#Very excited to see more road files and the evidence things....

[tasty-littl-snack]

watcher really ate with the gf bonus content this season i love them so much!!!

[hotch-stufff]

hiii 47 and 7 for angst hotch

i love ur writing btw <3

Drunk

gif by hoe-tchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings!: mentions of abuse, stalking, and death, past abusive relationships, normal criminal minds things, angst, crying, pining, but a fluffy ending

Promtps: Angst #7 "Are you drunk?", Angst #47 "You flinched"

Author's Note: Thank you so much <3, hope you enjoy reading!!

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

In hindsight, it probably wasn’ the best idea to get drunk at a bar. Especially alone. But you weren’t exactly thinking straight when you had stepped off the jet after a long case. And it had been a LONG case. Nearly a week of going through the same evidence over and over again scouring for a lead. Finally finding a lead, and coming to a dead end. 

The eventual lead that you did catch, led to the unsub already standing over her next victim’s body. At least you got a full confession. But you had been the one that had found the unsub. If that wasn’t enough, this case had already been hitting way too close to home. 

A woman was murdering victims of domestic abuse to “save them” because her mom was never “saved” from her father’s abuse. She had grown up watching it. Her victims had all had y/h/c hair, with y/e/c eyes. The same height as you, same style, just overall very similar. The only difference the team saw had been that you were never abused. At least that was what your file had said.

You had been able to keep it on the low for as long as you had been at the BAU. But you were terrified one of them would figure it out. That you would flinch at the wrong time, or you would do something to give it away.

You had gotten lucky and no one seemed suspicious. You ended up hiding in the back of the jet, curled up. No one bothered you. They all assumed that the case had just hit you harder. The one thing you hadn’t known though was that Hotch had been keeping a very close eye on you.

You two had become close, and would often hang out at each other's apartments. Spending tjme just talking about nothing and everything for hours. He had quickly become one of your best friends. You always went to him when you were upset.

But tonight, you just needed to get away.

Which is how you found yourself in this bar, downing your fifth drink. In the back of your mind, you knew that you wouldn't be able to drive home, or even walk without tripping over your own feet. You needed to call someone, and your drunk self called Hotch. While the phone rang you checked the time. 3 am. He was going to kill you.

“Hotchner.” You giggled drunkenly at his formal response.

“Why so serious bossman?” He recognized your voice immediately. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?” 

“M’great. Havin a blast.” You slurred.

“Are you drunk?” He asked and you giggled again.

“Mayyybe.” You slurred, concerning Hotch even more.

"Where are you?”

“Mabel's I think. But let me tell you. I think you need to come get me because there is no way m’drivin home.” He huffed as you heard noise coming from the phone.

“I'm on my way, stay there!” But you hung up. You were so excited to see him. Truth was you had definitely developed a crush for the man. Telling him that was going to be difficult, mainly because of your past, but also because he was your boss, and about 12 years older than you.

You waited for about 10 minutes before you heard the door ring as it opened and Hotch ran inside, frantically searching around. He found you and was quickly at your side.

“Y/n, are you okay?” You nodded sleepily. You always did get sleepy after your sixth drink. He gave you a concerned glance before reaching for your arm. You flinched slightly, but Hotch didn’t say anything about it. He picked you up because there was no way that you could walk, and carried you out to his car. 

“You’re staying with me tonight.” He had said once on the road. You lazily watched  out the window as buildings went by. 

“M’kay.” You mumbled. Hotch sent you another concerned glance. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite figure out what. Usually when a case hit you hard, you would spend the night talking with him. He had been surprised when you hadn't shown up at his apartment. Even more shocked when you had called him drunk. He cared about you and it hurt him to see you like this.

Soon he found himself pulling into his driveway. He parked and quickly ran to your side of the car to help you out. He opened your door, and reached his hand over to unbuckle you when suddenly you shifted back. Your arms came up as if to block a blow and a whimper escaped your lips. 

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise!” You let out, sounding much more sober now. Hotch stood there dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. 

“Y/n, it’s me, can you hear me, its Aaron?” You moved your arms from your face, peeking out wide eyed. You pulled your arms the rest of the way down. 

“Sorry Hotch. That was just, um, that w-was-” But he cut you off.

“You flinched.” He paused looking at the tears in your eyes, realizing that he needed to get you inside before you broke down in the car. “C’mon, let's go inside.” You bowed your head and nodded. 

“Okay.” You said softly. He helped you out of his car slowly, and walked you up to his apartment. Once there, you plopped on his couch, sobering up for the conversation you knew was going to happen. He walked in the room, a glass of water in hand. He handed it to you, sitting next to you. he waited a few moments before beginning the inevitable conversation.

“Y/n, why did you flinch?” He asked hesitantly. He didn't want to push you, but he was concerned and he wanted to know. So you told him. Every detail, every heartbreaking moment. The bruises, the scars, the hospital trips. Everything. The reports, the disbelief, the arrest, the divorce. Then the even worse parts. The escape, the stalking, the attack, the death. Every little thing. You could feel the tears falling down your face as you spoke about your ex-husband. 

Hotch sat as he watched the beautiful woman sitting in front of him break down. He didn't know any of this, none of it was in your file. He knew that Strauss had to know though, because you never would have been accepted without background checks and psych evals. 

His heart broke a little more every time you shared another detail. On one side it felt so nice to get it off your chest. On the other hand, it was weird opening up to Hotch like this. He was seeing so much more of you than you had ever allowed anyone since your husband. He sat in silence once you finished speaking. 

“Y/n. I'm so sorry. You never should have had to go through that.” And the tears came even faster, until they were silent sobs. Hotch, well he was more Aaron in that moment, brought you into his arms holding you tight, bringing you a comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay to cry.”He silently whispered into your hair. You looked up at him then, sighing softly at the beautiful man before you. 

“Thank you Aaron.” He loved the way his name sounded coming from your lips. But before he could tell you, he looked down to find you asleep in his arms. And that's how he stayed until morning. 

                       * * *

The next morning you awoke to a strange bed, with strange sheets, in a strange room. But one sniff and all you could smell was Hotch’s cologne. You soon recognized that there was a warm body behind your own, an arm wrapped around your middle. 

You almost didn't remember what happened last night, but once you did, you began to panic. What if he hated you? What if he was disgusted by you? He probably had just pitied you.  

He must have felt you shift, because he was waking up. His arm tightened around you, and he leaned up looking you in the eyes. He saw your panic and was alert rather quickly for someone who had just woken up. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked quickly, eyes scanning you frantically. 

“You must be disgusted with me.” You paused taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry Hotch. I ruined your night and then cried all over you with my pathetic life story. And you probably just pitied me. I'm sorry.” He shook his head. 

“Y/n, look at me.” You looked into his eyes. “I am and never will be disgusted by you. I am amazed by you. You are so strong and beautiful and you never deserved a thing that disgusting man did to you. I don’t pity you, not at all. All of this has just made me fall more in love with you than I already was.” You looked at him wide eyed.

“You love me?” He leaned a little closer.

“Of course I do. It's impossible not to.” You dared closer still as he moved a piece of hair from your face. The loving gesture warming your heart. 

“Thank you. For everything. I love you too Aaron.” And he sealed your lips. It was intimate and explosive at the same time. And in the most cliche way, fireworks exploded as you kissed him. 

You moved together passionately. Your noses bumped ever so slightly as he kissed you deeper than you had ever been kissed. He was an amazing kisser, to say the least. He broke away a moment later, smiling down at you. 

“Give me a chance to show you what real love is, what it's supposed to be.” You nodded.

“Of course Aaron.” And you kissed him again, sliding your hands around his neck into his hair. It was the happiest you had been in a very long time. 

So in hindsight, maybe getting drunk wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

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

Thanks for reading! Requests are still open, so ask away! If i don't get to yours, I'm sorry!! If you would like an idea of what to request, here is my prompt list, and if you would like to read more of my work, here is my masterlist.

[notanotherreidgirl]

It’s Doctor

Summary: Spencer stands up for Reader against a police sheriff

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kissing, pushy guy (he’s a bit of an ass), there’s a miniscule amount of angst, i think that’s it

Word Count: 1120

A/N: Ok here’s a first, no horizontal tango this time. Inspired by this gifset

Spencer didn’t mean to eavesdrop but when he saw you and the sheriff of the police department, he came to a standstill. He had only cracked the door open before seeing you packing up the evidence board, going up on your tiptoes to reach a photograph at the very top. The sheriff jumped at the opportunity to stand close to you, brushing up against your back as he easily grabbed it. He lingered there, trapping you between him and the board before stepping away and making a show out of handing you the photo. 

Spencer felt a flash of anger quickly followed by disappointment and regret. Just that morning Derek had teased him about you, insisting that if he didn’t make his move soon someone would come and whisk you away. 

“A pretty girl like Y/N isn’t gonna wait around forever” he had warned. Derek was right. Of course he was right. Derek was always infuriating right about these things. 

You were the one person that would listen to him ramble for over an hour, only interjecting to ask thoughtful questions. You watch Doctor Who and you love Halloween and you are perfect. You are absolutely perfect and it’s a miracle you even give me the time of day he thought. So he decided on saying something tonight, inviting you to his room to watch TV and unwind after the case. 

He had been beyond nervous but also secretly excited, trying to find the absolute perfect words with which to convey his feelings. Foolishly, he let himself imagine you loving him back and he could hardly wait to see you. Now that balloon of excitement welling up in his chest had wholly deflated. It was just as well, at least he didn’t ruin your friendship in the process of having his heart broken. Resigned, he started to turn away.

It was a habit of yours - packing up after a case. Hotch had protested at first, insisting that everyone should pitch in but no one else was as careful about every little detail as you were. Emily, in particular, had a habit of just randomly shoving papers into unlabeled folders and leaving someone at Quantico to sort through them later. Besides, you organized the paperwork just to everyone’s liking, making sure that the documents Hotch had to sign off on were paperclipped together and printing everything out to accommodate Spencer's aversion to technology. 

You had devised a system. First, you’d take down the pictures of victims and crime scenes and headshots. Then the witness statements would go in the correct folders, the paperwork neatly arranged in it’s own box. At the very end you would wipe down the board, erasing the profile and putting the case to rest. It was cathartic. 

But not tonight. Tonight you had Sheriff Hobartson breathing down your neck.

“I heard you and your team ain't leaving till morning. Maybe tonight I could show you around town” The look in his eye made Spencer think that he was planning on showing you more than an unimpressive suburb. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff. I actually have plans”. Tonight was the night. You were going to tell Spencer how you felt about him. You had a whole speech planned out and you had been rehearsing it in your head all day. In fact, you were so preoccupied with figuring out the perfect way to tell Spencer that you barely paid attention to Sheriff Hobartson’s blatant advances for the whole case. Something that only encouraged him. 

“Come on, sweetie. Don’t lie to me, you don’t have any plans tonight” he straightened his back, invading your space and towering over you. You realized that you were alone with him at the station.

“I don't appreciate your insinuation, Sheriff. I’m not lying to you.” you said firmly, taking a cautious step back. “Thank you for your offer but the answer is no.”

“You’re kidding me right? You FBI think you’re so much better than us! Just coming in here!” he reached forward to grab your arm. “Listen missy -”

The sound of Spencer slamming the door open interrupted him. “It’s Doctor.”

The sheriff shrank away from you, his demeanor rapidly shifting now that he had been caught. Spencer continued to speak as he strode into the room.

“It’s Doctor Y/L/N. She has two PhDs in subjects that you couldn’t even try to wrap your head around. She’s here because you needed our help to do your job. It took four dead women for you to swallow your pride and call us. The unsub behind bars right now? He’s there because of Dr. Y/L/N. And it’s going to be her that decides if you still have a job next week” 

Sheriff Hobartson met your eyes frantically, realizing that he was at your mercy now. “I’m not going to lie, things are not looking that good for you right now,” you said evenly. 

He started to string together an apology but you couldn’t hear him. Spencer had turned and reached out a hand. You took it without thinking. His hands were always warm, always gentle, always pulling you to safety. He curled his fingers over yours, thumb crossing over thumb and palms sliding together. “Come on Y/N,” he said softly. “The sheriff will finish up here. It’s the least he can do.”

Together you left the station without looking back. Your hands were still interlocked, only separating briefly when Spencer walked around the SUV and buckled himself into the driver’s seat. What now? All your carefully rehearsed words had disappeared. “Spencer, thank you. I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

“I couldn’t stand him speaking to you like that,” he slowed to a stop. You registered that he had parked in the middle of the road but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t like there would be anyone driving around a small town in North Dakota at nearly midnight. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. You’re so good, Y/N. You make everything better, even this job. You make it easy to sit through briefings and see the worst things that humanity has to offer. You’re smart and compassionate and -”

This time it was your turn to do the interrupting. You launched yourself across the console and pressed your lips to his. His response was immediate, pulling you as close as possible and cradling your face in his hands. For a moment, you were floating. The kiss was every inside joke, every Doctor Who marathon, every late night reviewing case files, every unspoken I love you. 

So there you were, two FBI agents with 5 doctorates between you stopped at a green light in the middle of nowhere, desperately in love with each other. And it was absolutely perfect.

[minor-solemnity]

hi i love your work and am excited for your series. i was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader comforts tom and let’s him fall asleep on her while she plays with her hair 😩 soft tom 😈

Yesssss! Soft Tom - I cannot resist! This may have gotten away from me a bit so I hope you enjoy 2.6k of fluffy comfort!

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

What Equates to Worship

The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

It’s late when you get home. There is a Very Important Case being tried in the Wizengamot and your boss, Gerald Montague, is running you ragged in an attempt to get the edge on the prosecution. It’s a nasty case, the defendant, Mr Vickers, is on trial for the kidnapping and murders of five women. His chances aren’t looking good - there is enough physical evidence to bury him and his alibi is flimsy at best. In private, both you and Montague are convinced of his guilt but that doesn’t matter when it’s your job to convince the Wizengamot and a jury of his innocence. Needless to say, it’s not been an easy couple of weeks.

Your shoes click against the uneven cobblestones as you make your way down the narrow road to your flat situated just off the main drag of Knockturn Alley. It’s not the best part of town, but the flat itself is double the size of what you would be able to afford if you lived somewhere more reputable. Besides, it’s not as though you’ve ever been scared by the less savoury parts of humanity and society - you’d be awful at your job if that were the case. You throw a couple of sickles to the hag that operates outside your building, and she promises you glory in the afterlife in thanks. “If you could promise me glory when I’m alive, I think I’d find that more useful,” You say as you fumble with your keys.

She laughs, “That will cost you more than a few sickles, love, try again tomorrow.” You chuckle and shrug a shoulder. It was worth try at least. The gas lamps that lead the way up the winding stairs to your attic flat are already lit, casting a dim, flicking light across the stairwell. You frown slightly as you make your way up the stairs; no one usually lights the lamps, leaving it up to you to light them when you return from the Ministry every day. Your curiosity is further piqued when you reach your front door and find it glowing a dim red, indicating that someone has broken through the wards. You have an idea of who it is, but you take your wand out just in case you’re mistaken. You have a few files from the Very Important Case hidden in the depths of your bedroom, which in the wrong hands, would be disastrous for you and Montague.

The inside of your flat is dark and cold and looks just as you’d left it this morning. With a sigh, you flick your wand at the fire and smile as flames begin to flicker and burn. Your flat is relatively spacious, but the fireplace is enchanted to spread the warmth further than a normal fire would and with any luck you’ll be toasty and warm within a few minutes. You shrug out of your travelling robes and kick off your heels, rubbing your aching feet with relish. Next on your list of things to do is figure out who has broken into your flat and if it's something you should be concerned about.

You pad through the flat, your stockinged feet making no noise against the polished wooden floorboards. The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is in disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat which is honestly pitiful and you are struck by a burning desire to make whoever put him in such a state pay for their crimes. Tom should never look so downtrodden - it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. You rub soft circles against his palms, smoothing the tension out of his fingers with careful strokes as the quiet of your flat weaves a gentle spell of calm and soothing around the two of you. “Is it a good evening?” He mutters and when you look up at his face, you can see the hard lines of annoyance and defeat marring his forehead.

“Hmm, don’t frown, darling - you’ll ruin your pretty face.” This at least gets a small hum of amusement out of him which you count as a win. Heaven knows that when Tom gets in these moods it can take a lot more than gentle touches and murmured sweet-nothings to get him to smile. You rise from your position and move behind the armchair, resting your cheek on the crown on his head and your hands on his shoulders to kneed at his knotted muscles. “I assume that you didn’t get the job?”

You’ve been so busy with your own work that you’d forgotten that Tom’s interview with Dumbledore was today. If you had remembered you would have taken the day off because even the most optimistic person would have known there was a fool’s chance of Tom getting the Defence job. Despite everything though, Tom is an optimist. You would never have guessed it when you first got to know him, but underneath his taciturn facade is a terribly hopeful young man who still believes that things will turn out in his favour. His idealism is part of what you love about him if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s a good contrast to your cynical realism.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Tom, despite his young age, is the most qualified person you can think of for the position. He knows more about Defensive magic than anyone save for maybe Dumbledore himself, and beyond that, he has the right temperament for it. It comes as a surprise to most people who meet him that Tom would be a good teacher, but he really is. His love of Hogwarts, defensive magic, and his desire to impart that knowledge all adds up to someone who sees struggling students and wants them to succeed. If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, he would have been a shoo-in for the role.

“You assume correctly.” His voice is still tight and muted with resigned anger, but he begins to loosen under your hands, his head lolling to the side and coming to rest against your forearm.

“Did he give you a reason why?”

Tom sighs and the sound is world-weary and destitute. At that moment, your hatred for Dumbledore intensifies. “He never intended on giving me a chance. He invited me in and lectured me about dark magic. He essentially said that as long as he was Headmaster I would not be welcome in the castle.” The worst thing is that Tom sounds so forlorn. Unlike you, who had decided after a year at Hogwarts that the only thing you wanted to do was leave, Tom’s fondness for the school is unparalleled. “Knowing him, that won’t be for another hundred years or so.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” You say, dropping a kiss into the dark curls of his hair. “He’s an old coot. Still so struck by the mythology of his own genius that he can’t see past his own prejudices.” He hums lowly in response and eventually, you feel him start to relax. It’s gratifying to know that it’s you over anyone else, that he comes to when he needs support. You know his friends and followers would do anything to gain his favour, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t seek them out. No, he doesn’t trust them to see him like this, to see him in his more human moments of vulnerability. He trusts you to understand him and comfort him. That in itself is a gift.

“Now, come on. We can worry about Dumbledore later, but right now, let me find us something to eat.” Food, in your opinion, can go a long way to right a lot of wrongs and you have a sneaking suspicion that Tom probably hasn’t eaten all day. He’s annoying like that, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about silly little things like eating and taking care of oneself. You can’t help but chuckle softly as he mumbles something under his breath and reaches for your hands to hold you in place. “Later, my love. I promise,” You say and disentangles yourself from his grasp.

Tom follows you out of the bedroom and watches you with a look of exasperated amusement as you search your kitchen. Your cupboards are sinfully bare when you go to inspect them, the rush of the last two weeks has meant that you’ve neglected a lot of your more basic chores. “And you accuse me of neglecting my needs. You hardly set a good example, my dear.” He murmurs from where he’s lounging against the stove. You roll your eyes as you shove your feet back into your heels and head for the door.

“Veeraswamy?” You ask and have to hide your smile when Tom’s eyes light up. It’s not often that the two of you treat yourselves to restaurant-quality food as neither of your jobs’ salaries really allow the indulgence, however, tonight, you think an exception is called for. “Feel free to look over the files I brought home - maybe you’ll notice something I missed.” You don’t even finish your sentence before Tom is digging through your work bag and pulling out the offending files. Typical, you think fondly. Tom is as curious as a cat and one of the easiest ways of making him feel better about anything is to introduce him to a puzzle.

Fifteen minutes later you apparate home with a brown paper bag of Veeraswamy’s finest selection of curries and sweet treats. As a rule, they’re dine-in only, as many of the restaurants in muggle London are, however, you’re not above a confundus charm to get what you want and you always make sure to tip splendidly to offset any guilt you feel for taking advantage. When you get in, Tom has the case files splayed out on the small kitchen table and you spare yourself a moment to admire the elegant curve of his neck and the way his curls fall in graceful arcs across his brow. Without looking up, he makes a space for you to drop the bag of goodies on the table and you collect plates and the bottle of wine that is the only thing you already had in your flat.

You discuss the Very Important Case over dinner and he indulges in your complaints about Montague’s refusal to even consider your line of defence. “Vickers says that he went to a Seer and was told that these women would die by his hand. I want to make the case that he can’t be fully held accountable for the murders if it’s already foretold.” Never mind that that isn’t how prophecies or fortune work, no one in the Wizengamot understands the intricacies of Divination well enough to know that just because something is said, doesn’t mean it will come to pass. “Montague is convinced that we can prove his innocence without resorting to asking for lesser charges.”

“And he’ll lose the case because of it.” He hums, sets his fork down and reaches for your hand, his long fingers looping around your wrist. “Have you considered the fact that Vickers may have been compromised? The file says that when he was found, Vickers was abnormally placid and made no attempts to hide the evidence that would have been easily disposed of? Maybe hire a mind-healer and see if he’s been the victim of an imperius curse,” He says nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just dropped the biggest break in the case in your lap.

“Tom. Tom, you are a genius. How did you even begin to come to that conclusion?” He must hear the wonder in your voice because a small, self-satisfied smile curves his upper lip and he leans over the table to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“These things are obvious if you know what you’re looking for.” The knowing in his voice hints at something darker and your eyes narrow slightly. Tom’s proclivity for the dark arts is no secret, neither is his cunning and ruthlessness. You don’t ask and he doesn’t tell, but you suppose it’s probably a good thing that you’re training to become a defence lawyer. Maybe one day he’ll need one.

Tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts though. You doubt any night will be - if ever there comes a day when you have to reckon with Tom’s less savoury pursuits, you already know where your allegiances lie. With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you stand and lead him to the bedroom. “Enough maudlin talk for tonight, I think,” You say as you settle against the headboard and motion for him to join you. “You must be tired after today.”

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see that the day has worn on him. Shadows form like ink stains underneath his eyes, and he holds himself with a kind of forlorn regret that fills you with a feeling of sympathetic sorrow. He crawls up the bed and raises an eyebrow when you don’t move to make room for him. Instead, you simply lift an arm and smile, sleepiness and tenderness mingling into something soft in your eyes. After a few second of internal debate where Tom looks from you to the spot you’ve made for him, he gingerly lowers himself against you, his head resting in the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. He lies unnaturally still and tense in the way a feral kitten might react to the kindness of a stranger.

Honestly, it’s more than a little heartbreaking. Slowly - carefully - you rest one hand over his heart and begin to card your other through his hair. You’re not entirely sure how he manages it - you’ve never seen a haircare potion in his vicinity - but Tom has the softest hair of anyone you’ve met. It’s dreadfully unfair, really. You rub gentle circles against his scalp and smile softly in the dim light as you feel him relax against you, the long hard lines of his body soften as you continue your gentle ministrations. Gradually, you sense him ease into a contented state as he seeks clemency from the day in your touch.

That you can do this for him, that you can be this for him is not something you would have ever thought possible. You remember vividly the uptight rigidity with which he had held himself throughout your time at school. The fervent dedication he had channelled to reach the top of the pecking order, never allowing himself a moment of softness or reprieve. You’re certain that if he’s not careful he will burn himself out before he’s had a chance to truly shine, and you know just how brightly he could if given the chance.

You brush his hair from his eyes and lazily draw abstract patterns against his chest, feeling the way his breathing deepens as sleep overtakes him. In this moment of calm, sleepy repose, you feel your heart expand with all love and care you think you might ever feel, and you brush a soft kiss to the crown of his head, revelling in the almost breathy sigh that escapes him. “You’re far too good to me,” He mumbles, half asleep and entirely too sincere.

“Agree to disagree, my love. I am exactly as good to you as you deserve.” He chuckles at this, nestling deeper into your side and flinging an arm across your waist. “Now, sleep - we have so much time for everything else.”

AN: Also before anyone accuses me of anachronisms, Veeraswamy is London’s oldest Indian restaurant. It was opened in 1926 and I’ve been there once before - the food was so so so good and it was disgustingly expensive. I’m assuming that it wasn’t that pricey in the 40’s

[jihyuncompass]

Link to the Other Boys

☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙

Giving: Acts of Service 

Artem glanced up at you sitting across the table. You’d invited him over on a day off to work on some of the NXX cases you’d been trying to work on together. However, looking at you in front of him, he seemed concerned. 

“Is there something bothering you?” Artem asked. You looked up from the file in your hand, Artem must have noticed the way you were fidgeting with your pen, or how your jaw was clenched. Sighing softly you put the file down on the table. 

“I’m alright.” You said, leaning back in your chair. “I guess I’m just a little tired.” Artem set his pen down and looked over at you. 

“Are you sleeping enough?” You shrugged. 

“With all these cases I’m working on there hasn’t been much time to sleep. I get what I can.” You told him, however based on the way he was eyeing you it didn’t seem that your explanation really did much. “I’m fine. Really.” Lifting up your files again you resumed your note taking, avoiding Artem’s piercing gaze as you did so. 

His gaze didn’t leave you, even after several long moments. Biting your tongue you avoided meeting his eyes. “How about we take a break.” Artem said, while he carefully took the file from your hands. You attempted to reach back for the file, but Artem kept it from your grasp. “I think we could both use a break.” 

Biting your tongue you leaned back against your chair, clearly Artem wasn’t going to relent, and maybe he had a point. You stretched your arms above your head. “Fine. I guess you’re right.” 

“I think I’m starting to get hungry.” Artem said, standing from his chair. “Would you like something to eat?” 

“I could go for something to eat.” You shrugged, your words interrupted by a long yawn. Covering your mouth as you did. Artem watched you, taking in your face. 

“I’ll get us something. In the meantime you should go and rest.” Artem said. 

“Are you sure? I could get food for us.” 

Artem shook his head. “I’ll take care of it. But what you need is some sleep, go get some rest and I’ll wake you up when food is ready.” 

Briefly you considered arguing with him, you didn’t want him to think you were taking care of yourself, or that you needed him to take care of you, but the way he was looking at you, and the way you could feel your body start to grow heavier, you didn’t decide it would be worth arguing about it with him. 

You trudged up to your bedroom, staying quiet to listen for Artem as you crawled under your covers. He seemed fairly quiet except for the occasional sound of him walking around or shuffling the files on the table. However after a while you gave up trying to figure out exactly what he was doing, as your eyes fell closed and you drifted off not too long afterwards. 

The warm smell of food cooking woke you up. Feeling around for your phone you noticed you’d been asleep for almost two hours by this point, much longer than you’d originally thought. Sitting up in bed you shook your head to shake the rest of the sleepiness. How could have you been asleep for so long? Didn’t Artem say he’d wake you up when he had the food? 

Sitting there the smells coming from downstairs got stronger. It smelled like something was in the oven, or something was being cooked on the stove. You’d expect that Artem would have ordered take out, or would go to pick up something.

Dragging yourself from your bed you checked yourself in your bedroom mirror. You looked a bit disheveled from your nap but still looked at least somewhat put together still. Soothing out your clothes you made sure you looked presentable before going back downstairs. 

Artem stood in front of the stove attending to whatever was being cooked. Looking around your kitchen you could tell he must have been preparing a full meal.

“You’re cooking?” You asked him. Artem looked over his shoulder at you, taking a step to the side to see you better, but also allowing you a good look at the stove. A large pot boiled with what looked like some kind of soup. A skillet was sizzling on the burner next to the pot, and the oven on with what looked to be some kind of bread baking. 

“I said I was going to make some food for us.” Artem said, returning his attention to the bubbling pot. 

“I guess I thought you meant you were going to go and get us takeout or something. I hadn’t expected all of this.” You motioned to the stove. “Where’d you get the ingredients too, I know for a fact there’s practically nothing in my cupboards.”

“You don’t have much that’s true, but I left briefly and picked up a few things at the grocery store down the road.” He stirred the soup and checked the sizzling meat on the skillet. “It’s almost done, I also got some bread to go with it that’s still baking.” Your mouth watered at the sights. 

“You really didn’t have to do all this. This is way too kind.” You said but Artem shook his head in reply. 

“I prefer to cook my meals myself, it’s healthier than going out for takeout.” He said. “I also made sure to prepare extra, so you can have this soup for the next few days too.” 

Struck silent you just watched him for a minute, trying to wrap your mind around everything he’d just done for you. Noticing your silence Artem raised his brow at you. “Are you upset? I promise I didn’t mean to invade your kitchen-” You shook your head to cut him off. 

“It’s not that I’m just.” You started, sighing contently. “You’re just very sweet Artem.” Artem didn’t speak, his face beginning to turn shades of red. 

“I’m just worried you don’t eat enough, I see what you eat at work. I know you’re busy and don’t like cooking.” He said. You approached the stove, looking at everything he’d been working on while you slept. While he’d told you to rest and care for yourself. 

Artem watched you, his eyes clearly on you as he examined your face and expressions. “This is almost done then we can eat.” He said, clearing his throat. You nodded and set the files on the table aside. You stole a few glances at Artem and the redness crawling up his face. 

“If you’d like.” Artem said, breaking the short silence. “I’d be willing to cook for you more often.” 

Grinning at him, you nodded. “I’d love that.” 

So would he. 

☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙ ☙

Receiving: Quality Time 

Artem tapped his fingers on his desk. He’d been at this case now for the last few hours, normally these types of cases were quick to make notes of, and even quicker to create arguments based on the evidence, but this one had taken up more time than he would have liked. 

The knock on his office door pulled him out of his mind, grabbing his attention. “Come in.” He said, glancing at this computer he didn’t have any meetings scheduled for right now. So it must be someone from the office. 

You entered his office after he’d called out to you. Waving hello to him as you crossed over the threshold. “I know you’re busy but I had a bit of a question for you.” Artem leaned back in his chair. 

“What’s your question?” 

“Well it’s not about work.” You clarified. Artem’s brow was raised, but he motioned for you to continue. “When I was on my way to work I saw a flyer for a film festival that’s happening in town this weekend. And I know you like movies and reviewing them so I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go together this weekend?” 

“You would want to go to a film festival with me?” 

You nodded. “I would! I don’t know a whole lot about movies but I know you like them! I thought it might be fun to spend some time together.” 

Artem sat quietly for a short moment before he spoke again. “I would like to go with you.” Artem said, lips pulling into a small smile. “I could pick you up on Saturday if you’d like?” You’d nodded happily, and told him you were looking forward to it. To which Artem agreed, as he tried to hide just how excited he was.

As agreed, Artem picked you up from your apartment that weekend. He was wearing a sweater and trousers, not something you were used to seeing Artem wear.  

“It’s nice to see you dressed more casually.” You said. “I feel like I hardly see you outside of work or NXX. It’s nice to see you like this.” 

Artem attempted to hide how the complement made his face flush red the smallest amount. “It’s nice to see you too. Are you ready?” 

“Yep! I’m ready to watch some films.” You said, settling into the car seat. “Although I’m no movie buff like you are.” 

“That’s fine.” Artem said. “You can enjoy the films without needing to know much about the film.” You smiled at him. 

“I wouldn’t mind you teaching me some things about them either.” 

Artem smiled, just enough to let you see. “And I’ll happily do that.” 

You followed Artem’s lead, letting him look through the lists of films being shown that day. On the drive he’d mentioned reading up on a few of the movies being shown, but that he also had wanted to go in mostly blind. 

“So, what do you think looks good?” You asked, glancing over his shoulder. 

Artem adjusted his hand so you could read the list better, pointing to a few showings. “These films look like they have some promise to them. And this one has a question and answers session with the director after. I think you might like this one.” 

“I’m interested!” You said. “I trust your judgement.” 

“You don’t have to agree just because I mentioned it, you can also suggest what you would like.” Artem said. 

Shaking your head you smiled at him. “But I do trust you! Besides, I mostly wanted to come here to get to spend some time with you.” You explained. “I don’t like films that much, but you do and I wanted to do something you like with you.” 

Artem searched your expression for honesty. Finding your words the complete truth. In his chest his heart started to race. Clearing his throat he tried to get himself back under control, still despite his efforts you saw how his face got hotter. 

“Well.” Artem said once he could form words. “I’m glad you wanted to spend this time with me.” He looked at you sincerely, admiring the way you looked at him. “Let’s see this one film first. Then afterwards, I think there’s a film you’ll really enjoy.” He smiled at you, you nodded. Following his lead while Artem did his best to avoid letting it show just how flustered he appeared. 

Despite his attempts you knew him better than that, easily able to see through the way he tried to hide his expression. You smiled, the smallest bit proud of the way you could make him happy like this. 

Another person would have assumed that Artem was a complicated man, professional and thoughtful. Yet, it brought you joy just to see how the most simple of things could bring him joy like this. Walking in step with Artem you followed his excited eyes towards the first screening. 

“Artem?”

“Yes?” He asked, turning his gaze at you. 

“We should spend time together more often.” 

He smiled, that warm and beautiful smile you’d give the world to have. “Yes. Let’s.”

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 52

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, smut

"We fucked up."

"No, we didn't."

"We had Peter. Now we don't have Peter."

Loki's eyes were completely dark from a spell letting him see through Barbara's, but still he waved toward the completely-not-suspicious building complex in front of you. "But we found him again. That surely counts toward something, right?"

"We lost the alien pin too."

"Which we also found, if memory serves," Loki shrugged, as if the search hadn't taken the two of you the better part of an evening. Who knew searching through half of New York and visiting places it might've been dropped could be so time-consuming?

The weather was pleasant, the air growing warmer as the seasons continued to change. It was one of those days where everything felt brighter, despite how disappointing the reality might be.

"I'm still voting for arson," Loki said, assessing the tall fence surrounding the area. An area which crawled with people trying their hardest not to look like agents of some super-secret government facility, and failing rather miserably.

"You might not have noticed, but buildings nowadays have systems preventing fire from spreading."

"Do these systems work against magic fire too?"

"How am I supposed to know? Do I look like I spit magic fire on a whim?"

"You did last week," Loki muttered. The memory was still fresh.

"Wow, so now I'm the bad guy, and not the sneaky little bastard that ate all the cupcakes I left for-"

Barbara came back, flying on quiet, if a little filthy and decomposed, wings. Loki blinked twice, shedding the spell connecting him to the bird. As much as he didn't mind the heights, Loki had to admit he wasn't a fan of the sharp turns and rather random drops Barbara's flying pattern involved.

Loki pointed to one of the buildings further inside the complex. The red, evening sun hit the countless windows with blinding intensity. "The bird thinks the boy might be there."

You looked at the long stretch of road leading to the complex, like a carpet laid out specifically for you, but the crowds of agents working in the area leading to it made you cringe.

"I still vote arson."

"Why don't we just walk in, though? I mean, it was SHIELD themselves that contacted us, right? It should be okay to just… pay them a visit without sneaking around like… well, like villains. No offense."

Loki frowned. He didn't look convinced. "I like sneaking around, though. It keeps me away from trouble."

"If that’s true, how did you get banned from the Moon twice?"

"Touché. Lead the way then, love."

The way took you down the asphalt road, busy with cars rushing both ways. Despite their past issues, Loki couldn't help feeling a little bad for the agents. For all the grandeur and importance they always described their life to hold, Loki's imagination kept on showing him pictures of ants in their little nests, crawling in their endless, pointless patterns.

The ants seemed to fall into a state of shock rather abruptly after laying their eyes on the two visitors to their nest. Some of them just stood there, looking after the figures marching right to the gates, while others ran in a seemingly random direction.

"That worked out better than I thought," Loki admitted when all the space around you cleared.

Barbara perched on top of the gates, screaming on top of her rotten lungs. The security guards looked at one another and then at the approaching god. Their hands went to their guns. Loki took that as a compliment.

"I know this might surprise you," Loki said, "but we are here to talk. Fetch us your Agent Cauldron, and be quick about it."

"Coulson," you whispered.

"Whatever."

*

"No matter how many times you ask me, the answer will stay the same - I don't know," Peter groaned.

His back hurt from sitting on the same, incredibly uncomfortable metal chair for hours, and the lights of the small and a little outdated office were starting to make his head throb with an upcoming headache. Or maybe the reason behind it were the endless questions to which he wished he know the answer.

Agent Coulson looked at the photos on the desk between him and the boy. These were nice pictures. If he were more sentimental, he might've put them on a fridge or maybe to the clipboard on the wall to his left. They were definitely worth taking a look at least once a day - it wasn't often one had a chance to look at a god and an ex-assassin, completely drunk, being led by a teenage boy on a spider-thread.

Peter glanced down at them too, and scowled.

"Yeah, well, we've met and hung out together, but I don't know where they are now. Sir, if I knew, do you really think I'd willingly stay behind?"

The agent didn't answer. He moved very little, in fact. Peter was unsure whether it was a part of some special, super-secret interrogation technique, but it was working. To make things even worse, the metal chair he had been given was making sitting still a nightmare. 

"That's a fair point, Peter," Coulson nodded, "but do you think I would be pressing you so much if two of the most dangerous people on this planet weren't currently on the run with an alien artifact of unknown origin that might've been recently used to damage our Moon?"

That was a fair point too, Peter had to admit. He might've even grown a little worried after hearing such news, if only it all didn't sound so exciting.

"So you DO know what happened to it, right?" the boy leaned forward, with eyes shining with excitement. 

Agent Coulson sighed.

It was a small,  almost invisible display of all the emotions boiling inside of him that he'd never show. He knew better, and had far too many years of experience to allow that. Still, the situation was beginning to wear on him, especially if he spared a thought or two to consider what the two people that should absolutely never go off radar, could be up to at this very moment. 

Last time Loki visited Earth, he led an alien invasion. Last time Coulson met you before you hesitantly joined forces with the Avengers, you'd already put two bullets in Tony Stark and were on the way to making it three.

Coulson allowed himself a moment to thank his hair for already thinning out or he'd be losing it in a handfuls. 

And the worst part was, he actually believed the boy.

He had clearly helped with sneaking you through half the city and into his apartment, but there was no evidence of him helping you out too. Wherever Loki and you were, Coulson was sure he'd hear about it soon enough. He might even let the boy go, and monitor him long enough to see if you'd show up. 

The decision wasn't an easy one, but the agent was left with very limited choices. After all, how likely was it that the two of you would just show up?

The phone vibrated on the desk in front of agent Coulson. He picked it up.

He blinked. And simply said, "Yes."

Peter did not like the absent look on the agent's face. He'd seen far too many movies not to recognize the moment the power shifted in the room. Just in time for something bad to happen. It wouldn't be a problem if it stayed on the screen - Ned and him would freeze with the popcorn halfway to their mouths in anticipation of what was to come. But here, in reality, far from the safe spot on a couch, Peter was painfully aware of how much he didn't want to know what was about to happen next.

Unfortunately, whatever powers weaved through the lives of people, deciding their fate and luck, rarely listened to young boys in their judgement. In fact, they listened to old agents even less, but that was something Peter was unlikely to ever find out.

Peter twisted on the chair biting into his backside, and looked back to the thick, metal door. He hadn't realized it when he had been brought inside, but the door looked like it could take a few shots from a gun and remain unscathed. 

Peter was not sure what to do with that information.

The door in question decided to finally open and reveal the reason for the sudden tension. It didn't even creak, so the god walked in in complete silence. You followed him, not as quiet, but just as unexpected.

Your face lit up when you noticed the boy. "There you are!" 

Peter looked at the agent. The agent looked at Peter.

"I know you're probably not going to believe me, sir, but I swear I had nothing to do with this."

The agent had no doubt that the boy was the least likely person to ever manipulate the god of trickery and lies, or the almost-ex-assasin into anything, but he didn't say a word. He only raised an eyebrow and asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure?", as if there was anything pleasant to be found in the room. But lying was not solely a domain of gods, as all the agents in the world would probably agree. 

And Coulson was a very good agent.

"We recently lost a boy, but it looks like he's just been found. Thank you for taking care of him."

"It was a pleasure," the agent smiled. "Although I can't help but worry if you have lost the pin too?"

"We wouldn't dare," Loki lied smoothly with an even more charming smile.

The god of trickery waved his hand and produced a pin seemingly out of thin air. Whether it was only a clever trick or an actual spell was something agent Coulson would never know, but for once he didn't mind. The pin felt heavy and looked just as the files described, but whether it was the real thing would only be revealed once a detailed analysis was completed. 

Still, it somehow looked like the deal was fulfilled. Coulson would be lying if he said he'd placed a bet on that outcome.

Peter sprung out of the chair the moment you waved at him to go. The agents and armed officers waiting behind Loki and you on the corridor shifted with unease, their fingers laying on triggers. A small crowd eyed every move made in Coulson's office, which was to be expected - it was not every day a facility such as this one was visited by a god.

Especially one with a rather problematic history of attempted world domination.

"If we may, we'll take our leave now." Loki bowed stiffly.

"And what about the 'favor' you insisted on as payment?"

Something cold and ancient flashed in the god's eyes. "All in due time."

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (12)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: the moment of truth 🌹series masterlist 🌹

It was pitch black outside; the only light surrounding you from the stream of your headlights and the cast of stars gently illuminating your path huddled by acres of trees. The countryside was untouched by the pollution of the city and it was almost unbearably quiet amongst the woods, with only low hum of your engine and the faint chirping of crickets outside the crack of your car window to fill the emptiness around you.

The ink hastily written on the scrap of crumpled paper curled up in your hand was smudged. You couldn’t quite make out if it was a six or an eight in the address, but your GPS had long abandoned you several dirt roads ago, so you supposed it didn’t matter much anyway. There was nothing else around for miles. 

When you finally pulled up to what looked like an abandoned warehouse, there was no relief. It looked like something out of a horror film. The paint was chipped on the walls, the name of the metalworks company faded under years of weathering and neglect, tiles of the roof were gathering in piles on dusted, dirt roads. There wasn’t a single light in sight.

You swallowed as you turned off your engine. The headlights stayed on, reflecting on the single silver door. It was rusted along the hinges and looked completely untouched.

You had half a mind to call James to help ease the steadily increasing rate of your heartbeat, but he had been very clear when he asked you to turn off your phone and leave it behind at home. He couldn’t risk anyone tracking your location, so he said. He was acting so strangely lately, but you could sense the heaviness weighing on him.

You didn’t have much in the range of weapons in your car, not that it would have done you much good, but you stuck your keys between your fingers as you pushed open the side door. The air was brisk, sending a chill up your spine as clouds of dried dirt puffed up in clouds with every step you took. You crossed in front of your headlights until you paused in front of the warehouse.

With a heavy inhale, one you weren’t sure you’d let go of anytime soon, you turned the rusted knob and locked your car. The lights flashed off, leaving you surrounded in darkness.

You quickly hurried inside, more afraid of the darkness of the countryside than the unknown of what laid beyond the door. The slam of the door to its hinges behind you was louder than you prepared for and you winced as it echoed through the rafters.

You glanced up to find a group of people stood at the center of the room, all huddled over a long metal table filled high with piles of papers. Their heads turned abruptly in your direction.

One of them separated from the crowd, relief evident on his face as he quickly jogged in your direction; hair bouncing around his shoulders with every step, a half smile on his face though it struggled to reach up by his eyes. Ocean blue, and swarming in something darker, something pulling him under.

James.

But it wasn’t him you were looking at.

The inside of the warehouse was like something out of one of those spy movies Peter used to marathon on Saturday nights. The walls were lined with monitors, some filled with maps of the city, others with profiles and mugshots of men you recognized as friends of your husband, but the one displaying live security footage outside of your home caught your eye. 

You could see the driveway, the row of plain, well-kept bushes lining the pavement, the lights on above the garage. One of the security men you snuck past was on a lap around the perimeter and stopped to take a drag of his cigarette before he tossed the butt unto the grass.

An unpleasant shiver swept up your spine; cold and detached, and it nestled deep into your stomach.

“What the hell...” you exhaled, hardly able to take it all in.

You felt a hand graze your arm and you flinched, shocked by the sudden touch before you realized who was behind it. You turned to find bright blue eyes watching you cautiously as James chewed on the healed scar at the center of his bottom lip. He glanced sadly down at your hand, noticing the keys nestled between your knuckles and you quickly released them, slipping them into your pocket.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” he said quietly and there was a slight tremor in his voice, a nervousness, as he looked back to the group of people watching him from the metal table ahead of them.

“James, what’s going on?” you asked and he forced a smile to his face, one that was meant to reassure you, though he could hardly muster it.

“Come with me. I promise, I’ll explain everything.” He extended his hand to you, open and waiting, patient, and you studied the lines in his palms, lines you’d come to be familiar with, and suddenly you weren’t sure if you knew much of anything at all.

Still, you took his hand blindly as he guided you further into the room. He pulled out a chair for you at the table, just ahead of a particularly high stack of papers. You didn’t say anything as you glanced around at his friends and took a seat.

The tall, blonde man with broad shoulders and the clear line of muscles visible through the thin fabric of his t-shirt wore a slight frown on his face, though the way his eyes drifted to James protectively suggested he was concerned more than he was angry.

Beside him, slumped down into a chair of his own, was a dark-skinned man with a large, toothy grin, and dimples in cheeks. He smiled at you, like he knew something you didn’t, and you suspected that was more than the case because he was almost giddy with excitement, shifting in his seat and stealing looks at James.

“We don’t have much time before Rumlow finishes up in Harlem,” a red-haired woman to your right said.

You narrowed your eyes, recognizing her short, rounded nose, pointed stare, and perfect curve of a cupid’s bow on her lips outlined in dark red. She was familiar -- they all were -- like you’d seen them in passing but couldn’t place exactly where.

She pointed to a monitor behind you and you turned to find grainy footage of your husband sitting in at a table surrounded by men in suits you recognized from one of the dozens of parties he’d dragged you to over the years. It was from a Chinese restaurant in Harlem you got takeout from once with Peter. You gritted your teeth as you watched him clap a hand on the man beside him, throwing a wad of cash onto the table.

James nodded to his red-haired friend, pulling up a chair in front of you and turning it to face you properly before he took a seat.

“Where am I? Why am I here?” you asked tensely, unable to tear your eyes away from the monitors. You watched as one flickered from your living room to the hallway outside your library, to the staircase leading up to your room. Empty, haunted, in your absence.

A ruffle of papers to your left stole your attention and you found yourself staring at the blonde man with a file rifling through his fingers. A picture of your husband slipped out from the center and fell to the table. Even in his mug shot, his eyes held a kind of possessiveness, an arrogance, that transcended the page.

“Why do you have security footage of my house and—and Brock’s old RAP sheet?” your gaze flickered to the man sitting in the chair, watching you with a familiar kind of look in his eye, and then to the woman who was busying herself behind her laptop. You turned to James. “Who are these people?”

You could feel your breaths increasing in pace, the panic that was starting to take hold, but you stifled it down, buried behind closed doors and cement until it suffocated under the surface and all that remained was a vagrant stare and a jaw wired to stone.

James brushed his lips over with his hand, a heavy breath before he spoke again.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t really know how to say this.”

“Try,” you muttered out, voice like sandpaper.  

You didn’t realize your hands were clenched onto the bottom of the metal chair until your fingers started to ache. James’ eyes wavered down to your grip and he nodded quickly. Your heart was pounding so painfully, you wondered if he could see the thump of it through your chest.

He dug his hand into his pocket, let out a breath that looked near painful, and slowly set a shiny, golden badge onto the table. The shine of it reflected in the dim lighting of the warehouse. You dug your hands into the metal edges of the chair until you felt a sharp burn. 

“My name isn’t James Karpov,” he exhaled. Blue eyes flickered up to yours, gaging for a reaction on your face he wouldn’t find. He glanced back nervously at the blonde man pacing behind him before he continued. “I’m a special agent with the FBI and I’ve been undercover in Hydra for over a year now.”

Your features hardened over like stone, a protective layer to shield the surge of a storm thundering inside of you; the answer to a question you’d been suspecting for a while without realizing it.

You’d seen the way he flinched at his own name, how he got that kind of solemn look in the blue of his eyes when you talked about your husband, about wanting to escape it all, how he’d promised for things to be different when this was over, if he had more time. Pieces started to fall together and somehow you were still more lost than you’d been in years.

He paused, watching you, waiting for a flicker of the woman he knew to break through the blank stare currently consuming your features, but when nothing came, he let himself exhale. You focused on the soft footsteps of his friend pacing along the wall behind him. It was comforting to use his steps as a metronome, something to ground yourself because you could feel your world pulling apart at the seams.

It was a single string at the very edge of everything you knew. It only took a moment for it to unravel, within an admission of a name that was not his own, and soon the floor at your feet was covered in the broken pieces of what you believed to be true. Tattered and tangled threads.

“It started after Jack Rollins was murdered in lockup. I was assigned to this case to gather evidence against Rumlow and his men, so that we could dismantle Hydra completely; prevent it from ever coming back again,” he continued, his voice even, almost matter-of-fact, and it didn’t sound much like your James at all. It was too clinical, too rehearsed, and you could feel the sharp twist of a knife embedding itself deeper into your chest with every word he spoke.  

You listened quietly as he told you of when he first learned your name on a single page in the back of your husband’s file, how he’d known who you were before you even stepped foot into Brock’s office that first evening. He told you how he’d been assigned a cover, a new name and a history, to replace the role of Jack Rollins within Hydra as their enforcer. He’d been Brock’s right hand man for over a year and he was playing your husband like a fiddle.

“Director Fury thought it would be beneficial to the case to, um,” he released a heavy breath, as if the action in itself hurt him, “…to get close to you. He thought you might know more about Hydra’s dealings than you realized and he’d hoped you’d open up to someone who, um, you trusted. Seems he was right.”

You didn’t allow him see the way your heart caved in; jaw clenched, impossibly still, even breaths, and yet the floor had dropped from under you and you were free falling a hundred feet below. Lost to an abyss from which you were certain you’d never return; darkness barreling in and taking you home. It was where you belonged, wasn’t? It was where you had lived for years. Back to the fractured sense of safety, to the shadows lurking in the corner, to the eggshells under your bare feet made of broken glass. To lies and manipulation and deceit and ruin.

You wondered when it happened, when he’d been officially assigned to claw his way into your heart as if you were nothing but a pawn in the scheme of his mission. You wondered if it was before or after he’d gifted you A Farewell to Arms and if it was even his at all; if the scribbles in the margins belonged to his youth or if it was the carefully constructed design of an analyst with the sole purpose of hooking straight through your heart and sinking you to the ocean floor.

That moment was the beginning of it all; when you showed him your library, your most sacred place to a stranger, but it had felt so right at the time.  

Was the first moment you’d felt safe with him a complete lie?

There was always a comfort in being with him. A place for you to let down your guard and the walls you held up like stone around your heart. Beyond everything else, the one thing you knew about James Karpov was that he was safe. His presence was the only thing that allowed you to let go of the fear of the shadows of you home and the monsters lurking in the corners. He was a shining light in the darkness that had consumed your life.

You were young and naïve when you met Brock. You were eager for love and fell easily into his carefully constructed trap, overlooking obvious warning signs and the flaws of a man obstructed by the character he played.

For only a moment, you wondered if it had happened again, if you had become so foolish to allow yet another man to manipulate you and spin himself into the version of a man you’d desire until he could rip the floor out from under you just to see you squirm.  

A pang burned in your stomach, something stubborn and instinctive, one that urged you to just look at the man in front of you, to notice the way blue eyes nervously sought out your own, to see how his hands were trembling and his voice was strained, to notice that he was scared with every word he spoke. But your world had fallen apart and you could only do so much to stifle the scream bubbling its way through your chest.

So, you held your tongue as he told you about the orchestrated meetings in Brooklyn, how his friends -- his team -- had helped plan what you thought were coincidences but turned out to be carefully constructed operations. Moments when you’d light up upon seeing him, a wash of warmth to your chest on even the coldest winter mornings, and it was a lie.

You realized then why you recognized his friends; it was from the outskirts of coffeeshops, sitting under sunglasses and baseball caps, hiding behind newspapers in the distance. The quiet observers in your life pulling away at the last shreds of dignity you had.

“I was assigned a job,” James said tensely, clenching at his hands, wringing them painfully in his lap as he stared down at the cement under your shoes, “no different than jobs I’ve had before. Take on a new name. Be a new person. I’ve done… terrible things to preserve my cover, things I am not proud of. I’ve hurt people because Rumlow ordered me to. It was part of the job. I kept telling myself that, anyway. Didn’t seem to matter that I never killed anyone he put a hit on, that the Bureau stepped in to relocate my targets and hand me a look-alike that was mutilated just enough so Rumlow could have his proof and I could keep my cover. The blood on my hands is still real.”

There was a lump in your throat, one that burned and ached and was on the verge of choking you completely. You wanted to scream, or cry, or run until your legs gave out completely, but instead, you were paralyzed. Frozen in place. Stone of a statue. A single touch would crumble you.

“But you have to know it was never an act with you, Y/n,” he urged, desperation in his voice. You could hear the grief in his words, the slight tremor in the dissonance, the fear that you might reject him in favor of a man who does not exist.

You could hardly meet his eye.

He paused, watching you for a moment, waiting, longing, for you to tear your stare away from the wall beyond his left shoulder, hoping you’d find your way back to him as you always did, but you gave no inch. You held yourself still, unreadable, and he exhaled a breath that must have weighed immensely on his chest.

“After a while, I started meeting you in Brooklyn when the team wasn’t around, when there was no one to listen in and no agendas to fulfill,” he started, a little softer now as he slumped back into his chair. “I started staying at the mansion long past when I should have, just reading with you in your library because it was the only place I felt like myself anymore. I started forgetting that on Sundays in Brooklyn, I wasn’t who I said I was. You don’t know how easy it was for me to spend time with you and just let myself believe for a while that I really was James Karpov…”

Jaw wired shut, clenched, and you did not respond.

He sighed, a careful look back at his team and he continued.

He told you about the red-haired woman, Natasha, who turned out to be the sales associate from the boutique downtown where you’d bought the lavender dress. She smiled at you in acknowledgement when the heat of embarrassment stung in your cheeks.

You realized that the two men were the same Steve and Sam he’d tell you stories about on your Sundays together; old friends, brothers. A single grain of truth in a web of lies. 

“I knew, even before the gala, that my feelings for you had started to cloud my judgement,” he said slowly, laced with guilt, and your gaze flickered up to him, surprised, though he didn’t notice. You watched the shame seep into his features, his hands clenching at his pant legs. Steve and Sam turned away awkwardly as he continued, “I nearly told you everything that night. When we danced on the balcony and we almost--”

Kissed.

You remembered it well. You had committed the night to memory; to the way his hands felt pressed so delicately to your hips, the gently sway of your bodies, the subtle scent of his shampoo and how warm his breath was as it touched your skin. It was a dream, a fairytale, and you wondered if it was just that; a moment meant for the stories in your library, far away from the cruel realities you’d come to know.

James sighed, a hand brushing over his forehead, pushing away the hair from his eyes and exposing the blush in his cheeks. He was staring down at the floor, chewing painfully on his lip. He didn’t notice the way your features had started to soften, your lips slightly parted as you watched him, heart racing.

“I didn’t know how to make it stop… the way I felt about you,” he confessed, a pained kind of humor in his voice. “I’d never compromised myself like that before. I’d always been able to separate myself completely from the case, where a mask and a new identity like a costume and manipulate my targets without remorse, draw on their strings and tug at their levers. It was my job.”

You flinched; subtle, but as you unclenched your jaw you noticed a pair of green eyes watching you from behind a sweep of auburn hair. She smiled encouragingly before you turned back to James.

“But I never did that with you, Y/n, I swear it on my life,” James pressed, raking his fingers through his hair though it fell back into his eyes. “You… you found a way to push yourself through the cracks in these walls I built up and brought out pieces of myself I hadn’t seen in years. You made me smile again, and gave me something worth fighting for outside of my own damn ambitions, made me believe in a world where things could be different – kinder, maybe. You made me want to be myself again instead of these characters I so often lose myself in. You made me want to relearn who I was and stop hiding in the identities of my enemies.”

He rubbed at his eyes, pinched at the bridge of his nose, and exhaled a breath that provided no relief. “Steve almost threw me off the case entirely when he found out I’d started crossing lines between my cover and the man I wanted you to know me as.”

Your heart skipped at that, eyes flickering up to blue and you watched as he struggled to find his words. He was breathing heavy, hands constantly raking through his hair and there was a slight shakiness as he clenching them back into fists at his side. You’d never see him like this before. Scared.

“Please understand, I couldn’t tell you any of this,” he sighed, scratching his nails along the thighs of his jeans. You noticed rather quickly that he stopped trying to meet your eye. “You have no idea how much I wanted to, how much it was fucking killing me that I couldn’t, especially after--”

He clenched his teeth, stopping himself before he could say it, but you knew what he meant; the night he’d put himself on the line for Peter, how he’d kissed you through broken lips and everything changed. It was evident in the way his friends turned away, giving him space, red tips on the end of Steve’s ears.

“The director thinks I’m a damn fool for bringing you in on this,” he continued, “but, I trust you, Y/n, even if I just destroyed any trust you had in me. I know you and I know you want to see Rumlow brought to justice. I know you want to be free of him and for Peter to be out of Hydra’s control. I still know you and... despite all this, I promise, you still know me, too.”

He seemed to have finished as he allowed a deep, unsettling silence take over. You could vaguely hear the soft ticking of the clocks hanging high on the wall and the exhales of breath coming from across the room. He glanced back at his friends nervously, who offered him nothing but clenched jaws in return, before coming back to you.

“Say something... please,” he asked timidly, desperately.

There was something unpleasant churning in your stomach and you weren’t sure what it was; dread, humiliation, betrayal. Maybe it was something more like the edge of relief, so close you could just barely touch it but it wasn’t yours quite yet. Just beyond your fingertips but still there, still visible, waiting.

You swallowed, letting your hands unclench from the chair and you looked up to find his friends busying themselves with the paperwork on the table; various files on your husband and the company he kept.

You glanced over to the door, the weight of your keys heavy in your pocket. There was a pull urging you to the door, whispering in your ear like a siren’s call to leave, to run and never look back, and fall straight into the darkness you knew. It was familiar at least; a demon you knew by name.

But as you turned your attention back to the man in front of you, watched the way he hung his head in shame, accepting the worst of his fears that in your silence you’d rejected everything you now knew him to be, that call urging you to run seemed a little further away. Drowned out by the overwhelming urge to draw him into your arms, you could no longer hear the voice beckoning you away from the man you’d come to adore, perhaps even love, even if he was a man you weren’t sure you truly knew at all.

“I can’t, um, back off the case,” he started, clearing his throat as his words seemed to give out before he could continue, “but I can give you space. You won’t have to see me unless I’m around your husband. I’ll do what I can to keep my distance but—”

“Stop.”

He froze, head lifting abruptly at the sound of your voice. It was then you realized his eyes had glossed over, reflective with unshed tears, his lower lip nearly chewed raw.

You held his gaze for a moment, searching for the man you knew him to be within the shades of blue you’d come to know so well. The darkest part of yourself wondered if there were pieces that reminded you of your husband in there, if he held the same qualities that allowed Brock to manipulate you and lure you into a false sense of security and love and affection before he ripped it away.

But you’d seen the way James smiled at you from across the room. You’d seen the way the lines around his eyes wrinkled when he laughed. You’d seen the kindness nestled into every touch upon your skin, a warmth in his embrace you hadn’t known in years.

You’d seen grief consume him; pain and the guilt sweeping over his features as he told you the truth of who he was. Facets of a complicated man who was more than just one thing; subtle moments one could not easily fabricate.  

James was not just the man who lied to you. He was not only a man with a name you did not know and a history wiped clean. He was also the man who reminded you what it was like to laugh again, who reminded you that you were stronger than what Brock led you to believe and that you carried more worth than what your husband assigned to you. He was a man who took a beating that could have killed him to spare your sixteen-year-old cousin and gave over every Sunday he had just to listen to you talk and run errands around Brooklyn. 

He was messy and complicated, flawed but human. In the years you’d fallen under Brock’s spell, nothing your husband ever faked even compared to how James treated you. Brock had made himself to be perfectly designed, an impenetrable lie.  

James had been the one to break through his cover of his own volition. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose in doing so; the case, his team, his career... You wouldn’t dare allow yourself to wonder if you were within that list.  

You took a deep breath, steadying your gaze. “I have questions.”

His eyes widened, surprised, but he nodded quickly, brushing his palms on his thighs. “Anything. Anything you want to know. Just ask.”

“So… you’re not Hydra." It wasn’t a question, but you were still seeking confirmation.

“No,” he confirmed quickly. “I’m not.”

“You’re not a hitman. You don’t kill people because Brock tells you to.”

“I’ve killed,” James replied sincerely, “but never for him. I was an army ranger before I was recruited by the FBI. I don’t take a life unless I have to.”

You nodded, trying to find your ground again now. Those were the easy questions, ones with answers you already suspected to be true. It was the next ones you were about to ask that held answers you were truly afraid of. You pushed out a deep breath through your lips, though it trembled on its way out and you felt the shake of it deep in your lungs.

“The copy of A Farewell to Arms… was it yours?”

The question startled him, eyes narrowing for a moment before a soft smile curved at his lips. “Yes. Sam made fun of me relentlessly for digging through my ma’s house for it. I can’t say it had nothing to do with the assignment, because you did open up more after that but... I didn’t do it just because I thought it would help our case. I just thought you'd like it.”

You nodded, taking in his answer. It didn’t relieve the ache in your stomach, but it was something. A piece of the beginning was still intact.

“How much of it was real?” you asked, surprising yourself. The words stumbled out before you could stop them and it wiped the smile from his face almost instantly. It was like a punch straight to his gut, the wind knocked out from under him.

You swallowed, gripping painfully tight into your sweater and trying to avoid ocean blue eyes and the curious stares of his friends. You needed him to say it, needed to hear it out loud, or you might collapse within yourself entirely.

“The times you’d call late at night and we’d watch dateline over the phone or when we bought the lavender dress downtown or dancing on the balcony at the gala. All you did for Peter, every Sunday we spent together... Tell me it wasn’t just for the cover... to get closer to me so I’d tell you secrets about Hydra I didn’t know I had. Tell me it was real... that it was really you and not some character you played. Tell me you’re real. Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until James – not-James – threw himself down to his knees in front of you. His hands reached up to your thighs before he froze, hovering, because he didn’t know if it was okay to touch you anymore.

“Sweetheart, please, look at me,” he begged. He finally sat his hands against your thighs, just in an effort to ground you and when you didn’t flinch away, seeming to relax as your heart rate softened, he began to trace delicate patterns with his thumbs.

“Everything -- and I mean this -- everything was real between us,” he implored. There was a redness in the whites of his eyes, a subtle tremor of his lower lip as he tugged it between his teeth. “There were some circumstances that allowed me to run into you when maybe I otherwise wouldn’t have, that let me spend more time with you, but I swear on my life, nothing I ever said to you was scripted, nothing I ever felt for you was forced. Every second I spent with you was the happiest I’ve been in years. I won’t lie to you again. Not ever. Please believe me when I say that what I feel for you is real. It's always been real.”

Sniffling back tears, you let him brush a hand up over your cheek to wipe the wetness away. His lower lip tugged between his teeth in concentration, purposeful to keep the rough edges of calloused palms from touching your skin. He was so gentle, so tender with you, and it was entirely your James, even if he wasn’t.

“It was real, honey. The important parts, those were all real,” he whispered, his voice so achingly sweet it made your heart clench. There was a desperation in his voice, like the very foundation of his soul was etched into every word, his heart sitting within the dissonance. “I am still the man I was yesterday. I’m still him, sweetheart. You haven’t lost me.”

He smiled sweetly at you, though it didn’t quite make it up to his eyes. No, his eyes were filled with a remorse that consumed him whole. The guilt always sitting on the surface, the hesitation in his hands but the longing in his stare, the pain in the pleasure; it made sense now.

When you set your hands on his forearms, it startled him, his eyes darting down to where your touch met. Without a word, you let your hands wonder along his arms, sliding up his shoulders, his neck, to finally cup the sides of his face. Rigid muscles relaxed as you passed them by, his body caving into your touch with ease as his eyes fluttered closed, like he was sinking into the palms of your hands.

You just needed to feel him, remind yourself that he was real, that he was solid and tangible, and right under your fingers. The slight bristles of his beard scratched under your palms, the wrinkles of a shirt creased in his drawers, the divots in his skin from old wounds.

You let out a heavy breath, grazing your thumbs along his jawline, over the healing scar on his right cheek and the discoloration that had long faded to a soft, light pink. Marks of a man who was everything you always believed him to be.

“I don’t know what to call you,” you confessed, a whisper of a smile touching at the edges of your lips and you felt it in your palms as he choked back a sob of relief, jaw trembling under your touch.

He nodded, his hands coming up to rest on your own as he turned his head just slightly enough to press a kiss to the heal of your palm. His eyes were red and glossy, but there was a smile on his lips; it was aching and tired, but it was swollen in relief, like yours.

“For now, just call me James.”

You shook your head. “It’s not your name.”

“It is, actually,” he countered, with a nervous chuckle. He gently pulled your hands from his face and set them into your lap, though he didn’t let go. “It’s technically on my birth certificate and it’s just a coincidence this identity and I shared it in common, but it’s not what my friends call me. It’s not what I want you to know me as when this is finally over.” He paused, a deep breath in a beat later, “I would... I would give anything to hear you say my real name.”

You took in a deep breath, trying not to focus on the gravity of what he said, but it hit like an anvil to your chest. You wondered what his name was, how he might act around you without Brock hanging over your shoulder, how it would feel to be with him in the light of day; no restrictions, no hiding in the shadows, nothing holding you back from one another.

“You… you still want this— us— when the case is over?”

James paused, a sad kind of heartbreak in his eyes that you would even ask such a question. He nodded slowly before he lifted your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed sweetly at your knuckles. “I told you, honey, everything between us was real. I’d give you my whole life if you asked.”

A tear slipped past your eye as a breathy laugh escaped you, a strange mixture of awe and surprise and relief washing through you. You stayed there with him, reveling in the feel of his hands encasing yourself, the touch of his lips to your fingertips, watching as he started to come back into himself, as the guilt faded from his eyes and he was smiling at you with that flicker of light in in the blue of his eyes.

James pulled up a chair beside you, freeing his knees on the hard, cement floors, and you tugged yourself closer to him; thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He was still yours.

“So, what happens now?” you asked, glancing to the papers on the table curiously.

“Now,” a voice called from behind him, deep and commanding, and Steve stepped forward, setting a file on the table ahead of you, “you help us bring down your husband.”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued, and pulled the file into your lap. You thumbed through the pages, eyeing the transcripts, glanced over names of men and women, over the date in the top left corner and the address of the pier scribbled in James’ handwriting.

You set the file back on the table. “You’re planning a raid for the shipment at the end of the month.”

It wasn’t a question and Steve seemed surprised by how quickly you’d gathered that from the information he presented you with. There was no doubt in your mind, you’d do anything they asked if it meant putting Brock behind bars where he belonged.

“What do you need from me?” you asked, hand seeking out James’ and he squeezed it back lightly.

“That we’ll decide when the opportunity presents itself,” Steve responded. “In exchange for your help in this and frankly, all the evidence we’ve gathered based on your unknowing intel… uh, James,” Steve cleared his voice, clearly having to remind himself to use the cover’s name, “has arranged for your immunity.”

Wide eyes met his and he offered you a shy, reassuring smile. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You always assumed that the price it took to bring your husband down meant sinking the ship with you inside. You knew he held a number of charges over your head; it was why you stayed complicit for so long. But now...

“You just have to sign the papers,” James said, sliding a pile of folders across the table to you. There were two stacks and you looked at the second suspiciously before James answered your unspoken question. “I got the judge to sign off on immunity for Peter, too. It was part of my condition before I handed over the shipment log for the raid next month. Wasn’t that hard of a sell, honestly. Peter’s a good kid.”

Lost for words, heart pounding tight in your chest. “You-- what?”

James nodded casually, a slight purse of his lips like he hadn’t just doused you in a relief you hadn't known in years. “Yeah, well, no jury was ever going to convict him anyway, but I figured it was best to cover our bases. I told you I’d watch out for him, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to let you down on that promise. Plus, a kid as good as Peter didn’t deserve to be caught up in all of this. The judge could see that pretty easily.”

He was smiling softly at you but you could hardly breathe. You knew he cared for Peter. It was obvious the night he took a brutal beating for your cousin, but this was something else entirely. This was something far beyond his cover, the identity he wore like a mask, this was him at his core; a man who was true to his word, a man who was decent and kind and good.

He was your James, regardless of his name or the badge he wore.

Without the proper words to thank him, you surged forward, despite his friends standing at the table surrounding you, and kissed him. Hands pressed to his cheeks, lips communicating what words could not, and you only pulled away when you felt him searching for a breath.

His cheeks were burning pink, eyes a little wide as he nervously glanced up at Steve, who had conveniently turned his back. Natasha was smirking in the corner as she attended to the files in her hands, and Sam was sprawled out in the chair across the table, sparing no expense and grinning wildly as he winked at James.

“So, we bring down Hydra,” you said with a proud smirk upon your lips and James’ whole face seemed to light up. “We put Brock behind bars. We end this.”

Steve stepped out from behind the shadows, a hand extended in your direction. Stone cold expression melting into a soft smile, the blue of his eyes kinder than the façade he put forth.

“It’s good to have you on board, Y/n.”

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 4

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​​

Square Field: Donna

Word Count: 1513

Warnings: Fluff, hint of reader insecurities. I think that’s about it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 5 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST**   **MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A PATREON**

One thing you learned about living with Dean Winchester in the time you’d spent living in the bunker was that there was always a chance for random, crazy antics to happen, and it was best to just roll with it; because once Dean got something in that pretty head of his there was no changing his mind. It was best to just let it happen, no matter what it was, no matter how crazy it was, just let him get it out of his system. 

When he came bounding into your room like a small, overly hyper child on Christmas morning, pounced on you like a tiger and then commenced to shaking you until you woke up with a start, proclaiming that you needed to get dressed so that the pair of you could get on the road, it was very obviously one of the times you just needed to roll with it. There wasn’t a chance you could sour his good mood. You would never forgive yourself, and he was evidently very excited about this trip. 

It was freezing of course, and if you had your way you would have been happy to just stay in bed, but it was something about that sunshine-filled grin of his plastered across that freckle dusted face that pulled you out of your warm bed, and into the Impala without much of an argument. The more awake you became the more contagious his evident excitement was, and by the time the pair of you had stopped for breakfast outside of the Minnesota state line, the anticipation was killing you, so you asked him again that morning for what seemed like the thousandth time. 

“Dean, what are we doing in Minnesota, and just where are we going? Did you find a case? If so I could have packed my own bag, you didn’t have to sneak into my room at some unlawful hour in the morning to pack for me before waking me up.”

Dean just grinned at you over his coffee mug, mischief written all over his face, and his eyes lighter than you had ever seen them. Maybe it was the shirt he was wearing, but they just seemed brighter this morning. 

“Not telling sweetheart, you will see in just a few minutes, we have to meet someone here, and then we will be on our way, but I will tell you that this is not a case.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out Donna’s distinct accent pierced the air from behind you, “Hey you two,” and Dean was on his feet engulfing the woman in a bear hug.

Donna laughed and swatted him off playfully, reminding him she had a gun in the process as you greeted her with much the same enthusiasm as Dean. It had been a long time since you had seen Donna, and it wasn’t under the best of circumstances the last time you all had been together. 

“How the hell have you been, woman?” you asked as she slides into the booth next to you, and the waitress brings her over a cup of coffee for her. 

“Great! Doug asked me out about a month ago, and between the occasional small hunt, my day job, and him I’ve been pretty busy. How have the two been? I admit Dean’s phone call at almost midnight the other night surprised me,” she said, smirking at the elder Winchester like they were sharing some great big secret. Dean just chuckled into his pancakes as they were sat down in front of him, the waitress setting an equally large platter in front of Donna. 

Donna was clearly a regular here.

“So, Doug finally coming around to, ya know, all this?” Dean asks with a mouth stuff full of pancakes, waving his fork around the table as if to state something obvious to anyone but listening ears from other patrons. Clearly he was trying to deflect the subject from Donna’s previous statement. 

“Yep, surprised me too let me tell ya, but he seems to be coming around. It’s always shocking at first ya know.”

“Well what about Jody and girls?” you cut in, cutting your omelet with one of the plastic forks in front of you. “I haven’t seen them since that hunt in Georgia last summer.”

“They’re doing great! I think Kaia and Claire will end up at the altar before long, and Jody isn’t excited about the new hunting couple talking about taking the big leap, she thinks they’re too young, but I think it will be good for them.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean quipped, whipping his mouth with his napkin, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before going back to the female version of himself who was stuffing her face with equally as much food as Dean. 

You personally had no idea how the hell she did that, you’d be sick for days if you ate that much sugar in the morning. 

The conversation flowed easily between the three of you, catching up on hunts, friends you haven’t seen in a long time, and just life in general. It was normal, it was nice. Things like this were a  luxury a hunter rarely ever got in this life, just a breakfast with friends, and if Dean had driven all this way just to do this with you, you would have been grateful, but when Donna stood from the table to hug Dean goodbye after hugging you, she handed him a set of keys, and said, “You two love birds don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” with a wink that made Dean blush, DEAN, and walked away, leaving you confused and staring at Dean with mouth agape. 

Your eyes met his with shocked amusement as he stuttered on the spot and Donna walked away cackling. When he saw you staring at him he recovered, clearing his throat and throwing his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards Baby, apparently determined to act like nothing had ever happened. You let it go. You knew you could really poke fun at him about it, but it was better to file it away under later blackmail.

“So, what’re the keys for?” you asked Dean, as he continues deeper into the frozen state, humming along with the radio as if he didn’t have a care in the world, it was an amazing sight. 

“For this right here,” Dean states proudly, pointing to what you quickly recognized as Donna’s cabin. Your eyes traveled between him and the cabin. 

“Really?”

“Yup,” Dean said, getting out of the car and you followed him, letting him take your hand and lead you into the cabin Donna had eventually warmed for the two of you once she knew you were coming. “This is day 10. We’re gonna be staying here, just the two of us until after Christmas.” 

You turned to him in utter disbelief at what you were hearing. You and Dean, just the two of you, for ten whole days? Could this be real?

“I thought you could use a real white Christmas, and what better way to experience that than a snowed-in cabin in Minnesota; lucky for you I just happened to know a friend who had one to spare.” 

You closed the distance between the two of you, throwing your arm around his neck and hugging him tightly, which he returned without hesitation. 

“Oh my God Dean! This is perfect!” you tell him, releasing him from your grip and beginning to look around the cabin. It was perfect, and with a little decorating it could be very pretty with some Christmas decorations, and if you could talk him into it, a tree. 

“Only thing is there’s only one bed in the place, but if you're uncomfortable sharing then I’ll take the couch.” 

Your throat closed up for a moment, and you swallowed hard to get your voice to work again. Dean Winchester in your bed was something you had always dreamed of, the question is could you survive it actually happening? 

You couldn’t make him sleep on the couch for ten days, and the bed was plenty big enough to share. 

“I’m okay with sharing Dean, It’s not like you got cooties are something,” you play, hoping to hide your racing heart and the fact that your mind had suddenly turned to mush. 

“Oh sweetheart, I think you like my cooties,” he said, winkie at you. 

Suddenly it was your turn to blush as a wide victorious smile spread across his face. 

“I’m gonna go grab our bags so we can get settled,” he announces before turning to disappear out into the cold. 

You look around at what was going to be your little slice of Heaven for the next ten days with excited apprehension. There was so much that could happen in ten days, but if you didn’t get your feelings under control for a certain green-eyed hunter, you didn’t know how happy of a Christmas you would be able to have when he flat out rejects you.

Forever Tags: 

@deandreamernp​

@forgetthisbull​

@miraclesoflove​

@deanwanddamons​​​ 

@rvgrsbrns​​ 

@chevyharvelle​​ 

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@i-love-superhero​​ 

@lyss-dw79​ 

@magssteenkamp​ 

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@hobby27​ 

@spnbaby-67​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​ 

@defenderrosetyler​ 

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@thecreatiivecorner​  

@vicmc624​ 

@busy-bee-angel-misska​ 

@justanotherwinchester​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​

@idksupernatural​

@lyarr24​ 

@amandamdiehl​ 

@miraclesoflove​ 

 @emoryhemsworth​ 

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ 

@softsebastian 

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@hayleeharling​   

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@akshi8278​

@love-jackles-37-blog​

@supernatural-bellawinchester​

@bobbie3939​

Twelve Days Of Christmas Tag List: 

@440mxs-wife​

[virlath]

Hidden Trespasser mosaics

So I was researching some lore for a theory surrounding the environmental artwork in DAI, and happened to stumble upon this twitter post regarding unused mosaics for Trespasser. 

Coincidentally, I’ve been so deep in statues and elven god symbolism the past few days that I thought I’d chime in with some of my own thoughts.

From left to right in these artworks, I think we’re looking at four different gods involved in Solas’ slave rebellion.

Fen’Harel, Dirthamen/Falon’Din, Andruil, Mythal

===

If this hidden game file is anything to go by, it seems to confirm one theory I’ve had for a while- that Solas had help from some of the evanuris with his slave rebellion.

Because when you think about it, it’s kinda hard to believe he could have started a slave rebellion at all with his high profile and attachment to Mythal, especially when slaves seems to have been a big economy in ancient Elvhenan.

===

The gods in these mosaics

From left to right in the image

(Note: I actually posted some hi-res shots of the masks from DAO yesterday if you’re interested in seeing unedited screenshots, but I’ll break down my guesses here anyway.)  

1. Fen’Harel is obviously the wolf.

2. Dirthamen’s mask is easiest to spot because it matches the shape of his statues in DAO. Note that Dirthamen and Falon’Din have very similar statues and masks.

Falon’Din is the statue with the spear (recognised by Tamlen as “friend of the dead”) while I believe Dirthamen is the statue with four arms (this also strongly implies the envy demon in DAI is his corrupted raven, Deceit)

I believe Falon’Din and Dirthamen are two aspects of the same being, but how that actually works remains to be seen. Some people have suggested Falon’Din walks the fade while Dirthamen walks the physical realm and perhaps that explains their togetherness and separateness. 

Regardless, it does seem like both Falon’Din and Dirthamen were involved in Solas’ uprising due to the fact that both their mosaics are found inside the elven sanctuary before we see Solas’ mural removing vallaslin.

3. Andruil’s mask seems to fit most similarly to the third mosaic.

The overall curved shape mirrors Andruil’s bow in her mosaic, and the dotted indentation at the top totally looks like an arrow shaft. The eye placement in both the mosaic and the mask hints to me that this is very likely Andruil.

The big question- why would Andruil be helping Solas?

Perhaps because Mythal turned her to their side after she “sapped Andruil's strength, and stole her knowledge of how to find the Void.”

Or, perhaps Andruil isn’t as “evil” as people think she is.

Sure, she may have brought on the blight (although even this is conjecture, personally I feel like this could very well could be misdirection) and may have hunted “mortal men and beasts”, but who’s to say these beasts and men didn’t deserve what they got? Who’s to say she wasn’t corrupted by the void before she became the “goddess of sacrifice”?

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking The Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss.

This implies to me she could have simply been hunting beings that had given her cause to hunt them. Remember, she was the only god that responded to Ghilan’nain’s cries for help, and at this time Ghilan’nain was one of the People, implying she wasn’t totally evil.

Andruil also has strong links to Falon’Din, because she and Falon’Din share the same symbol of the owl. What if Mythal meted out judgement, Falon’Din brought her judgement to them in the form of the owl (thus fulfilling the role of Andruil’s messenger as well as “friend of the dead”), and Andruil hunted them in turn to render Mythal’s judgement?

“Always keep an eye out for the noble owl. You never know: Andruil might have a message for you.”

It is interesting to see that the owl statue is always carrying what looks like a mirror or even dimension to another world (another prison perhaps?), possibly intended as a way to reflect the viewer’s own self and actions back on to them. 

Anyway, to me there are a number of possibilities why Andruil would work with Solas and co. Perhaps she wasn’t as corrupted as they thought. Perhaps Mythal made her forget so much so she agreed to help them. Or perhaps Andruil was the mole in the rebellion - the person who began the events that led to Mythal’s death.

4. I think the last god represents Mythal, due to the fact the shape is similar to the bronze statues found in the crossroads and deep roads.

There are in fact two versions of this statue - the sun, in the crossroads, and the moon in the deep roads. (brightened and contrast boosted for clarity)

The moon statue is strongly implied to represent Mythal, because a note is found near this statue:

These statues are old. Better shape than anything I've seen on the surface. Many of them are for Mythal, though. And Fen'Harel. Not in a spot of honor, but guarding, attending.

Question is, why would the sun also represent Mythal when Elgar’nan is known as the Eldest of the sun? 

Well, not only does the sun statue look very much the yin to the yang of the moon statue in the deep roads, the sun could refer to Mythal being both the sun and moon to the dwarves. 

These statues are notably different to other elven statues we’ve seen- notable for the fact they have a large base of rock, and they are carved in smooth bronze.  As these bronze statues are only found in this particular section of the deep roads where she controlled a lyrium wellspring, perhaps the dwarves carved these as a representation of her.

In the third note you find in the deep roads, a poem reads:

I am empty, filled with nothing(?), Mythal gives you dreams. It fills you, within you(?), Making our leaders proud. My little stones, Never yours the sun. Forever, forever.

It sure seems to me like Mythal was protecting these dwarves from something. Either that, or she was using these dwarves as slaves or minions in her operation and for some reason, they revered her enough to carve their own representations of her.

Morrigan says this of Mythal at the Temple of Mythal:

Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of sun and earth alike.’

Similarly, Solas further says:

She was the mother,  protective and fierce. 

Regardless, I think there’s more evidence indicating Mythal was working with Solas over Elgar’nan. You do need Mythal’s passphrase after all to enter the elven sanctuary safely.

And if you want to take this one step further, check out the crown “Andraste” is wearing in DAO. Look familiar??? Maybe reminscent of the moon statue we see in the deep roads?

I don’t want to say Mythal was Andraste but...there are many signs that are hard to ignore.

===

More theory drabble

I realise a lot of the gods’ motives I’ve come up with above are based on conjecture and tbh, the writing for DA4 could go so many ways simply because of the fact that there are so many wide open threads that could be expanded upon.

These unused mosaics does indicate to me at least that the writers have a plan for how Solas’ rebellion actually functioned however, and that to me is exciting in itself.

One thing we can assume with high certainty is that Solas started the slave rebellion before Mythal’s death, because you need her passphrase to enter his sanctuary. Furthermore, even without these unused mosaics there are in-game mosaics of Dirthamen and Falon’Din in the sanctuary before we see the vallaslin mural.

This strongly implies to me that at the very least, even without this hidden game file, that Dirthamen, Falon’Din and Mythal aided and abetted Solas’ slave rebellion.

Further adding to this theory are the the rather compelling links to Dirthamen throughout DAI. For example, the gilded Fen’Harel statues in Dirthamen’s temple’s inner sanctum, Dirthamen’s bleeding statue in the Fade, Dirthamen, Falon’Din, Mythal and Fen’Harel imagery in the Knight’s Tomb, as well as Dirthamen’s statue at Calenhad’s foothold (where it’s implied he had a thing with Ghilan’nain). Not to mention- dual raven standards found underneath Fen’Harel’s sanctuary, as well as archer statues next to the eluvian as you exit (who I believe represent Dirthamen & Falon’Din).

Something clearly happened that led to Mythal’s death, and I’m leaning towards the fact that there was a leak somewhere within Solas’ trusted circle. Dirthamen seems to have been betrayed by someone close to him before the veil was created, because his statue in the fade is stabbed in the back and his eyes are weeping waterfalls of blood. 

As Solas says “...an enemy can attack, but only an ally can betray you. Betrayal is always worse.” 

And, when you tell him you trust your friends? He responds “I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory” 

It is assumed he is talking about Mythal’s own betrayal when he says this, but he could also be referring to the person/people who betrayed him and his trust. Personally, I think Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain could be key players in Mythal’s death at this point. We don’t know enough about the other gods to also make assumptions on their motives unfortunately. 

All in all, it seems to me like every one of the false gods were out to get one another, and Solas never even saw Mythal’s death coming because he was too arrogant/preoccupied with his rebellion.

If Solas really was Mythal’s oldest friend and guardian, his pride would have been absolutely crushed when she was betrayed and killed. The veil was likely a knee-jerk reaction due to his pride and “hot-headedness” more than anything- if he could be outplayed and have his own power and role as “guardian” outright questioned, then of course he would retaliate and raise the stakes even higher. It’s his MO- he has a means to an ends “you didn’t invent war” mentality, disregarding the collateral damage as long as he comes out on top.

This does make me wonder what intentions he has for the false gods once they’re freed though. Obviously Mythal wants her vengeance. But what of Solas? These false gods were his kin after all and the only ones who can truly relate to him on a level no mortal can understand. After all these years of stewing and realising his knee-jerk reaction cost him the entire elven empire, it makes sense he would want to restore what he effectively destroyed when his pride was hurt. 

To me it does seem like he truly hates the evanuris...but could he still be in leagues with some of them? Something I may not put past him, considering I don’t think he worked alone during his rebellion. 

[seagreen-meets-grey]

The Last Slide (Disco, Disco)

This fic is part of the b99 fic exchange organized by @b99fandomevents and I wrote this for @feeisamarshmallow :)

I combined a few prompts and hope I did them justice.

Read on ao3

_______________

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

_______________

Of all the feelings the human body is able to experience, the first one greeting Jake when he comes to is pain. If he had a choice, he would choose something happier, more exciting and, well, less painful.

It rises on the back of his head, almost at the top, like the source of a river somewhere high in the mountains. High in the mountains – that’s what he feels like.

It then wraps around his skull, pulsating behind his forehead, and trickles down into his neck. Sleeping on the floor of his first apartment for two weeks because he had yet to buy a decent bed or mattress was nothing against this, at least that’s what his tense muscles are screaming at him right now.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, he turns his head and winces. His whole body feels sore. He wonders if last night ended in a few rounds too many but comes up short. What did he do last night? The mere attempt at remembering sends a sharp pain through his skull.

He’s on the floor. That’s the next thing he realizes. The surface is cold and hard, not concrete, not wood, not tiles, certainly not carpet. Where is he? How did he get here?

Hard as he tries, he just… He can’t remember. The pulsing in his head gets louder and he groans. Slowly, carefully, he blinks one eye open, bracing himself against any glaring light. Then opens the other one. It’s dark. Everywhere, all around, deep, dark blackness. Is he blind? He blinks a couple of times and sees shimmers. Can blind people see shimmers?

The hand raised to the back of his head comes away warm and moist. He immediately knows it’s blood but sniffs at it anyway. He was right. Because what else would it be? “Bring a fancy bottle of lavender shampoo,” he hears Charles in his head, “because shampooing a woman’s hair is the most erotic thing–” Jake groans again to drown out the voice. No, it’s definitely blood.

But seriously, where is he? His chest tightens as he feels the panic rising. He can’t see, he has no idea what’s going on, he has a bleeding wound on his head and he’s sure there are bruises all over his body. He could poke all the places he suspects, but a disapproving face appears in front of him before he can move a muscle. It’s Amy. Amy… Something tells him he’s supposed to call her. Did he forget to call her? Does she know where he is? Oh god, is Mac okay?!

An overwhelming sense of longing hits him and the panic returns not a moment later when he realizes he can’t call her because his phone is gone and so are his keys and his wallet is not in his pocket either and– His breathing becomes shallow, his chest feels tight, lungs filled with vacuum; he presses the balls of his hands against his eyes and the shimmers get worse.

“Breathe, Jake.” It’s her voice. “In… And out… In… Through the nose, Jake… And out…” Gradually, he regains his composure. His head still hurts and he still can’t see a thing, but he’s calm again. Well, calmer.

He tries to sit up but sees stars as soon as he raises his head too much. Okay, cool, cool, cool, the floor it is, then.

You’re a detective of the NYPD, he tells himself. You’ve been in situations worse than this. Remember, you survived several months in Florida. And prison.

His blood turns to ice. He isn’t back there, is he?! Back in solitary, alone, in the middle of the night, for two long weeks–

No, you idiot, the rational voice in his head immediately scolds him. It sounds a lot like Amy.

Once again, he tries to remember what happened, but... Nothing. Nada. Niente. Nichts. Only a worsening headache. So he goes back further, imagines he’s walking down a road inside his brain, passing blurry corners and intersections, until something appears before him, sharp and clear.

There. He can start there.

***

The sound of a file landing on his desk pulled Jake’s eyes from his paperwork. It was a case file, evident to him by one single glance. But what really piqued his interest was who had delivered it to him.

“Ah, look who’s spending one of her last days at the Nine-Nine in her favorite bullpen! To what do we owe this honor?”

Amy Santiago, about to kick-start her career in her very own precinct as the youngest female Captain of the NYPD, looked down at him proudly and nodded at the folder on his desk. “Check the file.”

Intrigued, Jake did so, scanning the forms inside. He gasped, eyes wide and twinkling. “A murder at the water park? Ames!”

“Did you read the details,” she asked, leaning down and eagerly pointing at the page, “about how the victim died?”

His eyes flew over the paper, soaking up every bit of important information in record time, the glee in his chest threatening to bubble over. “Oh, Amy, please tell me this case hasn’t been assigned yet.”

“It has.” The glee cooled down to a simmer at her words, but as he looked up, the little smirk on her face turned the heat up again to boil. (Maybe he was a bit hungry.) “I asked Holt if I could have it and he said yes. And he let me pick a secondary.”

Ants were crawling through his veins as he waited for her to confirm what he could already read on her face.

“Jake Peralta,” she said in a voice cornering on solemn, “pack your bag, because we’re going to the water park!”

“Yes!” He celebrated by taking the pile of paperwork he’d been working on all morning and throwing it in the air. It scattered all over his desk, on his lap, on the floor around his feet. A few sheets slid under his desk, Scully’s chair, Holt’s shoes – oh. Whoopsie.

“Peralta, please clean this up,” the Captain ordered in a stern voice. “You’re taking on the case with Santiago, but I still expect your paperwork to be done on time.”

Jake nodded as he stood. “Will do, Sir. Trust me, I won’t water anything down for you!” A single raised eyebrow was his answer before the Captain returned to his office. “Yeah, that was kind of lame, wasn’t it?”

Amy scrunched up her face in that adorable way of hers and nodded.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re going to the water park!”

“It’s for work, Jake,” she reminded him, “we’re not there to splash around. When I said to pack your bag, I meant your work bag.”

“Right.” He sobered a little, but then he remembered the details of the case. “Time to pack the real work bag that I definitely have and hit the road with the best former detective and soon-to-be Captain of the NYPD!” He grabbed his jacket and had taken three steps towards the elevator when he heard someone call his name in a reprimanding voice from the vicinity of Terry’s desk.

He turned to meet the expectant eyes of both his Lieutenant and wife. “Huh? Oh, right, my mess.”

Scrambling to pick up the scattered sheets of paper, one hand preventing the badge around his neck from hanging into his face bending forward, he could practically feel the combination of eye-roll and fond smile directed at him.

“We’re not going until this afternoon,” Amy explained, “we both still have paperwork to do and the movers are coming back around noon for the rest of the furniture, remember?”

Charles chose that moment to invite himself into the conversation, rolling over in his chair. “I can handle that for you two so you can go work the case together because you’re an absolute dream team!” He grabbed the file from Jake’s desk and scanned the information. “Oh daddy, this is a good one!”

“Oh daddy?” Jake repeated while Amy shook her head.

“This is our last day at the apartment and I already cleared everything with Holt. You’re welcome to help, Charles, but Jake and I are handling this.”

Charles shrugged apologetically at Jake and rolled back to his desk.

“Wow,” Jake said in a low voice, “he didn’t even protest this time. You really have him under control these days.”

Amy quickly raised a hand to shush him. “Psst, don’t jinx it.” She fished a sheet he’d overlooked from the hood of his jacket. “See you later, babe!”

***

The rest of the morning is all but a blur. He remembers Rosa showing up late for work, remembers Terry settling a lasagna-related feud between Hitchcock and Scully, but that’s it. Mama Maglione, his head still hurts…

There were movers. There were boxes, a few shelves, the fridge. And there was Amy, finding one of her favorite pens behind the wardrobe when they lifted it, beaming with joy.

He tries to roll over but the movement makes him dizzy again and his stomach queasy. His ears ring. He has a concussion, no doubt.

Did one of the movers drop a shelf on his head?

No, something at the edge of his memory tells him they’re long gone. Wherever Jake is, though, he’s not been here long enough for his blood to dry.

If only his ears stopped ringing, then he could listen for anyone, anything – “Hello?” he croaks out and clears his throat. “Hello!”

He listens, calls again, louder, the volume of his own voice hurting his head. There is no response.

Letting out a string of swears that would make Holt gasp out loud, he massages his temples in an attempt to relieve some of the pain.

It just so works enough that he can muster up the concentration needed to dive back into his memories.

***

Amy wiped a few beads of sweat from her brow and stepped back to examine her work. The parts of the walls still occupied by a last piece of furniture up until an hour ago now glistened in a crisp, pristine white, just like the rest of the apartment’s walls.

She dropped the paint-brush she’d just cleaned into the bucket with the paint roller and the other brushes, took off her gloves and went to wash her hands with the piece of soap she’d brought in forethought like the everyday-wizard that she was. She’d also brought a towel, a big bottle of water, snacks for lunch, a painter’s smock, old shoes, and everything else that Jake would never have thought to bring.

He was sitting in the middle of the living room, patting the space next to him when Amy returned from the bathroom. Her steps echoed in the empty space, loud and foreign on the laminate floor. She sat down next to him, a hand on his arm as she studied the bare place.

Moving a shoe across the floor, tapping a finger against a zipper, even exhaling, it all made so much noise in the silence. At the same time, the apartment couldn’t be louder. It was crawling with ghosts trying to make themselves heard.

There was the TV blaring the news or cartoons or Die Hard, there was the squad gathered around the table at Thanksgiving, there was Victor Santiago briefly interacting with Holt and creating an impact still reverberating in every corner, there was Pimento contemplating his professional future, Hitchcock justifying his choice to go shirtless during dinner, Charles getting mauled by a live turkey, his father cutting off his other thumb.

There was Mac taking his first steps, saying his first words, there was Jake realizing he never ever wanted his life to be anything but this. Realizing how much he’d grown in the past years. He had a wife, a child, a much stabler balance in his bank account. He was wearing a tie to work most of these days. This morning, he hadn’t even made a fuss about cleaning up the mess he’d made. Just a few years ago, he’d have simply left it for someone else to clean, maybe Terry, maybe Amy, probably Charles.

During all this time, this apartment had always been there, even before Holt had joined the precinct. Even before he’d figured out the reason behind his instant mood change whenever Santiago smiled or yelled at him or did or said something he immediately wanted to tease her about. Even before he knew what he really wanted from his life.

“This is it,” Amy whispered, but she could have screamed it, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

“Yep,” he said, popping the p. “Time to leave.”

Neither of them moved. It seemed almost rude to disrupt this rowdy silence, to pull the plug and close the door, forever sealing the many lives that met here, happened here, were quite literally created here, within these walls. Some time in the near future, a completely different life would fill up the space, change the personality of every nook and cranny, cover the walls and floor with new memories.

“Remember the time my dad and Holt met, right over there?” Her voice almost sounded hoarse and his hand instinctively covered hers.

He turned to her with excited eyes. “That’s what I just thought!” She grinned, interlaced their fingers and squeezed. “Hey, you know what they say: Great minds think alike.”

When her eyes met his this time, they conveyed a meaning much deeper than a simple saying. Theirs were great minds that thought alike, in so many ways. It was a connection, a meeting of souls, a clashing of personalities that mended and merged and completed the other on a level that just made sense. Maybe it was because they’d known each other, worked with each other, had been such an integral part of each other’s lives for so long. But he couldn’t deny that it felt like magic.

Magic. That was a good descriptor, he thought. He knew that a part of her would try to explain mating hormones and brain signals and psychological influences and genes and evolution. But the part of her that loved, the part that laughed at his jokes and fell asleep next to him every night, it knew he was right. Whatever they had, it was magical and it was real. Permanent.

She leaned over to kiss him, soft and slow. It was a moment he’d call perfect, if it weren’t for the lack of interruption by a hyperactive toddler demanding attention. Jake almost expected Mac’s small body to jump between them, crawl over their laps, and ask for his dad to play airplane with him again.

But today, in-between work at the precinct and the apartment where a three-year-old would just get in the way, Mac was spending the day with his grandparents while his parents took care of everything. Now that Amy was making more money and with their decision to have more kids, the old apartment just wasn’t enough anymore, a toddler with an abundance of energy not even factored in. It only made sense to move to a bigger place, and that meant saying goodbye to these familiar old walls.

With a sigh, Jake got to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on.” In the end, they weren’t leaving the treasure chest behind, they were taking it with them, in their hearts, in all their stuff waiting to be unpacked in the new place, in their memories. In a way, they were leveling up. Bam, Mario reference.

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, taking one last deep breath before patting the pockets of her jeans. “Keys are all here. By the way, I promised Rosa I’d help her with something tonight, you’ll have to meet with the landlord alone. Is that okay?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” Normally, it would feel weird to him to finalize this whole thing without her, but they’d just said their goodbye together. Everything else was already part of the next level. (He started to get into that Mario analogy. Or was it a metaphor?)

Looking around one last time, hand in hand, they turned around and opened the door – to the next part of their lives.

***

There’s someone else nearby. Jake can hear steps through the ringing in his ears. He tries to speak, call for help – but decides against it at the last second. He’s not sure the heavy boots he can make out approaching him are housing particularly friendly feet.

“Where is he?” The voice is sharp, male, vaguely familiar. “Where is the son of a bitch?”

Jake has no idea. About anything. A bright light is shone in his face, a small flashlight maybe. He tries to turn his head to see the person the voice belongs to, but as soon as he moves, a dirty boot presses down on his face. He can feel the footprint marking his skin, hears his head throbbing.

“Where the fuck is he and how did he do it?!”

The boot presses down harder and Jake’s lips touch the floor. Something smells familiar as well, but he can’t concentrate on that. He tries to speak but his voice only comes out muffled. The other man realizes and the boot disappears.

“Answer me! How the fuck did that bastard pull it off?!” The man spits on the ground, only inches away from Jake’s face. The saliva is foaming in the middle. Jake registers the flooring but his brain can’t make sense of it.

“I don’t know,” he gets out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boot connects with his shin, hard. He cries out in pain.

“WHERE!” The boot kicks him again, this time right in the old gunshot wound back from Florida. Jake clenches his teeth and hisses. “WHERE IS HE!”

“I don’t… Ugh…” He has to close his eyes against the light. Bright spots are dancing behind his lids. He can’t think. “Who even…”

This time, there are three consecutive kicks in his stomach. He coughs and splutters, curling his body protectively around himself. He feels like throwing up, breathless, dizzy. Another kick hits him in the ribs and for a moment, there’s only pain. He’s disoriented, searing hot fire spreads through his chest, he can taste blood on his tongue.

“I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he did! NOW TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW OR I WILL–”

Jake prepares himself for another kick, but it doesn’t come.

“Shit…” the man hisses and the light goes out. Somewhere, faintly, Jake hears a door opening. But before he can even think about calling out, horrible pain explodes in his abdomen. This time, it’s too much. He can’t speak, he can’t think, he can’t breathe, and before he knows it, he’s out.

[matrixaffiliate]

Surreptitious

New Story! FFN and AO3

Lily doesn't think it will be that hard to hide she's been dating James for two years, and friends with him for five, but when she and James end up working together as temps every day, she finds out how intertwined with her boyfriend she really is. 

@thisismegz shared this Tumblr post with me (thank you, darling!) from @women-inthe-sequel and it felt so very Jily =) So obviously, I had to write it for Jilytober! Enjoy!

Surreptitious

Lily chucked her bag down on the table in a rage. The fact that the order had been misdelivered was not her fault, but that didn't change she'd been thrown under the bus and blamed for it, not that this wasn't the first time she'd been framed for something that went wrong. It also didn't change that she'd been fired over it either.

Her phone buzzed and she sighed as she saw James' picture on her phone.

"Feel like cheering me up?"

"Always," James laughed. "What can I do for you today, Evans?"

"Slowly pull out the bowels of Rosier and Yaxley with a white-hot hook?" Lily fell down onto her bed and kicked off her shoes.

"Vicious," James' chuckle was throaty and Lily wished he was with her where she could feel it rumble through his chest.

"Well, they managed to finally get me fired, so it feels justified at the moment."

"They what?!" All laughter and teasing had gone out of his voice.

"They blamed another misdelivery on me, and I found out they'd been filing complaints against me that I didn't know about, and I swear that Riddle was in on it with them because he showed me documents stating that he'd notified me of those complaints and strikes against me, but I know he didn't." Lily took a deep breath to try and calm down, "None of that matters now though, they got me out and that was what they wanted. They won."

"No!" James almost shouted. "I'll talk to Dad, I'm sure his solicitor will take your case! We'll sue them for everything they own!"

Lily smiled, knowing James was on her side always made her feel better.

"No, they aren't worth it. I'll report them, sure, but I'm not going to sue them over it."

"Lils, look," he went to say more, but Lily cut him off.

"No, James. I'm not going to waste my mental energy on them anymore. I'm going to take a day to calm down and then I'm going to get on to trying to find a new job."

James let out a long breath. "Love, I know you don't want to waste the mental energy on them, but wrong is wrong. Would you let me just mention it to Dad?"

Lily rolled to her side and shifted her phone, "I guess that would be fine, but I'm not personally taking them to small claims, alright?"

"Right," James sounded relieved. "I promise you won't be involved at all."

"Thanks, darling," Lily felt her stomach grumble and she groaned. "Needing a new job aside, I need to find something to eat."

"I'll call Mum, I'm sure she'll be happy to cheer you up with food."

Lily's stomach grumbled again, "Are you sure that she wouldn't mind cooking for us?"

James laughed, "Lils, my dear mother always tells me I'm not home often enough, and then immediately asks when I'm going to settle down and give her grandchildren."

Lily grinned, "See she never says anything about you settling down to me."

"Yes, because she wants to keep you around. Trust me, if she didn't like you, she'd be doing everything in her power to push you to marry me tomorrow." James paused, "So am I calling Mum or not?"

Lily pushed up off her bed. "Yeah, call your parents and ask if she'd make me some daal makhani to drown my sorrows in."

"You can count on it," James' smile was evident in his voice as they disconnected the call, and Lily internally admitted that she was looking forward to seeing it after the nightmare of a day she'd endured.

So, when Lily pulled up to the Potters' large home thirty minutes later, she couldn't stop the excitement bubbling in her chest, and even with the awful day, she smiled as she pushed open their front door.

"James?"

"You're here!" James came nearly running around the corner into the entryway, sweeping her into a tight embrace.

Lily took in a deep breath as she held him close. The smell of James mixed with the smells coming from Mia's kitchen were pulling all of the stress out of her and replacing it with warmth and happiness.

"Come eat while it's still hot!" Mia called from the kitchen.

Lily laughed and kicked off her shoes before taking James' hand to walk into the kitchen.

"Laadli," Mia hugged her, "Eat up, and there are jalebis too. A little sugar will make everything better."

"Thank you, Mia," Lily held on to this wonderful woman who had stepped in when her mum had passed on.

The family dinner was exactly what she needed. Lily finally felt calm, and while she still didn't know what she was going to do about a new job, she at least felt like life was going to get better, for no other reason than she was surrounded by these wonderful people.

"James," Monty handed him his plate as James cleared the table. "The new client at the agency finalized their paperwork for their trial run."

"You're taking on another company at the temp agency?" Lily asked.

James nodded, "Yep, which means 90 days of me pretending I'm not a part-owner."

Lily laughed. After they'd finished university, Monty brought James and Sirius on to the temp agency he started decades ago, but part of the deal was they would be guinea pigs to each new client to be sure the real temps would be treated well. Since they'd just signed a company a month ago and Sirius was currently being their guinea pig, James would need to take this new one.

"What does this company do?" Mia picked up her glass and drained it before handing it to Lily as she helped James clear the table.

"They're a paint manufacturer," Monty said, "But they want the temps for their customer service department."

"You told them they'd only get one, right Dad?" James looked over from the kitchen sink.

"I did," Monty nodded, "they asked me to try my best to get them two."

Mia looked at Lily for a moment and then smiled. "You should be the second temp!"

It took Lily a full ten seconds to realize what Mia was implying, but James beat her to a response as he shut off the water.

"No, Mum, Lily's an industrial engineer who deserves to find a job that will actually utilize her and not pin her to arranging low-level deliveries. She doesn't need to be working customer service while I evaluate this client."

"And why not, chotu?" Mia turned on him. "This way she gets a paycheck while she looks for something new and when she does find it, she can leave; no one expects a temp to stay forever."

"Mum," James' hand went straight for his hair.

"Mia, that's really sweet of you," Lily cut in but then Mia turned her mom-eyes on her.

"Laadli," she cupped Lily's face in her hands, "This will be good for you, give you something to think about other than that awful place that didn't appreciate your work. And you'd be with James so you'd have fun. Learn from an old woman, Lily, have more fun in your life."

Looking into Mia's wise umber eyes and feeling her small warm palms on her cheeks, Lily felt almost like she was under a magic spell.

"Well, if Monty thinks it's alright."

Mia held her eyes and kept her face in her hands. "Of course, it's alright, Monty will see to it."

A part of Lily's brain was sure that Mia was exercising some force of will over her, but there was something so comforting about it that she decided to ignore how much this felt like a magic spell.

"Then, I think it'd be fine. It'd give me time to find a position that I really like instead of settling for the first thing that pops up."

"There, see," Mia pulled her hands away from Lily's face with a smile, "We can always find blessings in disguise if we're willing to look for them."

"Lils," James stepped between her and his mum. "If you want to do this, we can make it happen, but don't feel pressured into it. You don't have to."

Mia tsked loudly behind him.

Lily gave him a small smile. "If you're alright with it, then it would really help me out."

James' returning smile lit up his face. "Eh, I guess I can handle it. At least I'll have someone to talk to, yeah?"

"And I suppose I could handle having to talk to you every day." She smirked up at him.

"Well then, that's settled." Monty chuckled, "James, I'll put you in charge of the paperwork and arrangements for all of this."

James shot his dad a grin, "I'll have it all settled by tomorrow evening. You're looking at the two newest temps for Royal Paint."

It wasn't a week later that Lily was pulling up to her new place of work - at least until she could find a new position in her field if expertise.

She saw James step out of his car and she waved him over. There was one thing that she wanted to clarify with him before they started this.

"Morning Evans," James moved to kiss her but she put her hand on his chest and stopped him.

"Does this place know you're one of the owners of the temp agency?"

James shook his head, "No, everything Sirius and I do is on the back end except for this, so no one knows we aren't real temps when we show up."

Lily nodded, "Alright, in that case, I think it would be a good idea for us not to broadcast our relationship while we're here for these three months."

"Really?"

"I don't want to cause any drama, and Sirius isn't available to switch with you if they have a problem with us being together. I think it would make everything easier and safer if we kept our relationship between us."

James sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Please, James," Lily smiled up at him. "I promise when we aren't here, I'll be the best girlfriend in the world."

James laughed down at her and laced his fingers with hers. "You already are but if it'll make you happy, then sure, while we're working with this client, we're just two temps, not a couple."

"Thank you," Lily looked around the parking lot and upon finding it empty, quickly pressed up and kissed him. "I suppose we should get this show on the road then, eh?"

"Yeah," James stole one more kiss, "We don't want to be late on our first day."

Lily and James walked into the grey cement brick building and were welcomed by the receptionist.

"Hi, I'm Amy, you must be our new temps."

"That's us," James nodded and Lily forced her down chuckle as she watched James start scanning the office. He may be wearing the badge of temp for the next three months, but James would never be able to stop being the shrewd businessman that helped his dad's company thrive.

"Just a minute and I'll fetch Scott, he's our manager." She clicked a couple of times on her computer before grabbing her desk phone. "Scott, they're here." She set the phone down and turned back to Lily and James with a happy smile.

"He'll be right out."

Not a moment later a man came walking around the corner.

"Welcome! Welcome to your new home away from home! Welcome to Royal Paint!"

"Thank you," James stepped forward and shook Scott's hand. "I'm James Potter."

"And I'm Lily Evans," Lily stepped forward as she watched James turn to introduce her. That was her first hint that hiding their relationship was going to be harder than she initially thought.

"James and Lily!" Scott shook her hand. "I can't wait to get to know you. I'm Scott and I hope you'll view me as your mentor and friend while you're here."

Lily nearly balked at the difference between Scott and Riddle. At least Scott didn't seem to be out to fire her from the get-go.

"Thank you," she pulled her bag higher up on her shoulder and smiled up at James.

"Look at you two," Scott stepped back and looked at the two of them, "You look like you could be on the cover of one of my wife's romance books. Don't you think so, Amy?" He turned to the receptionist.

Amy laughed, "You're a hopeless romantic, Scott."

"And I'm usually right about this sort of thing."

Lily felt something akin to panic gripping her stomach. "I'm sure that Mr. Potter and I can keep things professional."

James covered his laugh with a forced clearing of his throat and Lily fought the urge to glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Scott laughed. "Royal Paint was started by a husband and wife team. We have no policy against workplace relationships. But let's get the two of you settled in and then you can get to know one another before you make decisions about first dates and whatnot."

He turned and led them down the corridor.

"Mr. Potter?" James whispered as he smirked down at her.

"I panicked!" Lily glared at him.

Before James could comment further, Scott had led them into the next room.

"This will be your launching pad!" Then he gestured to the two women sitting at desks that faced each other. "And these lovelies are the crew that will take you into the stars! Gladys and Arabella, this is James Potter, and here is Lily Evans. James, Lily, this is Gladys Vance and Arabella Figg."

The women smiled at them but before either could say anything, Scott had moved to the single desk to the left of Gladys and Arabella's workstations.

"This is where the two of you will be set up. I'm sorry but we couldn't get a second desk in here soon enough. You'll only need to share for a wee bit, but we'll get you your own desks in a jiffy. The two computers seem to fit alright, though, so shouldn't be a problem. Let's get you logged into those computers and Gladys and Arabella will train you up on what you need to do."

"Scott, slow down, you're spinning like a top." Gladys chuckled. "We'll take care of these two, you go do the manager things you do."

"Off you go," Arabella stood and made a shooing motion with her hands.

"I'll leave you in their capable hands then," Scott bowed awkwardly. "And if you need anything at all just step right into my office. My door is always open."

"Thank you, Scott." James chuckled.

Arabella shooed Scott again and he saluted before stepping out of the room.

"Well, you survived our fearless leader," Arabella chuckled. "We run things a bit more down to earth here in customer service."

"He's very enthusiastic, isn't he?" Lily laughed.

"Don't you two look cute standing like that?" Gladys smiled at them.

Lily looked over and realized she and James had gravitated towards each other, standing so close they were nearly touching.

"Oh, sorry," she stepped away from James, "I didn't mean to crowd you."

James' hand shot to his hair, "No problem, barely noticed."

Gladys and Arabella shared a long look but didn't say anything more. They helped James and Lily get logged into their computers and showed them how to respond to online inquiries from the website and how to find the answers. The job was so simple that by lunch Lily felt not only like she knew what she was doing, but that she'd been doing it for ages.

"Did the two of you bring lunch?" Gladys came to stand at their desk. "Because either way, Arabella and I are taking you out."

Lily laughed, "I brought a can of soup, but I have a hunch it'll keep till tomorrow."

"Are you sure about that?" James laughed, "Storing things in metal, who knows what could happen."

Lily laughed in spite of herself but stopped just before she went to playfully shove him.

"You two are cute," Arabella grinned at them. "Did either of you ever watch the American version of The Office? You two could be Jim and Pam."

"Oh, yes!" Glady exclaimed, "Lily's got red hair like Pam, and James instead of Jim!"

Lily looked at James and laughed, "I don't suppose you want to be called Jim?"

James rolled his eyes, "Do you know I threaten my brother with roasting him over a low fire for it?"

Lily grinned, she did know. "Oh, but it could be fun, couldn't it?"

James adjusted his glasses and leant across the desk, "Depends on your definition of the word fun, Lilian."

"Do you know that isn't my name?" Lily rolled her eyes. He did know.

"And now you know that Jim isn't mine," James countered with a smirk.

"I like them better than Jim and Pam," Arabella's voice brought Lily back to the present and she silently kicked herself for slipping into the banter she and James had built their relationship on.

Trying to avoid the habits that had formed from two years of dating plus another three years of friendship before that might just prove impossible.

And that premonition proved to be exactly right. She couldn't stop herself from the unconscious part of her brain that reached across their desk to touch his hand or his thigh. She could never keep herself from standing directly next to him. And she definitely couldn't stop the way her eyes would seek him out naturally. It was just so much a part of her to be connected to James.

How did she ever think she could hide this?

"Hey," she whispered across the desk three weeks after they'd started with Royal Paint. "I have to take my car in to have it serviced tonight, can you give me a ride tomorrow?"

"Of course, do you need a ride back from the service station too?" James nodded.

"I was going to request an Uber but if you want, we can make a night of it."

"Sure," James grinned at her. "We could make something at yours and watch a film or something."

"Sounds perfect," Lily moved to grab his hand but caught herself, opting to take a sticky note from the stack instead.

"How is the job hunt going?" James smirked at her.

Lily rolled her eyes at his smirk even as she grinned at him.

"I had a firm call for an interview and my references."

"That's amazing!" James' whisper went loud and Lily giggled.

"Riveting conversation over there dears?" Gladys smiled over at them.

"Just wondering when you're going to invite The Pips over and finally admit that your last name is really Knight." James smiled over at Gladys and Arabella.

Lily trained her gaze back on her computer and the mind-numbing work of answering customer questions.

"I'll be at yours at half six to go drop your car," James whispered and knocked her foot with his.

She looked up to see that smile that still made her stomach flutter.

"Thanks."

But James bringing her to work the next morning ended up being more of a to-do than Lily had expected it to be.

"Well, hello there!" Arabella stepped out of her car as Lily and James stepped out of his.

"Hi Arabella," Lily tried not to groan.

"Is your car alright dear?" Arabella looked as pleased as one of her cats might look had it caught a mouse.

"It just needed to be serviced. James was nice enough to bring me to work this morning."

Arabella nodded understandingly but her smile seemed to grow wider. "What a nice thing to do."

"What was a nice thing to do?" Scott walked up behind Arabella and Lily thought she might die.

"Lily's car needed to be serviced and James was kind enough to bring her to work today."

"A proper gentleman," Scott walked up and patted James on the back. "Well done, my boy!"

"Lily ought to take him to lunch to thank him," Arabella looked at Scott, "Don't you agree? They've proven they're hard workers, I think they could do with a long lunch today."

"Capital idea, Arabella! Yes!" He turned to James and Lily, "I agree, take a long lunch the both of you!"

Lily looked at James who was putting a great deal of effort into not laughing.

"Alright, then," Lily looked at Scott and Arabella helplessly.

Clearly, she'd need to rethink her original plan of hiding their relationship, seeing as everyone wanted them to have one.

"This whole thing has gone pear-shaped!" Lily huffed as she got into James' car for their enforced lunch date.

"Hey," James leant over and pulled her in for a slow kiss. "It'll be fine." He smiled as he pulled away. "You're going to go to your interview next week and they're going to wonder how they've ever managed without you. Then they'll hire you, and you'll be working for an amazing firm before you know it."

Lily kissed him again and let the warmth that had always been James ease some of the stress away.

"You know," James put the car in gear. "We could play this to our advantage."

"Play what to our advantage?" Lily fiddled with the radio.

"We could be the new office romance." James knocked her hand away from the radio as she tried to skip over a song he liked that she didn't.

"The new office romance?"

"Sure," James slapped her hand away again. "We could stop trying to hide the way that we're practically an old married couple, to quote my mum, and just be us."

"You're mum calls us an old married couple?" Lily laughed.

"Of course, she does."

"Why, of course?"

"Because she's my mum," James shrugged.

Lily grinned as the idea started to form in her mind. "We could sneak around like we did our last week of university."

James looked over at her with a smirk. "That poor custodian, I'm pretty sure we nearly gave him a heart attack."

Lily giggled, "I think you're right; this could be fun."

"Yes, and then I can stop smacking myself every time I go to touch you as well." James reached over and grabbed her hand.

"I know right? It's like I'm in love with you or something." She teased.

James parked in front of the restaurant and leant over to kiss her again. "That makes one of us, then."

Lily smacked his chest and pulled away but James caught her around the neck and kissed her passionately.

"I love you," he murmured as he slowed their pace.

"You better," Lily laughed and pulled back. "So, we're doing this? We're going to be Royal Paint's new office romance?"

"Yeah, let's have a bit of fun."

And they did. Lily didn't stop herself from making faces at him across their desk when she got bored. She didn't stop herself from asking James about their plans for the weekend. She didn't stop herself from walking out of the office with him after work. She didn't panic when Gladys mentioned how sweet it was that she was hitting it off so well with James. When Scott stepped in to tell them he'd managed to secure another desk for them if they wanted it, she agreed with James' insistence that they didn't need it.

The one thing Lily did still stop herself from bringing up at work when they were around their coworkers was her efforts to find a real job, and how things were going for James in his real job. Just because he was playing temp didn't mean he didn't still have his real job and everything that went with helping his dad run the temp agency.

She was trying to discreetly check her email on her phone to see if the company that had interviewed her and called all three of her references had made a decision on hiring her yet or not when she was spooked by James swearing under his breath.

Lily glanced quickly over at Arabella and Gladys before whispering to James.

"What's wrong?"

"There's a problem at the office. One of our temps went rogue." James' hands went to his hair before they immediately dropped to his phone to type.

"Is it going to be alright?" Lily leant closer.

"If Sirius and I get there in the next hour then probably." He looked up at her. "I've got to go. Do you want me to make something up for you to get Scott to let you out early too?"

Lily shook her head. "I don't want to make him suspicious of why you're leaving and then not let you go. I'll stay and finish the workday."

James grabbed his backpack and threw it over his shoulder before coming around the desk to kiss her. "Thank you, I'll text you once this is resolved."

Lily kissed him once more before he slipped out the door.

"They're already kissing goodbye," Arabella commented with a grin.

"They're meant to be," Gladys laughed, "Where is your prince off to?"

Lily rolled her eyes at them, "His brother needs him, he's going to see if Scott will let him out early."

"Oh, Scott is a pushover for that sort of thing. He probably would have let you go too if you'd asked." Arabella pulled a cat hair off her jumper.

"I wouldn't have been much help," Lily shrugged.

"So, how's having a new boyfriend been?" Gladys pulled her coffee cup to her lips and smirked at Lily.

"I'm rather enjoying it," Lily laughed and turned from her computer. It was becoming apparent that the two wanted to talk more than they wanted to work right now, probably because James wasn't there.

"I can imagine," Arabella winked at her. "Have you spent much time together over the last month and a half?"

"I guess we have," Lily tried to think of what sort of pace a regular couple would take, a couple that didn't have the history she and James had.

They'd been at odds in their first year of university, but when everything had happened with Severus and the Marauders at the end of first year, well, Lily realized that she'd been dead wrong about who her friends were. Thankfully, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were more than happy to put that year behind them and welcome her into their friendship. She and James had been friends for the last three years of their time at university; his parents were who she relied on when her mum passed away, joining her dad on the other side and leaving her with just Petunia and Vernon for living family members; James introduced her to Marlene and Emmeline and Mary and Bridget; the Marauders and everyone attached to them had become her family.

It was the last day of exams their final year at university that James had found her alone and somehow the two of them had finally stopped dancing around their feelings for one another and snogged the daylights out of each other.

They'd been inseparable for the last two years.

But how did one act like they hadn't been in love with the man they were with for years?

"You look unsure? Is everything alright?" Arabella frowned at her and Lily silently cursed herself for not having better control over her emotions playing out over her face.

"Oh, er, yes, I just, I, er, I'm waiting on an email." Lily reasoned she was a temp; she probably didn't need to hide that she was looking for something permanent; it was just James' position that she needed to keep to herself.

"A good email or a bad one?"

"I suppose I'm hoping it's a good one, but it could be a bad one."

Gladys narrowed her gaze. "Lily, what sort of email is this?"

"The sort of email that could get me a position with an engineering firm," Lily watched the two women carefully and sighed in relief when they both cried out exuberantly.

"That's wonderful," Arabella laughed, "but won't you miss working with James?"

"I'll miss it," Lily nodded because truthfully, she would miss it.

Working with James this way had been exactly what she needed after the fiasco at her last position. It had been healing to be with him day in and day out. It had made her realize how much she needed him, how much she relied on him.

"Well, most people don't work with their partners; you'd be joining the ranks of the rest of us." Gladys chuckled. "I love my husband, but I wouldn't work with him for all the money in the world. We weren't meant to be business partners."

"Amen, to that," Arabella rolled her eyes.

It was a couple of hours later that James texted her that he and Sirius had sorted out whatever had happened with the rogue temp. He followed that text up with the sort of response that helped Lily see why Mia called them an old married couple.

James: Meet me at mine, I'm bringing dinner.

Lily smiled down at her phone and then jumped when Gladys' voice spooked her.

"Email or boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Lily chuckled. "He managed to sort out whatever was happening with his brother."

"And…"

"We're having dinner tonight," Lily looked up at the clock and sighed; it was still an hour before she could leave.

Gladys looked over at Arabella and something passed between the two.

"Pack up your things, deary, Arabella and I are going to bully Scott into letting you leave early."

"No, that's alright," Lily shook her head, "I can wait."

Arabella laughed, "No isn't an option I'm afraid. We're rather fond of you and James there, so I think we're going to get our way and get you on your way."

"Really, it's fine," Lily protested again.

"Oh stop with the propriety and have a little fun, Lily." Gladys stood up. "Let's get you off to that boy of yours."

What could she do? It was as if these two were in cahoots with Mia. Lily packed up her things and tried to hide behind her two bullies as they approached Scott's office.

"Scott, dear Scott," Gladys stuck her head in Scott's office.

Scott looked up and laughed, "Oh dear, the both of you, what am I giving in to today?"

"What a dear he is," Gladys grinned at Arabella before turning back to Scott. "You're going to tell this sweet child to get herself off to her new boyfriend right now."

Scott glanced back at Lily and winked at her.

"I suppose you'll let the entire office know how hard it was to wear me down?"

"Of course," Arabella nodded. "We had to make a fuss about what a wonderful employee she's been these six weeks."

"And we had to point out that it has been slow all day and that it definitely won't pick up to where Arabella and I can't handle in the next hour," Gladys added.

"And don't forget how we're all invested in Lily and James," Scott added absently as he looked at an email on his computer.

"Oh yes, that too," Arabella laughed.

Scott looked back up and blinked, "Lily? Why are you still here?"

Lily shook her head and smiled, "I'm on my way out."

"Give my best to James," Scott called out to her as she walked out the door and to her car.

Lily texted James that she had been forced out early and then drove to his flat. For a moment she thought she saw Monty and Mia in their car on her way, but she was past them before she had a chance to do a double-take.

Walking up to James' flat felt like home. The knowledge that he'd be on the other side of the door when she opened it wrapped her in a blanket of comforting domesticity. Lily wondered if maybe she should forgo renewing her lease when it was up in a couple of months.

She pushed open the door but stopped dead in the doorway.

The lights were turned off, but there were battery votives on the floor making a pathway towards the kitchen.

"James…?"

He didn't answer and Lily resisted the urge in her to turn on the lights. She blamed it on Gladys' and Arabella's and Mia's insistence that she have a little fun. Instead, Lily kicked off her shoes and set down her bag to follow the flickering lights guiding her further into the flat.

Every light was off and the curtains pulled tight over the windows, making the floor look like it was glowing with the little votive lights lined against it. Lily stepped into the kitchen and paused. The lights led to a chair, sitting dead center on the kitchen floor.

"I am not doing a seance with you, Potter," Lily looked around. She nearly screamed when her phone vibrated and sounded in her pocket.

James: Please just sit down Evans

It was followed by at least twenty eye-roll emojis.

Lily rolled her eyes and texted back.

Lily: Fine, but I will kill you if this is some sort of prank…

She included five devil emojis before hitting send and cautiously sitting down in the chair.

"Now what?" Lily called out and looked around.

James stepped quietly into the kitchen and grinned at her.

"You always suspect me," he leant against the doorway, his hand running through his hair.

Lily forced her eyes back to his face. "You've given me plenty of reasons to do so."

James laughed, "You know, I've been thinking about how nice it's been to see you every day, but now I'm wondering what I was thinking."

She rolled her eyes but laughed with him.

"I was actually thinking the same thing after you left today."

James' smile went soft and he moved slowly, purposefully towards her.

"Good," his voice was that low rumble that made Lily want to pull him flush against her.

Then James came to kneel in front of her and Lily suddenly couldn't breathe.

"What do you think we make sure we see each other every day, even after we finish our stint with Royal Paint?"

"James," she laughed, but it came out a breathless sound.

"Lils, will you marry me?" He slid a ring out of his pocket and held it out to her.

"Of course!" Lily couldn't stop laughing, even as James pressed up to kiss her, lifting her from the chair and lifting her feet off the floor.

"We should turn on the lights," James laughed with her.

"Why?" Lily finally started to get a hold of her laughter and was trying to move their kissing a little further forward.

"Mum and Dad should be here any minute. Dad's parents took him and mum out to dinner when he asked her to marry him. I told them we could do dinner, but that I wasn't asking you at a restaurant."

"Oh! I saw them on my way over!" Lily laughed. "Well, I guess we can keep this going when we get back."

James hummed as he kissed her again, "And we can talk about what we're going to do with this darn temp job."

Lily's phone buzzed in her back pocket and she jumped when James reached into her pocket and pulled it free to hand to her.

"I don't think we'll have to worry about it," Lily grinned down at her phone as she looked at the screen.

"Yeah?" James looked down at her phone.

"I got the position!" Lily laughed. "I'm engaged and I got my dream job on the same day!"

"Well," James kissed her, "While we're discussing good news, I have one more thing to add."

"What?"

"Dad and Sirius and I have been working on a surprise for you; we've managed to get Riddle and his cronies into a world of trouble that I don't think they'll be getting out of anytime soon." James' grin was wicked.

Lily narrowed her gaze, "There was no rouge temp, was there?"

"Sirius and I were the rogue temps, we bailed at work and went to make sure our plan went exactly as we wanted it. I doubt that your old place of employment will still have a license to practice business for much longer."

"I love you," Lily linked her arms around his neck and kissed him.

James pulled back to look down at her, one of his hands coming up to trace along her cheek before tangling in her hair.

"I love you too," and he kissed her.

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 22)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

Warnings: cursing, smut

This follows on directly from the last chapter 🖤

------

"The woods?" She asked apprehensively as he took her towards the trees. He just hummed and nodded in response. It was the only other way out really. They couldn’t go around the front of the house and on the other side of the woods was the main road. If they could make it then they'd be home free. It was a little chilly since she didn't have a coat and the sky was clear, twinkling stars and a bright moon hanging in the sky. The woods weren't too dense and thankfully the ground wasn't too uneven. She didn't need to be falling around the place. 

In the cover of the trees, both of them visibly relaxed and slowed their pace. She let go of his hand as she glanced around. She was still wound up from what he'd done and her skin was thrumming with excitement.

"I have an idea," she mused with a mischievous grin. He looked at her hesitantly and raised a brow. 

"What is it?" He asked.

"You've got your super senses. You can smell people, hear their hearts. You can find them, kind of like a sniffer dog," she smirked. He pulled a face at her and scoffed.

"A sniffer dog?" He asked blandly, making her snort. 

She stopped him, her hands on his chest and he gazed down at her perplexed. 

"I think you should find me in the woods," she grinned. He shook his head with a chuckle.

"Daphne-" he started, very much like he was going to tell her no. 

"Catch me if you can," she purred in his ear. Then she took off. She was careful, very much aware of her heels as she weaved through the trees. Once she felt like she was far away enough, she tiptoed to minimise the noise. Not that it would help when he'd be able to hear her rapid heartbeat. There was something exciting about it. 

She hid behind a tree and peeked out as he came in view. He closed his eyes, tilting his head as he listened. He had a predatory smirk on his face that sent a thrill down her spine. She crouched down, picking up a rock and tossing it in the other direction. His head whipped around to the noise before going to it. She bit her lip to stifle a giggle before moving around to another tree. But when she glanced around it, he was nowhere to be seen. She furrowed her brow a minute, a slight pang of panic that he'd just gone running off on her. But then a hand covered her mouth as someone pressed up behind her the other hand splayed on her stomach.

"Found you," he smirked in her ear, moving his hand from her mouth. His hand was still holding her close to him and she glanced over her shoulder at him. It felt like he was looking right at her before he leaned down and claimed her lips. Her bag dropped and she twisted in his hold, fisting his shirt and pulling him closer as the kiss got rougher, more demanding. She gasped as her back hit the tree and he pushed against her with a groan. 

She broke away for air and started fumbling with his belt, but he lay his hands over hers.

"Really? Here?" He asked incredulously. She raised a brow and smirked at him.

"How often can you say you've had sex in the woods?" She asked cheekily. He blinked at her for a moment before shrugging like he agreed with her. She grinned as she rapidly undid his pants, shoving them down with his underwear and he hissed as she grabbed his hard cock, fisting it. He hiked up her dress, the material bunching around her waist and she hooked a leg up high in his hip. He pushed her panties aside and slid into her easily, her wedges really helping it happen with the height it gave her. 

She gasped in relief at him filling her up. His teasing from earlier had her on edge and she needed release. He kissed her roughly, pressing her against the tree and grabbing at her hips as he fucked her hard. She was trying to be quiet, letting him swallow her moans and gasps. There was something exhilarating about this. Being out in the open like this. 

One of his hands reached down and started circling her clit and her back arched. He was the only thing holding her up right then as his body pinned her against the tree. She felt the heat creeping up on her and she broke the kiss as her head tilted back to lean on the tree. He nipped and sucked on her neck and she got lost in all of the sensations. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle her needy desperate moans as she came. She squirmed in his hold and he held her tight, muffled groans against her neck as he finished inside of her. 

They stayed that way for a moment, panting and coming down from their high. When he pulled out of her she groaned, and he held her steady as her leg fell back to the floor. She felt amazing and smiled to herself, straightening out her dress as Matt tucked himself back away and fixed up his pants. He reached down, grabbing her purse from where it lay and passed it to her. 

"Thanks," she murmured, slipping it back onto her shoulder.

She was slightly wary of his reaction, never knowing how he'd act afterwards. But thankfully he just took her arm as they went back on their way. She was aware of the fact he didn't really need to hold her arm out here but she didn't say anything. 

"I should have known you'd like the chase," he smirked as they reached the end of the woods. She grinned slyly and looked at him.

"You telling me you didn't?" She retorted. He chuckled, biting his lip as he gazed at the floor. 

"I definitely did," he murmured. 

They finally reached the road and she got her phone from her purse. She texted Mrs Grimes to tell her she got what she needed and told her where the driver should pick her up. The plan was that they'd take her home so she could look over the evidence herself for anything she needed for the Italian case. She'd make copies of it all before she handed it over to Mrs Grimes for whenever she decided to use it against her husband. If the cops didn't get to him first depending on how it all went. 

The drive back was silent but it wasn't uncomfortable. She was sated and calm as they sat together in the back. It didn't take too long before the driver was letting them out at her place once again. Once he was gone, Daphne and Matt lingered at the door to her apartment. 

"Kinda sad I didn't get to see any Daredevil moves," she mused with a snort. He chuckled as he looked her way.

"Maybe I'll bring you with me one day," he replied with a smirk. 

"I hate to admit it but… I'm glad you came with me. It made it way easier and it was kinda fun," she smirked. He snorted at her wording and nodded. 

"I'm glad I came too," he murmured.

There was a weird moment of silence between them as neither of them knew what to say. They probably looked weird in their fancy clothes standing outside of her crappy apartment building. 

"Let me know what you find out," he said, gesturing with his head to her bag.

"I will. It'll take a bit to go through, try and figure out what it all means. But there's a lot of names here so I think we might have some good info," she mused. She was a little excited to pour over it all. 

"Alright, I'll leave you to rest," he said softly. Both of them knew she wouldn't be resting though. She'd be looking over the files all night, sleep be damned. 

"Goodnight, Matt," she murmured with a soft smile.

"Night," he replied as he reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She turned on her heel and walked up the steps before slipping inside the building. Once inside her apartment, she kicked off her shoes, not bothering with her dress as she sat on the couch with it poofed out around her. She cracked open the book with a sigh. It was going to be a long night.

It was well into the next morning when she'd gotten through the first book. At some point she’d tugged off her dress, taking what felt like an hour just to get the damn thing off, and changed into some leggings and Matt's stolen t-shirt. Her hair was still up and the make-up was still on but she had been engrossed in the writings. She'd searched online as she went, looking up the names. They all lead to people who ended up going bankrupt or losing their jobs. The ones with the crosses were all missing and it was obvious what happened to them. She’d grabbed a notepad of her own as she made notes of anything she found of particular interest and tried to make her connections. The book proved useful in proving that Mr Grimes had been accepting money from the Italians for selling people's information. And he'd been keeping tabs on what happened to them. 

But it wasn't until she opened the second book that things really took a turn. It was the ramblings of a mad man. It was used like some kind of journal but it was all so vague that it didn't really make any real sense. The only thing she gathered from it was that he wasn't quite right in the head and that maybe he'd started to feel guilty about the deaths on his conscience. But he couldn't back out now as he knew too much. She had little sympathy though given the fact he'd willingly started it in the first place. 

Scattered in with the ravings of a lunatic were names that piqued her interest. She spotted Antonio mentioned a few times and she remembered him as the man she'd surveilled when she found out about the meet. There were more names and one name that seemed particularly important was Gorgio Nucci. Any time he was mentioned in the book his name was underlined and she figured he was pretty high up for that kind of treatment. It was definitely worth noting down. She knew that Rosalie Carbone was the head of the Italians but the more she read, the more she realised that these were a different faction. It seemed like they were trying to take over. 

It took her hours to try and make sense of the nonsense and the only real thing she got from it were names. That was more than what they'd had previously though and would definitely prove useful. When she got to the last page, she noticed one torn out. The very last page was blank but she lifted it up, tilting the book as she examined it. There were etchings from where the pen pressed on the ripped out page. Whatever he wrote, he was aggressive or frantic in his writing for it to be that deep. Lucky for her though, she could work with that. 

Padding over the kitchen with the book in hand, she set it on the counter as she rummaged through one of her cupboards. She smirked when she found what she was looking for. She flipped open the lid on the small thing of cinnamon powder she had, sprinkling it onto the page liberally. She crouched down a little, blowing gently to remove the powder that wasn't now sitting in the ridges from the writing. Her head tilted as she stood back up and read what was left behind. 

WEAPON = BLOODBATH

USS SAMPSON 

She blinked at it for a moment before grabbing her camera and snapping a picture of it. She mused that maybe the weapon was on the ship but it wouldn't make sense for the Italians to be storing something on a military vessel. The word bloodbath was underlined several times and it sent a chill down her spine. She really had no idea what the weapon could be or what they planned to do with it. 

Now she'd gone through it and made her own notes, she spent some time scanning all of the pages so she had copies of them, for herself and to give to Brett. Then she would give Mrs Grimes the originals. Once she was done it was almost evening again and she was completely exhausted. Settling on dealing with the findings the next day, she couldn't stay awake any longer. A million bobby pins and make-up free face later, she curled up in bed and fell to sleep almost instantly.

[iggy-of-fans]

Of being a Ladybug

So this one will Hopefully be a little less angst and a little less salt buy still a good read. Hope you enjoy!

Cons of being a Ladybug

There are a lot of things about being Ladybug that made Marinette's life difficult. The fact she always got sleepy in winter, the fact that the cold affected her more strongly than before. The way she never got enough sleep because she had to patrol. Having to deal with Chat Noir and his tantrums and flirting. The way she sometimes had to ditch her other responsibilities in favour of fighting Akumas. Hawkmoth. But right now, the thing that got to Marinette the most was that she couldn't call Lila out. Being Ladybug, a hero, meant she couldn't use being Ladybug for selfish reasons. She'd learned her lesson the last time, and in the end it hadn't even been worth it. But as Marinette, she could at the very least gather some evidence, just in case she made good on her threat. Adrien may think taking the high road was best, but Marinette could see the damage she was subtly dealing to Alya, and also to the others, a toxic kind of take and never give mentality growing in the class in the week since her return. Little things, like Kim asking to copy Max's homework instead of simply getting help with his dyslexia, Alix getting annoyed at Nathaniel for paying more attention to the art than to her when they'd hung out last, Mylene getting frustrated and feeling neglected when Ivan took her to practices instead of dates. Things that had never bothered any of her classmates before were starting to cause rifts and fights. Lila wasn't the best liar, anyone could figure her out with half a brain cell and a smartphone. Her power really came in manipulating situations in her favour, her ability to cry on command and have people feel sorry for her. But her ability to read people was her only real genius. She always knew just which buttons to push to make people feel guilty, insecure or "righteous" fury. So it was subtle, but the classroom was becoming toxic to be in. Marinette, being so giving and kind, was the most taken advantage of.

But as it turned out, Marinette didn't really have to do anything at all. Alya did the work of outing Lila by posting an interview on "The Amazing Lila Rossi, the New Every Day Ladybug and Ladybug's best friend!"

Marinette felt bad for Alya, but also a bit vindicated, since maybe this might finally teach her to fact check. Marinette crossed her fingers in hope of Alya getting off with a slapped wrist and sent the video to Penny Rolling and the Italian embassy general e-mail. It was Sunday night, at least she wouldn't have to wait long to see the results.

Monday morning burned bright with hope, as Marinette saw a special interview announced from Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Prince Ali and several other names Marinette didn't recognize. Nadja Chamak was not going to be hosting though, as several people being interviewed had complained about "unprofessionalism" of the Parisian News anchor. Marinette shrugged, at least she wouldn't have to babysit. She went to school, hearing whispers of LadyBlog being shut down by Officials due to inaccurate information. Marinette sagged slightly, 'that sucks', she thought. She'd hoped Alya wouldn't be too badly affected. Suddenly a shadow fell over her and she looked up to the frowning face of Adrien Agreste.

"Adrien! Morning good! Good Morning! Hi!" Marinette stuttered.

"Did you have anything to do with the LadyBlog being shut down?" Adrien asked, his eyes spelling disappointment.

"What? It's being shut down? Why? And what do you mean me? What power do I have over anyone, let alone Alya to shut that down?" Marinette asked, a negative feeling travelling down her spine. What the hell was Adrien on about?

He smiled reassuringly suddenly," You're right. What was I thinking. You may be our everyday Ladybug, but it's not like you have the influence to get a free blog shut down."

Adrien smiled, patted her shoulder, and walked past her towards the classroom. Marinette stood frozen. Did… Did Adrien think… Did he think she was… Worth less? Because she wasn't rich? She stood there past the final ring of the bell, until Tikki popped her head out.

"Marinette, are you okay?" she asked quietly. She was highly dissatisfied with Adrien at the moment, but needed to focus on her own charge.

"Am I… Did Adrien… I thought he was better than that…. But… He actually thinks because… That because I'm not rich, that I have no power…?" sheshe frazed it like a question, but Tikki and Marinette both knew the truth.

"You should get to class, Marinette" Tikki said instead. Shaking herself, Marinette started walking, only for the alarms to start.

"Tikki, spots on!" Marinette shouted, and took off towards the sounds of crashes.

Alya woke up Monday morning excited to see the result of her post the night before. She'd worked with Lila all weekend to get it perfect and now the fruits of her labour would be sewn. She opened the blog and stopped. Yesterday, before posting the video, she'd had 675 followers. This morning, only 231 people were left. She scrolled to the comments.

"Oh yes, I saved Jagged's non-existent cat, from his non-existent private jet, on a tarmac which civilians aren't allowed onto. And I came to Paris months after Ladybug started saving Paris, but I was supposed to be the original and I just recommended my friend instead!... Yeah right! Who the hell believes this crap? "

" my favorite line in this video is where she claims to have grown up as jagged stones favorite person, but doesn't even get his home city right!"

" oh ladybug totally loves chat, she just wants to keep it on the dl. {attachment} this video taken a couple weeks ago while chat threw a tantrum cause she refused to go on a date with him"

"Clara Nightingale and I were ACTUALLY in the same dance class, and I don't remember a sausage with a mouth being in that class"

"if ladybug can heal her supposed tinnitus, why isn't she curing cancer?"

The comments continued along that line when suddenly a loading error came up. Alya scowled and reloaded the page, only for a [401: error. The page you are trying to load no longer exists]. Alya paled.

"No! No no no no no no no no!" she chanted as she tried to reload it, and then tried to go in to check the coding. Everything was shut down. Alya started to tear up. This couldn't be happening! She was sure Lila wasn't a liar. Marinette just didn't like not being the center of attention, just as Lila said. Marinette just, just this once, couldn't find the good in a person, but Laya could. Alya opened Google and looked up 'Jagged Stone pets', 'Jagged Stone cat', 'Clara Nightingale dance school', 'Prince Ali charity foundation', and finally 'Lila Rossi'. The only thing that came from the search was that Alya felt like a total idiot for not believing Marinette. And an Italian school site. She clicked it and had Google translate the page.

"STUDENT COMMITS SUICIDE AFTER SEVERE CASE OF BULLYING"

The name of the victim was never released, but schools in Italy were all warned about Lila Rossi. According to the article, this should be in her school files… Why did Mlle. Bustier not warn them? A knocking on the front door distracted Alya from her screen.

"EXCUSE ME?!" Alya's mother screamed, and Alya bolted to the door. Her mother rounded on her the second she opened the door.

"Alya! What is the meaning of this? You're being sued for misinformation and defamation and slander!" her mother continued, holding papers in the air and waving them about. Even still in her housecoat with messy hair, her mother struck a terrifying picture. Alya shrunk in on herself. There would be no sneaking out of this one.

Rose looked at her phone again, her eyes dim and her head bowed. Phrases like "I have never heard of this girl before", and "if this is the type of persons you surround yourself with", "Perhaps I was mistaken in trusting you", and most hurtful of all "This is the last time you will hear from me" jumped out of the email at her from Prince Ali. She had been so excited in her last message to him, telling him how Lila had told her of their adventure together, and Lila was giving her such good advice on her singing, dancing, songwriting and more. Her email had burst with praise from and for Lila, and wanting to hear Ali's version of events as well. Usually he emailed back within a few hours, but this time it had taken over a week to hear back from him. In the email he had sent, was an attachment to Alya's interview of Lila and a short message, saying only that he had never met Lila Rossi, and he'd thought Rose was smarter than to believe everything she heard, and if she kept that kind of company and believed such outrageous lies then perhaps he shouldn't have contact with her anymore, since she was seemingly too gullible and too naïve to take his friendship seriously. Tears dripped down her cheeks onto her phone. Why was Marinette always right about these things.

Jagged Stone watched the video that Marinette had sent to Penny on his big screen in his suite in Paris. He was not at all impressed with her obvious name dropping, made up stories of her greatness, and claiming he'd written a song about her. Marinette's short message of "HI Penny, I understand you and Jagged are crazy busy, but this interview ended up on my friend's website, and I just couldn't ever remember Jagged mentioning a pet other than Fang. I've even looked at some older interviews where he said he'd hatched and raised Fang when Jagged was only 15! I have no idea where this girl is getting her information, but I didn't want you to think that all of Paris had completely lost their minds and thought this heads up might put you in a better space to deal with weird questions if they ever come up. - Love, Marinette"

Jagged listened to the little chit on the screen claiming shevd received tinnitus from saving his cat. Geez! Did this girl have any idea the kind of implications this could have on his musical career?! The hell is wrong with kids today? And the girl interviewing her never even checked her sources? Poor Marinette, stuck with such complete idiots and liars. He really should try to talk Sabine into letting him take Marinette on tour with him again. This was getting ridiculous. He frowned even harder when Clara Nightingale was accused of "being jealous and stealing" sausage girls dance moves. He started feeling his blood boil slightly as he distantly heard Penny shouting into a phone for lawyers and interviews and "gosh darn it, anyone but some idiotic French Anchor". He honestly wasn't sure which of them was more pissed. Himself or his fiancée.

Clara Nightingale broke her phone on the far wall of her apartment. Two decades of dance and singing lessons, of poetry and practice and some little chit half her age thinks she can tell people that she stole it? Tears at the corners of her eyes, she was grateful Jagged had sent it to her with the assurance that Penny was already setting up interviews and lawyers. Thank Ladybug and all that is good for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If she hadn't had the foresight to send this video to them, then there would have been absolute hell at their next public appearance. She glared at her broken phone on the floor. Steal her moves, did she?

At 4am in Metropolis city, Lois rolled over and sleepily answered her phone.

"Yes?"

"I know it's early, Lois, but I have a job for you in Paris…" came from the other end. Louis bolted up in bed.

"I'm listening"...

To be Continued

[jentlemahae]

ohhhh pls tell the rest of the on the ground plot!! i really like it <3

on the ground ♡ netflix special (plot - simplified version)

for her whole life, rosé never felt like she belonged in heaven. she liked it - who wouldn’t? but every time she looked down at humans, her heart knew that’s what she needed. she needed to feel the breeze on her skin, she needed to feel the touch of a hand on hers, and she needed to know what it was like to be loved. 

so, at 14 years old, she decided to enroll into the GAA (Guardian Angels Academy) to become a fully trained guardian angel and be assigned to a human once she turned 18. and today, was THAT day.

out of all the people on earth, she got assigned to 18-year-old roseanne park, the bratty and snobby daughter of one of the richest tech ceos in seoul. easy to say, rosé was not thrilled about the match. however, she was determined to do a good job at all costs. she just didn’t know it would cost her everything. 

on her first day on the job, roseanne was involved in a car accident on her way home from school. help was nowhere to be found and rosé was freaking out - she couldn’t let her human die on her first day! so, she did the only (and the stupidest) thing she could think of - she entered her body, thus keeping her alive.

rosé’s plan was to get out as soon as they got to the hospital, but she couldn’t leave. she was stuck. 

so, she tried to get used to having a human body. it was new and exciting, but by far not what she had in mind. she had lived as an angel for 21 years, it wasn’t easy being a human! 

thankfully, her angel friends (who were the guardian angels of roseanne’s friends - jisoo, jennie, and lisa) recognized her, and began to help her as best as they could. not only at getting used to living as roseanne, but also at making sure no one from heaven found out about her mistake. 

nonetheless, as rosé quickly found out, roseanne was not exactly nice. she was what they great poets of the renaissance would call a bitch. she was particularly mean to her classmate youngcho. youngcho was the director of the school’s paper and the top student of her class, but unfortunately for her, she was not at the top of society - in the eyes of a snob like roseanne, less than nothing. 

rosé hated that and decided to start being nice to youngcho. safe to say, that change in roseanne’s personality made people think she had gone completely bonkers. her boyfriend - im sooho - definitely thought that. 

rosé did not have time for all that though. in fact, she had been communicating with roseanne (the real roseanne) in her dreams, to explain all that was happening. and during one of their chit-chats, roseanne had mentioned how weird the accident seemed to her. and the police never discovered who had attacked her, or why.

so, rosé decided to take it upon herself to look more into it. she asked youngcho to help with the investigations, as she was the head of the paper and was used to playing detective. 

they went back to the crime scene and, thanks to her angelic powers, rosé was able to remember the plate number on the car of the attacker. they went back home and with the help of sooho (who was a skilled hacker), they broke into the police database and traced the plate back to the car’s owner. 

the owner turned out to be the driver for im boonok - the ceo of the company rival to the one headed by roseanne’s father, and the mother of her boyfriend - sooho. things couldn’t have been more mysterious, or so rosé thought. 

rosè and sooho organized a dinner with the parents at his house and, as the grown ups were chit-chatting, the two snuck out to boonok’s office and found a file with roseanne’s name on it. however, as they were snooping around, boonok came into the room. oh, were they so fucked... rosé did the only - and again, the stupidest - thing she could thing of. she used her angelic powers to make her and sooho momentarily invisible. the two were able to sneak out of the house and then, rosé came clean to a very confused and extremely flabbergasted sooho. 

the next day, they looked at the file with youngcho. apparently, boonok wanted the necklace that roseanne was always wearing because of the chip embedded in the pendant, which was put there by her father. they took it out and discovered its content: evidence of the embezzlement done by the ceos of the most successful tech companies of seoul. enough proof to send them all to jail for a very long time. thus, their plan was to turn it all to the police. 

however, as rosé was walking home, she was kidnapped by some mysterious men. when she woke up, she was in an abandoned building tied to a chair, with a very annoyed boonok staring at her. you see, to access the file in the chip, a password was required - it was the day roseanne’s mother had disappeared. rosé knew it but boonok did not, so rosé simply pretended she didn’t either. bad choice. boonok brought out youngcho, who had also been kidnapped, and threatened to kill her if rosé did not help her. 

out of options, rosé used her angelic powers once again and managed to free herself. but as she was running to free youngcho, boonok threw a knife at her. she pushed it back, and it ended up wounding boonok on her arm. having used so much energy, rosé left roseanne’s body, who fell unconscious. a good thing, right? well, not entirely. guardian angels cannot harm humans, as doing so will turn them into demons. so yeah - rosé is again fucked.

roseanne, youngcho, and sooho tried to contact rosé, but nothing seemed to work, as humans cannot see angels. hence, rosé simply began waiting for her doom. as soon as her bosses would have heard about everything that had happened, there would have turned her into a demon, and she would’ve been forced to wander the earth while terrorizing humans. 

while waiting, rosé continued following roseanne and the others. one evening, roseanne and sooho went on a date, and rosé... well, did not want to watch THAT. so, she checked up on yongcho, as she was guarded by a very irresponsible angel. while she was crossing the street, a car almost hit her but, at the very last second, rosé ran up to her and was somehow able to push her off the road. and in that moment, youngcho was able to see her. 

confused about what had happened (and how it had happened), rosé ran away. in the morning, her boss came to see her - rosé knew what was coming. as her last wish, she asked if she could go see her friends one last time. roseanne and sooho were once again on a date, while youngcho was reading a book in her room. 

as rosé was turning around to leave, she heard youngcho call her name. she could see her! rosé explained what was happening and even shed a tear during their goodbye (which was surprising because angels could not cry). as she was disappearing, youngcho pulled her in and kissed her. and in that moment, rosé stopped disappearing.

rosé held youngcho’s hand - she could feel it. the wind on her skin - she could feel it. youngcho’s love - she could feel that too. she had become human. rosé’s boss explained to her that since boonok didn’t die, her heroic gestures had triumphed over her mistakes. however, she couldn’t remain an angel anymore, so she was being banished to earth. 

but after all, that was exactly what rosé had wished for all along. everything she wanted, everything she needed, had always been on the ground. 

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x FemOC} Chapter 9

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: None

.....

The strong, bitter smell of coffee filled my nose and woke me. My back aches and eyes sting when trying to open them. The faint morning glow stabbing the back of my eyes. A noise from beside me wakes me further. That's when I realised I was laying against something apart from the log at my back. Opening my eyes I'm met with the smouldering fire ahead and Arthur laying right beside me, my head against his shoulder and his head propped up against mine. Arthur stirs and Pearson comes into view, adding a few more sticks to the fire and checking the coffee pot. Groaning from the intense headache and pain in my neck as I sit up, waking Arthur fully as I do so.

“Morning folks. Coffee is ready, no doubt y'all need it.” Pearson grins at us as he pours the coffee into two tin cups.

I look to Arthur, hungover evident in his features as he scowls and lets out a groan. We look at each other, smiling shyly and slightly embarrassed at the whole situation. Pearsons hands us the steaming cups and we murmur our thanks, not even prepared to move ourselves from the floor. We sipped our coffee in silence for a few minutes. Wishing for the intense headache to subside soon and hoping the unease in my stomach won't be the alcohol trying to make an appearance.

“I wanna die” I murmur into my cup

“Me too.” Arthur murmurs back

“I’ve never been that drunk. Does it always hurt like this?”

“More or less” He takes another sip of his coffee

I groan, wondering if this feeling is going to last all day. If so, today is going to be fun, to say the least. I’d love nothing more than to curl up on some bear hides and sleep till dusk.

We sit in silence for a while, as the others slowly wake, some looking just as much of a sorry state as we do. After our second cup Dutch calls for Arthur from his tent and he leaves with a groan to see what he wants. I stayed seated on the floor, not daring to get up as every movement inflicted some variant of ache and the threat of my stomach emptying its contents.

“You look worse than I feel” That Irish tone appeared from nearby at the fire. Sean pouring himself a cup.

“I’m trying not to vomit.” I grinned weakly as I looked up to him. He nodded in understanding, sitting on a crate nearby.

“So, tell me more about how your Knight in shining armour saved you.”

I couldn't help but giggle, my hand shooting to my stomach to ease the sudden and threatening twinge.

“My husband is one mean bastard…”

“You're married?”

“Unfortunately. Arthur, Dutch and Hosea were in the process of robbing him. I got caught up in it. Got out of the gunfight that ensued and asked, well, begged him to take me somewhere else. Passed out due to a few broken ribs and woke up here.”

“Damn what a shit show. You got somewhere you'll be moving onto, or will you be staying with this bunch of degenerates?”

I look around the camp, everyone now up and preparing for the day. Little Jack playing with a bunch of flowers, tongue out in concentration. Abigail watching over him as she collected clothing to be washed. Hosea and Lenny sat at the table playing what looks to be a very competitive game of dominoes. Pearson preparing today's breakfast at the food wagon. Sadie sat on a rock at the edge of the overlook, taking in the views and seemingly lost in thought as the morning sun beams down onto her. Mary-Beth and Tilly stitching garments in their hands, sharing a few laughs between them. Javier sat on his bedroll sharpening and cleaning one of his knives, all his attention on the task in hand. Strauss with his book in hand, that thing seems to be in his grasp as often as a bottle is in Uncles. Arthur stood at Dutches tent, talking about whatever jobs that need doing or what their next move should be to gain more money no doubt. Dutch is rambling on as Arthur listens, hands resting upon his gun belt, nodding along to whatever Dutch is saying to him every so often.

“I think I’ll stay.” I say unsure if I was answering Sean’s question or telling myself.

------

After a few hours of chores and making myself busy around camp, the hangover slowly began to ease. The distraction and the emptying of my stomach by one of the trees in the outskirts definitely helped. It was at that moment I vowed never to drink that excessively again. Lesson learned.

I sat with Jack, watching him play with his two wooden horse toys. He was bored and Abigail had become restless with his constant need for attention and questions so I was doing my best to entertain him to give her a few moments of peace and to complete whatever tasks Miss Grimshaw had asked her to do.

Watching Jack as he played out the story he imagined for his little horses Arthur came over to us. A slight smile on his face as he watched the boy play contently.

“Whatchu up to?”

“Playing”

“Anything fun?”

“I guess”

“You wanna come fishing with me?”

“Fishing?”

“Sure. It’s about time that you started to earn your keep.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Go get your pole then. You do have a fishing pole don't you?”

“I sure do! Uncle Hosea made me one.” Jack stood, little horses and their story now forgotten about in the dirt.

“Well go get it then. Let’s catch us some fish.”

“Yeah!” He almost shouted, running off into the direction of his tent.

We both watched as he went with a little skip in his step. Excited about having something new and different to do.

“You, er, wanna come with?” Arthur said, going through his satchel to pull out his cigarettes. Lifting one to his mouth and then lighting a match with the bottom of his boot.

“Sure. I don't have a pole though. But I could catch a few rabbits or something while there.”

He nodded then made his way over to his horse, giving him a brush down while he waited for me and Jack.

Thankfully we didn't need to go far from camp as the Dakota river was only a minute ride away. Jack sat in front of Arthur and I kept up beside them listening to their conversation. Asking if Jack was feeling better from recently being ill and Jack mentioning a storybook he left back at the camp in Blackwater.

We all dismounted at the riverside, the two boys making their way to the water to ready their poles as I readied my bow. Telling them I won't be far before making my way towards the gathering of trees nearby but far enough away from the dirt roads that noise shouldn't be an issue. It didn't take long to find a few Black-Tailed Rabbits hanging around the area, as well as a few squirrels running through the bushes and up the trees.

I knelt in an area void of sticks or piles of dead leaves, skimming my eyes over land ahead of me, waiting for that unsuspected rabbit to place itself in my line on sight.

Four rabbits later I returned to the boys at the river. Jack now sat nearby, flowers in his hands and a pile at his feet. A child that age doesn't seem to have the attention span for something like Fishing, something that takes a little patience. We should have known he would have gotten bored of it quickly.

“Catch many?”

“Uncle Arthur has!”

I smiled at Jack and walked over to Arthur who was currently battling a fish as we speak.

“Can I borrow your knife to skin these? I still don't have one.” I said as I held up my catch.

“Sure. It's on my belt.” He pulled on the rod, seeming to get frustrated that this stubborn fish wouldn't give up.

I sat a little aways from Jack, glancing over to see him delicately chain each little red flower together. His tongue sticking out from intense concentration.

For a few moments, it was quiet and peaceful as I skinned and salvaged the usable meat. Arthur muttering praises then whispered curses to the fish he finally reeled onto dry land. Holding them up to get a good look before throwing the back into the river.

“Hey, look at this.” Jack proclaims, holding up the completed chain of red flowers as far as his little arms to reach.

“At what?” Arthur says, kneeling in front of Jack to see his creation.

“This necklace I made.”

“Necklace?”

“For Momma. I made one for you too Miss Bella.” He grabbed another chain of red flowers from his side, handing it over to me.”

Putting down the knife and rubbing my bloodied hands on my pants I then reached out to take it. A smile beaming on my face and heart swelling twice its size at this adorable and thoughtful gift. “Thank you, Jack. It’s beautiful.” I place the necklace over my head for it to lay around my neck as delicately as possible. Worried that I might pull it apart accidentally. Thankfully I don't. A necklace like this is more valuable than any gold or jewels and should be treated as such.

In these few moments, we are seemingly so distracted by what is going on that none of us noticed two men appear nearby on horses until one of them speaks.

“What a fine young man…” One man says as he strides towards us, dressed in fine clothing. Bowler upon his head and a badge on his lapel. “And in such complex circumstances. Arthur, isn't it? Arthur Morgan?”

The other man dismounts his horse and cocks his rifle. Not saying a word but striding towards us too. Weapon rested on his shoulder. A badge adorning his lapel also.

The three of us stand to the attention of these unwanted strangers. Arthur ushering Jack to stand behind him. “Who are you?” Arthur says, an air of confusion and wariness in his voice

“Yes, Arthur Morgan. Van der Linde’s most trusted associate. You've read the files, typical case, orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's silver tongue and matures into a degenerate murderer.” He turns to his friend beside him, both nodding in agreement.

“Agent Milton. Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency seconded to the United States Government.” They finally introduce themselves, taking slow but sure steps closer towards us. My heart starts racing, cursing myself for leaving my gun back at camp. I look down to the knife still on the floor beside me along with the rabbit remains. I’m sure Arthur could deal with them himself if it came to it but with Jack here it was too much of a risk. There is no way I could bend down to pick it up now with both their beady eyes on us, watching our every move. If I went for it when and if shooting started that would leave Jack more in the open and more at risk. Instead, I keep it in my sights and hope it doesn't come to that.

“Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you.”

“Do ya?”

“You’re a wanted man, Mr Morgan. Five thousand dollars for your head alone.”

“Five thousand dollars? For me? Can I turn myself in?”

“We want Van der Linde.”

“Old Dutch? I haven't seen him for months.”

“That so? Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass.”

“Oh, ain’t that a little old fashioned nowadays?” He huffs a laugh.

“Apparently not. Listen, this is my offer, Mr Morgan. Bring in Van der Linde and you have my word, you won’t swing.”

“Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyways Agent, um…”

“Milton.”

“You see, I haven’t done anything wrong aside from not play the games to your rules.”

“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I've already heard it. From Mac Callander.”

“Mac Callander?”

“He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him so really it was more of a mercy killing. Slow. But merciful.”

Arthur fling the pole he was still holding to the ground, losing his composure but still trying to keep some sort of calm when given this information. His fists balling at his sides but keeping one close to the holster at his side. Jack jumps and gasps at the sudden outburst so I grab his shoulder with one hand to gently guide him to stand behind me.

“You enjoy being a rich man's toy do ya!?” There is a low growl to his voice, fury slowly pooling out with every word.

“I enjoy society, flaws and all. You people venerate savagery and you will die savagely! All of you.” The Agent gets up closer to Arthur, pointing his finger in his face to try and be imposing towards the man that is twice his size and could possibly snap him like a twig.

“ Oh, we're all gonna die, Agent”

“Some of us sooner than others. Good day, Mr Morgan.” With that, he turns and walks away. It wasn't till now that I realised the other Agent had his rifle up and aimed at Arthur and by the looks of it, Arthur might not have noticed either as he kept his eyes on the one now with his back turned. The other man starts to back away keeping his eyes on us but slowly lowering his weapon to the ground.

“Enjoy your fishing kid. While you still can.” It's all he says before turning as well. Both of them mounting their horses and riding off. Neither I or Arthur took our eyes off the two men until they were clearly out of sight.

“Who were they?” A little voice pulls us back, Jack now moving from behind us.

“No one to worry about, no one at all. Come on, let’s pack up your things and get home.” Arthur places his hands on Jack to steer him away. All of us collecting our belongings and mounting up as quickly as possible.

My heart began to slow as we mounted and made our way back but I had questions and it seemed Jack had a few too. He has a bounty on his head? And five thousand dollars no less? It can't be true. How would he get a bounty of that sum? I was told by Mary-Bath that they all lived near Blackwater before having to leave quickly but she never said why. I never had a reason to ask. I always knew travellers and outlaws moved from place to place quite frequently and some were known to be right bastards that needed to be hanged for the horrific crimes they committed but...this gang ain't like those, they don't hurt and kill for the simple fun of it. Maybe I should ask him at some point. My logic being if I am to stay and live amongst them I should know what to say or how to act if the Pinkertons come around again. I should know what I’m truly getting myself into.

We made it back to camp quickly, Arthur looking around us momentarily to make sure we had not been followed. He let down Jack before dismounting and making his way over to Dutch with urgency.

Whatever questions I have, they could wait for now.

[catalysisrp]

Hello, Catalysts!

It's a Monday, which isn't great -- but it's also time for another preview, so it's not all bad either!

First off, the obligatory reminder that we now have three different challenges open for participation as a means of acquiring an early reserve: the intro form, and two different dev challenges -- one for your own characters, and one for somebody else's!

(For those of you who don't like this sort of thing, we'll open general reserves later this week -- but you'll only get two, as opposed to the challenge participants, who can claim up to three total!)

Another two previews for you today, both our member groups and our first two subplots! There will be further subplots rolled out after site open, each built with the intention of being open to a variety of character groups and individual ideas. Enrollment is optional and relatively open, so no need to worry about reserving slots or being unable to participate!

As always, feel free to drop us an ask or hit us up on discord if you have any questions or concerns.

Previews included below the cut for mobile users!

Member Groups

PROMETHIUM ( #C98951 )

The discoverers proposed the name “promethium”, derived from Prometheus, the Titan in Greek mythology who stole fire from Mount Olympus and brought it down to gift to foolish, mortal humans. Its name symbolizes “both the daring and the possible misuse of mankind’s intellect”. All of its isotopes are radioactive and it is rare. This is the membergroup for characters with abilities.

COBALT ( #4774A8 )

Cobalt is found in the Earth’s crust only in a chemically combined form, save for small deposits found in alloys of natural meteoric iron. It is used to make powerful magnets. Transplants drawn to the dusty and decaying roads of Perdition fall into this membergroup. Are you new here? Did you find your way to Perdition or just get lost on the long, lonely road?

TANTALUM ( #7E9945 )

The name tantalum was derived from the name of Tantalus in Greek mythology. According to myth, he was punished after death by being planted in knee deep water with the branches of impossibly tempting fruit hanging overhead. Attempts to bend and drink were met with an ever-receding waterline; grasping hands reaching up for the fruit were ever denied, always falling short. Locals without abilities, local government, and local law enforcement are assigned to this membergroup. They live here in a constant state of in-between; Perdition is the space between failure and prosperity, it’s on the road to somewhere but not a destination, between catalysis and decay.

FLOURINE ( #A84771 )

It is the most electronegative element and the lightest halogen. It exists at standard conditions as wildly toxic. It is a gas so reactive it will ignite anything it touches. Initial studies on fluorine were so dangerous that several 19th-century experimenters were dubbed “fluorine martyrs” after gruesome accidents with hydrofluoric acid. The influential and powerful comprise this membergroup: employees of the ATLAS branch, Perot mine leadership, and members of Perdition’s toxic high society fall into this membergroup.

Subplots

Titanomachy

For behold, He will come down and tread on the high places of the earth. The mountains will melt under Him and the valleys will be split, like wax before the fire, like water poured down a steep place. Micah 1:3-4

A clash of gods in the valley, and Perdition, trapped between two mountains: Titanomachy, the war between the old gods, the Titans, and the new Olympians. They fight for control of their universe, for who will reign in the valley, the lives of the average caught beneath trembling boots.

Perdition is a small town, ringed by a crown of mountainous thorns, and only the truly loyal or the truly trapped have remained as its economy has withered, as the rest of the world spun on around it. It is protected by a small but gritty force of officers and city workers, locals who have been local for generations and generations, or in some cases, newcomers that have stumbled in and fallen in love with the sharp edges of the place.

The infestation of the Olympians, wearing federal ATLAS uniforms, driving desert-dusted humvees, building an ominous compound standing ugly on the edge of town, has not been welcome.

Tension was immediate. Local law enforcement has never been fond of the interference of federal power, especially not out in the boonies of the Battleborn state, out in the west that has, in so many desolate corners, remained wild. They are suspicious of ATLAS's closed-door and classified nature, of the high number of their missing neighbors, and the question of what are they doing here? It's not just geological surveying, that's for sure.

Even worse, within Perdition's police department, there is an officer or two on the take. In City Hall, there are clerks and townsfolk more than willing to accept a blank check from ATLAS for their clandestine assistance.

The war is quiet, for now, but the push-and-pull has already begun. There is thunder in the distance, muting the whispering in the mines: Down from Othyrs, down from Olympus they come, into the low, dry valley.

He has rays flashing from His hand, and there is the hiding of His power. Before Him goes pestilence, and plague comes after Him. Habakkuk 3:3-6

Members

Below are some character ideas or possible subplot positions related to the Titanomachy subplot! It's not limited to what is listed here, so if you have an idea just reach out to the admins!

The Titans

The loyalists: police and cityworkers going toe-to-toe with Atlas

On the take: the traitors in the departments, lifting evidence or stalling FOI requests

The local dispatcher on the fence

The double crosser

EMTs suspicious of strange things they're seeing on calls

The Olympians

ATLAS Directors

Scientists & field geologists

PIs working for ATLAS to get dirt on their local detractors

ATLAS security forces

The skeezy lawyer

Xenos

Xenos /Greek: ξένος, xénos, plural xenoi/ is a word used in the Greek language from Homer onwards. The most standard definition is "stranger". However, the word, itself, can be interpreted to mean different things based upon context, such as a more hostile interpretation: enemy.

The truth is out there. The truth is here. The strangers that rolled into town on convoys of military vehicles and humvees, subsidized by a government that tells its people nothing, they know. They definitely know something, and Perdition stands in the dark.

For years, certain internet sleuths and conspiracy theorists have long suspected something strange is happening in Perdition. At first, it was simply a gathering of intensely fixated Redditors and forum users, a small subset of generally strange and typically youthful true believers who spent a lot of time watching X-Files and scouring the night sky for unknown phenomenon. They try, and fail, to capture pictures and video of the strange animals around Perdition. They hunt bigfoot through the steppes and Pahroc range. They collect sunburns and live tweet about the haunted, desiccated buildings in Delamar.

In 2015, ATLAS arrived. The federal government deploying (as one internet personality described it) 'jack-booted thugs' on the very edge of town stirred up more interest in the once-niche supernaturally curious internet group, Xenos.

A variety of more adjusted locals began to show interest in the group meetings held in the community center, sipping bad coffee and clutching paper napkins. Relatives of families destroyed by various illnesses, families of the missing, who have lost loved ones to the expanse of desert. People looking for answers to unanswerable tragedies.

Xenos meets irregularly and is rather disorganized. Some groups within the group are more concerned with alien encounters and UFOs. Some are of the ghost-hunting variety, traveling to ghost towns and trying to wiggle into abandoned mines. What they have in common: they don't trust ATLAS, they don't trust local law enforcement, and they all believe strange things happen in Perdition.

Members

Below are some character ideas or possible subplot positions related to the Xenos subplot! It's not limited to what is listed here, so if you have an idea just reach out to the admins!

Xenos Cryptid Hunters

The fearless leader

Videographer

Peppy and bubblegum-sweet-excited vlogger

Local vet with supernatural pastime

Haunting the Haunted

Local with retrocognition

Photographer

The one in it for the lols

Nevada history buff specializing in ghost towns

Anti-ATLAS

The doomsday prepper who lives in an Airstream outside of town

Reddit sleuth

Pirate radio host

Family of the missing

Disgruntled ex-employee who never got higher than low-level security clearance