if you have any of the birthday cake ice creams in the back?" The worker - Jennie - began to look through the sheets on her clipboard trying to see if they'd had a delivery of it yet but it didn't seem as though there was anything inside. She started shaking her head putting the clipboard against her chest, 

"Unfortunately we don't seem to have it but-" She reached into the fridge and pulled out a different tub. 

"Their strawberry swirled one is even better, I craved this whenever I was pregnant." She laughed softly as she showed you the front of the tub, reading through what was inside you smiled brightly.

"I'll get this one," Your mouth watering at the thought of getting to have some kind of ice cream at all, the baby kicking as well. 

"Someone else likes it too," You laughed as you placed four tubs into the basket and then grabbed two of Jungkook's favourites while you were at it. 

"That will be-" Jenni who was standing at the counter stopped speaking when she looked up behind you, you glanced over your shoulder to see what she was so shocked by to see about one-hundred people all gathered outside of the store. Staring inside as they looked for you she looked back at you with wide eyes.

"Oh fuck." You bit down on your lip looking back down at the counter as you tried to keep yourself hidden, 

"We don't even have this many people on sale day-"

"Sorry...I shouldn't have come out." You bit down on your lip again as you watched the manager lock the doors so that none of them could get inside. Jennie smiled sadly at you, she'd known who you were from the moment you were looking for ice cream but she'd done everything she could to make it seem as though she didn't. 

"What's going on?" Her boss questioned as she walked in the direction of the till, looking at you as you began to rub the baby bump nervously. 

"Sasaengs..." You mumbled slowly as you watched a bunch of them all take out their phones and begin to record everything that they could see. Jungkook and you had had to deal with them from the beginning of your relationship coming out, they seemed to appear anywhere and everywhere you went so you should have expected this really.

"Come and sit down." The elderly lady you'd held the door open for said as she pulled out one of the worker stools in an aisle, you waddled over and sat down beside her trying to calm down your breathing. There was nobody in the store except for you, the elderly lady and four other workers with their boss who was now staring down at you as she wondered how to go about this.

"Is there a back exit I can get out of? I don't really want to sit and face all of them." Thoughts of walking out of the front door began to cloud your mind and you whimpered feeling the baby kicking harder against your bladder. 

"No, we only use the front door to get in and out..." The boss looked over at the door to see that the group of people only seemed to be growing larger inside as the minutes when by. 

"I'll have to call my...My boyfriend," You whispered shyly as you took out your phone to call Jungkook to already see seventeen missed calls from him and a bunch of texts about how he told you to stay instead.

"Kookie?" You asked down the phone as it started to ring again, Jungkook was panting down the other side of the line as he rushed towards the store he knew you were at. The location had been tweeted out on twitter and shared by a bunch of people which meant BigHit saw it almost instantly. 

"I'm coming now. I told you not to leave the house baby," He didn't seem angry with you but more disappointed than anything which made you feel bad for doing something you know you shouldn't have been doing. 

"I really wanted the ice cream," You pouted as you let out a whine, looking over at the door to see that people were starting to move away from it and two large men stood by the door.

"I take it those are with you?" You giggled as you heard Jungkook making his way through the crowd of people, people screaming to him as he just tried to get to the door. 

"They are." You looked at him at the door and the manager walked over to them, unlocking them to allow him inside and you smiled weakly hanging up the phone. 

"I got your favourite if it makes you feel better." You held up the bag of ice cream and he sighed at you, shaking his head as he held out his hand for you to take. 

"Come on, I have the car waiting outside and manager Sejin is taking your car." He told you as he reached into your jacket pocket to take out the keys and smile at you. 

"You're not going to let me go out alone are you-"

"Baby, you're not even going to be at home alone, I've made sure to arrange your own personal guard to be with you at all times. You can make him get your ice cream," He chuckled as you both began to leave the store, ignoring the constant screams of questions and asking for photos as you made your way to the waiting black Range rover at the side of the road. 

Bighit released a second statement about if anyone was caught following or harassing you that they would be sued as well. Jungkook didn't want to risk anything happening to you or your child for as long as he could help it. He was going to protect you until his last dying breath.

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @rjsmochii​ @sw33tnight​ @bisexualmess007​ @sweeneyblue1​ @jin-from-the-block​

[hickeys-dickey]

Pls share your thoughts about the gays in THAT scene… I would love to read them!

Ahh you are too kind, I am but a little swiss cheese brain but I'll try my best to sum up my thoughts, I have too many! I wanted a chance to grab some screenshots too! I'm going to put a read more because this is a long one buckle up lads.

So obviously the whole punishment for Hickey is designed to humiliate him (I would imagine this is one of the reasons his punishment isn't explained to him, because if Hickey truly was a naval petty officer he would know, and I think it's another way for Crozier to essentially say "I see you" and not in a good way). The fact we're not shown the other whippings shows the importance lies in the scene with Hickey.

I've seen a bit of discussion about his charge of "dirtiness", which isn't listed initially when we see him being questioned by the Captains, and whether or not it alludes to homosexuality but on a quick cursory search it does seem to have been used as a euphemism where an outright accusation of sodomy would mean a death sentence. The way Crozier throws it out there, no doubt to heap the humiliation onto Hickey and add crimes to the list to cover the fact he added lashes on to the punishment essentially for a bruised ego (but that's another matter), suggests a whole lot of venom to the accusation. Hickey's pointed look at Irving and Irving's quick shift of his gaze down suggests they both know exactly why Crozier has listed this among Hickey's list of crimes, and Hickey looks furious for it.

But I think this is also ultimately where the panic begins to set in. Again, there are far greater minds than me who have made excellent posts about queer coded characters in the terror, and I think it's no surprise that most of them are the faces that are focused on in this scence. It is clear long before this moment that Crozier's leadership is lacking, and people have already begun to voice concerns fairly loudly. Tozer for one is livid in the wake of Heather being injured, and the marines have clearly started distancing themselves from both the officers and the men. I feel like this scene, for a lot of characters is a point of major shift in either allegiences or character.

Tozer and the Captains are the first faces that are panned to in this scene and I think the expressions speak for themselves.

Tozer is visibly upset/concerned after the first lash. I do think guilt probably has a part to play, in that is was him whole told Hickey where Silna was, and presumably approved enough of the plan to not rat him out to anyone. Again, very probably part of Tozer's anger at Heather being injured due to what he sees is Crozier's poor management. Fitzjames is stoney faced, but is also the only one looking. As a man who many have noted pushes himself to pick emotional scabs, I think it would make sense for someone who is also notably queer coded and stuggles with trauma to make himself look directly at someone being whipped for a crime he himself might commit. Crozier isn't even looking, whether out of suddenly doubting his harshness or simply triggering something in his own memory it's not clear. I think the end of this shot also speaks for itself.

(Fig 1. Three Concerned (very likely not straight) men contemplate)

The lads at the back behind Mr. Johnson are all looking Directly At the whipping as it is taking place. Interestingly none of the men at the front near the table are looking. This is the stewards, officers, and marines. Whether out of respect or also Concern at their own skins (I think every one of these characters has been addressed as being queer coded at some point, minus the marines who are all, except Tozer, fairly nameless characters).

I'm not a gifmaker which is unfortunate for this section, though this is what is gifed in the beautiful gifset by sashneeka I reblogged (x). Tommy is also visibly upset, whether because he knows Tozer was involved in the plot to kidnap Silna and is concerned for him and any of the rest of the crew who had assisted in someway or voiced support. Billy interestingly does look briefly, and sets his jaw after in a way that suggests he's trying to fight the guilt of being the one to tell Irving about the whole affair with Hickey to paint himself in a better light. It could just as easily be Billy there on that table being lashed, but he somehow rationalises it in his head (probably because Hickey is a little bastard) that he was right in what he did. He does look down fairly guiltily after this, so maybe he hasn't quite settled on an opinion. Jopson also looks incredibly concerned/unsettled, and interestingly looks at Hickey right up until the whip hits where he flinches, and not for the only time in this scene. From what we know about Jopson's past, though not at this point, it may well be he is remembering similar punishment/mistreatment and like Fitzjames looks enough to pick the scab open and flinch from his own trauma.

The closeup of Hickey shows the full extent of his rage and humiliation building, and as I think Adam himself said, they whipped something out of Hickey that day and let him reach this potential that lay inside him (to become an even bigger bastard). He's fully severed all ties and feelings of loyalty after this and it becomes full on train to manipulation station from this point. I have a lot of Thoughts about Hickey also (which I am sure you are all aware of) but I think there was some semblance of Hickey attempting to start afresh on this journey, or at the very least keep his head down and go unnoticed. The trouble is, he notices Crozier as a flawed man, and one not from the upper classes like himself, and his ego can't help but think we're not so different, that could be me with the right connections. Well surprise lads, its murder time now and he's gonna make this old man pay for not recognising initiative but punishing it. I do wonder if Crozier wasn't booze sick and rattled from losing even more men under his command, would he not have come down so harshly for someone clearly defying the Articles to do what he thinks is right and save the men (a la Crozier and his fuck you I'm directly contradicting an order and leading this rescue party myself).

Tozer gets another wee closeup here and again looks like he has resolved something in his head too. Most likely that he thinks Crozier an unfit leader, and admiring Hickey for having the balls to do what he did (Hickey also never reveals anyone else who came with him, and when he talks about Hartnell and Mason's part in taking Silna it highlights their skill and bravery and (he thinks) commends them to the Captain. It's probably the only time we see him building up and applauding others). He looks dead ahead here and seems to have a very steely gaze, like yep fuck it looks like I'm going it alone now. It is interesting that Tozer goes from this to notably disliking Hickey (both at the start and when they are packing up - "you've just given me an excuse to give a big shove". This might be anger at Hickey having caused all the issues with Silna after the fact when Heather gets killed at Carnivale), but still follows him in the end. Hickey has the ability to kill, manipulate, steal, basically do whatever needed for their group to get ahead, which means Tozer can be part of the group and not have to dirty his own hands. I think Tozer probably has a complicated relationship with Hickey, but he does fall for the charm hook, line, and sinker, and the fact he seems concerned for him here suggests how easily he is sympathetic to those he sees as being wronged.

Gibby getting Hickey's blood on his hand (ayy) seems to visibly make him blanch, and I do find it interesting that the shot then pans to Tommy as though they are looking at each other when they are stood side by side. The similarities between them maybe? (I've seen and reblogged a lot of discourse about Tommy loving Tozer, maybe another nod to no one being so different to the man on the table?) Irving doesn't get much of a close up in the rest of this scene but bless him he looks equal parts terrified and guilty (another man who has been noted as having a list of many things to distract from the Gay Thoughts like why do you need to distract from Gay Thoughts Irving?). He also has the Far Off Look of trauma about him, probably because he too could just as easily be on that table.

I have many many thoughts about the way Hickey turns to look (and fucking smile???) at Crozier next, which is when Crozier is looking directly at him and Fitzjames looks at him. Like if I were Crozier I think my fucking blood would chill, look at this man. Being humiliated and lashed still hasn't broken him, if anything he has just become fully unhinged and looks at Crozier as though to say "did you really think this would work?". I would also say, this man has fairly quite for someone who is at this stage something like 22 lashes in? Like what the actual fuck Hickey?? I fully belive Hickey to be a psycopath, and most of what he does in the beginning of the series is an attempt to stay hidden until they get to Hawaii and he can ditch the crew, but I think it is fairly safe to say he isn't hiding it any more.

And he knows this is going to make the men doubt Crozier - I can't do a proper search because I am using my work laptop atm, but I seem to remember reading that a punishment greater than 12 lashes required a court martial (probably why Little steps in to say so when Crozier orders his punishment as well as them technically being lost at sea), which would be another strike against him as a Captain. Not only that, but Crozier does seem to grant him some mercy in letting him only be lashed I think 23 or so times? Probably because the tension is fucking palpable in this whole scene and Crozier can either choose to claw back some sense of control on the matter, or deal with the consequences of many people admiring Hickey for what he has done for the crew and start a mutiny. I think this is the first time Fitzjames sees the damage Crozier is doing to himself with his choices as Captain, and is probably just as concerned at the look Hickey is giving him. He knows this has unleashed something in this tiny rat bastard too, and that he will become the physical manifestation of Crozier's self-destructive tendancies. Crozier perpetually comes to everything just a fraction too late to change anything - he never saves any of the men, only comforts them as they die, and a lot of this has to do with his own ego and bad decision making, and I think this is the first example here of the fact his actions are having an effect on others to the point it will be his downfall.

Anyway, to round it off, I think this scene really epitomises the notion that Hickey is a mirror to the rest of the men, and they see their flaws in him. Those who have questioned Crozier's captaincy look concernced knowing they too could be being lashed. They too would have tried to get Silna to stop the Tuunbaq hunting them. Those who are queer or queer coded know they too could be being lashed for it. Crozier himself sees his unwillingness to follow the Articles in him, sees his own insubordination, and feels what Sir John meant when he said his position afforded him deference. Hickey may as well be a metaphor for all the men being lashed, theres not one among them who haven't voiced wanting to do what he has done. Let them without sin and all that. This is make or break for who holds loyalty to the Captain, and the turning point for who is going where. I think everyone except Jopson, Irving and Fitzjames ends up in the mutineers camp, and Irving ends up killed and mutilated by Hickey and Fitzjames is scavanged by them. Theres not one of them that isn't haunted by what happened in this scene, and Hickey would end up being the death of every single one of them. The only one who remains loyal after this is Jopson, who thinks his care and duty to the Captain can outweigh his other sins. Fitzjames and Crozier have a stronger relationship once he recovers from his withdrawal, yes, but Fitzjames also keeps him in check now (I'm thinking of Edward Little being threatened with flogging again because of course I am), and it is another step too late for Crozier's self-destruction. I've seen a Hickey/Fitzjames Christ analogy on here before too, so I hope you'll forgive me in comparing them, but Hickey in this scene really does get punished for everyone else's crimes in this scene, and becomes a sort of Christ-like figure, reborn as a complete version of the worst of himself from the pain of being lashed. They whipped something out of him!! Anyway, that about sums it up!

[duskholland]

As You Are | Mob!Tom Holland

summary ↠ who could’ve known showing up to work late one night would put you in touch with a mysterious stranger, capable of turning your life upside down? 

word count ↠ 6.8k

warnings ↠ mature themes, drinking, cursing, gambling + mentions of violence 

a/n ↠ I don’t know how this ended up being so long honestly. I had a blast writing it and I really hope that people read it lol. anyway! this is part of my mob!Tom series -- a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense. 

mob!Tom masterlist | general masterlist

You’re late. Fuck, you’re running so late.

Your tight, shiny stilettos rub the corners of your toes uncomfortably as you hurry off the bus, ignoring the stares of the passengers. You push your handbag further up your arm and start to run precariously down the cobbled London streets, your heart pounding harshly in your chest. As you pass the entrances to some of the most exclusive clubs in Soho, you find yourself blending into the crowd. All around you are London’s elite, dressed in expensive coats, rich cologne, and enough glinting diamonds to burn your eyes, and they don’t spare you a second look as you reach the end of the street, taking your tall heels and short skirt as standard.

Relief replaces your anxiety as you pull off at the corner and slip around the back of the largest club of them all: The Lotus Club. You whip out your ID and flash it at the looming security guard on the door, and a moment later you’re in.

Immediately you’re met with backstage: an eclectic mix of cheap hairspray, curling irons, and half-naked girls. You move past a group of feathered dancers and find your locker quickly, ditching your bag and clocking in as you curse yourself for falling asleep earlier in the night. You’ve been working here for three years and you never used to be late, but these days, it’s as if you’ve been pushing it closer and closer to the wire each time you stumble in for your shift.

“You’re late,” comes a loud, stern voice. You freeze, your fingers half-way through pulling off the lid of a deep velvety red lipstick, and you glance at the mirror on your locker door to see your boss standing behind you, arms crossed. Loretta’s a ripped, forty-year-old woman with so many tattoos you think she must be immune to pain. Her eyes are stormy and grey as you hesitantly turn to face her, wincing a smile. “I’ve checked the data for the last month. You’ve been late 12 times, Y/N.” Her face pulls into a disappointed frown. “I’ve always liked you and you’ve never let me down before, but I need staff that I can rely on.”

Instantly you feel cold dread pool in your stomach. “Loretta, look, I’m really sorry, but it’s been a hectic month. I- I’ll try harder, okay? I’m sorry.” And you don’t want to grovel, but this job is all you have. Waiting the tables in this exclusive Soho Club is the only way you can afford to keep your flat, and without that, you have nothing. “Please don’t fire me.”

She holds your gaze for a long, hard minute. Your body feels tight with angst, your fingers shaking around the lipstick. “I’ll give you one more chance,” she says finally. “You’ll need to wait the private booths tonight, though.” When you open your mouth to complain, she laughs lowly. “Oi, none of that. I know you hate it, but if you’re late in, you don’t get a say in where I assign you. Got it?”

With a bite of your lower lip, you nod your head dejectedly. “Alright. Thanks Loretta. I won’t let you down.”

“You better not.” And then she turns and walks away, no doubt on her way to harass some of the other workers, and you turn around to finish your makeup.

The Lotus Club is a boujee blend of bar, nightclub and casino, equipped with a whole secluded wing through the back for private dances. Like the rest of the street, it attracts the highest of the high - rich, snobby businesspeople and socialites who enjoy getting off by flaunting their power and riches. You’re yet to meet anyone who isn’t a complete and utter snob.

The private booths perfectly encapsulate the worst parts of the club: they’re secluded and shady, which means they’re a hub for illegal and underhand exchanges, and they cost a leg and a half to rent out. If you think the customers you’d find in the main foyer of the club were spoilt, the inhabitants in the booths can only be described as the richest assholes London can muster. 

You stare at yourself in your locker’s mirror, red lips sagging into an irritated pout. Your frown remains as you fluff up your hair for a final time and shut your locker abruptly. Your black skirt clings to your legs as you walk out into the front of house, the air clearing the moment you’re in the public sphere of the club.

It’s a very exclusive and elitist place, and the decor of the club indicates that exactly: large, glistening chandeliers dangle in every room, a rich red carpet curves across the halls, and there’s the controlled sound of restrained music drifting through large speakers. Each section of the club has a different vibe to it, and as you walk through the casino and into the section with the private booths, the tone shifts. The booths themselves are tucked behind a large curtain, and as you walk through, the lights grow dimmer and the sweet, husky scent of marijuana fills the air.

You find the supervising manager first - a small, unassuming man called Rob. He discreetly points at a circular table in the corner of the section. “That table over there,” he says. You squint your eyes and stare, making out the outline of a few young men. Curiosity replaces your irritation as you realise they look about as old as you. “You take them, yeah?”

You give him a nod. “Who are they?”

Rob shrugs. “No idea. Think it’s their first time.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Make a good impression.”

You roll your eyes as you move away from him, flexing out your fingers as you walk towards the table. This is the VIP section, which means each booth gets a dedicated waitress - aka, you. You just hope the guys you’ll be serving are decent, because if they aren’t, it’ll be a long, long night.

You draw their attention easily, one of the side effects of being one of the few women in the room. Their gazes fall on you before you’re even at the table, and you suck in a quick, steadying breath as you manage a smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Y/N and I’ll be your server tonight. You ever been here before?”

Your eyes drift around the circular table as you wait on a response, taking in the men now you’re near enough to make them out. There are four of them: all looking young, but the number of tailored suits and watches attached to them screams wealth in a way you can’t ignore. To the left, two guys, both brunette and very similar - twins? To the right, a blond with dizzying blue eyes. And in the centre, a man, clearly the leader, with his arms thrown over the back of the booth. He’s in a crisp white shirt, a suit jacket lying crumpled on the seat beside him, and his golden brown eyes seem to linger on you for a moment too long as you wait on a response. The way he looks at you brings a warmth to your cheeks, the smile fixed on your face threatening to falter as you decide that he’s utterly delicious.

“Never been before, love.” Finally someone speaks, and it’s the blond. His lips twist into a slow smile. “Nice place you’ve got.”

You hum, returning his stare confidently. “It’s nice back here,” you agree. Then you reach down and pull a small, flat device from your pocket. You lean down and slide it into the centre of the table, making brief eye contact with the man in the centre as you pull yourself back up, a thrill of excitement cracking down your spine as you catch him staring at you. “That’s my pager. If you need me, just press the button and I’ll be here. Can I get you any drinks?”

They rattle off a list of drinks and you nod along, quickly memorising the drinks and faces, matching them with personalities. The guy in the centre goes for a Corona, speaking in a voice that’s just a little too perfect, and as you walk away towards the bar, you find yourself wondering why they’re all here. The private booths are the ideal location for illegal activities to occur, yet you couldn’t see any drugs on them, and none of them seem to have turned up with any documents or briefcases. They aren’t the usual age, either, and they all seem far too friendly to fit the normal typecast of the customers you’d find in the club. They’d smiled at you as you’d taken their orders, none of them looking at you through heady, lusting eyes - not even the man in the centre with the firm, brown gaze had let his stare slip away from your face. They feel like a breath of fresh air hidden away in an extremely stuffy room, and you can’t help but regard them fondly.

When you return to the table with a tray laden with drinks, you’re quick to distribute the bottles and glasses. The men are having a very loud and animated conversation, apparently at the expense of one of the twins, whose freckly face is burning a deep, embarrassed red. You’re in and out in a second, but in the moment you’re leaning across the table to put down a glass, the brunette in the centre meets your gaze again, his thin lips pulling up into a semblance of a smirk. “Thanks, love,” he whispers, tilting the glass towards you as you tuck the tray beneath your arm and step back.

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else,” you say, nodding at the pager on the table. He glances to the device quickly, before looking back at you, eyes lingering on the curve of your painted lower lip.

“Will do.”

You breeze away from them, your heart rattling against your ribcage as you walk to the back corner and slip into easy conversation with some of the other girls.

Your table get a few more rounds of drinks over the course of the night. Each time you’re there within seconds of the buzzer going off, always with an eager smile on your face. One bonus to the private booths is that the people who rent them out tend to have such a surplus of wealth that the tips are huge, and you’d really like to have the extra cash. So maybe you smile a little wider than usual, and do your best to crack jokes and play along as you talk with the group, but it’s all part of the job, and all part of what’s expected from you. You’re sure the fact that the man in the centre gets your heart racing a little faster than normal has nothing to do with it.

It’s a little after 1am when you’re paged back to the circular table in the corner, the buzzing in your pocket causing you to stifle a yawn. With a start, you walk back to them, your tired feet clacking across the smooth marbled floor. As you draw closer, you realise that there’s only one man there, and with a start, you realise it’s the leader.

“Hi,” you say, smiling nervously. “Friends abandoned you?”

The man shakes his head, the tips of his wavy brown hair shifting delicately. “Gone to the casino,” he explains. He pats the open booth beside him questioningly. “Do you want to sit?” You ponder it for half a second. His voice is open and warm, and it lacks the air of expectation that you’d usually find when patrons ask you a similar question. With a small smile on your face, you sit down beside him. “It’s Y/N, yeah?”

You nod slowly, your bare legs feeling warm against the leather booth. The man is still settled in the centre of the semi-circle, but he slides a little closer to you as you begin to talk, one of his arms hanging over the side of the booth, inviting you closer.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply softly. “Are you going to tell me your name, or is that a mystery too?”

The man quirks an eyebrow, and for the first time you notice how endearing his face is. It’s hard, with deep lines crossing his forehead and his cheeks, but when he smiles, the angst fades away, leaving him with a gentle softness about him. His nose is slightly crooked and his lips are thin and lopsided, but he’s undeniably handsome.

“I’m a mystery?” He asks, amused.

“No one’s seen any of you around before,” you say, picking your words carefully. “Normally we get regulars in the VIP section.” You shrug lightly. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s our first time coming here,” he tells you. Then he picks up his hand and offers it to you. “I’m Tom, darling.”

You take his outstretched hand and your smile widens as he takes your fingers into a strong grip. “Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

[-----]

You talk with Tom easily, gradually unearthing a few details about the man. He doesn’t give much away, but you gather that he and his brothers own a few businesses around London and they’d come to your club tonight to scout out the competition. 

“Can I get you a drink, love?” He asks, about ten minutes into conversation. 

You’ve got a relaxed smile on your face as you nod in agreement.  “That would be nice,” you tell him. “I can go and get it, though.” You begin to stand, only to feel him reach out and take your hand, his digits loosely brushing up against yours as you meet his sparkly golden eyes.

“No, stay here,” he says, his voice soft. His eyes shift towards the bar and you watch as he catches the gaze of one of the other servers. She walks over to you and takes your order with a jealous grimace on her face, and you find yourself shifting a little closer to Tom as you sit back down.

“So...” You let your lips quirk into a coy smile. “What kinds of things does a man like you enjoy doing?”

Tom hums softly, his hand going to rest on your knee. The tips of his calloused fingertips draw small shapes and circles over your skin, his touch setting off warm fireworks. “I like golf,” he says, laughing quietly as you grimace. “It’s more interesting to play than it is to watch.”

“I’d sure hope so,” you joke. “I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

“Well, what is your thing?” You watch intently as Tom flicks his pink tongue out across his lower lip. Your breath hitches as you realise he’s flirting with you, and you’ve overcome with a strong urge to reciprocate.

“I like painting,” you admit. “Someday I’m going to quit my job here and open up an art gallery.” You reach up slowly, resting the flat hand on his shoulder as the tips of your fingers play around with his soft hair. “Would you be my model, one day?”

Tom brings his other hand to your waist, testing the waters. When you only drift closer to him, he holds your side more firmly, his long, nimble fingers slowly wrapping around you. His touch is intoxicating. 

“I’d be flattered to be your model, darling,” he tells you, eyes sparkling with something between lust and admiration.

As the night draws on, you find yourself inching closer and closer to him, his body heat attracting you like a moth to a flame. His eyes sparkle brightly, shades of golden browns appealing to you easily, and you can’t stop yourself from shamelessly flirting with him, your heart pounding each time he returns it just as thickly.

But you’re not completely blinded by lust. Over the course of your conversation, you pick up on a few unsaid details. First and foremost: Tom has a holster strapped to his belt, and whilst it’s empty, its presence is enough to have your guard up. You know there’s probably a hundred armed men out in the casino, but the sight of it makes you uneasy. Tom’s nice, and maybe a part of you had considered clocking out and leaving with him, but that - and the fact that you can see a pair of brass knuckledusters hanging out of his suit pocket - is enough to sour that idea.

It really is a shame. He’s nothing but charming, in a very sweet, romantic way, and if the circumstances were different, you’d want him in a heartbeat.

By the time Tom’s friends return from the Casino, stacks of cash in hand, you’re practically on top of him. Somewhere between the second and the third beer, he’d pulled you nearer, and now you have your head pressed against his outstretched arm as you sit lazily in his lap, your voice dying halfway through your anecdote as the presence of Tom’s associates disturb your conversation.

“How much?” Tom calls out, his eyes moving away from your face for the first time in an hour. You watch as his pupils dilate, swallowing the golden flecks of his irises as he stares at the rolls of cash greedily.

“50k.” The blond...Harrison, you think, says. “We should come back more often.” His blue eyes twinkle knowingly as he takes in the way you’re spread over Tom. “You ready to go, mate?”

You feel Tom shift beneath you, a hand going to sit on your waist as he hums. “Go settle the tab, yeah? I’ll be over in a minute.”

Harrison nods, and you watch as the group approach the bar and begin to sift through the rolls of cash. Clearing your throat, you stretch out your arm and move out of Tom’s lap, distancing yourself from him as you give him a coy smile.

“Well… I guess it’s goodnight, Tom,” you say, watching him carefully. His eyebrows furrow together slightly as an expression of intrigue passes over his face.

“Don’t suppose you’d want to come home with me, love?” He asks, voice honest and open. He reaches down and takes one of your hands in his, his calloused thumb passing over the back of your knuckles. The touch makes you bite your lower lip, and for a brief moment, you find yourself wishing you could.

“Sorry,” you say instead, ignoring the way a part of you wants to explore the man further. You’ve seen the holster and the knuckledusters. “I don’t know you.”

Surprise replaces his intrigue, but Tom remains looking at you fondly. He nods his head, holding your gaze as he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing his intoxicating lips to the back of your hand and kissing your skin softly. “I’ll see you around then, darling,” he mumbles, finally releasing your hand as he presses it back to your lap. He stands up and shimmies out of the booth, tossing his suit jacket over his shoulder as he goes. “It was lovely spending the evening with you, Y/N.”

Your smile is soft, genuine. “You too, Tom. Have a nice night.”

He raises his hand in a brief wave, and then turns, meeting with his friends by the door. They leave together, and you take a moment to sit against the back of the booth, breathing heavily through your mouth as your thoughts run rampant through your mind.

Everything about Tom feels to be a juxtaposition. His suit was expensive and he left the casino £50,000 richer, yet his shoes were scruffy and his watch looked old and worn. He’s clearly used to control, but he was perfectly content with you setting the lines and the limits. He has an obvious affinity for the darker arts, but his touch was always kind and gentle. Tom is a perfect paradox, and you can’t help but keep him in your thoughts as you begin to clear away the dirty glasses, your smile remaining on your lips for the rest of the night.

[-----]

When you come in for your shift a few days later, you’re called into Loretta’s office immediately. Dread and anticipation hang heavy in your stomach as you nervously push open her door, hoping with every part of you that she hasn’t called you in to fire you. You’re left utterly perplexed as the tall woman greets you with a long, tight hug.

“Y/N, my darling!” She exclaims, releasing you and gesturing down at a chair. You slip into it apprehensively as she walks around to sit behind her desk, her eyes bright and excited. “You’ve got a tip.”

Your eyes widen. “A tip?” You echo, voice uncertain. Normally the tips would be added to your pay-check at the end of the month, no further comment needed. The way she’s staring at you like you’re a celebrity makes you nervous.

“Someone left an anonymous tip for you,” she says, voice high. “I’ve already deducted the club’s percentage.” Loretta passes you a bulging envelope. “It leaves you with just under £5,000.”

Your jaw drops.

“What… The fuck,” you manage, eyes bulging as you tear open the envelope and run your thumb through the thick stack of cash. “Who?”

Your boss shrugs. “Anonymous,” she repeats. “Just thought you’d appreciate the heads up. I’ll keep it out of the books, as long as you don’t mention this to anyone.” Her voice is low, and you nod quickly, knowing that she’s doing you both a favour: the club takes a cut of all tips received, and you know that you’ll both come out better if the tax office doesn’t learn of your bonus.

“Thank you,” you say, flabbergasted. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” she advises. “Just take it.” As you rise to your feet and slip the envelope into your bag, she adds, “You can go back to serving the bar, as usual. I’ll get Monica to cover the private booths.”

“Thanks,” you say again, your voice soft and shaken. She bids you goodbye as you walk back to the lockers, your eyes wide and your mind scrambled.

You want to assume it’s Tom who’s left the tip. You don’t think you’ve made a big enough impression on anyone else recently to be rewarded this generously. It baffles you, because you hadn’t ever expected this, but then you find yourself warming to the idea. You’d gotten on well with Tom, and maybe a small part of you has been regretting denying him, and this… Well, this act of generosity would suggest that he’s still thinking about you, and that’s a very nice thought.

You begin your shift with a wide smile on your face, knowing your rent is taken care of for the next few months. It puts a lightness in your step, and you find yourself winning over all the patrons you come into contact with, your wallet growing heavier and heavier as the night draws by. A few times, you find yourself gazing around the bar, looking for Tom, expecting to see him, but not feeling surprised when you don’t. He’d told you himself that he was only in the club to scout out a rival business - why would he return after gathering his reconnaissance?

He doesn’t turn up that night. Or the next. Or even the next. You have to wait another week before you see another sign of him, and even then, it’s not actually him.

You’re clearing away a table when you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see Harrison standing there, a black suit pulled around him so perfectly that he looks like a model and it takes your breath away for a second.

“Y/N?” He asks, voice clear and bright. You give him a nod, your eyebrows pulling up into confusion as he procures a red rose and passes it to you. “I’m Harrison, Tom’s mate. We met the other night.”

You twirl the stem between your fingers, glancing between the delicate petals and Harrison’s watchful face. “Yeah, I remember.”

He nods his head at the rose. “Tom wanted you to have that. He also wanted to know if you’d gotten his gift?”

The thorns on the rose nick your finger and you curse softly, bringing your thumb to your mouth and sucking away the small drop of blood. Harrison watches you intently, his eyes twinkling as he holds back a laugh.

“You mean the tip?” You ask after a moment, pulling your hand away from your face. You cross your arms over your chest as you stare the man down. “You do know that was an obscene amount of money, right?”

Harrison chuckles, running a hand through his blond curls. “I know,” he agrees. “Tom wouldn’t hear anything else. Apparently you made quite the impression.” His eyes sweep across you briefly. “He wanted to know if you’d join him for a date tomorrow night.”

You hum, your eyebrow raising slightly. “And why are you here asking me out, instead of him?” 

Harrison’s eyes widen at your controlled tone, his cheeks tinting with a rosy blush. “He’s busy.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “Well, you can tell Tom that I appreciate the gesture, but if he wants to take me on a date, he needs to come down here and ask me himself.” Acting on impulse, you pass Harrison back the rose, your eyes dancing mischievously. 

Harrison looks a little taken aback, but he nods slowly and looks at you with a shade of respect in his gaze. “I will pass on the message.”

“Thanks, Harrison.” You turn back to the table you’re clearing and you watch from the corner of your eye as he turns and walks away, leaving the club with the rose in his hands.

Your heart hammers in your chest, as part of you can’t believe you’ve just turned him down so boldly. But you know it’s for the best, because men like Tom can be dangerous, and if he thinks he can get away with anything, then that’s not the kind of person you want to see. You decide that if he can swallow his pride and show up to see you himself, then you’ll be happy to lean into him, but you won’t fall at his feet just because he’s flashed some cash. If he doesn’t respond to your demands, at least you’ll come out richer for it. But a part of you thinks you’ve got him nailed down, and you have the feeling he thrives on games like these, and so you return to the club the next night expecting to see him, and you’re not surprised when you do.

Tom’s leaning up against the bar, talking with one of the strippers amicably. The feathers coming out of her plumed headband fall onto his forehead as they laugh closely together, and an irrational stab of jealousy twists up through your insides as you watch them. It’s ridiculous, and you quickly swallow it back, but as Tom meets your eyes from across the room, you know he’s seen the envy in your eyes. His thin lips pull into a smirk and he beckons you over, your legs moving of their own accord.

As you get to Tom, he leans down and whispers something in the woman’s ear. You watch as her expression falls, and then she pulls away from Tom to circle the room in search of another visitor. He greets you by opening his arms, and you pause for a moment before sinking into them, his fingers finding your waist as your head goes to the crook of his neck, finding home briefly in his warmth and the rich scent of his powerful cologne. As you pull back, one of his hands goes back to his side, but the other finds your face for a moment, holding you softly as his lips brush over your cheek. You have to bite back a smile as he mumbles a quiet, “Evening, love,” not wanting him to see how utterly giddy it makes you feel to have him so close again.

“Hi, Tom,” you reply, your head clearing up as he finally drops contact with your skin. Your eyes drift over his familiar face, taking in the details of his handsome features. “Looking for a stripper, eh?”

“Not unless she’s called Y/N,” he replies, voice controlled but suggestive. You chuckle quietly, your face heating a little as you grow slightly bashful.

“Smooth,” you comment. “You gonna buy me a drink?”

“Whatever you want,” he promises. His eyes sweep over the room. “You’re not working?”

You shrug as you slip up at the bar, Tom settling on the stool beside you. One of his hands goes to rest on your knee, the contact firm and grounding, and it makes your body fill with a subtle, thrumming heat. “I am, technically,” you say. “But it’s my job to entertain the guests,” you shift your gaze to his suggestively, “and I’d say you’re in need of a little fun.”

“You’re definitely right there, darling.”

You drink a few rounds with Tom, treating yourself to some of the bar’s most expensive wine because he’s already given them his card and you free rein over the drinks menu. Any reluctance you feel to exploit his kindness disappears as you remember how easily he’d left the casino up £50k the other night, and as you slowly grow lighter and your bloodstream more diluted, you find yourself loosening up. Tom does too, and as you talk about any and everything, his hair becomes messier as his cheeks flush. Your knees touch and sometimes your shoulders brush, and it’s like the rest of the world burns away until it’s just you, and him, laughing, talking, feeling, and it’s so natural that you almost forget that you come from two different worlds.

But then Tom shifts on the stool, and your eyes catch his empty holster, and you’re slammed back to earth, your mood shifting. He picks up on it immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as he reaches out and picks up your hand, playing with your fingers softly. “You alright there, love?”

You hum. “What do you want from me, Tom?” You ask after a moment, voice unassuming.

“What do you mean?”

You give him a coy smile. “You know what I mean,” you tease. “Chatting with me, leaving me thousands of pounds, getting your friend to ask me out… Even being here tonight. What do you want?” And your voice is open and honest, and Tom ponders it for a few moments before squeezing your hand.

“You intrigue me, Y/N,” he admits. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night we met… I don’t know why, or what I want from you, but I guess, I’d quite like to know, what do you want from me?”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to turn this on me.”

“Why not? I’m definitely allowed to do that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re sneaky, Tom,” you mumble. “If I’m being honest, part of me thought you’d show up tonight and expect me to leave with you. Because, y’know, the money.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you raise an eyebrow and he pauses. “I don’t think you’re that kind of guy, though. Are you?”

He shakes his head quickly. “I’m not a dick.”

“Arrogant, sometimes?”

“Yeah.”

“A bit egotistical?”

“Well, uh, I guess you could say that.”

“Dominating?”

Tom’s eyes shift a shade darker as he nods. “You like to talk,” he comments, bringing a smile to your face.

“I can leave you to your thoughts, if you’d prefer that,” you tease. He tightens his grip on your hand, and for the first time you look down at his fingers and notice that his knuckles are bruised and bloodied. “Shit, what happened here?” You bring his hands nearer your face, gently grazing your touch over the curves of his cut knuckles. He winces but he lets you inspect the injuries.

“Nothing,” he mutters. When you tighten your gaze, he shrugs haplessly. “Got in a fight. No big deal.”

“Yeah, right.” You rise from the stool, dragging him with you. You’re about to turn and pull him across the room when you hesitate. “Are you packing?” He looks surprised by the question, so you add, “I won’t take you backstage if you’re dangerous.”

“I’ve not got a gun on me,” he says, dodging half the question but it’s good enough for you. You lead him out, through the bar, past the casino, and you pull him through a large door that says Staff Only and take him back to one of the locker rooms. It’s peak time so the room is quiet, and you sit him down on a bench as you grab a clean cloth from beside the sink and run it under some warm water.

“If you don’t take care of your injuries, they’ll scar,” you tell him as you dab at his knuckles. Tom’s gaze burns into your cheek as you wash away the dried blood, exposing the deep colours of fresh bruises just below. You glance up at him, your breath hitching in your throat as you meet his stare, his eyes dancing with a thousand different words. “Who’d look after you if I wasn’t here, huh?” You walk across the room before returning with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. “This might hurt,” you warn, but Tom doesn’t even flinch as you drag the pad over his cracked skin. You throw the pad into the bin and then settle in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare at him questioningly.

“Come sit,” he says finally, his voice more laboured than before. He spreads his legs a little and pats at his lap, and without hesitation you step forward and straddle him. You have to shift around until you’re comfortable, but you manage to stretch your legs out behind him on the bench and his hands go to anchor your hips in place. Your faces are really close now, and he easily brings a hand up to settle on your cheek, the tips of his fingers resting on your cheekbones. “You’re unbelievable, you know that, love?”

You smile slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just…” He breaks off, sighing comically. “So fucking perfect.” The compliment draws your smile into a large grin as you chuckle softly.

“Perfect, eh?” You tease, running a hand over his shoulder. You rest it at the nape of his neck, your fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “I don’t think perfect exists.”

“It does,” he says immediately.

“Maybe.” Acting boldly, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw, admiring the sharp line with your mouth as he sighs beneath you. “You’re a dangerous man, aren’t you?” You say, finishing your trail of kisses at his ear. You let your breath fan out across his skin for a moment before pressing a final kiss to his earlobe, feeling his body tense beneath you.

“Yeah,” he admits.

You pull yourself back to face him, your eyebrow arched. “Will you keep me safe?” You ask. It hangs heavy in the air, a multitude of layers hidden away behind the few words.

Tom nods, a hand drawing up to find home in your hair. His fingers bury in the strands and he uses his leverage to draw you nearer until your noses are touching, his cold skin pressing to yours in the most delicate way.

“I will always protect you,” he promises, voice serious.

Your lips quirk into a slight smile. “Kiss me,” you ask.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, lips chapped but warm as they slide over yours. It’s soft, for a moment, but then you grip his hair and pull him nearer and it grows stronger. Passion flows between you as you cling to him, his mouth hot and luxurious and it draws a heat between your legs as you feel his teeth catch at your lower lip. When you part your lips and grant him access, his tongue dances with yours and you moan into his mouth, every inch of you aching for him, burning with desire to keep him here. His hand in your hair holds you close as the other wanders over your side, caressing your figure softly but warmly, and you turn to butter in his hold, kissing, and kissing, and kissing, until your lips are numb and your lungs burn. When you pull away, he presses his forehead against yours, his eyes pulling open just enough to make brief contact with yours. He looks softer now, less anxious, more in control.

“I wish I could do that forever,” he admits. Both hands find your waist, holding you comfortably as he smirks at you. “You’re something else.”

You shrug slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you, Tom,” you tease, eyeing him carefully. “You gonna come back again tomorrow?”

He raises a scruffy eyebrow. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”

Your lips split into a wide smile. “Yeah,” you admit. “Maybe the day after that, too. If you want.”

“I’ll be here,” he promises. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

You kiss him again, softer. His lips are warm and they already feel a little bit like home. You realise that he’s got you, both physically, because his fingers grip your waist so strongly, but also emotionally, because you look into the depths of his warm, mysterious eyes, and you realise you don’t want to forget what they look like.

“I might want you around for a long time. Is that a problem?”

Tom shakes his head, body relaxing. He kisses you. “Not a problem at all,” he confirms. “I feel like… I feel like you might change my life, love.”

You laugh quietly, rolling your eyes. “Who knew you’d be such a sap,” you tease. Tom frowns, his grip on your waist tightening, and you swallow deeply as he steadies you. “I’m kidding. Relax.” You kiss him again, quickly.

“You think you can just distract me with kisses?” He says, voice confident. You nod your head arrogantly.

“Oh, yeah,” you confirm. “I think you’re the kind of person who will be very easy to distract.” To prove your point, you take a long moment to grind your hips down, feeling the hard presence of his erection pressing up against your covered core. You giggle and your head falls to the crook of his neck, and Tom’s hands rub over your back as he holds you close.

“You’re a minx,” he says. “Such a tease.”

“I’m a lot of things,” you whisper against his neck. You feel his lips brush over the top of your head and let him hold you, close, gripping you tightly, and it feels like you’ve known him for infinity already.

“I’m excited to figure you out, Y/N.”

You tilt your head and run a line of brief kisses up his neck until eventually finding his lips, seizing them in a short peck. “Me too, Tom,” you admit. “I feel like you’re gonna be really special to me,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“Oh, so who’s the sap now, huh?” He teases, drawing your smile wider.

“Shut up,” you say.

“Make me.”

And then, quite simply, you’re back to kissing, and you know he’s dangerous, and you know he’s powerful, but his touch on your waist is gentle and he’s kissing you so slowly and softly that none of that really matters. It doesn’t matter that you don’t entirely know who he is, because there’s a connection tethering your soul to his, and you can feel it - even if it’s only been a few days. It’s a type of connection that you’ve never felt before, and it thrills you, but it also terrifies you. Because you know that the man beneath you holds the keys to the world, but it comes at a cost, and you’re not sure you can afford the price if it all falls apart.

But fuck it. He’s kissing you, and it’s perfect, and you crave to stay like this forever, curled up in his lap like this. So what if the world burns? You’re perfectly happy exactly where you are, Tom’s hands on your hips, your mouths moving in sync. And as he holds you close, you know there’s nowhere else your heart would be safer than tucked up here with him.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 18

18/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Scully, Mulder, and Missy travel to California to meet Emily and wrestle with the future.

------------------

The echo of Scully’s heels against the linoleum is almost enough to drown out her racing heart. Mulder’s thumping steps and her sister’s daintier ones help too, but their collective power does nothing to ease Scully’s awareness that the Earth circles the sun at a thousand miles per hour. Today, she’s feeling every bit of it. 

The three of them round a corner, and a broad-shouldered man and tiny-waisted woman come into view. Agent Feniston and the lawyer, this must be. Outside of conference room C--as planned. 

Straightening every disc in her spine, Scully extends a hand and exchanges a firm shake with each of them. Mulder and Melissa hang back. 

“Dana Scully,” she declares. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“That decision rested with the foster parents,” the male agent insists. “As does any from this point forward.”

“Yes, and I’ll be sure to thank them as well,” Scully acquiesces.

“Hello, Ms. Scully.” The lawyer uncrosses her ankles. “I’m Tanya Joyce, you can call me Tanya. As a representative of the state of California, my priority is guarding the child’s wellbeing and ensuring that any choice made is what’s best for her.”

“Of course,” Scully murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

Tanya thumbs toward the closed door of the conference room. “Brian and Cecily are eager to meet you. The foster system has extremely limited information on little Emily. Your testimony will help us all fill in some blanks.”

Scully nods. “Me as well...this is as much a surprise for me as all of you.”

“Are we to understand that you were not aware you bore a child, Ms. Scully?” Agent Feniston asks. 

“Yes, sir. I know it’s quite hard to believe, I feel the same. I was missing for a period of time last year and was comatose when I returned.”

“Yes, and how long was that period of time, Ms. Scully?”

The edges of her lips fall. “Approximately five weeks.”

“So is it safe to assume that though the child shares your DNA, you did not carry her?”

“No sir, not that I know of. I believe that my eggs were harvested, and she was...well, she comes from one of those.”

The agent hums a note of acknowledgement. “As I told you over the phone, the federal database contained no viable DNA match of a father.”

Scully nods. “Yes sir, and I have no knowledge of what sperm may have been used.”

“Noted.” He rubs his neck. “We were lucky, we only found you because you were in the missing persons database.”

“I had no idea I was still listed there,” Scully says. “I’ve asked the FBI to remove it.”

“Well, it was a stroke of luck for us,” the agent tells her. “This little girl’s foster parents encouraged the state to pursue child abandonment charges against whoever left her. She was found outside a local care center at two weeks old, as I’ve told you.”

“Yes.” Scully purses her lips. She imagines a baby with her eyes, nose, toes, chromosomes crying on a nondescript doorstep...she and Mulder did not know what they were doing when they said they wanted the truth. 

“We’ve already confirmed your story with the FBI,” Feniston continues, “and we have proof that you were working on cases in the east at the time of Emily’s delivery to the foster center, so you are free of any child abandonment charges.”

“Wonderful,” Scully replies, but really, those were the least of her concerns. “May I see my daughter now?” 

That’s the first time she’s ever said that sentence, and she didn’t expect terror to shoot up her spine. Is this what it is, having an extension of your life outside your body?

The lawyer steps forward. “I’ll introduce you to Brian and Cecily, they’d like to speak with you first.”

Scully does not like the way that sits in the air. Still, she musters a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

---------------------------

Mulder and Melissa make themselves at home on a pair of leather chairs outside the conference room. They have been the pall-bearers keeping Scully aloft as her crushed dreams reinvent themselves as high hopes. They don’t understand how it happened any more than Scully herself: one phone call turned into multiple consultations with Agent Feniston, then Tanya and California Social Services and finally, DC social workers who performed background checks and prepared forms so that Scully could come here today to meet her baby and, God-willing, bring her home.

It doesn’t happen this fast, it never does--different voices said these same words to them a dozen times. And yet, barely two weeks after Agent Feniston’s fated voicemail, here they are. On All Hallow’s Eve, no less. Just in time for Emily to complete her first rotation around the sun.

They both play contrasting yet crucial roles in Operation Miracle Baby, as Mulder dubbed it. Dana has sobbed into Missy’s shoulder every night for the past two weeks; happy tears (her baby! she has a baby!), sad tears (she has a baby…and she didn’t even know...), scared tears (a baby! a baby, Missy! probably already walking, and maybe even talking if she’s exceptional...). The situation--and its implications--are impossible to reconcile in such a short time, if at all. Scully’s petite frame could not physically contain it. 

Mulder’s the comic relief, the distraction, the reminder that nothing can be so grave if there's still breath left in your body. He bought a CD of nursery rhymes and stuck in it his beat-up office radio, playing it through the day while Scully labored over this form or that and he pretended to alphabetize the case file drawer. Now, he hums himself to sleep every night with one of those rhymes; he’s hoping this new skill will come in handy. 

He would’ve bought toys and baby clothes too, but Melissa made him swear not to in case the adoption falls through. And she’s right, he can’t bear to imagine the pain Scully would feel packing those away. For sale: baby shoes, never worn hits you no matter who you are. Still, he has a stuffed UFO and a Build-a-Bear fox (yes, he went in and filled it himself) hidden in his closet, and he hopes they won’t go to waste. 

Operation Miracle Baby has been as covert as anything Mulder’s ever been involved in. He, Melissa, and Mrs. Scully are the only ones in his partner’s circle with any knowledge of what’s going on. No one else, in Scully’s words, matters. Trinity too has received a full briefing from Missy and is ecstatic about her girlfriend potentially becoming an auntie. Skinner was told it was a family emergency--and well, it is--though surely he’s suspicious about both of his agents requesting time off. Bill Jr. has no idea they’re in San Diego, though they may seek “refuge” (the air quotes are Missy’s) at his place if the proceedings drag on. 

This is a triumph or failure to be shared only with those most beloved, that’s what Scully said to them the night before they boarded the plane. Mulder has never been included in anyone’s most beloved before. It feels pretty damn good.

----------------------

The perky lawyer raps on the conference room door, opening it in response to a voice on the other side. Scully’s breath catches….a strawberry-haired infant rests in her mother’s arms (Scully hates to think it, but surely this woman is more Emily’s mother than she is), pulling at a lock of the woman’s blonde hair. 

The woman turns her way, and Scully gets her first glimpse at Emily’s face. Emily. Her baby. She wondered the whole flight here whether she would feel a connection….a sense of recognition...upon laying eyes on her daughter. And my god, it’s like some chained section of her heart has burst open, flooded with all the good feelings of the world. Icy blue eyes and cherub cheeks...that’s her baby. That’s her baby.

She watches as her baby is passed to a woman in a CA Social Services button-up who slides past Scully in the doorway like she’s not even there. Scully has a split-second to notice the dimples on her daughter’s cheeks, but that’s it. Emily’s gaze misses her entirely. 

Tanya strides toward the couple in the room, Scully following behind. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace, this is Dana Scully, Emily’s biological mother.”

“We’re so glad to meet you,” the man says, shaking Scully’s hand with a firm grip. “I’m Brian, and this is my wife Cecily.”

“Thank you for speaking with me,” Scully tells them, shaking Cecily’s hand in kind. “I understand you’ve cared for Emily since shortly after she arrived at social services.”

“Yes,” Cecily confirms. “She came to us when she was a month old. Raising her has been an absolute joy.”

Brian nods. “She’s the second infant we’ve fostered. We adopted our first one, Andrew, when he was a year and a half.” 

“I didn’t realize you had another child,” Scully converses, feeling out of her depth. “It must have been quite a transition, taking Emily in.”

“It sure was, but she’s an angel, truly,” Brian says. “We couldn't fathom that someone could abandon her and get away with it, that’s why we contacted Agent Feniston.”

Cecily chimes in--”We were told the chances of finding a DNA match in the federal database was slim. We didn’t expect to learn that you were unaware of Emily’s existence!”

“Yes, I’m still coming to terms with it all,” Scully replies. “I’m grateful that you’ve given me the opportunity to see her, at the very least.”

“When we heard your story, we knew it would be heinous of us to say no,” Cecily says, offering a sympathetic smile. 

“You’re an FBI agent, did we hear that right?” Brain asks.

“Yes sir, I’ve been with the Bureau five years now.”

“You live in DC?”

Scully nods. “Around the corner from the National Mall.”

“That’s exciting!” Cecily pipes up. “How did you find yourself having Emily in San Diego?”

“I actually have no idea, Mrs. Lace,” Scully murmurs. “My family lived here when I was young, but I haven’t been back since. Coincidentally, my brother lives not too far off.”

“Wow,” Cecily gasps. “They weren’t kidding about you being a missing person.”

“No ma’am.” She went from a missing person to missing a person. No wonder she’s spent the past year feeling so empty. 

-----------------------------

Mulder and Melissa get only the slightest moment to catch their breath before a child that is unmistakably the progeny of Dana Scully is carried into the lobby. Her hair curls around her ears in a cute mushroom top, her tongue dancing in her mouth like it has a mind of its own. They stare; they know better, but fuck it, if any baby is worth staring at, it’s this one. 

“Is that--?” Mulder whispers.

“Yeah,” Missy breathes. 

They’ve both seen the pictures, they are well aware that it’s her. They say these things for the awe of it. 

“She’s…” Mulder’s eyes are wide. “She’s bigger than I thought she would be. Not fat, I mean. Just...a whole tiny human.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Melissa smiles at her niece, who is now seated on her caretaker’s lap across the hallway. Emily’s big eyes blink at her, containing silent judgements. How like her mother she is.

Missy elbows Mulder. “I bet she orders mushroom pizza and then picks the mushrooms off because apparently ‘the cheese tastes better than on the regular cheese pizza,’” she muses, naming one of her sister’s quirks. 

Mulder likes this game. “I bet she vehemently denies the existence of extraterrestrials only to secretly believe that her dashing partner is right,” he offers.

Missy smirks. “I bet she would find this game very stupid if she understood it.”

“I’m all in on that one.” Mulder mimes pushing a pile of poker chips into the center of a table. 

Missy laughs, looks toward her seat partner with soft eyes. “She’s gonna be a great mom, isn’t she? Dana, I mean?”

“Oh yeah.” Mulder clasps his hands in his lap. “We should be so lucky to have a little Scully in the world.”

“Mm-hm.” Missy focuses on his face, watching for the slightest move that might give his thoughts away. “And she’ll be able to do it alone, do you think?”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll need some help from Mrs. Scully, and you, and…” he trails off before adding his own name, but Missy’s mind fills it in reflexively. “She’ll need help,” Mulder finishes, “but yeah, she’ll be incredible.”

The details have already been parsed out. As a single mother, Scully is required to list a guardian who would take custody of Emily if something were to happen to her. She listed her mother as the primary one--the social worker told her it’s best if it’s someone who has child-rearing experience--and Missy as the secondary guardian. She would, after all, already live in the child’s household. 

Then there was the matter of the job--its extensive time requirements, travelling, and danger level were all of concern to the agency. This came as no surprise to Scully; a single female FBI agent does not make the ideal adoption candidate. And though she hasn’t yet spoken to the Bureau, Mulder has promised her they’ll work something out. It can be like your leave of absence, he assured her. You tackle the paper trail and I’ll focus on following the suspect’s trail. Easy-peasy.

That’s what he says to her, though he’s terrified of losing her as his partner...Of her being reassigned to something simpler or leaving the Bureau entirely. She could teach at Quantico, that schedule would be a hell of a lot easier than running on Mulder time. Agent Scully can pack for hastily-booked flights at midnight then catch them at 7am, but Emily’s mother couldn’t. He will have to reckon with this if all the pieces fall into their graceful place. He’ll have to figure out how to rearrange their partnership for her, or even worse, how to live without her as his partner. Or maybe even at all. 

---------------------------

Scully glances at her shoes, then summons the courage to meet Mrs. Lace’s hazel eyes. “I hope you will consider my request. I know it’s not up to you entirely--the court will have the final say--but my abduction experience has left me unable to have a biological child, so learning of Emily was truly a miracle of the highest order.” 

Her voice clips as she takes a breath. “I understand that it would be a huge sacrifice on the part of your family, and that you’ve developed a bond with Emily over the past eleven months. I just ask you both to please...think about it.” Tears twinkle in her eyes. She made it, thank god, she made it without breaking down! She’s rehearsed that speech ten times over.

Cecily lays a hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, Dana. It would be a painful sacrifice to us, you’re correct, but we understand that you’ve flown across the country to be here, and that you’ve brought witnesses to testify to your character, so your commitment is clear. We’ll listen and make as compassionate a decision as possible.”

Scully’s lips creep into a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She steps back, the weight of imminent sobs settling over her chest. 

“Ms. Scully has already undergone most of the requirements needed for adoption,” the lawyer tells Mr. and Mrs. Lace. “Medical clearance, psychiatric clearance, criminal background check, and home study. In the spirit of her unique circumstances, California and the District of Columbia have agreed to cooperate to make the process as smooth and expedient as possible, if you should choose to surrender Emily to her. I don’t mean to sway your decision in any way, just to give you all the available information.” 

The couple nods. “Thank you, Tanya,” Cecily answers. “We’d like to speak with the first witness now.”

Scully balks. She expected more questions, a barrage of them, as intense and prying as if she were testifying in front of Congress. And she was ready for that--she was prepared to do whatever they asked of her, to show that there are no lengths she wouldn’t go for Emily. She’s already documented every detail of her life for social services and given over the necessary specimens to prove that no, she’s not a drug user, and yes, her thyroid is hyperactive, but she takes medication for that and her doctor will confirm that it’s under control. 

And if they wanted to know more, she’d tell them. She’d tell it all. Her deepest, darkest secret (telling Daniel that yes, he should leave his wife & kids...all for her, to be with her), the most petty thing that haunts her (stolen cigarettes, smoked on the family porch at 1am), what she wants to say most but can’t (I love you)...a part of her was taken to create Emily. She would give the rest away to keep her.

There was a moment, in one of the drab little interrogation rooms at DC social services, where Scully was met with a question that lunged toward her like a time-bomb. Pull the fuse, pull the fuse it taunted her. See what happens. Instead, she played it off. Pretended she didn’t hear its doomed tick. Feigned none the wiser. No, she isn’t aware of any potential medical condition that would inhibit her life expectancy or ability to care for a child, she told the nice woman. Thank god they got the chip out of her neck before it showed up on any x-rays. 

She snaps back to reality, watching as the conference door opens, and her sister enters the room. 

“Thank you, Dana,” Tanya says, and she assumes that’s the lawyer’s way of telling her to get out, so she does. Outside the room, she settles next to Mulder in a seat that’s still warm.

“How’d it go in there, champ?” he chatters. “You need some water or anything?”

Scully’s not listening. Her eyes are trained on the baby girl across the way with hair too auburn to be brunette that’ll require a smattering of box dye every two weeks to qualify her as a soulless ginger. 

Emily’s eyes land on the woman she does not know is her mother, studying this new face with an infant’s usual curiosity. Mulder has realized by now that the little girl is of much more interest to his partner than he is, and he watches as mother and daughter wave to each other.

Scully lets out a laugh so strangled that for a moment Mulder thinks it’s a cry and jumps to comfort her. He relaxes back into his seat once he sees the joy on her face.

“She’s a sweetheart, huh?” Mulder wisecracks as the young girl jams her fingers into her mouth.

Scully beams. “She’s a baby, that’s her way of learning the world!”

“Hey, I’m not knocking it. That’s my personal preference as well,” he says with a lop-sided smile. 

“Yeah, well, she’s not licking evidence,” Scully quips. 

Mulder shrugs. “A man can’t help his oral fixation. Haven’t you ever heard of Freud…?” he lets it slide off his tongue. 

Scully rolls her eyes. His inability to maintain an appropriate manner is nothing if not inspiring. 

She gestures toward Emily. “You’re already encouraging bad behavior. Tsk-tsk,” she teases. 

“That’s my job as--hey, wait. What’s she gonna call me?” If you get custody, of course passes silently between them.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” Scully says, watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” That’s a lie. She’s sat up during the night trying to decipher Mulder’s relation to Emily. He would certainly be the male authority in her life, but that doesn’t make him a father figure. Right? 

Scully adored her father because he was the head of the family, and he embraced the responsibility, always making sure they had what they needed. While her mother was often the one doing the grunt work of caring for them, her father provided for them. His long deployments with the Navy protected them. Scully understood his sacrifice and loved him for it 

That’s not how it would go with Emily. If she were so lucky as to get the child, Scully would be the caretaker and the provider. A two-in-one deal with a high price. What would that mean, for Emily? Scully could do it, she believes that. Not that it would be anything less than utterly exhausting, but with a little help from her mother and her sister, she could make do, and they say it takes a village to raise a child anyway, so what’s so bad about that?

Since she’s filling those roles herself, that leaves...well, Mulder could be the fun uncle, that fits him. Bill Jr. isn’t gonna cut it, and neither is Charlie, considering that he’s god knows where. Besides, it’s unlikely that Mulder will get a chance to know a biological niece or nephew. He and Emily could fill missing pieces in each other’s lives.

Scully’s eyes trace the contours of her partner’s face. “Do you have a preference about what she calls you?”

“I was hoping for His Royal Highness Fox Mulder of Martha’s Vineyard--is that too much?”

Scully lets a strand of hair fall over her face. “It might take her awhile to get her tongue around that.”

“Or it’ll speed up her speech acquisition,” Mulder replies. 

“Oh, you’re a child-rearing connoisseur now?”

Mulder twiddles his thumbs. “It is my goal to raise the first kid to transcribe canine language into English.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of that,” Scully tells him, a smile flitting on her lips. It’s this kind of banter that keeps her sane. A few minutes out here with him, and she’s forgotten that what happens in that conference room will dictate the rest of her life. 

Across the hallway, Emily giggles at the air, and it fits, doesn’t it? Here she is, already laughing at Mulder’s jokes like the Scully girl she is. 

------------------------------

It feels like a prisoner exchange when witness number one in their civil-that-sure-feels-like-a-criminal case joins Scully back in the hallway, and Mulder is called forward “to the stand.” He swears he found a penny in the parking lot this morning & promises to bring back good news. Scully’s pretty sure he made that story up, but she’s no less hopeful that it’ll come true.

Returned from her brief stint in captivity, Missy dives right into a discussion of her niece: “Look at her, Dana, she looks just like you!”

“Well, she does have fifty percent of my DNA,” Scully concedes with an admiring glance at the little girl.

“Have you gone over to see her?”

Scully shakes her head. “I didn’t think that would be proper.”

“Are you kidding me?” Missy retorts. “First of all, Brian and Cecily are very nice people, and I’m not supposed to say this, but I think there’s a chance that Emily will be yours. Secondly, this could be your only opportunity to interact with your daughter and you’re not gonna take it?”

Scully bites her lip. Her sister knows how to craft an argument. “Alright, but you have to back me up.”

“Trust me, I wanna see her just as badly as you.”

Scully steels herself, then approaches the woman in the polo shirt. “Hello.” She does a polite half-wave, which she’s never done before and which makes her feel ridiculous. “I’m the potential adoptee, and I was wondering if I could say hello to this precious little girl.” It all feels completely out of character, like she’s reading lines from a script. But this is it, this is her reality.

The woman’s face offers little in the way of recognition. “You can have a supervised visit with her, yes,” she recites, as rehearsed as Scully. 

“Great.” Scully claps her hands together. “May I take her to my sister right over there?”

The woman nods. Scully lays her hands on Emily’s waist and lifts the girl gently from the woman’s lap. She is heavier than Scully imagined, or maybe just heavier than she hoped. Every ounce is a reminder of unseen existence and unwitnessed growth.

Emily does not balk, just stares up at her mother with those probing eyes. 

“Hi baby girl,” Scully coos to her daughter as she settles her against her hip. “Can you say hi? Have you got that one yet?”

The girl blinks. “Ma-ma.”

Scully crooks her neck, tries to reign in her racing imagination. All babies do this at this age, don’t they? Calling every woman mama and every man dada. Emily’s no exception. And yet...for that to be the first word her daughter has ever said to her. God winked at her, and she’s glad to have caught it. 

The pair makes it to Missy, who blows a kiss in Emily’s direction. “Hey there little one.” She extends her index finger, and the girl latches onto it. 

Scully cradles her baby’s head, Emily’s fine hair soft beneath her fingers. 

“She’s even-keeled for a baby,” Missy remarks, wiggling her finger and watching Emily crack a smile. 

“Yes,” Scully gurgles out of the sheer joy. She settles into her chair with Emily in her lap. “Do you know what she said to me?”

Missy looks up. “What?”

“Mama.” Scully dons a triumphant grin. “She called me mama.”

“Oh, no way!” Missy squeals. It’s a bit too loud and sudden, making Emily jump. The ladies laugh, and Scully pulls her daughter in closer, kissing the crown of her head. She still has that baby smell; the freshness of new life and all its purity. Scully sighs. It must have been even stronger when she was born.

Scully closes her eyes. If she had one chance to pause life somewhere along the way, to linger in a perfect moment longer, she would do it right now and she would never regret it. 

“My baby…” she breathes into Emily’s ear, hoping it will stick. That one day she’ll remember and find her way home, should she need to.

A warm tear slides down Scully’s cheek and lands in Emily’s lap, a dark drop on the girl’s corduroy pants. “Mama loves you, Emily.” She tightens her embrace. “That’s me,” she sniffs. “I love you, Emily.”

Observing this, Missy feels that she is an interloper and slips off to the bathroom, leaving mother and baby to have their moment. 

Scully strokes the girl’s tiny palm with her thumb. She has missed so much already, and my god, she could miss so much more. What is love, if not sacrifice? Hadn’t that been the takeaway from each week of Sunday school?

The conference door opens, and Scully finds herself irritated that life has failed to pause. Oh, what wouldn’t she do to take the reins from God, even for a moment? She looks up at Mulder, doe-eyed as he processes the optical illusion that is Emily and her mother. Said mother sees the tenderness on Mulder’s face as he comes to terms with this sight, and something in both of them breaks, and something else opens. 

Mulder approaches quietly, apprehensive about ruining the moment. Little does he know, he’s not ruining it; he’s completing it. 

“Hey,” Scully swoons. “How was it?”

He’s too earnest to crack a joke right now. “Less nerve-wracking than I expected,” he murmurs. “Brain and Cecily are good people.” 

Scully can’t help but wonder if they’re hammering this point about Brian and Cecily to make her feel better when the gavel falls in their direction. Mulder directs her train of thought away from this when he kneels in front of Emily.  His eyes are as soupy as ever, Scully notices; she could sink right into them.

“May I?”

Scully chuckles under her breath, like a stranger has just asked if they could pet her dog. “Of course, Mulder. Say hi.”

Over the past weeks, Mulder spent considerable time anticipating this initial interaction. First impressions are important, after all, and there is no one he has wanted to impress more than this sweet girl. Ultimately, he decided that he didn’t care what their meeting was, as long as it would be. And now that he’s here, knelt in front of his two favorite girls, he’s ready to make a promise.

He envelops Emily’s closed fist with one hand and uses the other to caress Scully’s palm. “I want you to know,” he begins, shifting his gaze between mother and daughter, “that I’ll always be here for you.” 

He looks to Scully, realizing that Emily is unable to comprehend what he is saying. “Regardless of Brian and Cecily’s choice, I am prepared to make every sacrifice so that you two can be a family. The family you deserve to be. I know what it’s like to not have that, and christ, Scully, I’m not letting you go through that. You’ve had enough for one lifetime.”

Scully’s face puckers. She is moved on a dimension that transcends the spiritual, if such a thing is possible. She closes her eyes, lets the tears slip out, then softens her focus on him. 

“Thank you, Mulder...Fox,” she effuses, needing to heighten the intimacy. “Emily and I…” she kisses her daughter’s temple again. “Well, you know. You already know.” Her voice is somber almost, reminiscent of a wedding vow’s binding utterance.

Mulder smiles up at them, pats Scully’s hand. “I know. Me too.” 

There are many phrases that could fill her blank, but he chose his favorite, and he’s got an inkling that he’s right.

Scully sucks in a breath, and it’s the first one that has ever counted. Earth is new to her, again.

The door opens a second time, and the lawyer approaches with Brian and Cecily behind her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace would like to take some time to think about their decision,” Tanya announces. “You will understand, they hope…?”

Scully nods, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She would like to break into a tantrum, throwing chairs and screeching every obscenity she knows. Begging please, please, don’t let me miss another heartbeat. Let me live in this Heaven I’ve found. But no answer is better than an immediate rejection, so she screws her lips into a smile and gives away two more handshakes. 

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Lace. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

[doitwritenow]

IronStrange Starter Kit - Master Fic Rec List for all Y’all Because You’ve been Asking and I’ve been Avoiding

Hi! All you anons and askers, I made a list!!! Hopefully some of these are what you’ve been after. :D

(Please reblog this, lol, I spent too much time on it...) 

General rules: These are complete unless indicated otherwise, and end happily unless indicated otherwise. There’s a variety of ratings, as I have no qualms against smut, but I don’t usually read it outside of a larger plot. So I don’t think there’ll be many explicit stories on here. Word counts vary; I indicate general length but don’t go into specifics. What else, uh... Bold stuff is the headers and general subjects. I link the titles. Block quotes are author summaries. Enjoy!!

- 

Okay so first off, there are a couple of Fandom Staples who just have leagues worth of good short stories, and if you haven’t read them, then definitely treat yourself to the array:

A Thousand Futures of Me and You - VisionaryGalaxy (Vishanti, what a legend, ily so much). This is a series of unconnected one-shots, each their own and covering a variety of tropes and moments and themes and AUs. They’re so fun (and/or painful and/or thought-provoking and/or tense and/or sexy)! In-character and amazing, consistantly. 

Prompt Collection -  amethyst-noir (Arbonne). (Also a legendary human). This is exactly what it sounds like: a series of prompt fills in all sorts of tones. You’ll almost certainly find something here that feels like it was just made for you!

Alright, onto the individual stories and series!

Long fics/series:

The of overqualified hands and pi figures series - lantia4ever. (This was my first Ironstrange story, and it is no less magical now.)

A series of one-shots, all set in the same alternate verse in which Tony and Stephen first meet following the events of the first Avengers and then continue to meet after that throughout the canon up until Infinity War and eventually beyond it. Becoming friends - and more along the way.

Time After Time - fancylances. (I love love LOVE this one. Highly recommended.) 

Tony Stark is unstuck in time. Stephen Strange might just be the only person in the universe qualified enough to help.

Citizen Erased - Imagined. (This author. Just... such a wonderful, talented, stunning person who makes wonderful, talented, stunning works. This story is masterful.)

What do you do when no one in the world ever manages to remember you?

Anyone who sees Tony Stark promptly forgets he ever existed after mere seconds. When everyone he has ever cared about has lost their memories of him, he goes to Stephen Strange, possibly the only one who can help him lift the curse. But a terrifying danger is coming, and saving the world isn’t an easy job to do when no one can remember who you are.

if only the gods had mercy on us and it’s sequel a soul too deep - orphan_account. (Vishanti, this series...  It’s so beautiful and emotional and heart-breaking and heart-warming. And it has so few views for so many words! One of my absolute favorites, VERY highly recommended.) 

Tony Stark loved Stephen Strange. He loved him more than anyone could ever imagine. But then a terrorist group attacked the convoy. Then there was a car accident. In the middle of it all, there is tired, battered love. (And, maybe, a little bit of genius)

From the Top - lucifersfavoritechild. (Everyone reads this fic. Written by the blogger Monarch Of The Ironstrange Ship, it’s an MCU rewrite around the relationship. Very fun.) 

“Stephen, if you’re . . . there somewhere . . . when I drift off, I’ll be with you again. I can’t wait.”

|| Personally, I think the MCU would be much better as a love story between Stephen Strange and Tony Stark. Don't you?

Starting from Iron Man, and going all the way to Endgame, with all the appropriate stops in between. Let's take it from the top.

UNFINISHED: Skin Deep - Mystical_Magician. (Super cool premise, and super interesting to read! The dynamic here is very fun.)

A battle that should have finally killed Stephen instead launches him into a parallel universe. Exhausted from centuries as Sorcerer Supreme, he chooses instead to explore this new world in any animal form except human. Having hoped for peace at last, he can't stand to be looked up to, to be responsible for others, to have the world on his shoulders.

If he'd hoped to avoid excitement, however, he really should have stayed away when he noticed an enormous explosion and a falling metal suit of armor as he passed through Afghanistan.

UNFINISHED: The End of Infinity - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec. Very long, very slow-burn. Canon-compliant Endgame fix-it. I’m trying so hard, lol.)

In 2023, the battle for the universe has been won. At a cost no one can forget, the fight is over—for all but one. Stephen Strange has an idea. An impossible idea spanning dimensions and timelines, life and death, and the lines of good and evil. But he's played impossible odds before—perhaps he never stopped.

All that Loki wanted was to fight, one last time, for the fate of his universe. So when he finds himself fighting for another, crashing into the past, he has a few intended words for the wizard that forced him there. But not before he finds a boy. Or, more accurately, before the boy finds him.

Peter Parker had been waiting for the next mission. He just doesn't expect it to come from the future, armed with a ridiculous story demanding a ridiculous quest. And he doesn't expect not to be able to tell Mr. Stark.

Tony Stark is trying to rebuild from the Civil War, knowing that someday, something will come that he needs to be ready for. And he doesn't know it yet, but two universes are trying to rebuild around him, and that something is already here.

Seven Stones. Five dead. Two universes. And one impossible quest to tie it all back together.

UNFINISHED: Sunrise in Exile - Ragdoll (Keshka). (Another fandom favorite! And for good reason. This is really really good!) 

Tony does the math and realizes their best chance to save the universe is by... not confronting Thanos on his own turf.

So he steals a wizard and a spider and a space ship. And he runs.

(Three humans and an A.I in space, the alien friendships they make along the way, and discovering how science and magic might coexist in a universe where they can be one and the same.)

Shorter plotty ones: 

Out of Suffering - Mystical_Magician. (So this author??? THIS AUTHOR??? Very very good, much yes, very good.) 

Stephen Strange does not like people, but 14,000,605 lifetimes of fighting and dying alongside this small group have worn down his walls. He likes them, gods help him. He might even consider them friends. It’s really for the best that they all go their separate ways once Thanos has been defeated. In their eyes, he’s barely even an acquaintance.

Now if only Tony and Peter would stop surprising him.

moros - spookykingdomstarlight. (Almost got a spot in the angst section. Very good). 

There were fourteen million universes Stephen had birthed into existence and let die and, in far more than he cared to count, the visitor standing before him had become something… dear.

Shaking is Caring - mariadperiad20. (This is just STUNNING. Highly loved.)

5 times Stephen's hands would shake, +1 time they didn't.

It's Kinda Chalky - DestielsDestiny. (This one’s pretty short, but definitely worth it.) 

You can live an entire lifetime by looking into someone’s eyes. His sister used to say that all the time. Stephen never gave it much thought back then. These days, he can think of little else.

Something Magic - Imagined. (Beautiful!)

There is only ever one rule that matters:

do not fall in love with the enemy.

An Idiotic Theory - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec! I tried to be funny.)

His wizard has been cursed, again, and Tony's already used up his luck for the day.

(Stephen says it's not a curse. He says Tony's whole daily-allotted karma-based luck theory has minimal merit, citing the fact that Tony had come up with it while he was drunk.)

Tony really should have saved his miracle.

Love Through Time - babywarg (morphaileffect). (I love this one. It sticks with you.) 

Tony discovers an old drawing of, and finally remembers, his invisible friend Stephen from when he was a child.

Alternates - doobler. (Super cool!)

After being punked by a lowbrow magician, Stephen finds himself falling through doors to otherwordly dimensions. How will he ever get home?

132 - 28ghosts. (Soulmate AU! Very fun, incorporates Stephen’s time-loop with Dormammu.)

Ninety-nine point eight percent of humans have a soulmate mark that tells them the age their soulmate will be when they meet them. Tony Stark has a mark. It's just that his is...different than most people's.

(Or: six people who aren't Tony Stark's soulmate, and one who is.)

and when the world falls (I will fall with it) - HeavenChild. (Another multichap soulmate AU. Absolutely lovely.)

Tony will give anything to those he loves.

People will take everything he gives before leaving him in shambles.

Rhodhey, Pepper and Vision have had enough.

Or the five times Tony had his heart broken and the one time he didn't.

i saw the end of the world - JumpToConclusions. (Why has no one read this fic??? It’s so good!!! Stephen knows the future since he saw it on Titan, and things grow more complex from there.)

Tony and Strange are trying to make this work, this being remaking The Avengers. ...And maybe they'll stumble into something else along the way.

Tiresome heart, forever living and dying - Mystical_Magician. (R e a d  t h i s  p l e a s e. The mythology is so cool and the symbolism is so beautiful and the prose is so satisfying. One of my absolute faves.) 

As a fledgling crane, Stephen was too curious for his own good, and it was this curiosity that led to Eugene Strange finding and stealing away his feather robe. Trapped in human form, cruelly forged into the perfect son, not even his father's death freed him when his robe was so well hidden. He only managed to break his father's mold after breaking completely in the aftermath of his accident, and slowly gluing those broken pieces back together at Kamar-Taj, but not even magic could find what had been hidden. Enter Tony, after the defeat of Thanos.

Fluffy ones:

From The Outside - Live. (Hilarious.) 

Being a sentient life-form surrounded by humanity can be hard. Especially when said humans just can't admit their feelings for each other.

Sleeping Iron Man - Golden_Asp. (Another fun one. Perfect balance of ridiculousness with a touch of angst to make it interesting.) 

Stephen Strange stared at the Avengers on his doorstep, Tony Stark flung over Steve Rogers' shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "He touched something, didn't he?" "Yuup." or The one where Tony touches Sleeping Beauty's spindle, is put into an enchanted sleep, and everyone, even Rocket Raccoon, take their turn kissing him. But Tony only has one prince charming.

Doctor Ob(li)vious - lantia4ever. (One of my very favorites. So cute.) 

Stephen starts getting some weird looks from the Avengers, spanning across disturbed, confused and even scared all the way to curious. He dismisses it at first until weird turns into knowing.

And knowing turns into realizing...even if the scheming teenagers had to all but paint it on the walls for him to do so. Oh wait...

Applied Combinatorics in Two-Player Games - 28ghosts. (Short and fun and full of snark.)

After a battle, Tony Stark and Stephen Strange argue about games.

-

“Chess is not a solved problem.”

“Has been since ‘97, Kasparov versus Deep Blue. Kasparov, 1; Deep Blue, 2; three draws.”

“Chess is a game, not a problem.”

The Courtship of Peter Parker's Father (Figures) - flyingonfeatherlesswings. (Peter plays matchmaker! Adorable.)

Peter couldn't stand to sit by while Tony and Stephen danced around each other any longer. Something had to be done.

Speaking Eyes - Vrishchika. (Not Steve Friendly. Tony is amazing in this. And Stephen is so fantastically dramatic.)

Tony has always had expressive eyes.

The Signs of Sleep Deprivation - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Another self-rec. <3)

"Tony said to put the potato in the dishwasher, so that's what I did."

Sometimes, Avengers just show up to say hi. Sometimes, they all show up at once, and Tony makes an party out of it. Sometimes, he invites the snarky, oblivious, somewhat insecure wizard because, and Peter quotes: "everyone else is coming".

Sometimes, something needs to be done.

Show Me Your Scars (And I'll Show You Mine) - Imagined. (Adorable. Lovely. Imagined does it again.)

The worst part is that Stephen keeps tucking his hands away, just as Tony wants to hold them. He keeps hiding them, surreptitiously, no matter what they’re doing. It’s only when Tony kisses Stephen, or hugs him, that he feels the hands settle on his back, uncertain, ready to pull back within seconds.

It only makes him want to cuddle up to Stephen even more, but he backs away, not sure if it’d be welcome.

Promise? Promise. - sharonscarters. (AU, kidfic, absolutely adorable.) 

A four year old Tony Stark runs away from home and finds his Guardian Angel.

What The Doctor Ordered - wakandan_wardog. (Post CW. Kind of not Rogues friendly? So fun, makes me smile. I re-read this one a lot.)

The Rogue Avengers are called back to New York because the heavy hitters are going to be needed against Thanos. Of course, there are some truths that Steve Rogers will need to accept sooner rather than later. Tony Stark has moved on and Stephen Strange will not suffer fools lightly.

Hurt/Comforty ones:

Among The Chaos of The Stars (You're My Safe Harbour) - ShootMeDead. (Oh my vishanti. OH MY VISHANTI. So so so so SO good.) 

Stephen has always been able to hear the stars. Tony is the only one who can silence them.

each night like a white noise frequency - Phierie. (I ADORE THIS FIC. OKAY. I LOVE IT. READ IT.)

Stephen is no stranger to making hard choices. He doesn’t regret his actions on Titan, but months later they weigh on his mind heavier than ever; the cracks begin to show.

Just An Accident - CucumbersInGold. (I really like fics with Stephen’s hands and the difficulties thereabout. Idk, just one of my favorite things. This is beautiful). 

Stephen's hands act up.

Learning, Unlearning - Caaaaaaas. (More character study than anything else. Really good.)

Whatever Stephen wanted with life, life just didn’t seem to know what to do with him.

In which Stephen learns and unlearns some very important lessons.

your eyes have their silence - doctortwelfth. (Oh look it’s another scars fic. I told you I liked them.) 

Tony is gentle with Stephen’s hands even when Stephen forgets to be.

Burning Lines Into The Snow - petroltogo. (Not very Steve friendly. Short and sweet.)

Post CW: It's not just the team that's so broken they are barely able to comprehend how many parts they're missing now, how many have been ripped and twisted and torn. It's Tony as well, right down to the core, the damage so far-reaching even he doesn't know how to fix it.

And then there's Strange, who has his own way of covering the cracks.

Old Bones - CJtheWeeb. (Owch. Dumb geniuses trying to be invulnerable.)

Sometimes Stephen Strange has great days, where he was nearly pain free and his hands still enough to where he could pick up a cup of water and barely spill a drop.

Today was not one of those days.

something taken, something new - meowrails. (So in-character. The premise was a little off to me, but I’m so glad I decided to read this one. I really really like this fic.)

The ChronicConnection implement and app allows a person that lives with chronic or illness-induced pain to transfer their burden temporarily to a willing loved one.

Tony and Stephen sign up as beta testers.

Angsty ones (happy ending unless otherwise mentioned):

day one - days4daisy. (THIS IS SO GOOD OKAY IF YOU READ NOTHING ELSE ON THIS LIST READ THIS).

Three days in Stark Tower. Stephen must be in bad shape if he just agreed to this.

His Merlin - babywarg (morphaileffect). (This author keeps showing up on this list because they are A LEGEND. A LEGEND I TELL YOU.) 

As a child, Tony imagined himself a Knight of the Round Table. Little did he know he would grow up to be a king. And that he would have a wizard by his side to lead him to either glory or destruction.

there is no heart for me like yours - turtle_abyss. (Soulmate AU! Wonderful. <3)

Being able to feel your soulmate - a phantom touch, a bone-deep awareness - is a divine torture. To know, but not see. To seek, but not find. To feel someone holding your hand and not be able to hold theirs.

Grace - StrangeMischief. (*cries in beautiful fic* Happy ending!)

“Pain’s an old friend.” 

Us...Me - StrangeMischief. (This will hurt you. So melancholy. Pepper and Tony live their life, and Tony remembers. Not a happy ending.) 

“I don’t believe in happily ever after.” 

One-Thousand Cranes - FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirls. (Self rec, sorry. Hopeful ending.) 

After it all, a man with shaking hands makes a wish.

courtesy - deathofglitter. (Dealing with the fourteen-million futures. So good.) 

Stark looked at him like he looked at the amulet that rested on his chest like a steady promise - dutiful, a bit burdened, and trying to hold a profound lack of personal emotion whatsoever, still personal enough to protect as anyone would a precious object.

La Douleur Exquise - BananasofThorns, StrangeMischief. (More pain. Pepper and Tony, and Stephen watching and trying not to wish. Very good, no happy ending.)

The before was easy. There were fewer boxes in their minds and no chains around their hearts. There was no hurt. No tears. No dreams.

But those days were long gone.

Stigmata - babywarg (morphaileffect). (AU! Soulmates again. Very interesting, beautifully done.)

Since Stephen was little, mysterious wounds have appeared and disappeared on his body, leaving mysterious scars. His mother says it's because he's one of a Pair, and he's absorbing pain meant for someone else.

*wipes brow* PHEW! That gotta a little more in-depth than I first intended... Have fun, my MysticIron friends. Happy quarantine. 

[laurenmm62017]

Lights on Yavin 4

This is for the Kalluzeb Reverse Bang! @kalluzebminibang

Art is by the talented @drunkenmantis! Go check out their piece~

Summary: Kallus and Garazeb finally spend some quality time together on Yavin 4 after the Battle of Atollon. Zeb gets called away for multiple missions in a row, and what does Kallus do about it?

Pine like a love-sick teenager, of course.

Kallus knew it wouldn’t be easy, openly joining the Rebellion. He had given more than a decade of his life to the Empire, and just because he was a spy for the Rebellion for a year doesn’t mean people have forgotten his origins.

The higher-ups of the Rebellion had interviewed him for any information they thought was valuable to the cause. Clearance codes, secret bases, anything he could remember. Oh, and did he mention the lie detector that they strapped to his chest? Because that was very efficient and smart of them, honestly. He was impressed, especially by their intelligence director, General Davits Draven. He was the one who strapped the machine to him, the one asking the most questions about his intel, the one pressing him more and more and more until he was ready to pull his hair out.

General Draven was… not cruel, really. Just extremely wary of him.

Which is wonderful for the Rebellion, but couldn’t they at least give him some bacta gel for his leg? They kept him in “debriefing” for a few more hours after that, and by the time he was released, he was utterly exhausted. All he wanted to do was get some bacta on his leg, some food in his stomach, and then pass out for an entire year.

As he walked out of the meeting room, ready to find the medical tent, or room, or whatever, he spotted the most unexpected person waiting for him.

Zeb stood against a stack of crates, obviously pretending to inspect his bo-rifle. As soon as the door opened, he looked up and his eyes immediately landed on him. His heart skipped a beat as Zeb walked over to him.

“Finally freeing you, eh? What do you say we head to medbay and then we can head back to the Ghost?”

“You must have read my mind, because that’s exactly what I was thinking. Lead the way?”

Zeb grabbed his hand gently (no, he is most definitely not blushing, thank you very much), and led him through the winding passages of the enormous temple that the Rebels had made their base. There were so many twists and turns, it was hard to keep track. Strategically sound, in his opinion. If anyone infiltrated the base, they would be hard pressed to find the most vulnerable people on base.

The medic who attended him was kind, but exhausted, since they were still looking over other victims of Atollon. He just asked for some bacta, but the medic brushed him off and began a full medical examination of him.

Zeb stood out of the way, but he was always in the corner of his eye as the medic poked and prodded and slathered in bacta and his leg set in a cast. Then he was told not to put too much pressure on it, come back in a few days to get it removed, and was sent off with Zeb to the Ghost.

He spent his recovery aboard the Ghost, while everyone recovered from the Battle of Atollon. Most of that time was spent in Zeb’s room, the galley, or the cockpit with Hera.

Kallus got to know the remaining members of the Spectres as well as he could in the week that he spent recovering, and in return, allowed the walls around his heart crack just a little bit.

He learned that Hera liked her caf with a splash of milk and a pound of sugar. She found and repaired Chopper herself during the Clone Wars. She liked to hum to herself while doing repairs on the Ghost. She’s not quite forgiven him for his time in the Empire, but he didn’t expect her to.

He learned that Rex, one of the few clones left in the fight against the Empire, was great at teaching. He had spent his time on Atollon running drills and such with new and old members. He was friends with, or at least knew of, everyone who came from Atollon. He spent his spare time talking with those two clones from Seelos on a secure channel.

And Zeb.

During his time as both an ISB agent and Fulcrum in the Empire, he had basically memorized Zeb’s file and could recite it backwards. But here on the Ghost, with Zeb taking care of him, he found he had known nothing about the Lasat.

Sabine may be the artist of the group, but Zeb could make a fair number of trinkets and other items. He had made custom chronometers for everyone. He made most of the silverware and utensils onboard. He had programmed their dejarik table.

Zeb was attentive to him, especially during the first few days of his recovery. He assisted with changing his bandages around his ribs and made sure he never had to walk too far.

Zeb didn’t linger on unimportant things. Sure, the obvious thing was Lasan, but like he had said on Bahryn, it was behind him, and he’s moved on. The next thing was Atollon. Zeb was just glad that Kallus was here now, and that the majority of Atollon’s personnel were now of Yavin 4.

Zeb worried a lot. Not about little things, about things that mattered. Do they have enough supplies, rations, ammo, and the other essentials? What was the Empire’s next move? Were Kanan, Ezra, and Sabine alright? They should have checked in by now.

Zeb was funny. They spent their final rest day in the common room, Kallus plunged himself into any intel that the Rebellion could throw at him before he was assigned an official position. He sat at the dejarik table while Zeb and Rex were neck deep in a game, throwing snippy remarks at each other. Kallus occasionally tuned in and chuckled along with them, causing the two to stare at him the first couple it happened. He stared intensely at his datapad, and tried his best to ignore the reaction of his laugh. But every time it happened after, Zeb grinned fiercely at him.

On Kallus’ last night aboard the Ghost, he and Zeb were in the common room, eating one last meal together before he was assigned to a section within Rebel Intelligence. Everyone else was off doing other things to prepare for their first mission off of Yavin 4, but Hera had given Zeb the night off, but they knew it was so that they could spend time together. Who knows when is the next time their schedules will sync up and they can sit like this again.

“Hey, up for a little hike?” Zeb asked, standing up after finishing up his portion.

Kallus blinked, before shoving the rest of his ration into his mouth and standing up from the table. “Of course, I am. Where to?”

Zeb grinned and motioned for him to follow him off the Ghost. The two of them disembark and Zeb walks straight into the jungle. Kallus hesitates at the edge. “Zeb?”

“What? Scared of the dark?”

Kallus smirked, thinking back to the ice cave. “Of course not. But we don’t know what lives in this jungle. It could be dangerous.”

“Kallus. Do you trust me?” Zeb comes back to the edge of the forest, and holds a hand out to him.

Kallus stares at the extended hand, takes a deep breath, and takes hold. “More than anyone else.”

Zeb leads Kallus into the darkness for a few minutes before they come to the base of a smaller, more hidden temple, similar to the one the Rebel base is now in. The pair follow the base a little bit before Zeb boosts himself up onto a ledge not far from the ground, helping Kallus climb up and together, they scale the side of the temple until they are above the treeline.

“Yer leg alright?” Zeb asked, steadying him on the last step, where it led to a platform covered in leaves and moss. It seemed like it’s been a while since anyone has been up here.

“Yes, it’s fine, I just need to sit for a bit.” Kallus replied, rubbing it a little, following Zeb over to a small rock, and settled there, before turning out to face the night sky.

“Oh wow…” He breathed in awe.

It was a completely clear night. Millions of stars sparkled behind the single ring of Yavin 4, framing a moon off in the distance perfectly. Down below, he could see the lights of the main temple, housing the largest Rebel cell currently active.

Emotion swelled in his chest. “How did you find this place?”

“Went to clear my head that first night we were here. The brass kept ya so long, I was getting antsy. So I just… wandered and found this place. Wanted ta show you before we left tomorrow.”

Kallus felt tears begin to build behind his eyes, but he refused to cry, to show weakness in front of his closest friend. “Thank you, Zeb. This is a gift I couldn’t have hoped for.”

“Any time, Kal. Any time.”

Read the rest on Ao3!

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 42

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

"Dude, you live like this?" 

Loki moved past where you stood frozen to the spot. 

"Technically, not anymore.” He shrugged and walked into the sleeping chambers to the left. 

The rooms Loki used to live in were bathed in the rays of the setting sun, coming through large windows and the balcony overlooking the golden city. Everything was grand and coated in riches, whether it be the plush cushions laid on the floor, or the masterfully woven rugs, so soft they felt like walking on clouds.

Stumbling further inside, you walked past a large sofa. You brushed the fabric with your hand, reveling in the silkiness. There were a few carved chairs and a small coffee table on the balcony. You wanted to sit out there and watch the view. Loki's rooms were located high up over the city, and allowed you to marvel over everything laid down below. You'd spend hours there, unable to tear your eyes away if only it was you who'd been born to all this wealth and grandeur. 

Standing there, careful not to be noticed from far below, you wondered how different your life would have been then. How different would it have been to have all those rooms in a completely separate section of the palace all for yourself, and getting tired just from walking from one end to another. To have shelves so packed with books that they almost sagged, and so many places obviously created for reading them in mind. To have staff clean the impossibly high windows and the plush carpet, so delicate it felt like murder to dirty it up. Or to have a dressing room overflowing with jewels and clothing so fine it made you realise how many official meetings must've required their use. 

Closing your eyes, you smelled the soft fragrance hanging in the air. 

It would be a life of wearing too-stiff, formally pressed jackets and boots always shining as if new. A life in rooms too big and too empty, no matter how many things you packed them with. A life that would make you discover all the secret passages through the palace and outside of it. A life that would make you learn tricks and magic just to entertain yourself even in solitude. One that would make you enjoy visiting other worlds, and learning their history just for the fake sense of belonging somewhere. 

You walked over to where Loki disappeared some time ago. 

The bedroom was large and dressed in easy, pastel colors with a few darker patches of green. The enchanted bag you brought with you was laying next to the perfectly made bed. Only two familiar legs were sticking from where Loki dived underneath it. 

You jumped onto the mattress and felt it bounce with wonderful softness. Rolling over the covers, you delighted in their flowery scent. 

"I'm no longer mad about why no room in the Tower suited you," you said. 

"I'm delighted to hear that." 

Cuddling a pillow, you wormed your way to the other end of the bed, curious about Loki's whereabouts. For all the noises and curses coming from underneath the bed, it seemed as if he were struggling.

"You okay there?" 

"Reaching into my spatial storage used to be easier when I was the size of an underfed pigeon. Can you get me out?" 

Standing behind him, you caught Loki by the feet and dragged him out. The box he was clutching to his chest didn't look remarkable, but neither did his bottomless bag, so you refrained from judging it just yet. 

You plopped onto the floor next to him, watching the magic open the locks. "It’s still there after all this time?" 

"I hid it in a pocket dimension," Loki said proudly. "A similar one to what my bag uses. Now, behold…" 

The box unclasped the last of the clips. There was a golden sheer to the surface of the box, shining through the curved, strange symbols along its edges. 

Loki raised the lid, and took out… a stone. 

"I'm not gonna lie, I expected something more dramatic," you said, weighing the stone in your hand. You could easily hide it in your palm. It had a nice texture, something between polished and rough, and was not as cold as a stone ought to be on its own. 

"Not everything about me has to be dramatic." 

You looked around, to the grand chandeliers hanging overhead. And to the minute details carved upon the furniture. And to the tiles laid in intricate, deliberate patterns that must've taken weeks to plan and execute. 

"...yeah, right."

You gladly gave it back to him. There was something about the stone that just made you uneasy. 

The box it was hidden in landed in the bag, just in case it was needed. Watching it disappear in the void gave you an idea that made a wicked smile blossom on your face. 

"Hey, Loki…" 

Holding his gaze, you slipped your jacket off your shoulders. 

Loki froze. 

"How much time do you think we have before anyone finds us here…?" 

He watched your jacket drop to the floor. 

"...a while, I'd wager," the words came out breathlessly. 

Blood was thrumming in his veins as you crossed the short distance between you. 

A shiver he couldn't quite control run down Loki's back as you leaned in. 

"Make me a pocket dimension - in my pocket, actually." 

Loki blinked. There were quite a lot of thoughts rushing through his head that made it difficult to focus on the jacket you held out to him with a hopeful expression. 

You saw his confusion. "It honestly never occurred to me how useful it would be, but being here, in this place, seems like a perfect opportunity. You said your magic gets weird on the Edge, but here it's free of its influence."

"That's true," Loki admitted carefully, taking the piece of clothing, still warm with life. "May I inquire what you plan on keeping in here?" 

"A sword." 

"What." 

"I want a sword. We've been sneaking around all these guards here, and they always have those really cool swords, and until today I wasn't even aware that I wanted a sword but I do. Really do. Please." 

Loki chuckled. He'd agree even if you weren't making such huge, pleading eyes to him, but it was not something he'd ever admit. 

"How do you feel about paying a little visit to the royal treasure of Asgard, then? I've heard a rumor about a few ancient swords laying there, gathering dust." 

The sheer joy that sparkled in your eyes might've been enough to stop his heart completely, were it not for the bone-crushing hug you closed him in. 

This was something he could definitely get used to, Loki thought, having his cheek kissed. Something definitely worth coming all the way back here, to this place of times long gone, despite the risk. Loki had no doubt that his life would become much more complicated were he to be discovered on palace grounds despite his exile. He could save you, probably, if he convinced everyone he had you under a spell, and had enough time to think of a good reason for that. A few guards wouldn't pose a problem, though - he only worried if they managed to set off the alarm before he knocked them out and-

A pointed cough interrupted his plans just as Loki was finishing the spell off. 

Loki looked at you. You looked at him. 

There was someone standing at the entrance to the room, poised in the final rays of sun breaking through the thin curtains. Someone with a love for dramatics. 

"I see you brought a friend, dear." 

The shiver ran down Loki's back, but for vastly different reasons this time. There were plans against the guards he could use to outsmart them. There were secret passages he might use to sneak through the palace grounds. There were excuses, lies, and half-truths that served him well enough in various instances. 

But none to be used in this one. 

"Hello, mother." 

Loki was not entirely certain why his voice came out so quiet. He was not in a very favorable position, still kneeling on the floor with you and weaving a spell over your pocket. There was little denying to be done about the fact he was supposed to be worlds away, on the very edge of the known universe and not in his old bedroom. Even if he tried, he doubted it would work. 

"It's been a while," he added firmly, with a tight-lipped smile only present for a moment. 

Queen Frigga wore a smile of her own, tugged into the corners of her rose-colored lips. It spoke of things she knew and things she could see, regardless of how hidden they were meant to be. It was not malicious, though - far from it, if one knew how to interpret it. 

She remained poised by the door, in a dress of soft pastel pink. There was little surprise on her face, despite how unusual it must've been to find her own exiled son back without any warning. She radiated calm, commandeered without a hint of doubt. Loki missed her warmth. 

"Mother, there is someone I'd like to introduce to you," Loki helped you up. "This is my-" 

"Oh, finally. If you waited any longer, I'd pay you a visit myself," Frigga cut him off lightly, embracing you gently. She smelled of roses and pine. 

Loki caught your petrified gaze, but wasn't sure what to do either. Being hugged was a better alternative to having the guards called, though. You could take it. 

"As delighted as I am to see you," Loki interrupted the moment carefully, "how did you know where to find us?" 

"Palace has eyes everywhere," the queen shrugged, looking you up and down. "Thankfully, your father only has one."

Loki connected the dots. 

"Heimdall it is then, after all. I knew that bastard would have a sudden change of heart just like that." 

Frigga sighed. Her hands were gentle and soft on your face. "Welcome to the family, love." 

"...um, thank you?" 

Loki masked his laugh with a cough. It was truly a refreshing sight, to have you rendered speechless within moments. He'd cherish that sight for a long time. 

"What about some tea?" the queen asked as if things were already settled. There was very little you would deny her, but Loki did anyway. 

"Time is not on our side, mother. We were only able to sneak out for a few hours, but every moment we risk having our little trip discovered by the Edge. The tension there is… growing." 

"Dear, that place was always full of trouble. Do you have a plan?" 

She switched her focus in an instant, with a frown set between her brows. 

"We do." 

There was pride she was not afraid to show when she stroked Loki's cheek. "I can't wait to hear about your success, then."

Loki took a deep breath. "Well, there's a tiny problem we have to solve before we go back there. There's something we need from the royal treasure…"

Your eyes lit up. 

Frigga smirked knowingly. 

"I suppose with your current status, it might be difficult to get you anywhere close to it," she admitted, already thinking about a way in. 

You nudged Loki in the ribs. "What about your bag?" 

"What?" 

"Get in the bag, and I'll get you through," you explained, sweating profusely under the queen's keen eyes. "No one knows me here." 

"That's a stupid idea." 

"I love it, though," Frigga clasped her hands. "Get in." 

"But we don't even know if-" 

"Loki."

"...yes, mother."

As much as you were proud of your idea, there was one thing that didn't occur to you. Once Loki was gone, the rooms became much more quiet. 

Holding the queen's stare didn't seem like a good idea. Avoiding it didn't either, though. 

The tension made your skin itch, prodding you to move, to do anything, and most likely something stupid. Thankfully, the woman was first to break it. 

"Shall we go?" she asked, stepping towards the door with a gentle smile. 

You didn't want to. You had no idea you'd feel this awkward, even when she was giving you no reason to. Taking the bag, you followed her near-silent steps. 

"I'm afraid we'll have to put you in some less flashy clothes," Frigga mentioned off-hand, walking through a luminous hallway. "Your face might not be recognized, but you might still stand out like this." 

Watching her flowing gown, you were inclined to agree. The palace was no place for jeans. 

Your body was no place for the strange fashion of Asgard either, or at least according to your body itself. Walking in clothes cut to a different fashion was only saved by how soft their fabric felt against your skin. Still, you followed the queen to the treasury, faithfully staying a step behind as any proper servant would, or so she claimed. 

There was no hesitation in her steps as she led you through hallways with high ceilings supported by thin, ornate columns. The stained glass of the widows refracted the sun into an artfully intricate mess of colors. The guards and members of palace staff passed you on your way, but they only bowed deeply to the queen, sharing very little of their attention with you. 

"How do you like it?" Frigga asked casually when you were out of anyone's earshot. 

"I mean, this whole place is… wow. Amazing. I wish I had more time to check everything out," you answered honestly, unsure of what the right thing was to say. 

"Would you like to stay?" 

It was an innocent question, or at least it would be under different circumstances. Here, in the middle of a palace, stranded on your own without Loki by your side, it was a question asked precisely because of those circumstances. 

"I'm afraid my schedule is quite busy right now. I've got a war to stop and a murderer to find - you know, just a casual Tuesday evening." 

"And what happens afterwards?" 

She didn't seem angry, and yet there must've been a reason for her curiosity. You looked down to the bag you were still holding. "That doesn't depend solely on me." 

Frigga didn't smile, but you couldn't feel any hostility from her. If anything, she seemed quite at peace. 

The double set of high, elaborately carved doors at the end of the corridor were undoubtedly a work of art and also heavy pieces of metal, magic and gold. It took the guards a few moments of strained breathing and groans to open them for you, but any thoughts about their job vanished as you followed the queen inside. 

Rows upon rows of shining crystals of all shapes and colors crowded one of the walls. Opposite it stood the mannequins in proud poses and heavy sets of armor. High as you could see, weapons of all sorts hanged from the hooks, capable of supporting a small army. Daggers and curved swords you could recognize, as well as the lances and halberds that made you wonder what kind of monsters had they been used against in the past. 

The huge battle axes caught your eye, but there was no way for you to even lift the ones almost your own height. Beyond them, on the long tables, laid gauntlets and helmets both winged and horned or with steel fangs like a beast's, and further in - even capes made of what looked like scales or monster hide. This was a place of legends you'd never heard. 

"See anything you like?" 

Lost in your thoughts, the queen's pleasant voice startled you and brought you back to reality. 

"Everything and I'm not even exaggerating. I could live in here."

Frigga walked by the neat rows of weaponry. "It's mostly family heirlooms and loot from all the great and shameful wars of the past. There are countless stories behind every one of them, but I don't think we came here for stories. What are you looking for?" 

"A sword. Loki said we could get one from here." 

"What kind of sword?" 

"...a sharp one?" 

"I take it you don't have much experience with them, then?" she chuckled. 

"My world favors guns." 

Frigga passed the first row and walked further into the treasury. The grandeur of large pieces changed into the showcase of precision and stealth as you looked at the countless thin blades, hooks and things you couldn't really name, let alone use. You considered letting Loki out of the bag, both to have him steer his mother back to the weapons you recognized, and to check on him. Making a spatial storage was a tricky thing, he had claimed after wondering if the air would still work normally inside of it. 

Before you got the chance to do that, the queen stopped in front of a plain gray case and opened it. 

"It's a shame so many of those have to spend centuries out of use," she blew the dust off a middle length sword with a slightly curved edge. "I hope this one will serve you well." 

The blade was tinted with gray, as if melted with ash. It didn't shine, which could come in handy during sneaking around. The handle laid in your hand as if it was always meant for you. 

"Once upon a time, it was called Windcleaver," Frigga looked at you with melancholy. "It'll never dull and never break." 

"Thank you," you breathed out. Tearing your eyes off the blade felt impossible. "It's marvelous. I only hope I won't cut my fingers off before I learn how to properly use it. Are you sure I can take it?" 

"What use does it have here?" the queen shrugged, gesturing to the immeasurable numbers in the treasury. "Besides, I've heard my son promised you one." 

You carefully put the sword into your magically imbued pocket. 

"Thank you, seriously," you said again. "For everything. We knew about the risk of coming here, so… thank you for not ratting us out? And, you know, giving me this cool sword. You're awesome. I'd vote for you." 

Although voting for anyone was not a practice often used on Asgard, queen Frigga appreciated the implied meaning anyway. 

"That's lovely to hear," she said as you left the treasury and headed wherever she wanted you to go. "Especially since, as far as I could see, you plan on staying with my son, correct?" 

"I mean, I literally crossed the universe with him, twice, so I guess I do? Look, sorry if I'm not precisely who you'd prefer for your son, but I like him, and I'm not going to pretend I don't." 

You left the palace grounds through what looked like one of the main gates. The road was a wide path with olive trees growing by the sides. There was an embarrassing amount of relief you felt noticing the Bifrost getting closer instead of the dungeons. 

"Asgard is a beautiful place in many ways," Frigga broke the silence after a while. "People are happy and live in prosperity, especially on the palace grounds. But life, even here, is far from perfect. Things happen, and we can do little to control the damage they wreak upon us," she looked at you. In the dimming sun and the lanterns slowly coming back to life as you followed the road, the queen looked every bit the royal she was. "I'm glad that my son won't have to go through whatever happens alone anymore." 

Speechless, you followed her over the bridge and to the round observatory at its very end. Frigga approached Heimdall, speaking in hushed voices, meanwhile you watched Loki crawl out of the bag. With a groan, he slumped to the floor, mostly unharmed, if only a little yellow on the face. 

You patted his cheek, waiting for a reaction. "You good? How was it?" 

"...I'm never doing that again." 

"What if I pay you? I've got like—" you fished in your pocket. "Three dollars, a stick of gum, and a sword." 

"You got a sword?" that seemed to raise his attention as he pushed himself on the elbows. 

"Your mom found me one. She's really cool." 

Loki looked over to the queen conversing quietly with Heimdall. She looked the same as the day he'd been exiled. "She is." 

As Heimdall moved to ready the Bifrost, Frigga approached the two of you, embracing Loki tightly. You were aware of what happened in the past in general, but seeing the consequences of it from up so close put a weight on your chest. Switching worlds for the sake of a mission was a very different thing from being completely banned from your own home planet and leaving it for the final time knowing that you won't be able to see your family of any of your friends and places you grew up in ever again, and even you were slowly growing homesick already. Watching Loki say his final goodbye reminded you of how strong that feeling must be in him. 

"Thank you for helping us." He stepped away. "We were lucky to be found by you."

"Actually…," you hated to step in the moment, "we kind of need to push on that luck a bit more. I really don't want to come off as ungrateful, but we really need a tiny, little visit to Earth too."

"Just for a minute. Maybe two," Loki solemnly swore, remembering your completely-not-sketchy plan. 

"We just need to grab some-… thing," you added to the rising suspicion of Heimdall. "Stopping a war is not an easy thing, you know." 

With a heavy sigh of the queen, a nauseating trip across the universe and back, a tiny case of abduction, Loki and you finally found yourselves back in the familiar mud of the Edge, its stars shining just as bright as when you left it. So much has happened since you were last in the obscure forest of gnarled trees, that it felt like weeks instead of hours. You could say that thankfully, nothing seemed to have changed during your absence, but that would be a lie.

The two of you stared at the Rift. It was still a seething wound in the fabric of the universe, and just as awfully wrong as you remembered, but also - significantly smaller.

"Do you think it's because of the Bifrost?" you voiced Loki's thoughts.

"The amount of energy released by the bridge shouldn't be enough to make such a change, but… I can't see how it can be anything else?"

"So we just ignore it and pretend we haven't been even close to it?"

"Yup."

"I like that plan."

"How about we walk a little away from this floating rip of void while we're at it? I think it would be the wisest if the boy didn't see it just yet. We don't have the time to explain everything to him," Loki gestured to the bag. 

You followed him deeper into the woods, grateful to finally reach the part where life was growing back. It was a relief to leave the muddy, dusty circle of death and despair the Rift created around itself as it sucked all the energy from whatever dared to live nearby. Further away, the Edge showed off its true colors, with wild flowers blooming in tangled masses hanging overhead from the winding branches of trees that had no names. Butterflies with three sets of feathery wings crossed your path in a shimmering cloud.

"This should be far enough," Loki judged, finally putting the bag on the moss. "I still can't believe that Heimdall agreed to this."

"I can't believe your mother agreed to this."

"If you lived in the palace, you'd know first-hand what ideas she's capable of on her own…"

Loki knelt next to the bag and reached down into its depths to bring out a boy. 

The boy was no ordinary thing, both by his clothing and his abilities you were greatly interested in. The bright blue-and-red costume hid very little of how deeply in shock he was over his sudden change of settings, world, and, apparently, plans for the evening. 

He rubbed the yellow and green moss and stared at the feathery butterflies circling overhead. 

"Have I- Have I just been abducted?" Peter voiced his confusion in a dangerously high voice. 

"I'd say so, and since he's technically an alien," you pointed at Loki, "you've got the full pack."

"This is awesome!" 

Peter springed to his feet and proceeded to jump around and touch every single thing around him, startling even more butterflies into hurried flight. 

"I told you he'd love it here." 

"I never doubted it. My only concern remains over his discretion, though," Loki smiled gently, looking at the boy freaking out over the flowers, moss, ground, trees and everything alive and currently running away from him. 

"He'll do well. Hey, Peter," you said louder, "we kinda need your assistance." 

He was at your side in a flash, with hands shaking and eyes wild. "Of course! I knew you'd come back for me, guys, thank you so much, I'll do whatever I have to!" 

Explaining your half-made plan to the boy constantly jumping between hugging both of you and getting distracted by literally everything around him took you a moment. You only hoped he'd remember your words. 

In the end, Loki took the runestone out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. 

"Ten minutes ago I was eating a kebab on a rooftop and now I'm doing magic," the boy cheered. "This is great." 

"Now, focus," Loki snapped his fingers, grabbing a churned, black stone he found in the corpse of the monstrous spider that attacked you. 

Loki gently pressed the stones together and watched them start to glow. 

"You'll have to follow the light and not be noticed," he said, pocketing the spider's remains again. "It should take you straight to the person who wanted us dead enough to cast the curse. Once you find them, you get back straight to us, do you understand? There's a castle behind you and our rooms are right there, over those roses blooming-" 

"There's even a castle? I'm not leaving this place," Peter jumped on a nearby tree to see the palace better. 

Loki sighed, appreciating the hand you rubbed his arm with. 

"I'm having second thoughts if this actually is a good plan," he admitted, too quietly for the boy to hear. 

"We don't really have a choice. You said it yourself, that we'll be closely guarded. After that fight yesterday, they won't let us just roam the palace freely. And we need to know who's working against us." 

Loki nodded, painfully aware of all that. Still, it didn't sit well with him to have the boy involved in  such danger. The Edge had always been a violent place, and with the recent events, that tendency only deepened. 

"Be careful, boy," he said, once Peter was calm enough to listen. "I know we haven't explained this plan with you, but… We really need you." 

Anyone who didn’t know Peter well would think that there were tears of joy running down his face as he put on his mask and disappeared among the trees heading to the palace. Anyone who knew him well would know it was true. 

"Stop worrying," you nudged Loki. "Even if someone catches him, they won't hurt him. Besides, look at him go. He's got it. This is the perfect ground for someone with his abilities." 

"I'm not worried," Loki scoffed and crossed his arms in a very unconvincing gesture. "I just can't wait to find out who's our enemy. And if the court will side with us."

"Heimdall would see it, right? He'd help us if things go very south very fast?"

"I'd like to think so, but the only thing he can do is to inform the guards and leave the decision to my fa-... the king. I'm not sure what he'll do. This whole mission was supposed to let Asgard avoid getting any further involvement with the Edge."

So encouraging.

"I see. So how about we sneak back into our rooms before Faroq and his guards notice we're gone? Or even better - find Peter in our place, already having found that nasty spellcaster."

Loki let his imagination run wild. "...let us go indeed."

It was a good not-exactly-a-plan. Sure, it was a hasty job, written almost entirely on the go and with little thought of alternatives, had the things not worked out. But since it had taken you both to the ends of the universe and back (even with a quick stop midway for a tiny little child abduction), you wouldn't be so ungrateful as to say your not-a-plan sucked. 

A few minutes later, you were sadly forced to change your mind, as you were met with drawn out swords and even sharper stares aimed at you. The guards were posted right on the edge of the forest, where it turned into a little more tamed part of the gardens, and shedding any cover it might've granted you.

A woman in a blood red uniform stepped towards you with a scowl. "You're both under arrest. Do not move."

"That sounds a little harsh for breaking a house arrest," Loki calmly observed, moving to stand slightly between you and her. 

Your hand slipped towards your pocket and a certain gift it held.

The guard spit on the ground. "Not enough for the murderers, though."

Loki and you froze. That was new.

"Could we get some more details about what that guy just said or...?"

The woman looked at you suspiciously. She did not lower her sword, nor did she order the other guards to stand down. 

"Don't act like you haven't murdered them," she only barked out.

"As much as you don't believe us, we have no idea what you-"

"Bodies have been found a few hours ago," she cut Loki off. "A few families, living on the other side of the river. Their lives have already fed the nearby Rifts. Are you happy now?"

Far from it, you wanted to tell her and all the guards nervously waiting for the orders. If need be, they'd cut you down without a hint of regret - you could see it on their faces, in the stern looks and tense shoulders. It wasn't a question of what was the truth behind the murders. The only thing that mattered now was how well you had just been framed.

[anxiouslyfred]

Secret Surprise Hell

Summary: Virgil would have thought his soulmate taking the time to plan a surprise party in so much secret he knew a lot of the details before anyone his soulmate knew in person sweet, except now he hates knowing the details and having to keep the person it’s for from finding out early.

/\/\

Knowing the secrets of someone you've never even met was a very very bizarre thing. Nobody quite knew what to make of the soulmate connection and everyone had very strong views about secrets, whether it was that they should keep everything hidden or reveal all constantly, but either way, they were deliberate over how they treated secrets.

Virgil wasn't sure if he liked keeping so many secrets, but when the world left him certain people would vilify him for everything, from the clothes he wore to the things he enjoyed not matching the popular ones, it just felt safer to keep them secret.

Occasionally he'd make a friend and try trusting them with some of who he is, and now even that felt like stealing the knowledge of his accidental secrets away from his soulmate. After all a secret shared by 2 people isn't really a secret at all when they know each other in person.

His soulmate however didn't seem to keep any particularly identifying secrets. The secrets that would appear in Virgil's mind were random, about places they went occasionally, or praises for someone called Roman. Why those things needed to be kept secret, he couldn't know without meeting his soulmate, but he kept note of them in a journal. At least nothing seemed likely to make him get his soulmate arrested over a secret.

There's been news reports over the years about soulmates getting each other arrested, or testifying against each other without actually meeting. It damaged both parties in that soulmate connection as people saw betraying the secrets of your soulmate with utmost scorn, no matter how reprehensible the acts they'd carried out were. Virgil dreaded the chance he could be in that situation, but whomever his soulmate was didn't seem likely to do that.

Currently they were planning a surprise birthday party actually. Virgil had been surprised that came to him as a secret since usually parties like that needed multiple people to plan and it had remained secret for long enough that he knew when the decorations would be brought and that his soulmate was getting them from a department store in the same chain he worked at. It could even be the same one given there had never been a clue over where his soulmate lived.

Virgil hadn't learnt much beyond that they'd come with their brother since that meant sharing the plans with someone else, but he was going to keep an eye out, especially in case anyone in blue or called Patton mentioned wanting birthday decorations. He knew that sometimes people planning surprise parties forgot to let their friends know they were remembered while planning it all. Blue had been mentioned way too much while Remus was planning the party entirely in secret so Virgil could only believe Patton liked the colour a lot.

By the time the day to get party decorations came around he'd grown more and more curious over if there was a way to plan a meet up, make secret arrangements just with himself to go somewhere specific enough his soulmate could meet him there. It was a futile dream and one Virgil couldn't imagine doing. He hated being around public spaces alone, and then the added anxiety of hoping his soulmate might actually try to turn up? It would never happen, but then again he was kind of doing the return with his reaction to this party.

“Come Onnnnnn! If we're going to get this party set up we need to get decorations and get home!” An obnoxiously loud whine brought Virgil out of his thoughts as a pair of twins came into the store. Really it was a guy in what seemed to be a see through green and black ice skating costume and combat boots was dragging someone identical to him but far more reasonably dressed into the store, already looking around to decide the direction they'd head in.

“Welcome to the store, how can I help you today?” Virgil recited, long since trained into greeting people, even if they clearly didn't need to.

The ice skater outfit twin glanced at him for a second. “If you have pinatas I need to know where and if I can beat them up before buying them!” He decided, completely seriously after a second.

“Or perhaps you could direct us to party decorations. My brother has decided to throw a surprise party for one of my friends.” The other interjected, straightening his jacket now the pull on his wrist was released.

“Someone Had Too and you, for all your bluster of being a courteous knight wouldn't even bring up his birthday at all, despite the hints he kept dropping about wanting to do something!”

Virgil interrupted with a quick cough, not wanting an argument to break out. “You want the back shelves, that corner and pinatas are like an aisle away from the decorations. That classes as a party game instead.” He directed, arm pointing through the small clothing section near the front of the store.

“We've got decorations to get and things to beat up then. See ya!” The ice skater uniform was once again dragging his twin away, already talking about the various other things the world said it was good to beat up against things it was bad to.

Once they were out of sight Virgil returned to thinking and just watching the doors, half wondering if the pair could have been connected or possibly even his soulmate and whomever they'd chosen to go shopping with. He could imagine ice skater in combat boots keeping some of the weird secrets he'd received over the years.

“Um, Hey, are there any party decorations in here?” A rather down trodden man had come in while Virgil was thinking. He was in a blue collared top, and had his arms wrapped around him trying to hug himself.

Slowly Virgil nodded, “Sure, but are you okay? You don't look much like you want a party currently.” He wouldn't normally ask a customer this, but even without the thoughts in his head that this could be Patton, he just thought the guy needed a friendly face.

“Friends all forgot my birthday, I guess I'll do something myself. Perhaps if I get a party set up and invite them over this evening I can have a small celebration or something?” The puppy dog eyes though the guys glasses were fatal, and Virgil definitely hoped this was Patton, or at least this guys friends were doing the same thing as his soulmate.

None of that could be said though, so Virgil dragged a hand though his hair. “That's rough, Buddy. Come on, I've finished my time as greeter and should check the shelves anyway. I'll show you where the cakes are and help carry any decorations you pick out once we get there.”

“You don't have to do that, Kiddo. Thank you, though. I'm Patton.” The thanks had Virgil shaking his head, but the name had him freezing. This was his soulmate's friend, or given the weird twins from earlier, his soulmate's brother's friend and definitely had a surprise party planned for him already. How the hell was Virgil going to not only keep him from spending too much on decorations, as well as away from the brothers, while still managing to meet his soulmate?

Either way he definitely was sticking with Patton now. “No, I insist. Come on, I know the nicer cakes we have in stock. What type of cakes do you like? Chocolate, plain with jam, decorated to look like character or animals? We've got something for everyone here.”

“Animals. I love puppies and kittens so if they're on anything I'll probably pick that. Some of my friends have allergies so I can't get a cake with nuts on it.” Patton was already seeming happier with his help, but paused for a moment. “If you're gonna be helping me so much Kiddo, can you tell me your name? These glasses aren't good for reading name tags quickly.”

“I'm Virgil, and now I can't decide if I should show you the latest tray of cupcakes we've started getting or one chocolate sponge I've been tempted to get a few times.” This was far more customer service filtering than Virgil usually did, but he could play sweetness and light for a while.

They were looking at the cupcakes when the twin in a red coat called over. “Hey, Patton, fancy seeing you here.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes to the end of the aisle he'd come from before turning around. With how loud the call was it screamed of distraction technique and if the ice skater dude was around Virgil was going to either give him a piece of his mind or make sure it was passed on to Patton's friends. “If this is one of your friends I should probably get back to stocking shelves before someone challenges what I've been doing.” He offered, seeing Patton glancing towards him.

“Gosh Kiddo, I hope I won't have gotten you in trouble.” Patton had those puppy dog eyes again.

“Nah, I'm pretty sure I've got a good excuse if they try anyway. We pride ourselves on customer service.” Virgil dismissed it, already heading out the aisle. “Hope you have a good birthday.”

Sure enough when he got to the aisle with birthday cakes on there was the dude in his ice skating costume. Virgil immediately marched over, more irritated he'd been caught in this entire thing than happy at the chance to meet his soulmate now.

“Next time you decide to keep a birthday party a secret go to some other bloody store. I did not need to have to distract Patton all because you and that idiot with you left him feeling abandoned on his birthday!” He got immediate attention on him, even with the completely bewildered gaze. “Also is your brother Roman, and that why you constantly have secrets thinking something he's made is good? Cause right now if Patton is his friend primarily I've got half a mind to go and yell at him. Your party for him better be good!”

The ice skater guy burst out laughing then, “Honey, I've imagined meeting my soulmate a million ways but never thought it would be telling me off in a supermarket! You're coming to this party now and I'll make sure you can corner Roman to yell at him too! Especially if I can watch with popcorn. Can you tell Jay and Lolo off at the same time? They've all said I'm making a big deal out of nothing trying to set up a surprise party for Patton, but he's done so many parties for all of us.”

“I'll add them to the list. Have they at least got birthday presents for him?” Virgil shrugged, not quite sure what to do with the sudden invitation, but it wasn't like he was doing anything that evening.

“If they didn't earlier they definitely will by now. I got my morning-star out to threaten them with when Logan tried claiming the fuss made of birthday's was excessive.” Remus agreed, already nodding before pouting. “Hang on, you've known me all of two seconds and have somehow decided to care about both Patton and me in that time? Why the hell is your biggest secret that you're lonely?”

Virgil was not here to get called out for his own issues. “Anger for being dragged into surprise party planning does not count as caring.”

“Yeah and Roman's artwork is as worthless as he claims when the shading goes slightly wrong. Pull the other one. You've latched on quickly.” Remus cut through any blustering arguments Virgil might have tried to say.

“Loud places or crowded places are way too stressful to talk to people in. Hell even here I stick to the tills whenever there's holidays coming up to avoid the crowds. Doesn't exactly help me make friends and any I had have long since vanished cause they liked them.” He shrugged, reaching for the cake Patton had almost gone for before deciding it would be too big for the amount of friends he thought might come over at short notice.

“Cake got, now for chocolate gateau so I can shove it in someone's face!” Remus bounced off, tugging Virgil along with him. “Also, since we're soulmate's I better be getting your number and address so I can turn up out of the blue randomly.”

Virgil snorted. “So you're going to stalk me under the pretence of getting to know me?”

“You know it, MarketKing, you know it!” Remus really was looking through the refrigerated aisles for gateaus, but still turned to leer momentarily at him.

“Just call me Virge, or Virgil. What's your name anyway? I kinda forgot about that since I already knew what you're doing.” He wasn't going to point out the chilled desserts were on the end of an aisle nearer the frozen foods. On the chance an employee figured out who their soulmate was while working they were allowed a margin of unproductive work time.

“Remus, although Duke or Dukey works too. It's fun to have Roman scream those nicknames after I've pranked him. Half the time he gets so embarrassed it's like a second part of the prank.” Remus cheerfully offered.

Whatever this surprise party was going to be, Virgil was definitely interested in where getting to know his soulmate would end up.

[star-killer-md]

Happy Hunting

A/N: Hello everyone, two updates in one week I know. Very out of character for me. Anyway, this is my first like actively dark fic so please be warned and mind the tags, it is dead dove. This has been sitting in my docs since October and I’m excited to get it out. There will be a part two to this with way more smut if y’all want it. And of course credit to @direnightshade for coming up with serial killer!Charlie, go check her out! Thanks to @sacklersdoll as well for being an absolute babe and reading over this for me. 

Warnings: Dead Dove, mentions of murder, mentions of fantasized violence against reader, Charlie is a murderer in this so ya know, drugs used on a non-reader character, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, implied noncon, stalking behavior, allusions to predator/prey dynamics reader is implied afab/fem presenting but no pronouns are used for them, once again, this is a dark fic so be mindful of the tags and let me know if I’ve missed one. 

Part 2

Ship: Serial Killer!Charlie x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Charlie is branching out, searching for some new hunting spots when he finds the perfect next victim. Soon he decides he wants more than to simply add you to his body count, but murder is tricky and not everything goes as he planned. 

He’d been frequenting different bars as of late, branching out into new territory. There were rules to these games, after all—rules to the hunt, rules to keep it sustainable. Charlie knew well by now that staying in the same place for too long would only deplete his selection of targets. And he couldn’t have anyone making connections, so he moved around but always stuck to what he knew. 

That was another rule: never hunt on unfamiliar land. It was just asking for trouble. With such a sensitive, calculated act, one could never afford any random variables. 

This was how he’d been so successful. 

He knew the rules, he played by them and he reaped the rewards. 

And he had just found his next victim. 

You were ordering a drink, lovely figure bent over the bar top while you waited. The curve of your back, exposed by the sheer lack of fabric, and the flicker of your tongue over the rim of the glass told him all he needed to know. 

Yes, you would be a perfect addition to his collection. 

But this was still too new, too fresh. So he settled for watching, memorizing the way your throat moved when you swallowed and the crease of your thighs as you crossed them. His hands itched to spread you apart, see how wet he knew you’d be. Soon, he reminded himself. 

Patience was the mark of a good hunter, and he’d have you in his hands if he simply waited for the most opportune moment. He’d get to watch your throat collapse under his weight and feel the fluttering of your cunt as he fucked you through the fear. 

It would be glorious. 

And well worth the wait. 

***

One week later saw him back in the same bar, ordering a drink and watching as you swayed to the soft music playing. He knew you’d be here, Charlie had a sense about these things. 

It helped as well that he’d trailed you to your apartment, curiously far away from this section of the city. But you seemed to spend quite a bit of time in this area. Took walks in the park nearby, and stopped in the odd cafe every so often. Maybe you worked around here, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. Though, it had only been a week. And where you worked wasn’t all that important to him. 

No, what was important was now. 

Now that he was sipping his Old Fashioned and watching you make eyes at another man across the room. 

He was shorter than Charlie, but not by much. The way he stumbled a bit when crossing the dance floor to you told him your new admirer had more than a bit to drink as well. 

What an amateur. 

You didn’t seem to mind, though, as you guided his hands to your waist and moved your hips with such fluidity, Charlie couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he’d wanted to. This man with his dark hair and hands that engulfed you let you lead him in clumsy circles, trailing like a puppy. 

He was very nearly drooling and you knew it. 

Charlie sneered and nursed his drink, taking it all in. The way your feet avoided being trodden on, the way you pretended not to notice when the man’s hands wandered lower, the way you glanced up through your lashes and smirked when he followed your lips with his. 

All so practiced. 

But the lumbering idiot grabbing handfuls of your ass in front of the whole bar was so predictable, Charlie wasn’t surprised in the least. 

You wouldn’t look so self assured when you were with him. 

Charlie was too full of surprises. 

He was something you’d never encountered before. 

And wouldn’t again, he thought with a chuckle. He’d be your best and your last and that was how it should be. 

Charlie knocked back the last of his drink, setting his glass down on the counter as you led your new find in his obnoxious, neon green sneakers off towards the doors. Your eyes never left the man trailing behind you, locked in place even as you disappeared into the New York night. 

He wouldn’t go after you this time. 

But soon, he thought. Soon those pretty eyes would find him and wouldn’t he be a magnificent last sight?

***

Charlie was trying something new again. Dangerous maybe, but progress was never made without taking a few risks. 

So here he was, walking through a park in broad daylight. It was the same one he’d seen you only days before, walking through the canopy of leaves that were so hard to find in the city. There was a bench positioned right under a few limbs that were already shedding red and brown onto the asphalt path. He sat on the cold metal and waited. 

You’d show up momentarily. He had learned you came here around this time in the afternoon during the week. Always dragging your feet through the grass and staring at the sky while you walked the little looping path. Maybe you came for inspiration. It was a nice place to write, he thought. He’d have to bring his notebook next time. 

That could be his keepsake from you, this place. He could come to this bench and sit and remember how you looked scuffing your heels in the dirt, facing up to the heavens. 

Just like you were now. 

Right on time as well. You’d always stuck him as a creature of habit, something he supposed you both had in common. 

Your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, collar turned up against the wind. He watched the subtle shake of your spine, working its way from your head down to your fingers as you shivered in the cold. 

His teeth caught his lip, sucking it between them as he thought of all the ways he could warm you, make your skin sticky with sweat and cum and blood, make you tremble all over again with the pleasure from his cock sinking into your warm, wet cunt. Charlie could quite nearly taste the hazy tang of you on his tongue, feel the way your thighs would tense and pull to pin his head, but he’d want you tied down. He’d need you splayed out and restrained, he could already tell—having only observed you this short time—you’d be a fighter. 

And didn’t that make you the best kind of prey?

He loved it when they fought, when they struggled, when they kicked and spit and bit at his hands. Or when they were so broken, bloody and hopeless and crawling on their knees, scrambling to get away. 

There was something in the way their eyes looked, something primal, like they knew what he was. Like they knew he was a hunter, a predator, and they were trapped under his claws. Wild and insatiable and delicious. 

He was hard in his pants just thinking about it—at the images his mind concocted. You with your sultry hips swaying in the dim bar light and that locked in look in your eyes. You, in that barely there clothing and the set of your jaw that says you’re just begging for him to catch you in his snare. 

He knew you wanted it, even if you didn’t quite yet. 

Charlie’s hand dropped down to palm at his throbbing length, his long coat covering most of the movement. It was cool enough that no one else but the two of you had wondered out this late in the day. So he brushed over the sensitive head of his cock and watched you making circles around the path until you stopped. 

That was new. That was a break in the pattern, and it made his hand pause. 

You froze and planted your feet on the earth, staring intently into a little copse of trees and shrubs. The barrier of leaves formed a small hidden space that you slip into easily, practiced and lithe like a cat weaving through iron bars. He could only catch glimpses of your face from between the branches, tilted up with eyes closed. 

You looked alive, that was really the only way he could put it. Charlie watched as the shadow of your body lowered itself onto the cold dirt and breathed in the scent of the dying foliage. Under the curve of the roots he could see it: your face scrunched up, lips parted, plump and bitten with your chin tilted back towards the sky. 

He couldn’t look away from the strange display. 

Couldn’t help but feel like he knew the look on your face. 

***

This time, running into you really was an accident. 

He was just stopping for coffee, on his way to work and rushing. Traffic was bad, but it was his turn to run for drinks and there would be an uproar if he showed up empty handed. And there you were, headphones in and seated right by one of the windows in the little cafe. 

Your face was half lit by the laptop screen you were leaning over. Writing, he supposed based on the way your fingers flew across the keys. So nimble, he thought, how skilled those hands must be. How lovely they’d look wrapped around his dick, lips spilling drool and split open— 

“What can I get started for you today?” the barista asked. 

Charlie’s head whipped back around to the overly cheery face behind the counter. He frowned, throwing glances back at you while he rattled off his list of orders. 

“Alrighty, can I get a name for the order?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw your fingers still on the keys, “Charlie is fine.” 

“Great, I’ll get that out for you as soon as I can.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tucking his wallet away and moving to lean against the far wall. 

From here he could look at you head on while everyone else would simply assume he was staring out the window, watching the way today’s light drizzle had doused the city in sepia grayscale lighting. You had gone back to typing, foot tapping on the rough wood floors. He studied your legs, the way they bounced to whatever rhythm was playing in your ears. 

They’d look good shaking, he thought, crawling breathlessly away and scrambling against the cool tile of his kitchen. 

What a joy it was to see you so unexpectedly. Certainly one of the better parts of this morning, even if it was a bit strange as well. This part of the city was a considerable distance from your apartment building. Maybe you liked the shop too, stumbled across it the way his crew had and been drawn in by the aesthetics and quiet atmosphere. Charlie didn’t have many regular stomping grounds but this place was one of them. 

If he was a better man, he might have taken you to coffee here, participated in banal small talk and gotten to know your favorite authors, where you worked and what a creature like you did there. If you hated your boss, if you were quiet about it, if you sent emails with exclamation points to seem friendly and non-confrontational. 

But this was sort of like a date. He had learned something new about you every time, even if you weren’t aware of it. In time, he’d learn even more, see all of you. See what you looked like in your purest form—primal fear in your eyes and blood on your lips. 

And you would get to know about him as well, in time. He’d show you everything, all of it. 

With every new meeting, the feeling grew stronger. 

This wasn’t just about the kill anymore. 

You would be the one, Charlie knew it in his gut. Different from the others who fell so witlessly into his trap, took the bait and barely had the wherewithal to even struggle as he reeled them in. They were dead fish on his hook, limp and rotting before he could drag them to shore. 

But not you. 

You were alive and kicking and perfect. 

You would be so good for him. 

“Charlie!” the barista called, breaking him from his reverie. 

As he swooped in to grab the two drink trays and hurried back out into the rain, he stole one last glance in your direction. 

Silhouetted by an errant ray of sunlight, you struck an immaculate picture. So much so that he missed the way your eyes trailed him out the door, catching on the edge of his coat and following him out into the gloom of the New York streets. 

But he was too busy engraving the image of your slightly curved spine, the arch of your shoulders and neck, to notice your stare on him all the way down the block until he melted into the background of the city. 

***

It was late and Charlie felt worn thin. The subway platform was crowded as always, despite the hour encroaching closely on midnight. They really were true, all those awful cliches about how the city never sleeps. 

He sighed, moved farther to the tile wall so he could avoid being tossed into the tracks by the rustling of passersby. There were dozens of people shuffling around on their tired feet, bitching about any number of things or playing music too loud. The smell of stale piss and the bleach public transit staff used to mask it was even stronger after the rain. Charlie wrinkled his nose against the onslaught and watched the westbound train come and go, rattling like a bull down the tracks and sweeping away passengers as it went. A slip of paper from the wall fluttered off in the draft and settled in a puddle on the ground. 

And a familiar face stared up at him. 

Large black text framed the photo. “MISSING” it read in all caps that quickly dissolved in the New York rain water. Rain here had a tendency to wash away everything just when he needed it the most. He reminisced about the way her blood had slipped down the sewer grates so easily, leaving his shoes free of any evidence. 

She had been particularly sloppy—not something to be proud of—but Charlie was nothing if not adaptive.

He learned from his mistakes.

His eyes flicked over the subway wall and was met with a plethora of blank xerox faces staring back. Most were young, photos taken from cell phones with lips stretched wide and smiling. There were more than a few men as well. Those he did not recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes, and arrogance clear even in pictures. Some of the others he did know, with softer looks—he always had a weak spot for faces like that. 

But they were nothing like you. Besides, all that pretty had melted away so quickly under the knife. And you would be different. 

You would bear him well.  

You would look so pretty hanging from the subway walls, grinning out from the tile or the occasional telephone pole. Charlie didn’t think he’d mind it much if someone made a poster for you. That way he’d get a pleasant surprise while walking down the city streets when he was coming home late like this and had been away from you for too long. 

It had been so long since he’d seen you last. Opening night was quickly approaching and work had been taking up far too much time. It had gotten to the point that he saw your face in every crowd. Walking from the station to his apartment he’d see you in the figures smoking on a neighboring balcony or in the cereal aisle at the grocery store or mingling with the backstage crew out behind the theater. 

And now as well.

In the crowd, peeking out from behind one of the dusty, graffiti-covered columns, he swore that were standing—the curve of your back, the set of your shoulders, the lock of your jaw. Charlie’s feet moved without his noticing, carrying him towards you. 

In the distance, the northbound train was approaching, he could feel the rumble of it in his bones as he pushed and maneuvered a trail through the crowd, but you were still slipping away. Faster than him and smaller, weaving easily through bystanders without notice. 

The train rushed past him, blowing locks of hair into his face that whipped at his eyes and forced him to stop. He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair and trying to catch sight of you again. Though as he looked closer, the figure retreating was just another faceless traveler, their gate was similar but not quite the same, steps too short and heavy. 

Charlie felt scoffed at himself, at the shameless desperation, and allowed the tide of people to sweep him into the train compartment. 

His hand gripped the standing rail hard in a fist and his eyes stared out onto the platform, tiled wall of monochrome faces staring back. He looked out until it disappeared as the subway roared down the tracks once again and left them all behind. 

***

He was finally here. 

Finally after weeks of rehearsals running into the small hours of the morning and a mess of late night dinners, rounds of drinks with cast mates, he was finally here. 

In your bar, watching you dance again in the dim light. 

Charlie would never tire of the sight, the way you moved to the music was addicting in its own right. He’d only just wandered in less than an hour ago, ordered his usual and taken a seat at the bar. From here he had the perfect view, the door was behind him so escape was simple and you were visible just across the table top, swaying to the soft beat. 

He wanted so badly to devour you. 

It was a hunger the likes of which he had never known. It made him reckless, excited him as nothing had in so long. He’d always heard hunters talk about their most prized prey. Seen the massive antlers hung on walls in sets and in film, and he understood it now. You were a trophy, a wonder of nature and he would be the one to win you. 

Keep you in your own trophy room for him to see you dance like that whenever he wanted. 

There were not many people tonight, so you were still swaying alone, not having found a partner  yet for the night as you had done before. 

Charlie was stuck on the way your jugular was highlighted amongst the shadows of neon lights when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was nearly blinded by the bright white screen as he read the notification for an incoming call from his stage manager. 

Shit.

He left his drink at the bar and stepped away for a moment, to the corner farther from the speakers and swiped to answer. She sounded frantic, muttering and hard to hear over the music. His supporting actress had broken her wrist from what he was able to gather, an understudy was being arranged. He huffed and thanked her, asking to be kept updated and saying that no, he absolutely could not give his input at this very moment, he was, in fact, preoccupied. 

When she finally consented to calling back later, he turned and immediately stopped in his tracks. You were there, standing at the bar right next to his abandoned seat and staring right into his eyes. There was a subtle smile playing at your lips, and you rested an elbow on the counter, never breaking your gaze as he slowly walked back. 

Had he been caught? 

Charlie cleared his throat and cursed his racing heart. A sweaty palm combed through his hair as joined you at the bar. Your smile only grew. 

“Mind if I join you?”

He nearly choked on his spit. 

“No, of course not,” he grabbed his glass and you clinked yours against the rim. 

You both sipped, and he tried not to stare too long at how your arms looked resting on the wood. This was...not something he had anticipated. But leave it to you to surprise him. 

“Do you come here often?” you asked, swirling the liquor in your cup. 

Odd that you hadn’t asked his name, but then again, he hadn’t bothered to ask yours either. He knew the constants and vowels of it by heart. 

“I wouldn’t say often,” he shrugged and took a long drink, something to numb him a bit and calm the shaking in his hands. “Only when it’s convenient.” 

“It’s nice here,” you said. “I like the crowd.” 

“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t expected to actually speak with you so soon. 

“No one really comes in to talk, if you know what I mean.” You pulled your lip between your teeth and nibbled at it. 

He could feel his cock twitch in his jeans at the way you bit at the flesh. 

“Is that so,” he mused. 

The look you gave him was succulent, mouthwatering and exquisite, “Wanna dance?”

He shouldn’t. It wasn’t time. There was an order to these things, there were rules and this was breaking them but, oh fuck you just kept looking at him and he was going to drown in how good it was. Charlie downed the rest of his drink and let you take his hand, pulling him slowly into the crowd of other dancers. Just as he had watched you do a dozen times, like he fantasized you’d to do with him. 

Dancing was never really his thing but when you placed his big palms on your hips and let him feel you sway, his feet found their place. You turned in his grip—back to his chest and ass pressed to his front—and moved. 

His vision tunneled. Homing in until the room melted away and there was nothing but your body and his hands. 

***

The streets were dark and empty, but your hand was so scaldingly hot in his that Charlie barely noticed. 

“Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Your voice rang out in his head. The music and the lights were brighter and louder and everything grew hazy the longer he touched you. 

God, he shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t time and hunting had rules but…

But this could be good. Go back to your place, learn the way in, maybe where you keep your keys, the door code and placement of security cameras��make it much easier on himself further down the line when you were ready. When he could take you. 

There were leaves crunching under his feet and the night seemed to grow darker and darker as you led him forward. 

“We can cut through here,” you said, turning to flash him another smile, tugging at his arm and making him stumble. 

He was losing track of where his limbs existed in space, strange since he’d only had the one drink. His eyes were dry trying to adjust to the pitch blackness he was so unused to. It never got this dark in the city, too much light pollution but there were barely any shadows here, too far away from the bustling center of town. 

Something cold and metal brushed his thigh as he followed you deeper into the darkness and towards the twinkling street lamps in the distance. 

The bench, he realized, where he sat and observed you walking your circles. 

This was the park. 

The copse of trees was just ahead. 

Charlie knew where you lived, somewhere far into midtown and not near here. Something unfamiliar was taking over him. His mouth felt thick, his face beaded with sweat and his chest was growing tighter by the minute. This was wrong, he should go, but his legs were like lead and as much as he tried to wrench his hand from your grip...he couldn’t. 

The shrubs caught on his pants as you yanked hard on his arm and sent him tumbling forward into the dirt. He tried to catch himself, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. Face down, he landed with earth and dried leaves sticking to his cheeks. Your weight settled on top of him, thighs gripping his hips and hands planted on either side of his head. 

“You bitch,” he gasped into the ground. “What did you give me?” 

“It’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with,” your breath was so hot on his ear, tongue flicking out to lick up the shell of it and bite down hard on the lobe. 

“You fucking whore,” Charlie hissed, trying to throw you off. He wanted to pin you down, fuck the plans he’d choke you out right here, right now. Wrap his big hands around your throat and watch you claw and grasp at him— 

You were supposed to be perfect. 

Supposed to be his. 

Your nails skimmed up his scalp, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking it back. His neck strained as you pressed your cheek to his, other hand coming to cup his jaw harshly. 

“Listen to me you arrogant piece of shit,” you snarled, no honey sweetness dripping from your lips now. He still wanted desperately to taste them. “I’m assuming you're new to this game so let me explain some things to you. Now be a good boy and listen, yeah?” 

Charlie tried to shake his head from your grip, work your fingers into his mouth and bite but your hand slipped to his throat and tightened just enough to restrict the blood pulsing through his carotid. He stilled, pursing his lips and nodded.

“Much better,” you whispered. He could only make out the blur of your face from his peripheral, feel the heat of your skin pressed to his. “There is one rule and only one to this dance of ours, do you know what it is?” 

He grit his teeth, silent until your nails ripped into his hair again and he groaned as the strands separated from his scalp

“Why don’t you tell me,” he bit the ‘t’ and waited. 

“You never shoot another hunter, dumbass,” you spat. “You make sure whatever the fuck you go after it isn’t wearing a bright orange fucking vest.” 

“What?” he was panting now, the ground fading in and out as his vision went dark. 

“Did you know prey animals never have forward facing eyes?” you stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Cause they’re always looking out, always watching the horizon for predators and the sign of a good predator is that we never let them catch us.”

Charlie’s neck grew weaker, the only thing holding him up was your hands on his throat and buried in his silky hair. 

“So the next time you go scoping for your next pretty young thing to kill, make sure it can’t look you in both eyes.” 

“You, you’re—” his speech was slurred, the words tumbling out in a jumble. 

Is this what they felt like? All the others when he was tying them down and preparing for the slaughter. 

“Yeah. So next time you think about branching out, don’t,” you let his head drop to the dirt and pressed his nose into the soil. 

This is where you took yours. That man with the neon sneakers. When laid here, when he watched you breath in the earth. This is where you came to remember. 

“These are my grounds, so stay the fuck off of them,” you slid off his back, pressing a knee into his hip and pushing so he flopped over limply on the leaf litter. “I won’t be so nice next time.” 

He watched blearily as you leaned over him, settling back and straddling his lap. You rocked your hips once lazily against his cock, still half hard and tenting in his jeans. “Pity I’m letting you go, you’re exactly my type.” 

Charlie swallowed, tongue like chalk as the world faded out around him. You leaned in close, patting his cheek twice and chuckling. It was so dark in this part of New York, he could actually see the stars as you shifted away and sauntered off into the night. Your parting words echoed in his head as he stared, immobile, up at the night sky.

“Happy hunting, Charlie.”