#after the ducking morning ive had

[caressthosecheekbones]

how dare they only put 60g in these 😭😭😭

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (iv)

SUMMARY: With Soldier Boy alive in the 2020’s, back in America, he starts his mission of vengeance. Of course, his first stop is to you; the only woman he’d truly wanted to start a relationship with, who’d taken his spot only months after his supposed death. And you don’t exactly expect your old lover to appear in your home, with the intent to kill.

WORD COUNT: 2238

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Typical Soldier Boy behaviour, gore, heavy violence, canon divergence.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Finding you was difficult. They were beginning to think Ben had been wrong, that you were six foot under in some unlabelled grave, rotting away. But, Ben was sure. And arguing with him seemed like signing their death warrant.

So, they kept searching. Despite the fact they could have located at least two other Payback members, and had them dead, by now, Ben was insistent on killing you first.

So, they kept fucking searching.

And then they found it.

It was a tiny discrepancy. Something most people would simply brush past. But, Hughie found it, and it was all they needed. They followed the rabbit hole, down and down, finding hidden documents and details not even Ben knew about.

It only took two days to pinpoint your location.

The Appalachian Mountains. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Smack-bang in the middle of one of the largest forests in the entire USA. But, to Ben, that fact was whatever. He had your location. And he was going to find you, even if it meant spending weeks searching every inch of that forest.

Butcher and Hughie knew it was a dumb idea.

But, they got Ben in a car, and started their roadtrip.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

The quiet life was nice, you’d decided. You’d forgotten about Queen Maeve’s uninvited visit, going back to your routine of feeding the animals and drinking coffee on the balcony every morning.

It was weird. You used to be one of the most famous people on the planet. There was blood staining every inch of your hands, and families who were likely still trying to gain justice for the people you killed. You had decades of history. And, yet, you now lived out your days as some sort of Disney princess.

You couldn’t complain. It was better than willingly running into gunfire every week.

Padding through your dark home, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the floors, you headed for the kitchen. You were never too old for a midnight snack. Especially in the comfort of your own home. You turned into the kitchen.

And you saw it. A dark figure, shadowed in the corner.

But, you kept moving, playing oblivious. In your mind, your old training make itself own. Ben’s critiques and advice played like a movie, as you pulled the cabinet open, standing high on your toes to reach for packet of chips. Your senses were on fire, focused in on the quiet breaths, the soft squeaking of boots on the tile.

They moved, and so did you.

You ducked under the fist swinging towards your face, snatching a knife from the block beside the fridge. Holding it tightly in your fist, your stance ready to attack, you looked at the intruder. Every muscle in your body froze.

“Ben?”

He didn’t pull his punches. Ben grabbed you by the throat, using your momentary distraction to his advantage, shoving your back against the sharp edge of the counter. Instinctively, you swiped the knife towards him, but a rough hand caught your wrist, slamming it down onto the counter.

A cry of pain slipped past your lips, fingers releasing the knife. It was his turn to grab it, tossing it from your reach.

No words were spoken, just heavy breathing.

You’d never seen Ben look at you like this before. This look was reserved for those who got on the wrong side of him. Those who disappeared mysteriously overnight and were never found again — but you knew what happened. And so did he.

He was here to kill you.

“Ben—“ You choked out, through the tightening grip his hand had around your throat. The grip tightened, and your breath caught with a squeak, broken gasps for air trying desperately to pull in oxygen.

“How much did they pay you?” He demanded, his voice low and gravelly. “Huh? How much, did they fucking pay you?” There was something about him that was so different. A new edge to him, maybe. But, what caught your attention, was the look in his eyes.

Hurt. He was staring at you like you’d ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.

You clawed at his wrist, unable to bring any air into your lungs. Your nails bit into his skin, the scratches down his wrist quickly repairing themselves. He let you go. Not out of mercy. No. He grabbed your collar, lifting your head up, and then slamming it down onto the counter.

Your vision went completely white, all remaining breath knocked from your lungs with a gasp. Blinking desperately to clear the stars, you tried to struggle. But, he slammed you down again. And again. And again. Until he tossed you to the floor like nothing more than a rag doll.

The counter was cracked from the force of it, blood staining the white marble, and splattered across the counter. Your own kitchen. Stained with your blood. You could feel the warm liquid dripping down the back of your head, matting in your hair.

If you weren’t a supe, you’d be dead.

He didn’t let you get a word in, brutal with each of his attacks. As you desperately tried to scramble away, body on fire, he put his foot down on your ankle. Leaning down, staring intently at you, with dark eyes, Ben snarled. “How much?”

“Ben—“ Finally, words escaped. In a pathetic whimper that made his lips twitch in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your breath hitched with pain.

That answer wasn’t good enough for him. You swore you could feel the bones in your jaw crack, as his fist met your cheek. You cried out in pain, the force of the impact whipping you around, hitting your head against the ground.

His hand curled into your hair, forcing your eyes on him. “Don’t fucking lie to me, you bitch.” Your breaths were ragged, with pain and terror, staring up at the man you thought was dead. He seethed, nothing but anger and disgust (and hurt?) in his green eyes. “You whored yourself out to me, huh? Put my dick in your mouth? For what? Fuckin’ soften me up like a weak pussy?”

“Ben—“

“Don’t.” He tugged your hair, hard. “I loved you.” His teeth grit together.

Your heart broke, tears in your eyes as you stared up at him. He loved you. And he thought you’d hurt him? He was dead. He was dead. That’s what they said. They said he was dead. Your mind worked at 100 miles an hour, heart constricting.

He loved you.

Soldier Boy loved you.

You didn’t even think he was capable of that. Sure, you knew you had something special with him, something unique. But love? It’d never crossed your mind. You’d always loved him somewhat, always throwing yourself in front of bullets and danger to protect him. Always following his lead and teasing him.

Always pushing your luck with his temper. Because he never snapped. He never hurt you. He never hit you. You knew you’d loved him, when your heart would dance when he chuckled at your jokes. The way your body reacted to his hands on your hips during your first training session. You knew there was something. But, for sure, you thought it was one-sided.

That, to him, you were a good fuck. Just a hole, as he liked to say about some women.

But, you’d been so wrong. And, all this time, 37 years, he’d been alive. And you’d done nothing.

“I loved you.” He repeated, in a broken seethe. His eyes were less angry now, but still held that hint of vengeance. “I would’ve died for you.” You could’ve sobbed, right there. “We were gonna start a family.”

Your voice was shaky. “Ben. Please. I don’t know what’s going on.” You begged, pathetic and weak. Ben scoffed, emotional. “I thought you were dead. I swear it, Ben!” It was practically a plea; a desperate cry for him to believe you.

He was too blinded by his rage. “I waited every day for you.” He hissed, reaching over and grabbing his discarded shield. “For you to come and get me. To save me. You never came.”

“Ben—“

He shoved you down, head slamming against tile once more. Knees on other side of your hips, Ben gripped the edge of his shield, raising it high.

He was going to kill you. You couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t fight it. All you could do was look at him, tears running tracks through the blood on your face. A silent plea, begging him to not do this.

He rose the shield higher, lined up with the juncture of your throat.

And then he saw it. A glint of metal peeking out from under your shirt. He could recognise them from a mile away. They were his, after all. His dog tags, sat delicately just above your chest, resting on the skin like they were made to be there. His brows furrowed, movements faltering.

His dog tags. You were wearing his dog tags.

Ben hesitated, unsure.

He looked down at you, meeting your teary eyes, and his brain ran wild. Of memories of being a couple. Of the memories of when a big question mark had hung above your relationship, neither of you sure of what was going on, but treating each other like lovers anyway.

Your soft touches; the way your fingers would trace the contours of his muscles in the morning. The way you’d kiss each of his scars, muttering against his skin how perfect he was, despite the flaws and the imperfections littering his body. How gentle you were. He’d never felt a gentle touch before you.

How you’d giggle at his jokes, smile blinding, pretty dimples, cheeks flushed.

God, and those eyes. How they’d shine and shimmer when you looked up at him, like he was made of the stars themselves. He always used to melt when you propped your chin on his chest in bed, looking at him with that cute smile, and he’d trace your face with his thumb, cradling your cheeks like delicate glass.

Those few nights spent together, in the limited time you’d had together as an actual couple. The way you’d move together; perfectly in sync, like you were made for each other.

The way you’d hold him. Laugh with him. Smile at him. The passing touches. The lingering stares across red carpets and events, subtly checking each other out, and then meeting up in the supply closet. The quiet moments together, cooking dinner or merely holding each other. All those times you forced him to dance, and he’d begrudgingly spin you in the kitchen. The dates, and the movie nights, and the silly fights, and how warm his cold penthouse felt when you were with him.

Every memory, every moment, replayed in front of his eyes, as he stared at you. He lost his breath, muscles stiff. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring this shield down and kill you. His chest ached and burnt.

He couldn’t kill you.

So, instead, he hit the blunt edge of shield against your head, and watched your eyes roll back.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Coming to was disorientating and painful.

Every inch of your body ached, from the beating you’d received from Ben. You cringed as the light made the throbbing in your head intensify. Through squinted eyes, you made out the sight in front of you.

You were in your dining room. And there were two… unfamiliar men stood by your table, leaning over files and papers. Movement caught your attention.

Ben. Setting his shield down by the table.

“Ben.” You choked out, instinctively trying to reach out and grab him. To check if he was real. If he was actually stood in front you. Living, breathing. Your hands didn’t move. You looked down, frowning at the sight of tattered rope tying your wrists of the arms of your chair.

The noise drew over the attention of the three men. They exchanged a silent look, and slowly, and rather intimidatingly, approached. You whined a little, at the throbbing pain that made a tremble run it’s course through your body.

One of the unfamiliar men pulled up a chair. “What d’ya know abou’ BCL-RED?” Was that an English or Australian accent? You couldn’t tell through the buzzing in your ears.

“Wha’?” You slurred, blinking rapidly, trying to orientate yourself. “BCL-what-now?” A grunt slipped past your lips. They didn’t look impressed by that answer. “I— I saw it on a file. Back in ‘84. Never figured out what it meant.”

The man learnt forwards. “Neva’ found out?”

Your head shook, and it made the pain increase. Your face scrunched up in agony. “Mm, no.” You groaned, breaths hitched. “It was all classified. Edgar never told me. Mallory and I— we tried to figure it out.”

“Grace Mallory?”

“What? Yes. Grace.” You groaned again. “Jesus. Can you turn off the fucking lights? It feels like there’s a drill in my head.” You tried to push your face into your shoulder, hiding from the light that made your eyes burn and your head feel like Ben was slamming it against the ground again.

There was a beat of silence. “Did you know?” That was Ben. He sounded hesitant.

“Know what?” You peeked up at Ben, eyes squinted to be able to look at him. He looked tense, face expressionless. “I thought you were dead. I don’t know what else to say to convince you. I thought you were dead.”

“How did you not know?” He demanded, his short fuse lit. Ben and his fucking temper.

“I don’t know, Ben!” Your own yell made you wince in pain. “They never told me shit! I tried for 15 years to get answers!”Ben didn’t look convinced. Of course he didn’t. He was so set in his heartbreak and rage, by your supposed betrayal, that he’d utterly convinced himself. “I didn’t know.” You echoed in a broken whisper.

“How’s ‘bout this?” You blinked rapidly, trying to focus in on the accented voice. “We track down the otha’ girl. See what she ‘as to say.” There seemed to be a group-wide agreement.

“Countess?” You grunted, confused. Your gaze flicked between the three men. “I know where she is.”

And that got their attention.

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[writing-fanics]

More Than Anything

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader

[summary: final battle lives lost but the show must go on!]

Masterlist > chapter I > chapter ii > chapter iii > chapter iv

[a/n: since it’s technically been a month Lucifer and Y/n’s relationship has blossomed but not into a romantic one just yet. Just maybe the occasional flirting but I will have flashbacks to moments to have it not feel rushed.]

[also y/n likes making cursed animal combinations like a dolphin with wings.. being in hell for a month has brought her out of her shell so much she’s much happier. also the reader is whatever height you are, but to me she's slightly taller than Lucifer. sorry if this seems rushed.. its alot of work y/n trained with vaggie in weapon combat. she also kinda had help from lucifer. if ya'll want I'll write another side chapter about what lucifer and her did in combat..]

word count: 3,789 {6-7 pages)

[warning: major spoilers for episode 7-8: mentions of sex: slight smut in the end (full poorly written smut in side chapter): death spoilers:

song

[Y/n] helped prepare the hotel while Charlie and Vaggie were out, she still couldn't help but think that if it all were to end tomorrow. Should she confess her feelings to Lucifer. She tried but failed weeks ago, and now with extermination day being 24 hours away. But even then would it even matter, if she did? If they were going to die what's the point? But then..

"Ugh, why do feelings have to be so complicated?!" She groaned to herself, as she helped fortify the hotel. In her own thoughts. Yet, she remembered how awkward Lucifer was acting this morning when they were eating breakfast. It could've been because of extermination day in the next 24 hours or maybe something else?

"A-Are you okay?" She asked worriedly, at Lucifer. Who scoffed in response and smiled nervously, "Y-Yeah, I'm alright fine perfectly fine." He sweats, as he looked at her nervously.

He watched as she left the manor to go help his daughter and the hotel prepare, and cursed to himself.. God, he was absolutely infatuated with her and couldn't even confess his feelings, for her. What if she dies? No don't think that he couldn't even bare the thought of losing her again.

He reached into his pocket and revealed the rubber duck with butterfly wings, and started at it softly.

[ Flashback ]

[Y/n] bit down on her lower lip, as she tried to make her first rubber duck. Squinting her eyes as she tried, to attach some butterfly wings. She smiled, jumping out of her chair in her guest room and ran down the hallway. She bursts into the room,“Lu, I did it!” She exclaimed, holding the rubber duck in her hands. Flapping its wings occasionally lifting itself off the palm of her hand. Flapping its wings.

“Wow, you did an even better job than me.” He said, causing her to blush. But shaking her head, “Nah, yours are way better.” She said, smiling looking at him.

She looked down at the rubber duck nervously, the extermination was only a few days away and people were preparing for a bloodbath a massacre, an all out war.

“I-I..” She sighed and downcasted at the ground, before shaking her head and smiled. “I made caramel apple pancakes.” She said, smile and Lucifer’s eyes lit up.

“Why didn’t you just say so!” He exclaimed, before she knew it he was already out the door of his study. Towards the delicious caramel apple pancakes.

She smiled sadly, looking down at the rubber duck. Pressing the secret button on its wing. “I love you!” It said its robotic child like voice exclaimed, and she looked down sadly. “I feel butterflies in my stomach when I’m with you,” she clenched her fist, almost crushing the duck but stopped. Looking at it sadly, “I really am pathetic.” she sighed, she walked over towards the shelf.

That had a rubber duck with similar top hat, to that of Lucifer and hesitantly placed it beside it. On the shelf, before backing away and leaving going downstairs to eat breakfast with Lucifer.

- ——

Lucifer entered his study after [Y/n] had left, to help prepare for war being a recently fallen angel and all. He sat at his desk, he glanced over at the shelf. Noticing a new rubber duck, figuring she must’ve placed it there.

He admired it in awe, the translucent butterfly wings. He remembered how much she loves butterflies, he remembered when she joked about combining the two. A Duckerfly. A duck with wings. Even then she was absolutely adorable, her jokes always seemed to make him laugh.

He titled his head noticing a hidden button on its wings, pressing it curiously. “I’m a duck with wings!” The duck said, and he chuckled.

“Duckerfly!”

“I love you!”

He stopped for a moment, processing what the duck had just said. Pressing the button again, “I get butterflies when I’m with you,” His heart seemed to skip a beat, he pressed it again.. and again and again. Until it looped back to it saying, ‘I love you.’

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

[Y/n] smiled as she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around Charlie. “Thank you for everything,” thanked Charlie, looking up at the older woman smiling. "Ever since I was little," She said, looking up at her, "The stories, my dad used to tell me about you inspired me." and the older woman, looked at her and smiled her heart swelling with joy.

She chuckled softly, "When I was in heaven, I thought he'd forgotten about me." said [Y/n], her gaze soften as she reminisced of memories of the past. "Seems, it was quite the opposite who could've thought he'd tell stories of me to his own daughter." She said, smiling as she took Charlie by both hands.

She looked down at her, "You're like the child I've always wanted but never had," She said, the princess of hell couldn't help but chuckle, reminding her of the weird rivalry both her father and Alastor had.

"But, I'm not trying to replace your mother." She reiterated, "Not at all, I just want you to know. That I'm always here for you." She said, looking at her. Charlie pulled back from the hug, "I can see why my dad likes you so much," said Charlie, causing the woman in front of her cheeks to go red.

"Ah...Um.." She mumbled, but Charlie placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "It's okay, I think the two of you would be cute together." said Charlie, smiling. Even though she missed her mom Lilith, and that her dad might still possibly miss her. She couldn't help but notice even though on the small instances, her and her dad have spoke before all this.

She could see how happy he was having [Y/n] here, in Hell. She noticed the occasional flirting. Yes, it might sound weird but she loved seeing her dad happy more than anything. "U-Um, thank you." stammered [Y/n].

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

[Y/n]'s eyes widened as the force-shield shattered, but she snapped back as an exorcists attacked her and she could've sworn, she heard her shout traitor. She made quick use of her weapon, and ended the exorcists life by cutting off her head.

Patches of her clothes covered in yellow ichor, a tiny cut on her cheek she sustained when fighting an exorcists. But slowly, everything seemed to go downhill as the one who was supposed to take care of Adam. Alastor had suddenly disappeared leaving Charlie to fear the worst.

[Y/n]'s eyes widened in horror as Sir Pentious' airship was destroyed, right before everyone's eyes. "No!" Charlie wailed, as tears brimmed her eyes in shock. She'd barely gotten to know Sir Pentious, in the month she was in Hell.

But, he seemed like a good person who genuinely wanted to redeem himself. Who gave trust to his friends. and in the end made the ultimate sacrifice. Gripping the weapon tightly in her hands, she charged towards Adam.

Almost impaling him, but he dodged out of the way. "Why look who it is?" He said, looking down at her mockingly. She glared at him, "Why isn't it little miss traitor." He said, and she snarled gritting her teeth as she lunged towards him, but he laughed and dodge.

"Wow, you look even worse than you did in Heaven." He mocked, and she pursed her lips eyes filled with rage. As she dodged his attacks, "Says the arrogant bastard who let himself go after Eden," She spat, and he glared at her sending a beam that almost hit her.

But wasn't so lucky about the next one, causing her to groan in pain. "Wow, you really suck at this don't you." He laughed, god she wanted to rip out his fucking tongue. "Do you ever stop fucking talking?!" She shouted, angrily.

Adam dodged her attacks as she sent them his way. Swiftly flying out of the way angering her, as her eyes started glowing as she swings at him with the angelic weapon. She glared at him angrily, “All this for a dick you can’t suck!” shouted Adam, and she glared at him angrily. Gritting her teeth, “Ugh! Fuck you.” she spat. Missing him once again.

“You really are pathetic you know that?” He laughed. Before she could even react a yellow beam, struck her already bleeding side. Gold ichor dripping from the wound, her movement faltering, "S-Shut the fuck up!" She shouted angrily, but a blast sent her flying backwards. Causing her to crash into, the hotel knocking her unconscious.

“Y/n!” Charlie shouted, watching as she plummet to the ground. But she didn’t, and felt a pair of arms wrap around her holding her, she looked up and smiled. She quickly wrapped her arms around him, “Lu,” She whispered.

Then her eyes widened, “Please tell me you didn’t hear that.” She looked embarrassed, cheeks red. Lucifer cocked his head to the side,“Not all of it just the, a dick you can’t suck part.” He said, her cheeks bright red. How she wanted to curl up into a ball and hide in a cave.

She pursed her lips inward and groaned, “I would kiss you now-” Her cheeks turned red, as a tomato as he said that. Even more so as he looked down at her with a mischievous grin, “But, we can do that later.” He said, a grin on his face then turning to are at Adam.

Glaring at him as well as she pulled away from Lucifer, “I’ll take you up on that offer, but first.” She clicked her tongue, gripping her weapon as she glared at Adam.

Seething her teeth, as she gripped the weapon tightly. “Let’s get this fucker.” She spat, with swift speed flying off towards the angel.

Lucifer smiled watching as she flew off, “That’s my girl,” He smiled, as the two of them flew off towards Adam. Following after her, the look of anger on his face seeing his daughter in danger.

Lucifer cackled as he looks down at Adam, dodging his attacks."So, this is what you've been up to since Eden?" said Lucifer, a he flew around him."Gotta say, you really let yourself go buddy." He said, as he transformed into a snake. Adam grabbing him by the tail, and trying to throw him. But before he could Lucifer transforms into a duck. "You judgin' me? You're the most hated being in all of creations." Adam shouted, angrily at him.

"Well, your first wife didn't seem to hate what I had to offer." said Lucifer, using his fingers to make a 'V' shape bringing it to his lips. "or the second. Bow-chicka-wow-wow." said Lucifer, as he makes a thrusting motion in the air. Angering Adam, "I'll fucking end you!!" Adam shouted, as he chased after Lucifer.

[Y/n] flew up towards them, she laughed mischievously, as she transformed into different animals. Teasing him, “For someone who calls himself dick master, your own wives didn’t even want yours!” She laughed, grinning as you transformed into a dolphin with wings.

She slapped him using the tail across the face. Smiling mischievously, “Ugh! You bitch!” He shouted, angrily trying to grab her but she ducked. Flying away swiftly.

“The bully gets bullied,” She cackled, making faces at him before disappearing in a poof of yellow clouds. She giggled, as Lucifer took her by the hand. And the two of took pride in dancing to dodge, Adam’s attacks. “Oh, can’t catch us..” The two of them teased.

“That duck you left me,” He said, as the two of you disappeared from Adam, dodging his attacks. Her cheeks turned red as she looked at him, “I love you too,” He said, and her heart swelled with joy. Really was he saying this now?!

Adam gagged in disgust, “Stop moving you freaks!” Adam shouted, causing the king of hell to shake his head, “Hey, I’m trying to confess my love over here!” shouted Lucifer, causing her cheeks to turn even redder. Adam growing angrier, as he glared at them.

Adam groaned in anger, as he sent a beam of yellow ichor towards them. But Lucifer holding [Y/n] close protectively, as he swiftly pulled her out of the way. “Charlie!” She shouted worriedly, and swiftly as she said that Lucifer was off towards his daughter.

[ slight time skip ]

[Y/n] placed her hand on her bleeding side, as she stood up to her feet. Glaring at Adam as she stood beside everyone else, "You don't get to end this." Adam said, as he stood to his feet weakly. Climbing out of the hole, "I'm fucking Adam! I'm the fucking man," He shouted, looking at the sinners and demons in front of him, "and you're just some fucking clown or something." He spat, glaring at them.

"I started everything on Earth." He shouted, rambling. "All of mankind came from theses fucking nuts." He shouted, staring at them. While they just stood their listening to his tantrum, "You all should be worshipping me." He screamed.

"you ungrateful, disgusting fucking losers!" He shouted,Adam wails, and everyone stars at him in shock seeing the dagger protruding from his stomach. "Hey, you got something sticking out of your..your thing there." said Lucifer, pointing nonchalantly at the dagger sticking out of his stomach.

Adam fell forward, revealing Niffty holding the blade in her hands. "Niffty?" Charlie said in shock. Niffty sat there for a moment before, "Stab! Stab! Stab!" Niffty shouted, as she laughed manically. As she continued to stab him repeatedly. "Blood! ha ha ha!" She laughed, a crazed look in her eyes.

Lute screamed, as she rushed towards Adam turning him over as he died. Crying over her friend and leader, who sent her a final smile before dying. "It's over," Charlie and [Y/n], said glaring down at Lute.

"Take your little friends," said Lucifer, as he glared at Lute angrily in his demon form, "and go home." He shouted, is voice distorted and demonic. "Please.!" He asked, relaxed and calm yet with a sinister tone to his voice. Everyone watched, as the exorcists retreated back to heaven.

Lucifer sighed and turned back towards everyone, "Alright who wants some pancakes." asked Lucifer, as he wrapped an arm around [Y/n]'s waist. "This lovely lady right here makes some delicious, caramel apple pancakes." He said, a huge grin on his face. She smiled sheepishly, as she looked at everyone. Niffty raised her hand. "But first, I need to get this bandaged." She said, looking at the others smiling softly as she pointed at the wound.

She winced in pain as she climbed, over the rubble. “I’m okay,” She smiled, looking at Lucifer. She looked over towards Charlie, as she stared at the destroyed hotel. Everyone looked at her sadly, as she stared at the destruction and bloodshed that the war had caused. Holding KeeKee in her arms, she looked down at the banner they had made for Sir Pentious month's ago. Tears welled up in Charlie's eyes, realizing the ultimate sacrifice.

"He did it for us, the ultimate sacrifice," Charlie sang, as she choked back a sob. Vaggie placed her hand on her shoulder, "He gave me his trust, and look how we pay the price," She sang, as she walked away. She looked around at the cranage and destruction, "This bloodshed could have been avoided." She sang sadly, even though they won. She felt as if in a way it was all for nothing with the lives that were lost, "If I convinced Heaven to work together," She sang, tearfully.

She walked over towards the ledge, revealing the destroyed Hazbin Hotel and what remains, "I took a hotel and I destroyed it," She sang sadly, seeing the damage she couldn't help but blame herself for, "I know I could have done better." She sang, as she hugged her self tears welling up in her eyes, as she fell to her knees. "Better, instead of letting you down," She sang, looking down at the ground.

 'Come on little lady, why the frown?' Lucifer sang, as he looked down at his daughter, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'In the last ten-thousand years. You're the first one to change this town' He sang, standing up on his feet getting in front of her, 'You can do this, now I know it!' He sang, placing his hand underneath Charlie's chin. 'For your story has just begun'

"You can't quit now, hell, you owe it," [Y/n] sang, as she smiled at Charlie warmly, "There's still damage to be undone," sang Lucifer, as he smiled at his daughter.

"You've changed my mind," He sang.

"You've touched their hearts." sang [Y/n].

"Found the good in souls gone bad"

"The stage is wrecked, the crowd is gone,"

Lucifer looked at his daughter triumphantly, and sang."But by God, Charlie!" [Y/n]wrapped an arm around her, "The show, it must go on" Lucifer and [Y/n] sang, Charlie looked up towards her friends.

“We can do this!” Charlie’s friends sang, as they looked down at her smiling comforting her, making the best of the situation. “We can build it!” everyone sang, smiling at her.

‘Best hotel that you’ve ever seen!’

‘Twice the bedrooms’

‘We can fill it’

“With more sinners than you can dream,” Lucifer sang, as he wrapped an arm around [Y/n]’s waist, a slight tint of red appearing on her cheeks. “It starts with you, you know, it's true.” They sang, as they looked down at her smiling. Hopeful despite the hotel being destroyed, despite the sinners lost.

“Fulfill your destiny!” Charlie looked at her friend, and wiped away her tears and smiled looking at them. “So long as I've got all of you with me!” Charlie smiled, as she wrapped her arms around them.

[Y/n] spreads her wings and smiles, as she flies around. Helping everyone work on rebuilding the hotel. From scratch to be grander than ever. As she sang to help rebuild the hotel she, still couldn’t believe that he loved her back. Almost feeling like a dream that he told her he loved her back. Her heart still skipping a beat, as a wave of relief seemed to wash away.

After a seemingly endless period of wallowing in self-pity, she had finally found happiness with him. With him by her side, she was filled with a sense of anticipation for what was to come in the future.

Suddenly, he scooped her up in his arms like a bride, and she let out a yelp of surprise. As he leaned down towards her, she felt his lips against hers, and a soft gasp escaped her. Her body tensed up in response as her heart began to pound against her chest, overcome with a mixture of nervousness and relief. Her eyes slowly fluttering shut as she melted into the kiss. Wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning more into the kiss.

He whispered into her ear, causing her to shudder and turn beet red. Despite her flustered demeanor, he couldn't help but chuckle softly. Furrowing her eyebrows as she looked at him, and playfully leapt out of his arms.

Transforming into a duck with butterfly wings, and flying off. Lucifer chasing after her, as she switched between each forms giggling, as they continued to help rebuild the hotel. She smiled, as magic flew through her fingers butterflies flew around the hotel glowing with yellow ichor.

Everyone stood at the portrait of Sir Pentious, memorial saluting the great general who sacrifed himself for his friends. “We can do this,” everyone sang, as they stared at the portrait mourning the loss. But a smile on their face, knowing that his sacrifice guaranteed them a better and hopeful future towards redeeming sinner.

“We can do this,” Charlie sang, as she stared at the “We'll be better,” everyone sang smiling, as they remembered Sir Pentious. Saluting their fallen friend.

“We'll be better,”

‘Though redemption may take a while’

“Though it may take a while,” Charlie sang, smiling as [Y/n] placed her hand in her shoulder.

‘Wayward sinners, clear their ledger’

‘And we're doing it with a smile’ Alastor sang, as he appeared between them. Charlie’s eyes lighting up smiling, as she hugged him. “Yeah!” everyone except Lucifer, smiled as they looked towards Alastor.

‘We made a difference, wait and see’

‘We're gonna do this, you and me.’ Charlie and Vaggie sang, as they hugged eachother.

As they walked out towards the courtyard with a hopeful smile. [Y/n] smiled as Lucifer took her hand into his squeezing, she looked down at him and smiled. Fireworks lit up the red sky of hell, as they looked at the newly rebuilt Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer used his magic shrinking the key, and handing it to Charlie. Who smiled looking at the hotel, “And then tomorrow, it will be a fuckin’ happy day in Hell!” They all sang, as they looked at the newly completed and rebuilt grander than ever. Hazbin Hotel.

[side chapter sneak peek]

Lucifer and [Y/n}, had left suddenly after saying goodbye to Charlie and everyone saying they needed some. "rest" But Angel knew all to well, he saw right past through it. "Yeah, they're about to fuck." Angel said, earning a groan of disgust from everyone. In particularly, Charlie. "Ew, that's my dad." said Charlie, in disgust looking up at Angel Dust.

"What? It's pretty obvious!" He exclaimed, folding his arms across his chest. Before looking off in the distance curiously, "I wonder what kind of kink the Short King is into." He wondered curiously, he took notice of the apples.

Charlie covered her ears, while everyone started walking off. "He's definitely into food play, whipped cream and apples." Angel continued, and "Lala! I can't hear you!" Charlie shouted, as she walked off. "Hey, Charlie give me Y/n's number so I can ask!" He shouted, running after her, "No!" shouted Charlie, as she walked towards the hotel.

"Aw, come one I need to know!" Angel shouted, chasing after Charlie.

meanwhile.. in lucifer's room{ya'll will get the actual smut later so rn its the morning after}

Lucifer's eyes fluttered open and he was met with the most wonderous sight, of [Y/n] and her crinkled up nose as she slept letting out the occasional snore. He smiled softly, as he brushed his fingers against her cheek causing her to smile. His heart seemed to flutter, how did he get so lucky?

"Aw, Lucifer." She said playfully, looking at him as he attacked her neck with kisses, "I've gotta make breakfast." She said, and he nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck. "Mm, not yet." He said, as he pulled her underneath the covers. She was in for a long morning.

a/n: no y/n didn't know that Lilith was in heaven im not kidding. She had no idea, but with her coming into play for season 2. There will def be some drama stirring, if she's a villian or not.

also lemme know if theres any gaps so i can go back and fix them.

taglist: @supernerdycookietrashblrr @96jnie @mit-suri @koji-akeme @dinawss @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @wanderlustingcastaway @only-cherry-blossom @runaway-expert @buubsii @darkknightsandredrobins @kokoneai5 @colletepop @asheitoshin @thesimppotato11 @cherry-4200 @jolynetodd @blaire-blake @thedarkkitten @astrxwitch

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part IV

Word count: 3100+

Warnings: some swearing, but nothing too bad that needs to be mentioned I think. For people who feel lonely or depressed, some parts might be uncomfortable to read, so be aware

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part III | Part V

You were woken up by small whimpers. Looking in darkness for its source, your eyes landed on Eris who slept beside you, your fingers still intertwined. He made that sound again, eyes behind his closed eyelids were moving feverishly. He was flinching and tossing, the other hand clenching covers on his chest. Suddenly the sheets all around him began smoking. His hand in yours warmed up so much you hissed in pain and let go of it.

"No.." he whimpered.

You didn't know what caused his bad dream, but you felt sorry for him. You reached out and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Your hand moved to his cheek, caressing him. He stopped tossing. His long eyelashes quivered and he opened his eyes slightly.

His gaze still clouded with the sleep, met yours. You waited. Until now he always ducked from your touch, distanced himself physically as well as emotionally. Honestly, you expected him to push you away or even worse, to send you back to your room.

After what felt like forever, he rolled to his side with a groan. His arms wrapped around you, tugging you to his chest. The movement stilled, his breath calmed down within seconds. He was deep asleep once again. You smiled to yourself triumphantly and deeply inhaled. Even sweaty, his chest smelled amazingly good, like roasted apples, cinnamon, smoke and something woody. You sighed and carefully snuggled closer. Eris's muscles tensed, his embrace tightened and then without waking up he relaxed.

Listening to his steady heartbeat you fell asleep and woke up again at dawn.

Eris groaned and his hand moved up to his face. He was awake. Not sure what to do and afraid that he could be angry that you were basically using his shoulder as a pillow, you pretended to be still asleep.

He looked down at you with face snuggled to his chest and huffed in amusement. Making sure you were really still asleep, his fingers combed your hair back from your face, playing with it for a while. When last strands slid out from between them, he gently touched your face.

His feather-light touch slowly grazed over your cheek, eyebrow, tip of your nose and swell of your lips. You had to hold on your breath to keep your crazy heart at check while his started racing up under your ear. He probably wouldn't appreciate to find out you were up all this time and caught him in the act, so you kept pretending.

When it seemed that he had already enjoyed it to his heart's content, his fingers jumped to your shoulder and danced down and up your arm that was wrapped around his waist. He was taking his time, playing with you.

At last he gently put your arm down and just as carefully he pulled his arm from beneath you. You thought he would immediately slip out of the bed, but he stayed a little longer, watching you and touching you.

One could think that it was strange and felt bad, but actually it was very pleasant as he never touched any inappropriate part of your body. You would welcome such morning every day.

At last he snuggled his face to the crook of your neck, kissed you under the ear and deeply inhaled. With a heavy sigh he left, heading for the bathroom.

You finally exhaled, pulling covers up to your face. What was that? It was so.. sweet and lovely. You really liked that. You had few more minutes to get your breath and heart under the control before he emerged back to room. He halted in his haste for a moment, watching you and then disappeared in his closet. He quickly changed and returned back. He stopped long enough to kiss your cheek and he was gone.

After the doors closed with a soft click behind him, you waited for few minutes. When it was sure he wouldn't come back, you opened your eyes. With a wide smile you rolled around, moving to his side of the bed. You buried your face in his pillow, deeply inhaling his scent that lingered there. You couldn't believe it. Did it really happen or was it just some dream? You didn't know, but it made you happy anyway.

You spent your day as the previous one, sitting on a bench under the window watching the garden while maid kept an eye on you from the other corner of the room.

The garden was still drenched from the heavy rain, drops on leaves shining like diamonds in the sun. It was quite spectacular sight with all the radiant colours, but you paid it no attention. All you could think about was Eris and his gentle touches. You had to disguise your wide grin and blush with the hand.

You hoped that he would finally come to eat with you that day. What a disappointment when servants again brought only one plate. However, even this couldn't ruin your mood. For some reason you still believed that the night you spent together would change something and he would appear at your doors in the evening.

When maids left after helping you with your night routine, you were so excited you couldn't stay still. You checked your look in the mirror so many times you lost count, your eyes often turning to the doors with hope. The clock in sitting room struck eight and then nine. There was no sign of him coming back. With each passing hour, your hopes began to fade.

When the clock struck midnight you were sitting on your usual spot, defeated. You were on the verge of crying.

Why?

That question had haunted you since you woke up curled up on the ottoman once again completely alone. After flying so high for a single day, you fell down and landed hard in the reality. That night wouldn't repeat. Whatever your husband felt when he touched and kissed you, it was just a fleeting moment that wouldn't happen again. He wasn't interested in getting to know you. You were naive to think otherwise. After all you knew nothing about him. He was just too kind to send you away when you were scared. Even the words you thought that you heard before falling asleep, had to be a figment of your imagination, a dream. That was it.

You felt down and for the first time in your life really lonely. You were alone whole your life, but this time it was different. This time it hurt to be left alone. Loneliness was such a strange feeling, so agonizing and paralysing at times. It could suck all colours and joy from the world at once, leaving only black and white scraps. It left you feeling empty, your appetite was gone too.

You got a taste of something beautiful, of something you didn't know how to name it, but you wanted more. You weren't ready to give up on it, not yet. However, because you couldn't name it, you couldn't ask for it either.

Days passed by, one as the other one. You completely lost track of time. Every night you waited for your husband, just so you could wake up alone at the same place where you fell asleep. It took a week or maybe even two when all of a sudden things started to change.

The first of changes were the mornings.

Instead of waking up curled on the ottoman and being cold, you found yourself in bed with covers firmly wrapped around you. It wasn't yours and for sure not maids' doing, which left you with only one option - your husband. The thought that he came in to check on you and without waking you up carried you to the bed, made your heart thrill with excitement. Of course, you'd prefer to see him and hear his voice, but it was better than nothing.

The second change happened some time after the first one and was kind of shocking. It came in a form of a knock on the doors.

Maid dozing in her corner immediately jumped up and ran to answer. She peeked out and right away backed with a bow, holding doors opened for whoever waited on the other side. The person stepped in briskly.

You immediately stood up with bowed head as it was expected from you in presence of any male.

"You can go," a male's voice told to maid.

She glanced in your direction briefly and bowed even deeper.

"But his Lordship ordered-"

"I know very well what his Lordship ordered. I was there. Now get out," the voice was terse and didn't allow any objection. You shivered involuntarily. This male was just as unemotional as the first time you met him, yet there was something scary about his coolness.

Without another word, maid left. He waited, looking at the closed doors and after a while he finally turned to you. He stayed silent, but you could feel his eyes roaming over you.

"We've already met, but let me introduce myself properly this time," he said. Without warning his voice softened, sounding more friendly. "I'm Killian Vanserra, an advisor of our High Lord and his younger brother."

You blinked in surprise at this revelation, readying to introduce yourself.

"Shocking, right," he grinned. "You are Y/N, correct? From Hewn city. I've never been there, you know. I hope you will tell me more about that place. City under the mountain," he conveyed with reverence. "It must be fascinating. I've been waiting for the opportunity to get to know my new sister-in-law. I hope that you don't mind that I call you just Y/N. Don't worry, I'll do so only in private. You can call me Kill, if you want."

He spewed streams of words in one breath so fast that you hardly understood him. You were speechless. While he was talking, he stepped closer, too close to your liking. You backed, bumping into the bench behind you, lost balance and fell back, sitting on it. Your arm flew out, looking for some support and finding it at window sill.

"Did I startle you? I'm sorry. Sometimes when I'm too excited, I speak a lot and too fast. Eris warned me to approach you rather carefully."

The mention of your husband warmed your heart. Did he really say that?

"You are quite pale. Are you okay? Do you need water or something?"

"I'm fine, I think. Thank you."

"Eris told me that you are a timid little thing. I'll try to be, you know, less intimidating," he chuckled, taking a seat opposite you.

Your eyes darted nervously to the massive doors. He was too close, his knee almost touching yours, and he was still gazing at you curiously.

"Relax," he held both hands up in mocking way. "I won't hurt you. Okay?"

"Yes, my l-," you stuttered.

"Just Kill, please. Or Killian. Whichever is fine," he grinned. Afterwards, he got serious, tilting his head to the side.

"Hmm.. He mentioned you have problem with this," he muttered under his breath. He leaned closer.

"You can look at me. I don't bite," he reassured you with kind smile, speaking in less rambunctious voice than before. "You are safe here, you know. With rest of our siblings it isn't so sure, that's why they don't live here anymore. However, I support my brother and I'm really glad he married you and not that bitch who some of those old bastards suggested."

The last comment caught your attention. Was there someone else? Some rival? If so, you'd really like to know why Eris had chosen you. You had little to nothing to offer. You had no special powers that you knew about, your family wasn't even prominent in the Night Court. You didn't own great wealth nor armies. All you had was your face and the body he apparently wasn't interested in.

You guardedly looked up. Killian was very similar to his older brother. Same high cheek bones, same amber eyes, his short cut hair had the same shade. Yet they were so different. His skin was a bit darker, dotted with hundreds of freckles. Even with his thin lips and low-set eyebrows, he was handsome. Angular, wide jaw and robust figure made him look older than his brother, more manly. However, light smirk playing on his lips gave him a youthful, playful look.

"You see? I didn't bite you." He leaned back in his seat, obviously satisfied with his achievement. "Dear sister.. Can I call you sister?"

You just nodded, not sure whether to laugh or not.

"Mmm, very well. Dear sister, how do you like Autumn court so far?"

"I-..I think it's very nice here. I like all those colours," you pointed out of the window.

"Don't take me wrong, please, but have you at least tried to go out?"

You shook your head, ashamed and scared that you did something wrong. You didn't know what to do here, if there was anything you were expected to do, any role you were supposed to take on.

He purse his lips and nodded. "As I thought. We'll return to this topic later. How about maids? Are you satisfied with their service?"

You answered one question after another. Mostly, he was just interested whether everything was to your liking. Then he leaned forward with conspiratorial smirk and resting his chin on his hand, he asked.

"And what about Eris? Is he to your liking?" he winked.

Your face flushed all the way to your ears and neck, and you looked shyly down. He seemed to be pleased with your reaction.

"I don't see him much," you admitted honestly.

"How so?" he raised his brows. "You sleep together, don't you?"

You bit on your lower lip.

"Oh that idiot," he cursed slapping his forehead.

Groaning he looked up at ceiling for a moment, then his gaze again fixed on your embarrassed, cringing form and he gently nudged you on the knee.

"If you were my wife, I wouldn't leave bed for weeks," he winked at you and chuckled. He sighed heavily. "I'd love to stay here and chat with you more. It's pity that I'll have to go soon, but don't worry. I'll be back before you start to miss me. So let's return back to the business."

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "I'm here to deliver a message from his Lordship. I don't agree with the stylization, but he insisted on passing you the message exactly as he said it. So listen carefully." He paused dramatically. "You are obligated to take a walk in the garden every day, with the exception of rainy days, and the best right after the breakfast. That's it."

You blinked once, then again. You didn't know what to think about it. It sounded like some kind of punishment.

"I.. understand." That was the only reaction you could master at the moment. You weren't in position to refuse anyway. Your husband ordered you to go out and you would do so.

Next day Eris swung open the door of his office so violently that it hit the wall and bounced off it. He marched to his desk with long strides and slammed down the documents he held with such force that the lamp and pens jumped.

"I can't believe you said it like that!"

The door would close right away, if it wasn't for a hand that stopped them.

"You told me to say it like that. Don't you remember?" Killian sighed and closed the door behind. Lock clicked and wards rose.

"I always tell you to do so and you never do. Why now?"

"She's my sister now. She is important-"

"And council members aren't?" Eris was so pissed off that the hot flames flowing in his veins rose to the surface and he let them out. They swirled up around his arms like snakes until they reached his amber eyes.

"Impressive, but you know that that doesn't work on me," Killian waved his hand, bored. Small flames danced on the tips of his fingers and then disappeared in smoke. "You can be angry as much as you want. It already happened, you can't take it back. If you didn't want me to repeat exactly those words, why didn't you say it differently? I can't read your mind."

Eris pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. It was pointless to try to explain it. Killian just rarely seriously listened what he told him anyway. "What was her reaction?"

"Of course she wasn't delighted. Who would be?" Killian rolled his eyes and with arms crossed on his chest leaned against the wall next to the window overlooking the garden. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement that attracted his attention.

"Fuck," Eris hissed and ran hand through his hair. He needed to go through all the documents piled up on his desk and not waste time with this.

"Look at this," Killian called from his place by the window with a light chuckle.

"I don't have time-"

"Oh, believe me. You want to see this."

Rolling his eyes Eris sighed, but he stepped to the window. When his gaze landed on the small figure rushing through the garden, he had to chuckle.

"She really does as you demanded, doesn't she," Killian mused watching her with a kind of sentiment. "I don't really understand why you insist on not sleeping with her. She's lovable."

Ignoring the last remark Eris's hand reached out thoughtlessly, fingers pressed against the sheet of glass. He smiled unhappily. "Poor little thing.. Why is she in such a hurry? I hoped she would enjoy it, not that she would hate it so much. Maids said that she was spending her days gazing out.. I thought.."

"I think it's because of them," Killian groaned, nodding his head in direction of the two figures a few meters ahead of the girl. Two maids were so engrossed in conversation that they forgot their task at hand and simply marched in their usual speed.

Eris's fingers clenched into a fist. "Get rid of them before I can get my hands on them," he grunted through clenched teeth. "How fast can you find some suitable replacement?"

Killian straightened up with one-sided grin, his eyes shone with mischief. "They can be here the first thing in the morning."

"Very well," Eris nodded without taking his eyes off of the hurrying girl. "But don't forget. I want for her someone kind.. friendly.. understanding.."

"Leave it to me. I think I know what exactly you are looking for." With that Killian immediately left, leaving Eris completely enchanted by that small figure who he called his wife now.

Taglist: @nocasdatsgay @lalaluch @b0xerdancer @lilah-asteria @talesofadragon @marvelbros-oneshots @acourtofbatboydreams @li0nh34rt @darling006 @coldmermaidhologram @of-outerspace @mybestfriendmademe

[delfiore]

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (2/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: you and ona become much closer, but in the wrong way; an offer on the horizon threatens to tear you apart.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: description of collision in football

PART I, PART III, PART IV, PART V

Sports Illustrated: USWNT International Y/N Y/L/N Scores in First Game Back From Injury “Y/N Y/L/N will not stop scoring. The Man City star returns to action with a stunning header in a home game against Everton since picking up an injury this summer in the CONCACAF final against Canada. Though the U.S. emerged victorious thanks to Alex Morgan’s penalty kick, Y/L/N was forced off in the 68th minute with a torn hamstring. She was expected to be sidelined for 3 months. […]”

You skimmed through the article, waiting for your coffee to brew. It has been an arduous few months as you focused on rehabilitation. You were supposed to be match-fit at the start of the season, but the physios determined you needed at least a few more weeks before you could play. Your thigh still felt a bit tight every time you stretched them. Nonetheless, you were back to playing, that was all that mattered.

It was early November, and the winds were picking up in Manchester, and yet you were warm.

“Morning,” you said, smiling at the figure waddling into the living room.

Bratwurst was wagging his tail by her side, no doubt looking for more food as if you hadn’t fed him half an hour ago.

“Good morning,” Ona said, rubbing her eyes.

“Coffee?” You nodded towards the machine.

“No, I have to get to training. Thanks, though.”

“In my shirt?” You smirked at looked down at her top. Sure enough, it was the old T-shirt you lent her after you were done last night.

“Hah hah.” She mocked you, but then took off the shirt, leaving her top half completely bare, and threw it at your face. “Obviously not.”

You let your eyes travel freely, as she went back into your room and returned wearing the clothes she came in last night.

“Looks like you’re back to being your insufferable self.” She walked to where you sat, putting on her necklace. “Can’t even go on social media without seeing people praising your goal.”

“All in a day’s work,” you said, grinning.

Ona rolled her eyes and put on her shoes. “I’m glad you’re back, but I won’t go easy on you.”

You stood up and pecked her lips.

“I never asked you to,” you leaned closer, ducking your face into her neck. “Maybe when we’re alone.”

She snickered quietly and patted your cheek. “Try not to miss me too much. Bye-bye, Bratwurst.”

The pup sat by the door as he watched her close it behind her. Ever since she started spending time at your apartment, it felt like he liked her more, always following her around and snuggling with her as she gave him pets.

Ona had been coming over since the kiss at the end of last season with the premise of meaningless sex. You both had an arrangement, and you were committed to keeping to it. You were surprised when she suggested it, thinking her not to be the type, but Ona continues to surprise you.

You had only meant to meet up over dinner to talk about what happened, but the night ended with her hands tangled in your hair and your legs tangled in her sheets. The ups and downs these past few months never deterred you from seeing each other. In fact, Spain losing out in the Euros prompted her to come over and forget about it for a night. In a way, you both had each other.

Your teammates at Man City were especially amused whenever you’d forget to cover up and come to practice with marks on your neck.

“Who’s the unlucky gal this time, Y/N?”

“Have you been busy while you were injured?”

Every time, you would just shake your head with a grin because you’d never kiss and tell. Also, because Leila and Laia would flip out if they knew you’d been screwing their teammate on the national team.

Your arrangement worked for a while, both of you still too young and too committed to football to think about anything else. While a lot of your colleagues would disagree, it was the excuse you told yourself to fully admit that what you felt for Ona was beyond just carnal desires.

You were treading on dangerous waters, your feelings bubbling to the surface every time you saw the girl. It was much more challenging to keep them under wraps, especially when you had to play against her every couple of months. From what people knew about you two, you were rivals, and that was your relationship. Rumors of a romance surfaced too, amongst younger fans, but it was the result of baseless shipping. If only they knew.

Ona wasn’t an incredibly affectionate person, not by a mile. The only times you would catch her lowering her guard by the tiniest of margins were when she was tired, maybe then she’d let you cuddle her after sex. But you remembered when Spain was knocked out of the Euros way too soon, and she was crying on the phone to you. You had just won the CONCACAF with the US across the Atlantic, and yet all you wanted was to hold her.

And so that was what you did. Two days later, after you were dismissed from your international duties, you flew back to Manchester and waited for her. Ona liked to be the little spoon whenever she was sad, and you were very happy to oblige. If she was feeling generous, she would even thank you for it. As much as you wanted to, you never teased her about it, because you knew what you had was fragile, and a slight mention of it could topple everything to the ground.

That was how it was with your Spanish beauty.

“Wooooooow . . . You’ve got a handful,” said your teammate, Chloe, as she stood in your kitchen, eating your chips.

“Yup,” you pressed your lips thinly, grabbing some seasoning from the cupboard. “That’s my life right now.”

You proceeded to tell Chloe everything one day, omitting a few saucy details, of course.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“That’s the thing, though. There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t just walk up to her and demand something that wasn’t part of the arrangement to begin with.”

“I know, but it’s clearly affecting you. You like her, don’t you?”

“No.” A few seconds of silence followed, and Chloe was looking at you with a glare. “Okay, I think she’s cute, like, really cute.”

“I think you should talk to her, Y/N,” Chloe said. “Worst case scenario, you lot stop whatever you’re doing with each other behind all of our backs. Best case scenario, you date her.”

You smirked, but nothing no usual quippy or smug remark came out. “I should try,” you spoke quietly.

Chloe nodded expectantly and continued eating her chips, now. “I can’t believe it. You tricked all of us! It was Batlle all this time!”

“I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” you whispered quietly into the room, sitting by the edge of your bed.

Ona was under the covers, on her phone. “Why? ‘Cause we played against each other?”

You nodded bashfully.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she set her phone down. “Or did you not want me to come?”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” You said, gesturing at the clothes strewn on the floor.

You let her study you for a moment, finding the ruffled sheets much more interesting instead.

“What’s wrong?” She said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re too quiet.” Her voice was low and calming. She reached out and caressed your hand. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and be done with the conversation instead.

“I was just wondering . . . would you like to come over a bit earlier from now on?”

Your question made her look at you with a puzzled expression. “Have I been staying too late?”

“No, no. I mean—you can stay as late as you want, but come a bit earlier. I can cook for us, and then we can just sit and . . . talk.”

You fumbled with your fingers, your eyes drifting up to her, seeing the realization dawn on her. She exhaled. “Okay, that sounds nice . . . but as friends, right?”

“Um . . . no?”

“Y/N,” Ona breathed. Her silence was killing you. Finally, she looked up. “That wasn’t our arrangement, and I’d like for it to stay as we’ve agreed. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Yeah,” you lied, caressing her arm and flashing a smile. “It’s for the best.”

She nodded but watched you closely. “Come here,” she whispered.

You obliged, letting her pull you into her embrace. A searing kiss followed, leaving you to straddle her bare waist.

A short gasp left your lips. “Fuck me, Ona.” You pleaded quietly, hoping she’d fuck you until you forget the conversation ever happened. But you also hoped she’d go slow and make love to you, proving that she’d finally reciprocated your feelings.

You’ve decided that you wanted both. Maybe then, you’d finally get what you wanted.

You didn’t know that Ona was scared to let you in too, so she settled for sleeping with you.

You had been an obsession of hers for three years, a game she played besides having to focus on the actual game she was paid to play. But now, here she was—sleeping with someone who could possibly be her mortal enemy. She didn’t know when, but suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to see you harmed.

She wanted you, but that was the selfish part of her speaking.

In the morning, you had expected her to be there, but your bedside was empty.

Ona moved through her days like a ghost. She didn’t expect it to be this hard three years ago when she first set foot in Manchester. She didn’t expect a forward to make her life this hard, or that she would fall in love with you. Every minute she spent tangled up in bed with you were minutes where nothing else outside that bedroom mattered, and it scared her.

It scared her that only you could make her feel that way, that something she had spent so hard working towards for herself, you did so easily for her.

She thinks of the nights after the Euros when she practically stayed over all day, and how you took care of her. She thinks of the cheeky winks you would send her way whenever she played against you, and the not-so-innocent brushes that you sneak in whenever she defended you. She think of your face when she shut you down, and how quickly your walls came back up.

She thinks of you the entire time she was on the Zoom call with her agent.

“You need to decide soon, Ona,” her agent had told her. “Barcelona doesn’t wait for anyone.”

It was a no-brainer, but she thinks of you all the time.

The referee blew the whistle and the 90 minutes were over. You collapsed on your knees as the Etihad erupted into cheers. Man City had reached the semifinals of the Women’s Champions League for the first time ever in the history of the women’s club. You would be playing Wolfsburg next, but you couldn’t care less about that right then. You just wanted to celebrate with your teammates.

You wished that you could celebrate with Ona too.

You sent her a text much later in the night, but she didn’t respond. Thinking it to be too late for her to come over, you went to bed, soaking in your victory.

But then, she didn’t respond the next day, then the day after that. A week later, she still hadn’t responded. Then the first leg of the semifinal came, and City drew 2-2 to Wolfsburg. You had given her space to deal with whatever she didn’t want you to know and knew double-texting made you look desperate, but you have had enough of the silence.

A vote of confidence would have been nice Sent 4:29pm

Nothing.

You weren’t going to put your life on hold for her. You wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

The week of the return leg, you had almost forgotten all about Ona from the amount of training you were doing.

“Okay, ladies. Gather around,” said Chris, the assistant coach. “This will be our last practice session before the Champions League game. We’re gonna do some passing to start with, then a set-piece practice, and we’ll close off with a 5v5 scrimmage. That sound good?”

You were starting to feel more confident than jittery. Your movements were sure and steady, so were your finishes. Big games never deterred you, but it was the added fact of Ona not responding to your text that caused you to check your phone every time you were able to.

“No phones, Y/N,” Chris said, and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Coach. Just checking news from family,” you lied. He extended his hand anyway, and you begrudgingly handed your phone over.

“I can’t have you distracted, Y/N. The match is tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been good, though, haven’t I?” You grinned, taking a swig of water.

Practice ended later than scheduled, but you didn’t mind. You needed the extra preparation, and you were glad to have done that with your teammates. Chris finally gave you your phone back, like a naughty student, and you quickly checked your messages. Still nothing. It wasn’t like this was the biggest game of your life or anything.

Going to the news, flipping through articles upon articles on politics, your eyes landed on one about sports.

The Busby Babe: Ona Batlle Set For Barcelona Return “Manchester United and Spain star right back Ona Batlle is reportedly on the verge of completing a move back to Catalonia, rejoining Barcelona Femeni at the end of her contract with the Red Devils. […]”

The match of your life started. You were on the left wing as you always were, playing inverted so Laia would be running the flank. You scored one, but Wolfsburg got one back towards the end of the first half.

“Make those runs, ladies. If you see them coming at you, call out to your teammates. Use the third man to break free of the defense.” Gareth pointed at the board, showing hypothetical scenarios that the team could exploit for an opening.

“Hey,” Chloe sat next to you, her forehead glistening. “You alright?”

You uttered a small ‘yeah’ and closed your hand over her sweat-clad one over your knee. You couldn’t be distracted. You owed it to Chloe and everyone else on this team.

You were slamming your fist on the door, but you didn’t care. Your jaw clenched as you swayed on your feet waiting for her to open up.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You stepped into her apartment.

Her face went pale. “How did you know?”

You let out a laugh. “You’re pathetic. You’re a coward for not even saying a single word.”

The ball was sent over long from deep aiming towards you. You called for Filippa for a one-two, but once you dribbled, you were tackled inside the box. You put your hand up at the referee but huffed in disbelief when she only shook her head and granted a corner.

Slapping your hand on the grass, you sprung up with a grunt. It must have looked like you were throwing a tantrum, but you couldn’t care less, you wanted to win.

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you were just not gonna say anything at all?! You owe me that much to—”

“I don’t owe you anything, Y/N.” She snapped. She had never snapped at you before, not while off the pitch. “You know what we have is just sex. That’s all we ever had and that’s all we will ever have.”

Tears formed in your eyes. You felt like a kid again, being scolded and taken for granted. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but this isn’t some fantasyland,” Ona said firmly. “I told you what I wanted, and I thought you agreed.”

There was a period of struggle over the ball soon after, mostly in midfield. You were growing increasingly frustrated as passes continued being cut off just before they reached the attacking third.

“Come on, guys! Let’s finish this!” You called out to your teammates in an attempt to hype them up before a throw-in.

Your irritation mounted, but you told yourself to quickly snap out of it. I need to stay calm, my team needs me. It proved quite difficult when Lena Oberdorf slithered up from behind to mark you. She dug an elbow into your back to keep you at bay, and when you moved, she moved. So you pushed back, much harder than you anticipated. It set her off. Good, stay off me.

Soon, you heard the ref’s hurried whistle, as Lena shoved you back. “The fuck are you pushing for?!” Your opponent seethed, getting all up in your face to challenge you.

You were feeling bold, so you smirked at her. “Come closer, see what I’ll do. Or do you just want a piece of this, huh?”

It wasn’t your best quality, you admitted it, but you liked it when you set off an opponent. You didn’t care when Lena was hurling insults at you in German as she was being led away. What mattered was that you had gotten in her head, and it would be much easier to break her defense from now on. The referee blew her whistle again, and a few teammates of yours attempted to separate you from Lena.

“Sei ruhig, Mann. Bleib’ da drüben.” Be quiet, man. Stay over there. Waving at her dismissively, you saw the way her eyes looked like they would pop out of her sockets in fury, knowing she didn’t expect you to know German. You couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

“Last warning, Y/L/N.” The referee warned before continuing the match.

There would always be one player that completely drove the opposition crazy, and you would gladly be that asshole, so your teammates wouldn’t have to. You wanted to win.

“You kissed me first. I thought . . .”

“Please, don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Ona said quietly.

“I thought we had something, Ona,” you tried to steady your voice. You knew you sounded pathetic, but you never believed Ona could betray you in such a way.

She only pressed her lips thin. “We don’t. The only thing we have is our arrangement and however you feel about me on the pitch.”

Bunny scored in the 75th minute, and that would be the last goal for City in this match. The game went to extra time, and you could feel your teammates getting tired and sloppy in possession. You were tired too, but you wanted to keep fighting, anything to keep the thought of Ona out of your head.

You were so focused on the ball that you didn’t see a defender coming up beside you, her body colliding with yours in an attempt to redirect the ball. You fell to the ground with a thud, the stinging impact beginning to spread across your back. You felt the wind getting knocked out of you, your vision beginning to fade until all you could see were the lights atop the stadium, until those faded too.

The next thing you knew, you were on your side. Then the uncomfortable pain in your gut started to become more apparent, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore. You gasped for air, just as a couple of your teammates knelt beside you.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Medic!” You heard a voice almost like Demi’s call out.

You didn’t know who knocked into you, you didn’t care anymore, because you had the overwhelming urge to throw up whilst still struggling to breathe.

“Can’t . . . breathe,” you wheezed out, tears starting to fill your eyes. You wanted to go home.

One of the medics shone a flashlight in your eyes. “Pupils are PEARL,” she said. “Okay, I need you to try and take deep breaths for me, alright, darling?”

You drew a shaky breath. There was a wheezing noise, in and out. In and out. The more you did, the easier it got. Your head was dizzy when you stood up, just as you heard applause ringing throughout the stadium.

Chloe appeared in front of you and offered her arm while a medic took your other as you walked toward the sideline.

“You’re alright, love,” she flashed you a warm smile and wiped away the stray tear that lingered on your cheek.

It was much too unfortunate, because you still had a lot more to give, but you were done for the night. Gareth knew it too, so he sent Hempo in to take your place.

You finally let the tears fall freely when the final whistle came.

“When do you leave?”

“In two weeks.”

A scornful laugh escaped you that you didn’t even bother to hide. “You didn’t even have the decency to tell me, not as your booty call, but as your friend.”

But you were kidding yourself. You knew Ona and you were never friends, never quite lovers either. Only two people floating around in a sexual limbo who were too scared to admit to themselves what was right in front of them. Now she was leaving, and you would never get the chance.

It didn’t matter anymore, any of it. You had a Champions League semifinal to play.

ESPN: Wolfsburg Grabs Victory in Extra Time to Reach Women’s Champions League Final “[…]”

a/n: it was so heartwarming to see the support for jenni and the players :’) it’s abt fuckin time man let’s hope this continues until rubiales and vilda’s resignation

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 9 - Southwark Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 8 Summary: Neil finally shows you what it is that does for a living. The answer is not something you are prepared for in the slightest. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language and a tiny teeny dose of angst because it's me. Author's Notes: Considering this one took just a little over a month to write, I think I should be proud. Especially if we consider the amount of pain that first sequence caused me to write. Let's reiterate - I hate descriptions. With passion. So I hope it's somewhat decent and is a not a terrible homage to good ol' Chris Nolan who made all this happen in the first place. This one is a bit unconventional, partially because Neil takes over the floor from the very first line, but also because it's the only point at which I'm dealing with the canon material. Yes, this is a reassurance to y'all ✨ This time, there'll be no Stalsk-12. Instead, there'll be human idiocy and feelings, terrifying as they can be. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Enjoy! Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

When TP not only agreed to Neil to telling Cupid about Tenet and inversion but also proposed he can make use of the headquarters for this purpose, he instantly decided that his friends’ idea was miles better than his half-devised plan, wherein the key equipment involved a piece of paper and a pen.

Neil knew from experience that practical demonstration always did the trick where words could hardly be enough, especially for a complete novice. And the last thing he wanted was to traumatise her so hard she would disappear from his life without further ado. No, that would not do.

So, with the green light from the boss himself, he set out to prepare everything for the event. After settling that Saturday morning was a relatively quiet time in the building with ample time for recovery on the following day, Neil texted Cupid with an invitation. Her enthusiastic reply sweetened the pains of facing Ives and Wheeler with their permanent smug grins and knowing looks. Rueing the fact that he needed their help with the plan, Neil convinced the pair to join him on Saturday and laid out the schemes. Simple as they were:

Lead her into the HQ.

Convince her he had not lost his mind as he introduced the concept of inversion.

If, by some miracle, she is still there, show her what it means through Ives and Wheeler doing a demo.

Answer multiple questions.

(Hopefully still have a friend).

Simple, right?

Nearly trembling from anxiety, Neil avoided coffee as he got ready and made his way to Canary Wharf an hour early. Having ensured his support was present and ready for whatever awaited, Neil made his way back to the station with ten minutes to spare.

Observing ducks from the docks could only take so much time after all.

Unsurprisingly, she was not late. At 9:00 AM sharp, Cupid ascended the stairs, her gaze scanning the people with the vigilance Neil was familiar with from every Wednesday morning aboard the Jubilee line. Her eyes would dart from face to face until she would locate him, often without Neil noticing he was observed. He had a feeling that was not something he should ever share with TP. The lack of awareness was glaring for someone who was supposed to be a part of an intelligence task force. Intelligence is the keyword.

This morning, however, he had the upper hand. His gaze swept over her before she had located him. An affectionate smile was a reflex, strengthened by the fact that this was the first time he had seen her since Thursday nightÔ. Another event which had earned the trademarked status in his head. Annoyingly so because, again, there was nothing special about it. Except for maybe another evening of memorable sex and unforgettable sensations. Yeah, just that.

When her eyes had finally found him, Neil was more than grateful. He pushed past the unhelpful recollections and stepped forward from his post by the wall, meeting her halfway. Before he could let himself overthink, Neil grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, gathering her in an embrace he suddenly needed. It only took her five seconds to reciprocate the hug, her arms wound tightly around his waist, slipping underneath the unzipped leather jacket. If he suppressed a shudder at the sensation, it was no one’s business but his own. As was the sigh Neil released into her hair, allowing himself to relax just a fraction.

Another beat had passed before Cupid let go of his, her hands sliding down his arms to take his hands into hers and squeeze them once. An impish smile on her face felt too much like home for Neil’s liking.

“Hello,” entangling her fingers with his, Cupid scanned his face, her eyes flitting between his, undoubtedly reading every thought he had ever had as if he were nothing but an open book. Neil supposed that, for her, he was one. For better or for worse, “Should I be worried that you look this nervous?” the question was asked with careful consideration, her piercing gaze still trained on his.

Yet Neil knew what it was that she was asking. Can I trust you? It was the one question he did not need to debate.

“No, not at all” he squeezed her hands back, offering a reassuring smile to make up for his internal turmoil.

Because this was the one thing Neil was sure of. Nothing would happen to her. Not on his watch. He knew Cupid understood, for she nodded and shot him a cheeky smile, clearly meaning to dissipate the remains of his uncertainty.

“Hmm. Very encouraging, Neil” the humour in her voice was enough to raise his spirits, always embarrassingly sensitive to everything she said or did. Slowly, she let go of one of his hands and started leading him out of the station entrance despite not knowing the direction. It was a clear signal where he was concerned – get over yourself, “I haven’t prepped my will, just so you know,” the quip was made with a familiar glimmer in her eyes, easily drawing out a laugh from Neil.

Too easily, perhaps. But who was he to judge? A light shake of the head had to do before Neil started leading her towards their destination, painfully aware of her curious looks. Still, somehow, he knew she would not ask questions; eager to understand but also conscious of his mind state. Aware of the fact that this would not be easy, even if she had no idea why. Or where they were going.

“That won’t be necessary” a glance sideways told Neil that Cupid was observing him with unwavering curiosity, a million questions multiplying in her mind.

“Very well” accepting his feeble attempt at reassurance, she added with confidence, “I trust you,”

The statement was strengthened by the look in her eyes and the firm hold over his hand. It was highlighted by the very fact that she did not question where they were heading or what he was about to reveal. She just followed without a protest. The weight of her trust settled comfortably on Neil’s shoulders, inspiring courage where before he would stutter. Suddenly, he needed to express this heady feeling in any way possible.

“And I treat that very seriously” he waited for her to meet his gaze before shooting an honest smile, reserved only for her. She mirrored the expression, an unexpected softness of affection making her eyes shine with something Neil did not understand well enough to name. Something hopeful “Come on, Cupid. Let’s go pray, shall we?” her answering laughter warranted a perfect response to cut short the worries.

At least for the present moment.

The light mood, filled with nonsensical conversations and multiplying reasons why it was probably a terrible idea to let her get that close, lasted as far as the first security checkpoint by the outer gates. When they approached the steel fencing, Neil could feel her tense up. The chatter ceased, replaced with silent consternation, millions of unasked questions visible in her wary gaze. Neil could only offer her a reassuring smile as he led her through the security check, signing his name under multiple white pages that outlined the severe consequences should things go awry. He could only hope they would be entirely unnecessary. Please.

Her silence lasted as far as the HQ lobby, which Neil strode into with all the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing. (He did not know what he was doing). Cupid stepped inside the high-ceilinged space and stopped, pulling him back instantly. One glance at her confused face told him there would be no more running away from that first dose of preliminary questions.

Blessing the quiet Saturday morning, Neil gently tugged at her hand to lead her over to the armchairs by the coffee table on the side and waited for her to sit down before he motioned for Cupid to speak:

“So, you are James Bond, huh?” the first question was not what Neil expected, yet it made all the sense in the world.

Her wide gaze roamed over the space, occasionally darting to his face with a palpable nervousness. She looked adorable in her skittishness, and Neil did not know what to do with this fact. He counted it a win that she was still present, waiting for the information.

“Not- Not quite” a crooked smile made it home on his face as Neil felt his hands twitch in his lap.

It felt strange not to hold her hand as he was about to share the groundbreaking knowledge which probably would change their relationship. But she needed the space. He could see her process every little piece of information with that thoughtful look in her eyes. The best he could offer was patience and answers.

“But you’re definitely not a priest” once her gaze wandered back to him, Cupid gave him another cursory glance and perfected it with a sardonic smile, “This doesn’t look like a church,” no matter how hard he looked, Neil could not find hints of distrust or anger in her eyes.

Instead, all he could see was curiosity, burning bright and strong. That he could work with.

“It’s not. Welcome to Tenet, Cupid” pointlessly opening his arms in an attempt at a grand gesture, Neil let his hands drop to his sides pathetically as he launched into a well-rehearsed speech, “We’re an independent intelligence agency. Kind of like MI5. But we’re more… specialised” with the easiest part out of the way, he paused and took a deep breath to organise his thoughts to provide a reply she would understand.

But before Neil could open his mouth to continue, she interrupted with a half-choked groan and covered her face with her hands with a curse ready on her tongue:

“Jesus… how the fuck-” he stared as she seemed to process it, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, just short of something resembling a panic attack. Leaning forward in his seat as if trying to get closer to her, Neil pondered reaching out, checking whether she was alright. Before he could decide, Cupid let out another deep sigh and raised her head, meeting his worried gaze with a shaky smile, “Okay, don’t mind me. Go on” the hysterical edge in her voice made his lips twitch in a bemused smile, an expression Neil soon wiped clean off his face.

It was no time to make fun of her. Surely. Instead, he took a deep breath, ever so grateful for the lack of company in their vicinity, and continued with the well-rehearsed explanation:

“We’re specialised in something called the inversion and the effects that has on our world. We’re basically protecting all of you innocent citizens from the inverted technology, warfare and the like. Only, the main thing is that most of these things, the conflicts we observe, haven’t happened yet from our point in time” as soon as the most significant part of his summary dropped, Neil could see her eyes widen.

As if on cue Cupid’s head snapped up to meet his gaze, evidently looking for any signs that he was joking. That she understood it incorrectly. Despite the sudden desire to shoot her a smile in reassurance, Neil maintained a serious facial expression, hoping that would push the point forward. It was not a joke, unfortunately. As much as he sometimes wished it was. Especially when dodging inverted bullets, and trying to understand what was coming in the upcoming years. What the Algorithm meant for the world. What had he missed in all of it?

“Time travel?” her unusually high tone immediately brought Neil back into the present. Before he could open his mouth to respond, Cupid launched across the space between the armchairs to grasp at his forearm, wrinkling the shirt with an iron-like grip as she barked out a question in his face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” plea in her eyes suggested what it was that she wanted to hear.

But it was not something he could give her. Gently, he covered her hand on his forearm with his palm and squeezed it until she relaxed the hold and allowed him to entangle their fingers together. It was much better that way.

“Wouldn’t dare, darling” allowing a soft smile to appear on his face, Neil tightened the hold over her hand before continuing. It was easier to get it all out of the way first, like ripping off the metaphorical band-aid, “The temporal nature of what we’re dealing with here means weapons and ammunition that have been manufactured in the future are streaming back at us. I’ll show you what I mean in the lab” he could see that utter lack of comprehension on her beautiful face.

But there was no judgement. Neil was prepared for that. The demonstration was prepped and ready to go as soon as he led them to the lab and the controlled environment inside. It was only fair that she was allowed to understand what he unveiled. Even if, currently, Cupid looked completely befuddled, a frown etched between her brows, mild panic in her eyes. The tight hold over his hand just short of crushing his bones. But that was alright. Neil could deal with that.

“Okay. I mean, not okay, but… yeah” as if waking from a daze, she nodded, a bewildered laugh slipping through her parted lips. Her gaze wandered over the space again, briefly glancing at the exit before she relaxed a fraction. Although Neil was not partial to her thoughts, he could tell a crucial internal conversation just took place within the pause. A conversation that determined she was staying to listen. When her eyes settled back on him, Neil suddenly felt breathless, “And what is it that you do? Because I doubt that you’re a nobody considering the level of security you have here” arching her eyebrow, Cupid glanced at the ID card attached to his lanyard.

Despite himself, Neil grinned. He already knew he would miss her attempts at guessing his profession during every Wednesday morning rendezvous. He only hoped the ‘priesthood’ banter was not going anywhere. Now, that would be a loss. 

“I’m one of the top agents, but my field is mainly in Physics” the strange uncertainty washed over him as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

That was another layer peeled back for her perusal. Another truth at her disposal. Another mystery gone and buried just to let her know all of him. Another thing he did not anticipate those months previously when he picked up her belongings from the carriage floor. For someone whose life’s work revolved around the future, he did not see her coming. Whether that was something worth boasting about was yet to be determined.

“Great, I’ve been shagging a nerd” Cupid’s groan acted like an alarm, blaring through the nonsense in his brain. Mostly because the indignation in her voice sounded almost like an endearment. Like a badge of honour. At least, Neil was sure about to treat it as one, “That’s just fantastic,” she rolled her eyes, briefly offering a peek at Cupid he knew and liked.

The unshakeable one, unbothered by anything in her path. The thought immediately brought a smile to his face despite an attempt at a stern glare directed her way:

“Very funny” squeezing her hand, Neil stood up from the armchair and pulled her up alongside him. It was time, “Are you ready to see an inverted bullet?” a cheeky smile seemed to be all she needed, for she begrudgingly squeezed back and sighed with pretend weariness.

“No,” grinning widely, Cupid stepped away from the chairs and the coffee table and looked at him pointedly, sending a signal Neil could not miss.

“Let’s go” mirroring her manic smile he led her towards one of the corridors at the far end of the lobby.

Cupid stayed silent as they entered the elevator and went to the second floor. Every now and then, Neil could feel her eyes staring and analysing, undoubtedly trying to understand how the fuck did she end up here with him on a Saturday morning. He could only hope that at the end of the visit, she had found at least some reasons to maintain their relationship. That this would not be the ultimate breaking point.

Only when he has opened the laboratory with the security code and a tap of the ID card against the reader, Cupid opened her mouth to let out a sound that can only be interpreted as an awed sigh. Whatever was to follow got lost between her head and her tongue, for his sidekicks took that exact moment to let their presence be known. In a truly typical fashion.

“Finally. I thought you two detoured to shag in the bathroom” Ives was heard much earlier than he was seen as the man strolled towards the lab entrance with a trademark smirk gracing his face.

“Ives, I swear-” Neil got as far as tightening his fists and taking one (hopefully menacing) step towards his ‘friend’ before Cupid interrupted the incoming promise of violent death and closed the gap with an unnatural pep in her step.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect you two here” from a bystander’s perspective, there was no flaw in her smile or a fake note in her voice as she greeted Ives and Wheeler with a wide grin.

But Neil knew better now. He could see the shaken foundations underneath the smile, the panic flashing in her eyes, quickly disguised by another chuckle. It was more than mildly concerning. To be frank.

“Neil called us in for support” Wheeler (God bless her soul) stepped forward, answering the real question.

She glanced at him, clearly checking for the true status of the situation. Neil could only offer her a shrug, allowing his gaze to show the extent of worries crowding his mind. They had to proceed carefully. That much was clear.

“I’m grateful. My brain is already fucked” a heavy sigh from Cupid interrupted his thoughts as she ventured further into the room, her eyes coursing over the equipment with frightful caution, “But then I suppose this is only fair since I’ve just learnt that time travel is real” approaching the glass separating the workspace from the dangers of the shooting range, and the cement slab in place of a shooting target, she threw a pointed look at him.

It was as much a plea for help as a call for answers - any clarity he could offer.

“Not quite” shooting her a reassuring smile, Neil cracked a grin as he joined her by the glass partition and chanced a joke to relieve the tension, “Don’t expect the Tardis here” it felt like a victory when Cupid met his gaze and allowed her lips to twist into a wry smile.

For a beat, as always, he found it impossible to look away, drawn to her in this indescribable way that never failed to pick up his heart rate or make him question the self-preservation instincts all homo sapiens were supposed to have.

Except for Neil, apparently.

“Or a DeLorean,” Ives’s comment burst through the fragile bubble, forcing Neil to step away, instantly urging his mind to get back in the game.

Instead of whatever this was.

“That’s a shame. I was getting excited,” feigning disappointment in the slump of her shoulders and a sigh, Cupid leaned her back against the partition and looked back at Neil.

Acutely aware of the company, Neil steeled his spine and took a deep breath. It was time for the show. Faking confidence, he took out the key for one of the cabinets from his pocket and unlocked the storage, grabbing two sets of protective gloves and safety glasses. Setting them down on the lab counter, he met Cupid’s wary gaze with an easy smile:

“Come here. This is the important part” motioning for her to approach the counter, he pulled on the gloves and glasses and handed the equipment to her, patiently waiting until she was ready to open yet another case and grab two .243 WIN bullets. Placing them on the counter, he met Cupid’s wide gaze and explained “One of these bullets has been manufactured in the future and then inverted and streamed back at us” that was the easiest part, yet Neil was not surprised to see her trepidation deepen as she peered at the bullets, trying to see a difference between them.

The trick was that there was none.

“But they look the same?” her brows furrowed as she looked up, her face suggesting that Neil was an idiot for even trying to convince her the reality was different.

Yet again, he was struck with an inconvenient thought of how ridiculously adorable she was. And how that was not something he should have been thinking in the first place. Ever probably.

“Well, yes. Except for-” ignoring the idiocy of his heart, Neil gave the rounds a quick check.

He made sure they varied as intended and adjusted the gloves. Feeling the intensity of her gaze following his every move, he reached out towards the inverted bullet and grasped the round as it flew up into his hand, mimicking the move of a dropped light object. He did not have the time to turn his head towards Cupid before her exclamation pierced the silence:  

“Oh, fuck” during her stunned pause, Neil picked up the other bullet to ensure she noticed a difference and put them back down before turning to address her panicked glare and a simple question, “How?”

But before he could open his mouth to reply, Ives reminded him of his presence with the usual cheekiness:

“Inversion, love,” and if Neil frowned upon his friend’s typical term of endearment, then it was no one’s business but his own.

If even that.

Instead, he motioned for Cupid to have her go at handling the inverted round, wordlessly showing how to best pick it up from the surface. The tension radiated from her body as she approached the bullets and followed his instructions flawlessly. His eyes instantly searched hers, hoping to find traces of fascination there. But the only thing he could see was unease, highlighted by the shaking voice as she muttered under her breath:

“Whatever the fuck that means” Neil watched as she tested the bullet and then quickly deposited it back into his waiting palm as if yearning to be rid of it instantly.

The worry he had managed to push to the back of his mind was slowly creeping to the front again. This time harder to ignore.

“Are you okay?” unable to shake it off, Neil got rid of the rounds and gloves and approached her slowly, fully aware of the unusual softness of his tone and the two pairs of eyes trained on them.

For a split second, he considered asking Ives and Wheeler to leave so he could manage this alone, but even Neil could not deny their use in situations that needed tension de-escalation. And this moment felt much too charged for his liking.

“I don’t know” sighing shakily, Cupid tugged at her pair of gloves to take them off and met his gaze with uncertainty, “This is completely not what I expected. Who had even invented that?” when it came to questions he expected, that was not one of them.

Count on the only person ever to catch him unaware every goddamn day. Count on Neil liking her way too much, too.

Before he could collect the facts in his mind into something comprehensible, not endangering her life, and at least a bit logical, Ives stepped forward. His summary effortlessly encapsulated within a one-worded response:

“Russians,” it was delivered with a deadpan tone and expressionless face, undoubtedly showing Cupid that it was true.

In this instance, Neil was grateful for having been spared. For someone else offering the answers in a way he never would have thought of.

“Oh,” the startled pause following a gasp of realisation showed that it was effective. For a second, she did not seem panicked anymore, but instead, Cupid appeared pensive. Her brows furrowed further as if trying to make sense of that revelation before she offered a sober reflection, “That- that makes sense, actually” raising her head to look at all three of them, she nodded curtly, intending to show that there was one thing about it all that she could understand.

Neil was grateful for even that tiny bit of reassurance. But where normal people would abandon the subject and perhaps follow it with something more productive, like the demo they still needed to give her, Ives had other ideas.

“Doesn’t it?” mirroring her incredulity, the man grinned, his jovial tone almost out of place, “Bloody Russians,”

The best Neil could do was hope Cupid had no Russian roots in her ancestry. The second-best thing he could do was speak up:

“Ives, this is neither the time nor the place for anti-Russian sympathies” he could hear the tiredness in his voice, and for once, he did not try to mask it.

But, as expected, remorse was nowhere to be found on his friend’s face as the man shrugged and offered another annoying grin.

“Eh, I’d say any time and place is good for that” usually, Neil would very much agree.

But nothing about this Saturday morning was normal. And he was aware of the confusion in Cupid’s gaze and the tension radiating from her body as if she was poised to run at the next opportune moment. Neil did not even want to consider that she could disappear from his life for good.

“Well, yes, but-” for the umpteenth time, his attempt to offer some sensible rebuttal was cut short.

At least this time, it was another voice of reason. Wheeler approached the group with her stoic expression broken only by an arched eyebrow:

“Shall we give our lovely ballerina a demo?” the pointed glare at Ives increased Neil’s gratitude.

It was high time to tick off the final part of the checklist today. It seemed like Cupid was slowly reaching her limit, and the last thing he wanted was to cross that line.

Neil waited for her nod, accepting this next phase of introduction, before he motioned towards Ives and Wheeler for them to lead the way to the turnstile. With the short walk down a back staircase and a corridor, he did not have the time to check in properly. All he could do was steal a glance at her, which only highlighted what he already knew. Cupid was tense, confused and uncertain. So different from her usual confident self, striding through life with the pretence of someone in control. It was startling to notice. It did nothing to stifle the anxiety.

Once they entered the room with the turnstile, her face somehow more astonishing, bathed in the red light and backlit with blue from the other side, separated by a thick glass, Cupid gasped. Her eyes widened as she took in the room, her gaze pausing once it landed on the turnstile itself, and it did not budge until he explained the basics about the machine. Even then, though, she remained frozen in her spot close to the exit. Another nod to proceed was all Neil needed to proceed with the explanation.

It was simple, really. Ives and Wheeler were to enter the turnstile, equipped with oxygen masks, and they were to give her a demonstration of how things looked like when someone was inverted. A walk in the park for the duo. A brief conversation and show of the physics of the other side and back out again. Except Neil did not take into consideration just how jarring the sight was. How shocking it would be to see “duplicates” of the people standing next to her appear in the adjacent room, looking and behaving strangely. How the warbled speech could rattle the mind of someone not used to this. How this could be too much for her.

A shaky gasp was all the warning Neil received before Cupid breathed out one simple sentence:

“I’m sorry, I have to leave” her terrified face was the last thing he saw before she turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

Fuck. Neil let out an impressive string of curses before he banged his head into the glass separating the room and closed his eyes. Yeah, that went splendidly.

Christ.

***

The late autumn sun shone into your eyes as you reclined on the wooden bench and sighed. Only within the past half hour, your heart rate had begun to slow down, and most of it you had spent getting lost on suspicious paths in the fields, wondering whether Neil’s message was a ruse to get you killed for having seen too much. You still considered that option. But that other traitorous part of your brain, once it has calmed down, could not possibly ignore his pleading message to meet. So, there you were – scared, tired, staring at the goats. And not in the Coen brothers’ meaning of the term.

For better or for worse.

Admittedly, the charity farm Neil has led you to was a peaceful, unexpected spot that soothed your brain with each subsequent breath. With the Canary Wharf skyscrapers visible in the distance and a couple of square kilometres of grass and trees, the place seemed like a perfect oasis for the farm animals lucky enough to end up there. In the background, you could just about make out less-favoured sounds of children, undoubtedly ecstatic at the prospect of spending the early Saturday afternoon feeding sheep.

You were less ecstatic at the prospect of hearing their screams.

“Cupid-” the unmistakable sound of your nickname, breathed out in relief somewhere behind your back, made you turn on the bench to see him approach.

Still so damn beautiful, even breathless and in a state of mild panic. Neil stopped a few paces away, catching his breath and watching you cautiously, almost as if worried you were about to get up and run away from him. Again.

A hot wave of shame coursed through your body as you swallowed hard and turned back towards the animals. Hoping Neil would understand that it was an invitation to come closer.

“Have you come to kill me? Now that I know everything?” an attempt at a joke fell flat as you struggled to keep the tension out of your voice.

Still, it must have worked, for you heard Neil’s approach. His footsteps stopped just a step away from the bench before you raised your head again and met his gaze with an uncertain smile.

“Honestly, I’d more be likely to kill myself,” chuckling mirthlessly, Neil shook his head slightly and measured you with an affectionate look that felt almost out of place, “I’m so happy you’re here,” you could tell he meant it.

That only now stood before you again Neil could breathe again. He could let go of the tension that seemed to permeate his soul by the turnstile. And for a good reason.

Anticipating another wave of guilt, you patted the free seat on the bench and shot him a timid smile as soon as Neil took the spot.

“I considered ignoring that text, but… This place is quite charming” it was not the real answer.

It did not disclose how you had spent at least an hour on a bench at the Canary Wharf station watching Jubilee line trains stop and pass, unable to get on and go home. You stared at his text the moment it came, contemplating ignoring it and cutting short this strange thing between you before it tangled any further. But you also knew that ignoring him was never an option. Not really.

None of that needed to be said. Neil understood what that shift in the conversation meant and what you needed him to do.

“I found it a couple of months ago when I went on a walk to clear my head. I thought that it’s a good spot to talk” his cursory look around the surroundings ended with another glance at you, a meaningful pause offering a space for you to decide the next step, “If you’d want to,”

Somehow, you did not have to ask Neil to know what it was that he wanted. It was written in a hopeful tone, and the sparks in his eyes inviting you to lean back into it. A tempting proposition you could not resist for much longer.

Letting out a bracing sigh, you stood up from the bench and extended your hand to pull him up. Upon Neil’s questioning gaze, you inclined your head at the animals in the pen and grinned:

“Sure, but first, let’s get some food for those darlings,” without waiting for Neil to catch up, you bravely started in the direction of wailing children and sheep bleating.

You knew he was following your shadow.

***

Shaking the bag with the feed to check how much you had left, your gaze scoured the horizon to find Neil among the children vying for the sheep’s attention. That was not a difficult feat, considering the height disparity. Still, his enthusiasm made him a worthy rival. Once you spotted him, you waded through the kids and tapped his shoulder, wordlessly asking him to join you aside. After a joyful half hour on the farm, you finally felt like talking.

You plopped down on another bench connected to a wooden picnic table, and waited for Neil to join you on the other side before meeting his gaze and letting the apology flow like it should. As silently practised in your head during that hour at the station.

“I’m sorry I bolted like that. It all caught up with me suddenly, and I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t understand what I was seeing back there… I genuinely thought you had some boring 9 to 5 job, not… this” your hands flailed aimlessly atop the table as you stared at Neil, yet again feeling almost too perceived.

Too understood.

There was not an ounce of frustration in Neil’s eyes as he leant forward, bracing his elbows on the table and turning the contrite smile for you to do with as you please:

“I’m only blaming myself for dropping this on you without a warning. None of this is your fault” you started shaking your head vehemently, trying to interject an undeniable fact that this was your fault. Undoubtedly. Yet it seemed that was not something he wanted to hear, “But believe me when I say that I waited this long to tell you the truth only because of how unusual this is” the earnestness in his eyes added weight to the statement, rendering you unable to do anything but believe him “Not out of the lack of trust” his hand flexed on the table, as if unsure whether he still had the right to reach out to you.

That was an issue you did not mind solving. You extended your hand to cover his and give Neil a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture strengthening the believability of your assurance.

“I know” raising your head to meet the blue of his eyes, you added, “I hope it goes without saying that I’m not going to share anything I’ve learnt today,” resisting the urge to do something idiotic like crossing your heart, you endured the eye contact and hoped it would be enough.

Because, truly, what would you even share? Who the fuck would believe you? There was no point in entertaining the idea, let alone acting upon it.

Yet, still, you were grateful that he told you. Neil’s enigma was no longer that impermeable. It added another layer to the person sitting before you now. A little more context to the scars littering his body and to the wit in his eyes. A little more understanding of who he was.

“I hope so. Then I would have to kill you” returning your earlier joke, the corner of his mouth twisted in a smirk.

It also marked the perfect opportunity to lighten the conversation, even just by a notch. Taking a beat to appreciate the man sitting in front of you with a selfish look, you allowed your eyes to skim over his body leisurely before mirroring the cheeky smile:

“Spoken like the real James Bond” his easy grin was the invitation you had been looking for, allowing you to let go of the apologies and shifting guilt that would never have a place to settle, “Granted, you’ve got the looks” without thinking about it, you picked up his hand from the table, flipping it to play with his fingers as the effortless complement was received with another bashful smile.

It was true, though.

“And the gun” arching his eyebrow, Neil captured your hand in his, loosely trapping your fingers.

You did not feel like tugging it free. Not yet. Feeling desperate to extend the banter for a little longer, you chanced a suggestive glance down his body and dropped your voice to a sultry tone:

“Oh yeah, you do” twisting your mouth into a smirk, you met Neil’s startled gaze and barely stifled a laugh at the look on his face.

Bewilderment did not quite catch it.

“Not th-” he sputtered, confusion blending into his voice as Neil stared at you with wide eyes and asked, “What sort of gun are you thinking about right now?” it was the sort of reaction you wanted from him.

The thrill you had been seeking for the past few hours, and yet also something you would never admit. Except that, now that you had it, the light of his awed smile shining upon you with just the right amount of disbelief at your existence, you did not know how you had survived so long without it.

“Take a guess” standing up from the bench before you could begin to feel even more things, you tugged at Neil’s hand and signalled that it was time to go.

Somehow, you knew that he would follow.

***

Over an hour later, when all the animals had been fed, and you worried you had caught permanent tinnitus from the proximity to screaming children, you took Neil’s hand in yours and allowed him to lead you back to the Isle of Dogs marina. With the early afternoon sun presenting a golden hue on the horizon, you slowed down your walk and asked a question that had been stewing in your mind since the morning:

“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?” you could not help the nervous tone that permeated your voice.

It could not be shaken off or ignored. It just was.

Much like your general, unspecified feelings towards Neil that were never acknowledged. Or even identified. They, too, just were.

You could feel Neil’s eyes on you as he seemed to think on an answer before replying:

“Yes, quite. I won’t go into details, but getting shot by an inverted bullet is worse than getting shot by a normal round. And there’s much more to this than weapons, but it’s… There’s been a few close calls through the years” the weariness in Neil’s voice did just enough to soften the blow caused by his honest words.

But the impact still hit. Ever since learning about Tenet this morning, you did not try to delude yourself into thinking that what he was doing was safe. Or that no harm could ever come to Neil because of his job. It was another thing to have those exact worries confirmed as not only probable but also inevitable. A shiver coursed through your body as you swallowed past the anxiety building in your gut.

The fear you could already feel crawling to the front of your brain was another reason why getting involved was a bad idea. Hookups were supposed to be just that. Not a friendship, spiced up with amazing sex and afternoon walks hand-in-hand along the Thames. And yet, you were already in too deep. Attached on an unprecedented level. There was nothing else to do but shut away the anxious thoughts and ask another pressing question.

“How long have you been doing this?” almost as if rebelling against your better judgement, your hand flexed in his hold and tightened the grip.

A betrayal of that sort was ridiculously predictable. Frowning at your hand for a split second, you directed your gaze back at the Canary Wharf. The pyramid atop the One Canada Square building reflected the sunlight straight into your eyes, the sharp sting of light hitting your retina and waking you up from the strange haze.

“Not that long. I think John recruited me two and a half years ago. Roughly,” Neil paused, his wistful tone painting the picture the way you hope it would – with facts and figures, “I didn’t think this is what I’d end up doing as I’ve picked up my Cambridge master’s degree in physics” the note of an apology hidden somewhere between the words made you grimace.

You did not like that he could feel somewhat guilty for doing what he did. That he could be looking for excuses instead of owning it like you knew he wanted. It took no genius to understand Neil was simply extraordinary.

But you could not exactly tell him that, at least not without a fight.

“God, you’re a nerd” rolling your eyes to show the extent of annoyance, you shot him a grin.

Yet you knew he could see the depths of affection and admiration in your eyes.

“It’s not like you haven’t noticed before” mirroring your faux exasperation, Neil returned the smile and squeezed your hand.

You have noticed, admittedly. Less admittedly, however, you liked that about him. The nerdiness hidden underneath beauty and wits. A heart so full of feelings, you often wondered how it had not yet burst. Someone you were grateful beyond measure to have met and got to know.

“No, but now I have proof” you did not need to add that you wanted to have even more proof.

You were looking forward to knowing more about him. Especially about that nerdy side.

“So?” as if reading your mind, Neil arched an eyebrow, the challenging gleam in his gaze luring you like the siren song.

It helped to set the stage for your bravery to take the lead. For what you wanted to do next.

“So… Tell me more about Tenet” halting your steps for a second, you pulled Neil to a stop and looked up to see his delighted gaze. The brightness in his eyes was one of the best sights you could think of, “And then buy me dinner” upon seeing his smile widen, you raised your joined hands to your lips and pressed a fleeting kiss on his knuckles to seal the deal “For the trouble” it already sounded like the perfect conclusion to the eventful day.

One that you did not expect when you ran out of the building with tears in your eyes and fear crawling up your throat. Nothing went as you expected it to. Yet you could not find it in yourself to regret what had occurred instead. You couldn’t. Because alongside the anxiety and shock that still ruled your mind and soul, the gratitude was there. And the dawning understanding that Neil trusted you with something this grand. You were important to him in a way that could not be easily dismissed.

You mattered enough. And that, perhaps of all things, was the prime reason you could not regret it. All that you wanted right now was to have more of him. Just for a couple of hours. It was impossible to say if Neil understood all you did not say, but still, he smiled and tightened the hold over your hand to offer an easy agreement.

“It’ll be my honour, sweetheart” his blue eyes searched your face a beat as the affectionate smile made its home on his face.

As always, it was impossible to look away. Impossible to do anything but stare back, hoping that you had the answers he was looking for.

After what felt like ages, Neil ended his scrutiny with a seemingly appraising nod and tugged at your hand to lead the way back to the station. You did not know what happened just then or why it felt monumental.

You only knew that something had changed, and things would never be the same ever again.

[lalunanymph]

Dawn!! If you’re still accepting suggestions for ttpd, would you be willing to do loml with kakucho or i can fix him with ran? even if you’re not, it’s okay! just wanted to say that ive been following you for quite some time and everything you write is incredible, you are my fav writer on tumblr 🩷🩷🥹

𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐋 [*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dawn.🕹️ ttpd]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ you discover the truth about him

Your shivering body fights through the hail of rain storming down from the heavens as if in retribution for your scalded emotions.  

His back grows smaller, almost disappearing around the corner. 

You follow right behind him, unable to take your eyes off how his trench coat—once gray—is now soaked through till it makes the water dripping from its hem look like bleeding ink.

Kakucho doesn’t sense you, which is strange.

He always had a sixth sense when it came to you. 

But, he pushes through the storm, head bent low. 

It’s almost one in the morning and you can’t figure out why he’s here in the dead of night. Why he left your apartment in a fit of rage when all you had asked him is why he chose to ignore your messages after a fight you both had.

You can’t unearth his true sentiments, and rather than risk his ire for the second time tonight, you choose to do your own snooping. 

He stops right in front of a bar, its neon sign throwing sleazy, ripples of light across the overflowing puddles. Hiding himself under the awning, you can just trace the outline of his scar, slick with water, his expression blank and frankly, frightening.

The Kakucho you knew would never look this disengaged and dangerous.

He always smiles whenever you need it, and right now, you wish he would. 

Wish he would come back home and not make you feel like he had thrown in the towel—giving up on your relationship with such callous ease.

Someone appears from the shadows, and he follows after the mysterious figure. 

You take a tentative step forward, crossing the street, ducking under the awning and following him down the narrow pathway. 

Someone screams, and you feel your blood run cold.

Rounding the bend, your eyes widen, a gasp flying free from your lax mouth.

Kakucho looks up, blood on his hands. A dead man lies at his feet, the skin on his neck shredded to ribbons, red rivulets drenching the ground.

You take a step backward and stumble, falling right on your ass.

“Love,” Kakucho speaks, his voice hoarse; fear flashes in his incongruous eyes, the knife in his hand clattering to the ground.

He takes one step towards you, but all you can think about is how he’s stepping in some man’s blood. 

You scramble back, hands thrown up as if to stop his advance. 

A strangled cry slips past your cold lips, sounding almost like that man’s scream before he lost his life.

“My darling, I can explain—”

“Wh—who—Kakucho—why?” Your brain is on overdrive, spitting out questions faster than your mouth can comprehend.

The darkness starts to spin, and you think you might bend forward and hurl.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.” Rain droplets drip down the sides of his cheeks, the curve of his nose and streaming past his thin lips which twist into a grimace of pure agony. “My love, I’m so sorry—”

“Is this what you do?” You can’t believe how you’re able to formulate a sentence, but the human mind is a resilient thing. “When you leave me alone at night. Is this what you do? Killing people?” 

You’re sure you see the knife glinting in your periphery and almost scream, but he kicks it aside, far away from you, and raises his hands to show he’s unarmed.

Kakucho looks like he’s struggling to speak as well. He opens his mouth, closes it.

Drops his arms and hangs his head forward, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“I… I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out like this.” 

You think he’s going to kill you, judging from how villains in dramas would want to get rid of any unfortunate eyewitnesses when their true colors were revealed.

But, your lover does nothing like that.

He only stares at you imploringly with his milky-red eyes. Stepping forward, he slides to his knees, a sinner begging for forgiveness at your altar.

“He’s a dangerous man, love,” he speaks through numb lips; somehow, you sense his words more than hear them, your mind spinning into a different dimension with how easily your life had spun out of control in a single, devastating second.

You wish you had never followed him, never gave into your curiosity.

If you had followed his terse command to stay home, you would still be blissfully unaware; safe in your little, loved-up bubble without ever considering your kind, warm hearted and faithful boyfriend was a literal murderer. 

You wished you had never met Kakucho. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, he shuffles closer to you, trying to take your cold hands.

You shrug him off, curling into your own body, shoulders hunched forward and hands tucked to your chest.

“You’re a killer.” 

He doesn’t refute you; staring at you in open anguish. 

“What would happen if I told the police?”

He freezes, and you already half-expect to be dead where you stand. But, he locks his mismatched gaze onto yours, those unique eyes boring deep into your soul. 

“Then, tonight would be the last time you would ever see me in your life.” He rocks back on his haunches, expression morphing into one of sure regret. “And we will never live the life we want.”

You don’t know if he’s trying to manipulate you—at this point, you can’t figure out anything beyond trying to get out of this alive.

“I won’t kill you,” he says, striking you mute with confusion. “But, I will have to disappear. Forever. If you can live with that—if you want me instantly gone—I will do it.”

The anguish in his eyes melts into acceptance; an innocent lamb succumbing to its fate in the slaughterhouse of heartbreak. 

“But, I won’t try to change your mind. I understand this is something unacceptable for you,” his voice shakes, but he bravely pushes through. “I wasn’t the man you thought I was. I can’t be who he is. I lied to you. I’m so sorry. If you ever do tell the police on me, I hope you will forgive me one day.”

You aren’t able to believe it. Here you were, threatening to expose his crime, and Kakucho was on his knees, apologizing to you for not being the man you thought he was and could be. 

He waits, watching in rapt attention as you race through your thoughts. Sorting through the pros and cons.

Tears prick your eyes, mingling with the rainwater trickling down your cheeks. Somewhere, behind him, you imagine the man’s blood must be running cold.

The rain continues to pour and above, a street light flickers once, throwing shadows across a look on his face you would never forget until the day you died.

Regret. Fear. Longing. 

Loss.

©️ lalunanymph

[thisisnotthenerd]

bigger and better things

an exploration of the bad kids as children and what it means to be destined for greatness

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

iv. riz gukgak

riz hears that his father has died a week after he saw him for the last time.

the length of time isn't unusual--his dad was often away in bastion city, working as a government investigator. he would commute down and it would just be riz and his mom for a bit and then he'd come back and be home. it feels like a normal week.

he's just not coming back this time.

the funeral is quiet. there's no body, just a cenotaph with his name, resting under a tree at the edge of cravencroft cemetery.

(there is a chair next to a tree with a headstone beneath it, a place in heaven for stories to be shared and memories mourned, for a life spent showing love through work)

what's strange is almost nothing has changed. riz rides in the car with his mom every morning, getting dropped off on her way to work. it's the same routine they've had since riz started going to skullcleaver elementary.

he hops out of the car, bag in hand, and looks at his mom through the window. her hand fidgets at the wheel as she mouths, "what are you waiting for?"

he walks toward the door, ducking around ankles and dodging people in the crowded halls. No one really pays attention to him when he hides like this–it’s better than the alternative.

goblin. puny. sticky fingers. wicked. not meant for adventuring, for glory. 

(in five years he will taste the blood of kalvaxus and know his father avenged)

over time the words are exchanged for others: teacher’s pet. nerd. briefcase kid.

he wears a crisp shirt and carries his briefcase with a strong grip. he introduces himself relentlessly, always working to make a connection. when things go missing he finds them, magnifying glass never far from reach. they will have nothing to say about him that he doesn’t already know.

when penny comes to babysit they talk about everything and anything, sharing knowledge and camaraderie and the struggles and joys of being small in a big world. she talks about her classes at the aguefort adventuring academy and riz thinks, i could do that. i could be a good rogue, a good investigator.

his mom goes to work early and comes home late, case files spilling out over the kitchen counter as they eat dinner together. 

riz sneaks peeks when he thinks she’s not looking and holds resolve in his heart. it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t have a license. he has to do something. she works so hard to solve these cases–why can’t he?

he already sleeps so little that when penny goes missing, he locks in, searching for anything, any clue as to where his best friend has gone. he’s lost enough. she’ll come back and the case will be solved.

(a few years down the line, riz gukgak is a licensed p.i., the name on call to find clues and discover the unsolvable, with tenacity and unmatched grit.)

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Hey there, been enjoying your content for a while now! I gotta take the new episode opportunity and request Chaz calling the reader to help him get away from Crimson, like a last minute rescue and finding a way to fake a trophy and trick the mafia, maybe some sex-as-thanks at the end, if you want to. As an addendum, this is an idea I got and plan to write my own fanfic with it, and I'd love to see your take on this scenario!

Life Saver!

Oh how could it all go so so wrong?!

Chaz had been running for, Hell, hours? It'd long since gone dark.

He held his side, a stray bullet from Crimson having hit him while he made his less than elegant escape, the man running through the bustling city that covered the majority of Greed, blood soaking the side of his shirt and quickly working its way down his pants.

Eventually, he'd duck into a back alley, wedging himself between a set of dumpsters. The shark man stayed huddled there for what felt like hours, doing his best to steady his breathing as he stayed sat there.

He'd sit there long enough for the adrenaline to wear off, and once it did, the blood loss finally hit him, the man collapsing in his hidden nook, passing out.

He'd awaken mid morning, wheezing as he stood up, the man clutching his side.

The bleeding had stopped, though his shirt and leg was absolutely soaked in blood.

That wasn't good.

Exiting the alleyway, he was entirely unsure of what the Hell to do.

So, he wandered.

He walked down the Street, body weak, occasionally being bumped into, or stepping over the occasional dead body.

But it'd be after some Imp got his head blown off, Chaz getting covered in brainmatter.

And while he initially complained, wiping his face. However as he spat out brains, he'd find his salvation in the dead Imp's hand.

A Cellphone!

So, snatching it up, he spent a long minute thinking of who he could actually call.

It's not like he had any friends. Burned most bridges. Fucked up the rest.

OH!

There was one person that didn't totally despise his guts. Someone that wouldn't kill him on sight.

So, after a minute trying to remember your number he'd finally pressed it into the phone.

It rang, Chaz desperately hoping you'll answer.

After another minute or so, you'd pick up. Before you could actually say anything Chaz blurted out.

"(Y/N)! Please don't hang up. Please!"

There was a long silence before he heard you sigh. "What do you want Chaz?"

He almost wept, pleading with you.

"Please, look I know Ive been an ass in the past, but I need your help. I've got myself in shit with the mob and your the only person in the seven rings I can trust right now!"

There was several minutes of silence before he added another desperate. "Please!"

There was another moment of silence before you sighed, telling him. "Fine... Do you remember the park where we met?"

He nodded, before smacking his forehead, telling you. "Yeah, I... I'm not too far from it."

"Alright, I can be there in 10. Be there." He released a heavy breath, the man about to thank you before you added. "Dont be seen. If your being followed by the mob, I'd suggest changing clothes, or at least covering up or something. I'll be in a red car."

Then you hung up, and so, following your instructions, he made his way to the park.

He'd manage to snatch a blanket covering up his faux tuxedo'd body. The man managing to cover his hair with a cap he snatched off some kids head.

He made it to the park fairly easily though he was still light headed from the blood loss, his head on a swivel as he watched for red cars.

As he did, he'd spot a pair of men. Men that were obviously on the lookout for sombody.

And not wanting to tempt fate, the shark demon quickly avoided eye contact, staring at the ground in hopes of garnering their attention.

Unfortunately for him, his luck hadn't turned, the set of men obviously spotting him.

He'd struggle to his feet, intending to make a runner. Or well, a shamble, man almost to the street when you finally pulled up.

"Get in!"

You yelled.

And he did, the man leaping in, the shark awkwardly balled up as you sped off, Chaz awkwardly fixing himself, having to move his ridiculous tail as you drove. Chaz sure to toss the blanket and hat, said garments immediately covering another cars window and making it crash.

"UnHoly shit! thank you!"

You didn't say anything, just driving along the street, intentionally not looking at the man.

Youd drive him back your place, making sure to take the long way with plenty of turns just in case someone was following you.

But after a while, you'd pull up to your clinic, you climbing out, coming around and helping him up.

You carried himside, the man weakly thanking you again as you helped his weakened form into a chair.

Youd quickly get to work fixing him up, cleaning and stitching up the wound, the man hissing and groaning at the pain.

"How ya feeling?" Youd ask, finally finished fixing him up.

Taking a few heavy breaths, Chaz chuckled, adjusting his seating before telling you.

"Ah, I'm alright. Will take more than a bullet to take my big dicked, sexy ass out."

You snorted, shaking your head telling him.

"Good... good."

Before you turned and smacked him right across the face.

"That was for getting mixed up with the mob!"

You then smacked him again.

"And that's for drinking all my medical grade alcohol, disappearing for half a year before calling me to save your ass, you prick!"

With that you calmly turned, grabbed your equipment and walking out of the room, the shark demon just sitting, watching as you casually walked away, man holding his sore cheek.

He'd find you cleaning your tools, Chaz awkwardly asking. "Sooo... do you still hate me?" He asked rather nonchalantly.

You paused, slumping over before snorting, shaking your head.

"Your dumbass you know that?" You chuckled, shaking your head, rolling your eyes.

Turning around, you face him, reaching out to cup his cheek, looking over the mark you'd left. You shook your head, looking into his eyes.

"You look like shit." You told him bluntly, the man breaking into laughter, you quickly following.

The both of you sharing a laugh. You sat him down, having him eat something before taking him to your bathroom, telling him to clean up.

Telling him to hand over his clothes when he gets in.

Of course he made a joke about you joining him, but after a singular look hed back down, apologising.

And so, stripping down, he'd hand you his clothes, the man taking a delightfully hot shower.

Youd put his clothes in the wash, finishing up sanitising your equipment before heading back to your room just as Chaz stepped out.

He had the decency to actually wear a towel, the past 24 seemingly taking its toll as he stumbled out the shark, towel barely staying attached as he flopped on your bed.

You just rolled your eyes, the man quickly curling up his massive tail, the man asking in a "sexy" voice, or more accurately, 'half asleep' voice if he could 'pay you back~'.

To which you threw a pair of his pants at him, a pair he'd left at your place the last time he'd been their. I.e. before he ran drunk off his ass on medical grad alcohol.

And so, while he got dressed you'd ask him who he'd managed to piss off.

The man made you promise not to get mad, you telling him to tell you or he could leave.

And so, making the sane choice, he'd reveal it was Crimson.

You were sure to throw something at him, yelling at him for being so stupid as to get mixed up with A Knowlastname.

However, it was as you were about to throw a shoe at him, that it hit you.

You knew exactly how you were gonna gat him out of this situation.

Chaz would ask what you had in mind, you simply throwing the shoe, telling him to get ready, you had somewhere to be.

Chaz would point out he was missing a shirt, and so, you'd throw him a robe, as you didn't have any shirts in his size.

You'd zip off to the "meat market".

Or as you called it, "the sketchy ass back alley market where surgeons get organs and shit for their sketchy ass surgeries".

It wasn't a pleasant place, and not one you went often, but for your purposes you were sure you could find exactly what you needed.

It took a long while to find a cadaver that matched him shockingly well. He was a lanky, recently dead shark shmuck that honestly, looked like he could be Chaz' twin.

And luckily, The dead man had a full set of teeth.

So, grabbing the dead bastard, you'd pay an annoyingly high price, Chaz promising to pay you back, befire you dragged him back to your place, and after some work on Chaz, youd get to work.

Youd check Chaz's teeth, making a mental note, and after some work, you had the cadavers chompers looking almost identical.

You knew of the Mob boss Crimson's proclivity to collect the teeth, horns or collars of his enemies, and as such took extra care that they looked authentic, Chaz spending most of the night with his mouth open.

And so, after a few hours of surgery, you had a very Chaz looking set of teeth.

And so waiting a few days and after taking some rather convincing photos of the mutilated Chaz look alike, man half burnt in a crashed car you found in some alleyway, youd manage to contact Crimson's men.

You spun a long yarn on hearing something about Chaz, you knowing him, making sure to glance over at him as you described him being a dumbass.

Of course theyd ask why you cared, you telling them you had a history and happened to find him dead, likely trying to steal a boobytrapped car, not that you shed a tear in finding him dead.

Something that got a wounded look from Chaz, the two of you sharing a drink at the time, Chaz less than subtly pulling you towards him with his tail, you smacking his tail as you climbed out, telling the man you had his chompers as well as evidence.

He'd ask what you wanted, you telling him a small sum for your effort. Removing and sanitising teeth wasn't easy after all.

And so, after some more back and forth, you set up a meeting.

Youd come face to face with Crimson himself, you handing over several images of a 'dead' Chaz, the man not saying a word till you handed over 'his' chompers.

Crimson stared at them for a looong, looong minute, before silently nodding, placing the teeth back onto the box as one of his goons handed you an envelope of cash.

With a respectful bow, you'd highfalutin it back home, blurting into your clinic, rushing upstairs with a cheer.

Chaz would pop out of the closet, the man having been waiting for the worst, the man equipped with one of your kitchen knives.

Though you didn't get the chance to ask him about it as he quickly approached, spinning you around and pulling you close.

Chaz suggested you go out and party, but luckily for the both of you, you weren't that stupid and decided to stay in and order some higher end fast food.

As well as you popping down the street for some cheep champagne.

The two of you would spend the night together, eating good food, sharing some very tasty champagne as you shared a toast to Chaz's death.

Youd somehow end up wrapped in his tail, the both of you speaking softly over your past, the man apologising for running.

For stealing from you.

For being such a useless prick.

He'd lean in close, thanking you for being the only person he could count on in all Hell, even if he didn't deserve it.

Youd lean in close, asking him if hed meant all if that, that he was actually sorry for being a prick, or if he was that same old Chaz.

He'd pause, silent for moment before sighing, the man looking back up at you before apologising again, telling you simply he was an asshole, but, well, he'd like another chance. If you'd have him?

And so, with a moment of thought, you'd kiss.

A deep, passionate kiss, the two of your curling up in bed, quickly getting down to buisness.

Youd end up curled up in bed, sheets a mess, both naked and nasty, Chaz curled up around you, nuzzling your collar as he held you close.

Youd lean down, the two of you sharing a kiss.

He'd ask if you'd, well, wanna give it another try... if you'd have him?

You'd lay there for a long minute, not saying anything until you'd finally lean in, giving him a deep, passionate kiss.

You wouldn't be an 'official thing' first a long time, especially with Chaz having to learn to be dead. But after a long time together, you'd genuinely end up loving each other.

And while it was never perfect, nothing in Hell was, and you made due.

And as cheesy as it was, you'd live Mostly happily, ever after.

[cardierreh15]

Post Human

hey y'all, this one has been sitting in my drafts/docs for a while now and ive edited and changed and had it beta'd read 85 fucking times lol so I hope it lives up to some of yalls standards and enjoy it.

***I do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Sexual Situations , Gore , Blood , Clickers & Stalker .

Pairings: August Walker x Roslyn(Black!Female Oc)

Special Guests: Ellie (Sister/Best Friend) , Joel (Father Figure)

Description: It's quite the special day for our beloved Roslyn so August gots something planned for her.

Word Count: 5.8K

Song (in order): Alligator Tears by Beyonce , Snooze By SZA

III

October 21st

Roslyn was standing in line at the mess hall. For once, she was able to just stand there without a yawn or a stretch. It was then that someone came up behind her and tapped her on her shoulder. 

She whipped her head around to look at the individual. It was Ellie, with this goofy grin on her lips and a cupcake in her calloused hands. Then, it dawned on her. 

‘Happy Birthday loser!’ 

Roslyn chuckled and rolled her eyes as she reached out and gave her sister a hug. 

‘How many years have we known each other? You do this every year.’ 

She looked around to see if anyone had spotted them. And sure as the sunset in the west, the attention was on her.

‘Awww shit and you fight me on this every year. Just take the damn cupcake.’ Ellie practically shoved it in her hands.

Ros gave her an unapproved glare before chuckling, ‘You’re hard headed. That doesn’t seem to improve with each year but instead declines!’ She rolled her eyes and turned around in line, ‘Is this what you were up to this morning? Or were you sniffing under Dina’s skirt again?’

Ellie rolled her eyes and gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. ‘Yes, actually! Dina is just a friend. You’re jealous that she's taking up all our bonding time?’ she teased.

‘No. I don’t care.’

‘Oh, I know you don’t,’ Ellie leaned in and whispered. ‘You’ve been too busy mumbling about your own friend in your sleep.’

Roslyn’s eyes grew and she snapped her head over at Ellie. 

‘What? Don't be so surprised Ron, I've told you before you talk in your sleep!'  

She gave her a snarky smirk with a raised brow.

‘You’re such an ass,’ Roslyn chuckled and shook her head as the girls finally made it up to the counter to collect their breakfast.

Afterwards, they began to make their journey to their designated spot in the corner of the cafeteria. As soon as they sat down, Ellie didn’t hold back on the questions. 

‘So! What happened after patrol?!’ she teased as she sprinkled some salt over her eggs.

‘Well, if you must know, nothing happened! We talked and went our separate ways.' She took a sip of her coffee and began to unwrap her breakfast burrito. 

‘Really? That’s it?!’

‘That’s it,’ Roslyn repeated.

‘Hmmm. Well what do you think about him?'

Roslyn pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, 'Ellie, I barely know him. He and his brother just got here a few weeks ago!'

Ellie broke off a piece of her burrito and placed it on her tongue, 'Well you know enough to be dreamin' about 'em.'

'Jesus Christ would you stop?!' Roslyn gritted through her teeth as she balled up a napkin and threw it at her face.

Ellie laughed and held her hands up in defense and ducked her head.

She wasn't going to let that shit go. Ever

Suddenly, the girls could hear familiar laughter across the cafeteria. Roslyn looked over to see August and Tommy walking through the double doors. 

‘Aw shit. Speaking of the devil.’ 

Roslyn glanced over at Ellie who wore a smug look on her face. 

‘You’re so annoying.’

Meanwhile, her heart was palpitating in her chest.

‘I know.’ 

The men looked over at the girls. August's glare was a bit longer and more intense than Tommy’s as he jerked his head up in a greeting. 

You say move a mountain and i'll throw on my boots. You say stop the river from running, I'll build a dam or two. You say change religions now I spend Sundays with you. Something 'bout those tears of yours,

How does it feel to be adored?

Roslyn fought the grin that was threatening to curl on her lips. She had to hurry and look away before he caught it. She quickly looked down at her burrito to try to hide that smirk on her face.

‘Uh-oh! There it is!’ Ellie chuckled as she reached over and landed a few smacks on her arm. ‘You look so cute when you’re in love!’ she mocked.

Her head snapped up at her sister and threw the balled up napkin at her face. 

‘You talkin’ casanova?’

Ellie laughed and raised her hands in surrender, ‘Nope! Look Roslyn, it’s okay to have a crush on someone. Hell, you used to be infatuated with what’s his name!’ she snapped her fingers together as she thought.

‘You mean Chad?’ A snarl curled up on her lips before she took her first bite into her burrito.

‘Yeah! And now look at ya! Moved on to bigger… and better things! That bigger was just literal.’ 

Roslyn chuckled for a second before their names were called. 

‘Ros! Ellie!’ Tommy called out towards them.

‘Tommy!’ Ellie called out before Roslyn turned to look over her shoulder. 

Both of the men were walking towards them.

‘Sup Tommy!’ Roslyn smiled softly before she stood up to hug her uncle. 

‘Happy Birthday, kiddo!’ he said as he embraced her in a tight hug and kissed her head. 

‘Thanks,’ she grinned and looked over at August who stood next to Tommy. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ he said with a small smile.

‘Aye, y’all mind if we joined y’all for breakfast this mornin’?’

A lump grew in Roslyn’s throat. ‘Hmm?’ was all she could hum out.

‘Of course!’ Ellie grinned cunningly. 

Roslyn snapped her head over at Ellie, ‘Th-they can?’ her eyes were pleading for her to give this shit up. 

‘Of course they can! It’s just breakfast, Roslyn,' she teased. 

Roslyn glared at Ellie with great loathe. 

A smile cracked up on her lips and she spoke through her teeth, ‘Sure… y’all can sit with us!’ 

***

Their morning consisted of hearty laughter and storytelling. 

Roslyn didn’t know why she was so adamant at first. But it felt good to share a good laugh with the people she loved. Even August. 

The four of them walked outside together, all in fits of giggles. Tommy then looked down at Roslyn. 

‘Come by the house later on! Me and Maria got sumn waitin’ on ya. Ellie, be safe on patrol today!’ he said, turning away.

‘I’ll be there!’ Roslyn smiled.

‘You got it, Tommy!’ Ellie added and then turned to look at Roslyn. ‘I gotta go. I’ll be back in a few hours.’

She balled up her fist for Roslyn to pound it.

‘Be safe. Love ya.’ She gave Ellie a pound on her fist and they leaned in to give one another a kiss on the cheek. 

‘See ya later, August!’ and with that, she headed off to the stables.

The pair stood there in silence for a moment before August decided to initiate the conversation, ‘I didn’t know your birthday was today. Sorry, I didn’t bring a gift for you.’

Roslyn looked ahead and smiled softly, ‘yeah. I really don’t like to celebrate it. It’s just another day for me.’

‘Well you should! There's like a one in a million chance of you being here so…’

‘Technically the statistic is one in 400 million…’

‘Yeah but as you can tell, humans are a limited edition nowadays,’ he chuckled. 

She giggled and nodded, ‘You’re right about that.’

‘Anyway though, you should celebrate it like it’s your last. Tomorrow is never promised y’know?’

Roslyn rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips, ‘I’m starting to believe you and Ellie knew each other in a past life or something.’ 

They both shared a small chuckle before she spoke up again, ‘I’ll try to take that advice. No promises though.’ 

She turned away to walk but he instantly followed. 

‘At least you’d try. So, um… you have any plans today?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh. Do they throw parties?’

‘Mmmm,’ she looked up in thought. ‘Sometimes. They do that for you guys back in Washington?’

August pressed his lips together as he shoved his hands in his pockets, ‘sometimes. More like a small gathering kind of thing.’ He smirked as he looked over at her. 

‘Oh. Cool,’ she gave him a friendly yet small grin this time before she walked up the steps to the library. 

Suddenly, a beeping captured August’s attention. He looked down at his watch. 9:30am. 

‘Damn,’ he cursed and looked up at Roslyn. ‘Hey, I gotta—‘ he threw his thumb back, ‘head back. Gotta go give Mikey his medicine.’ 

Roslyn turned around and gave him an understanding nod, ‘of course! No worries, go take care of your brother!’

August licked his lips, ‘Will I see you later?’ 

‘Why wouldn’t you?’ she asked, her head fallin’ to the side as a smile quirked up on her lips. 

A chuckle rumbled in August’s chest. ‘That’s what I like to hear.’ 

He shot her a wink and took a few steps back before spinning swiftly on his toes and walking back in the same direction they’d just come from. 

With heated cheeks, Roslyn just watched him for a moment before letting out a deep, shaky breath and walked into the library. 

***

Her day was as mundane and regular as she let it be. She did her best to keep herself busy. A few people wished her a happy birthday and thanked her for always being the best version of herself. But nothing out of the ordinary. 

Except that was far-fetched of course. It was 7:43pm now and she was walking up the few steps of Maria’s cabin. She knocked on the door. They barely gave it a second before the door swung open. 

‘Hey! Come in!’ Maria said with a cheeky grin curled up on her face. 

She found that rather odd. Maria was a gorgeous woman but smiling was a rare thing for her simply because she had been through a lot. 

‘Okay,’ Roslyn uttered as she walked through the threshold. 

She began to unbutton her coat but Maria raised her hand, ‘aht! Don’t take that off, we’re going to the pub afterwards. I just wanna give you something.’ 

Then Maria disappeared upstairs.

Letting out a deep breath through her nose, she bit the inside of her cheek and zipped her coat right back up, shoveing her hands in the pockets as she stared at the pictures of Maria and Tommy on the wall.

Sometimes, it seems like Maria and Tommy just dealt with one another. It looked like it wasn’t really love but, in those photos… They looked head over heels. 

Roslyn snapped her head over at Maria who came trotting down the steps with a small box wrapped in old newspaper in her hand. 

‘What’s this?’ Roslyn asked with her eyes narrowed. 

‘It’s a gift from Tommy. I just happened to give you my gift way too early,’ Maria giggled. 

Roslyn rolled her eyes and shook the box next to her ear. She heard a small jingle on the inside. 

‘What is it?’ 

‘Check it out,' Maria reassured as she walked over to the coat rack and threw on her own jacket. 

‘Hmm,’ Roslyn hummed and tore the old newspaper off. Just a plain black box.

‘Alright,’ she sighed, before popping open the lid of the box. 

On the inside of the box was a solid gold rope necklace. 

‘What?!’ Roslyn laughed as she snatched the gold out of the box. ‘Holy shit!’ she continued to laugh hysterically. 

‘A gold necklace?!’

Maria cackled as she zipped up her coat, ‘Yeah. Tommy told me a while ago about you wanting one. So, he and Joel damn near flipped the mall in the east upside down until they found you one. Almost got them killed but, I’m sure they’d do it again.’ 

Well, she definitely couldn’t give it back; especially now that she knew the bullshit that came with them getting it in the first place.

‘It’s beautiful. Could you put it on for me?’ 

‘Of course.’ 

The smile plastered on Roslyn’s face hadn’t faltered. 

She scooped up her long braids and held them up as Maria wrapped the chain around her neck and clipped it together.

‘There,’ Maria said as Roslyn turned around to face her. ‘It compliments you so well, Ros.’ 

‘For real?!’ 

‘Would I lie to you?’ she grinned. 

‘Valid,' Roslyn laughed.

‘C’mon, let’s go have a drink.’ 

***

On their short journey to the pub, Roslyn noticed the lack of people walking around outside. She looked down at her watch. It was only 8:06. So why the hell were the streets damn near empty? Something was fishy. 

Once they made it to the pub, the lights were off there too. Roslyn raised a brow in thought, ‘The pub? Closed this early?’ 

‘Yeah, Seth probably closed up early tonight. But, she pulled out a large ring of keys and jingled them. ‘They don’t call me the key holder for no reason!’ 

‘Whoa— we aren’t breaking in the pub are we?’ 

Maria laughed as she stuck the key in the door and twisted it, ‘Is it really breaking in if I have the key?’ 

She then pushed the door open and jerked her head forward. 

Letting out a breath, she nodded in agreement, ‘Yeah. That’s true.’ And with that, she walked in the dark space. 

Maria walked in behind her and flickered on the lights and everyone jumped out shouting, 

‘SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROSLYN!’ 

Roslyn jumped as her mouth fell. It was safe to say that she was definitely surprised. Streamers hung from the ceiling with a Happy Birthday banner hanging against the back wall. 

She wanted to be so angry about this considering her thinking about birthdays only brought humans a year closer to death. But everyone she loved and adored was here with goofy triangular hats sitting on their heads. For once, everything felt alright with the world. 

She began to laugh hysterically and looked back at Maria, ‘Whose fucking idea was this?!’ 

Maria gave her a playful shrug as she strapped a pink party hat to her own head. 

‘It was mine!’ Roslyn looked back as August just emerged from the crowd and walked up to her. 

He would. 

‘Happy Birthday, Ros.’ 

I can’t lose. When I’m with you. How could I snooze and miss the moment, you’re just too important. Nobody do body like you do. 

She just looked up into his eyes, her heart raced inside her chest. She was so amazed with him, lost for words! 

‘Thank you,’ she grinned up at him. 

‘Alright, alright. Break this up!’ Joel called out, walking up and putting his arms between them and breaking them apart. 

The both of them laughed in slight embarrassment before Joel embraced his girl in his arms. 

‘Happy Birthday baby girl,’ he placed a kiss against her ear, ‘I’m proud of you.’ 

‘Thanks Joel,' she sniffed as she held on to him tightly, trying her best not to ugly cry. 

When the hug was broken, she carefully wiped the corner of her eyes as she laughed. 

‘Awww don’t cry, Roslyn,' Ellie smiled as she walked up to hug her.

‘Shut up! I’m not crying,’ Roslyn cackled. 

Ellie quickly embraced her in a tight hug. 

‘I love you, sis,’ Ellie said softly in her ear as they rocked in sync. ‘I’ve lost so much… so many. And I’m so glad… My journey has brought me to you, Ros. I love you forever.’ 

Roslyn squeezed Ellie tighter as she clamped her eyes shut, hiding her face in Ellie’s shoulder so no one would see the tear that finally fought its way out. 

This was all a very intimate and beautiful moment with Roslyn and her family. As a child she longed for something like this. And now, her biggest fear was losing them. They were her reason for existing. 

Once Roslyn pulled away, she dried her eyes and let out a deep shaky breath,

‘Okay! Enough of this shit! Let’s get this party started!’ 

The pub cheered happily and the music began to play. Roslyn turned to look up at August who had just put a party horn between his teeth. He paused before giving it a strong blow. Roslyn tried to keep her composure but she just laughed and playfully landed a soft punch on his chest. 

‘You’re. Such. An ass! You know I don’t do this kind of stuff!’ 

‘I don’t actually!’ he leaned in with his hands behind his back. 

‘You do! I told you I don’t like celebrating my birthday!’ 

‘You used to not like it. Since I’m gone be stickin’ around… you might get one of these every year. Now, here!’ He reached behind him and picked up a yellow party hat and carefully put it on her head. 

‘Enjoy your party, princess! It’s your day!’ 

I can’t lose. When I’m with you. How could I snooze and miss the moment, you’re just too important. Nobody do body like you do, you do. 

***

The party was now in full swing. It was almost like something out of a movie. People were dancing, drinking, laughing. It was almost like Mother Earth wasn’t choking them to death. 

Roslyn walked over to the bar where August was sitting and staring at her. 

‘You’ve spent the whole night staring at me.’

August chuckled, ‘Is that a bad thing?’ 

‘Nah. Just a little creepy,’ she said, reaching down to grab the elastic band beneath his chin, and snapped it.

‘Ow!’ he laughed as he covered his chin. ‘What was that for?!’ he stood up, towering over her.

‘No reason. So, you're gonna stop being a weirdo and come dance with me?’

‘Hmmm,’ August thought for a minute. ‘Actually, I got a better idea,’ he reached up and took off the party hat. ‘How about we ditch the party.’ 

Roslyn raised a brow, ‘Ditch the party? That you threw for me?’ She poked herself in her chest with her index finger. 

‘Yeah!’ He sounded so positive. 

‘And do what?’

‘That’s for me to know. C’mon! We’ll be back before it’s over.’ He then took her hat off of her head and stacked their hats together before he grabbed her hand. He grabbed their coats and they left the pub in a hurry.  

First they stopped by his house. She waited outside on his porch before he came back out. 

‘That was quick!’ 

‘Yeah. Mikey is up and moving around so he’s taking his own meds now.’

‘Oh well that’s good to hear! Wait, why didn’t he come to the party tonight?’ 

‘I tried to get him to come but he was complaining about the weather.’ 

Well, she could understand that. The only good thing about the cold was it stunted the movement in the herds. At least that’s what everyone thought. 

‘I get that. Anyway,’ she sighed out, ‘Where we goin’?’

August gave her a sinister smirk and leaned in, ‘just wait.’ 

He walked past her and towards the back of the compound. 

Her eyes grew in shock once she’d realized what he was doing. The cold air burned at her chest as she jogged up behind him. 

‘August! August!’ She ran in front of him and placed her hands on his wrists, ‘What the hell are you doing?!’ 

‘We… are sneaking out.’ 

‘And why the fuck would you wanna do that?! Do you not realize how deep in shit you’d— WE would be in if anyone found out?!’ 

August gave her a gentle smile and his head fell to the side. ‘Just come with me. I promise… if we do get in trouble… I’ll take all the blame,’ he lended out his hand. 

‘Good… because this is your idea!’ she stared up at him and then slapped her hand into his. ‘And don’t count on me to bail your ass out. I’ll just tell them you kidnapped me.’

August smiled as the pair walked over to the fence. He then peeled the fence back and let her crawl through, then he followed. 

‘This better be worth it,’ she said glaring at him. 

‘It will! Promise. C’mon,’ and he began to jog ahead. 

‘Ugh! August, wait!’ she called out in a whisper before she went after him. 

But just like her warm breath in the cool air, he disappeared in a flash. 

‘August?!’ she called out for him. 

But nothing! Just the sound of the wind rustling the dead twigs and branches on the trees. Roslyn shivered as she reached in her back pocket, pulled out her beanie and tugged it over her head. 

‘That’s better,’ she hummed softly. ‘Now to see where this fool has gone.’ 

Roslyn clicked on her mini flashlight that was velcro to her coat and searched for any clues to lead her where he was hiding. 

‘August!’ she walked forward until she came across a pair of fresh prints. 

‘Gotcha. Sneaky little shit. August I’m going to kick your ass for leaving me out here by myself! Actually, I think I may tell Joel! He won’t like that too much,’ Roslyn chuckled softly before the quietness around her began to settle in once more. 

It was eerie and the feeling of being left alone made her heart sink. She heard a twig snap nearby. She looked behind her to see where the noise had come from. 

‘August?’ She said softly. ‘August stop playin’! This shit isn’t funny!’ 

The silence rang in the air. Now she was scared. Suddenly, she was hit upside her head with a snowball. 

‘OW!’ She wiped her face, taking off her beanie to shake out the snow and her braids. 

August came from behind a tree cackling like a menacing child as he walked over to her.

‘That’s not funny! You’re such a dick!’ She gave him a playful shove as she did her best not to laugh too.

‘Awww, come on. It was a little funny. Plus, I noticed how scared you were… did you really think I’d leave you out here like this?’ 

Roslyn sighed, softly tugging back on her beanie. 

The answer was delayed and really, she knew that she was safe with August. But she didn’t just trust anybody. This life was all about surviving and throwing anybody in the way of the freight train just to keep yourself alive. 

‘I don’t know. Would you?’

August’s head fell to the side gently as a small smirk grew on his lips, ‘you never have to worry about me leavin’ you, Ros. I got you.’

Her face grew warm as a smile curled up on her full lips, ‘that’s good to know, August. So,” she let out a gentle breath, ‘Where we goin’?’ 

‘Oh yeah! Come on, it’s not far,’ he jerked his head over and swiftly turned around to walk away. 

‘Mmhmm,’ Roslyn hummed playfully as she squatted down and scooped some snow in her hands and patted it into a round ball. 

Then, she allowed him to walk ahead before she threw it and hit him in the middle of his back. August stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. 

Roslyn stood there with a sinister grin curled on her lips.

August turned around to face her head on, ‘you really wanna do this with me right now? You’re not gonna win this.’ 

Roslyn laughed out and shook her head, ‘right now is as good as any. Look, it’s cold and I’m already ready to get back to the compound. So if I win… we’re going back home. If you win… we can keep going and we’ll both take the blame for our absence at the party tomorrow.’ 

He folded his arms across his chest and thought for a moment, ‘alright. Cool… first person to 10, wins.’ 

‘You’re on!’ she said as she walked up to him and they pounded fists. 

Once she made it back to her side, August launched a snowball and hit her in the shoulder. Roslyn swiftly turned around with a surprise and was hit in the face with another. 

‘Oh–!’ August called out as he covered his mouth and began to laugh.

‘YOU CHEATER!’ Roslyn growled out before snatching up some snow in her palms and running behind a tree. There, she began to form a ball that was stable enough to throw. 

August ran behind a tree and began to form a few balls of snow and stack them, ‘NOT A CHEATER! JUST AN OPPORTUNIST!’ 

‘A CHEATER!’ Roslyn laughed as she peeked around the tree to find him. Once she knew she wasn’t going to get him at this angle, she carefully moved forward to another tree. But not without him throwing another snowball. Thankfully, he missed. 

‘YOU'RE LUCKY! THAT WOULD’VE BEEN 3!’ 

‘IT WOULD’VE BEEN YOUR FIRST ONE PUMPKIN EATER!’ Roslyn called out.

August laughed out as he scooped up his artillery and moved in position to flank her. Stepping from behind her cover, she started to throw the balls at the last place she’d seen him. But little did she know, he was standing right behind her. 

Roslyn began to craft up more balls in a hurry, a goofy and giddy grin burning at her cold cheeks. 

Taking gentle steps, August moved like a thief in the night! He peaked over gently to see the amount of balls she’d created. Too bad she won’t be able to use them. 

He pressed his lips together before letting out a sharp whistle. 

Roslyn stopped her project once she realized she was bested. Closing her eyes, she lifted her hands, ‘OK! You got me!’ 

She laughed.

‘Stand up.’ August commands. 

She stood up slowly and let out a shuddered breath. 

‘Turn around.’ 

Roslyn slowly turned around and kept her hands up with this smug expression on her face. Her eyes caught a glimpse at the 5 balls that sat in his arm.

‘Hmph.’ August smirked, proudly.

‘Shit.’ 

‘Yup!’ 

‘It’s like that?’

‘Just like that.’ 

She shook her head before she looked behind him and a sunken look cursed her face. 

‘August….’ she whispered as she pointed behind him. 

He didn’t even think, the look on her face frightened him and he immediately looked behind him and dropped his snowballs to the ground. But nothing was there. 

‘Wha— there’s nothing—‘ 

When he looked back ahead, she had already darted towards him. She wrapped her arms around his waist with her head resting on his abdomen. 

‘Ugh!’ He grunted as their bodies collided and he fell backwards.

Straddling his lap in a fast manner, she placed her hands on his chest as she breathed heavily. The both of them began to laugh playfully. 

‘Do you surrender?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry but this wasn’t part of the rules.’

‘It doesn’t matter! You let your guard down.’ 

August laughed and shook his head before he lifted his knee up and rolled them over in a quick movement. Then, he snatched up her wrists and pinned them above her head. 

Roslyn squeaked in surprise at his sudden movement. 

August huffed heavily as he fought the brisk air that burned at his throat and chest, ‘I never let my guard down.’ 

She let out a shuddered breath as she looked up into his cobalt blue eyes. Taking in the icy-ness of them but finding warmth in that blotch of hazel in his eye. 

In the drop top riding round with you, I feel like Scarface. Like the white bitch with the bob, you’d be my main one. 

The air between them grew thick with tension. August’s tongue darted out to lick his lips. He forced his eyes away from hers to look down at her soft plump lips. Suddenly, his urges and thoughts clouded his brain. Causing him to rush in and place a tender kiss on lips; his grip loosening on her wrists.

Roslyn felt relieved that he crossed that line. Carefully pulling her hand away, she placed her gloved hand on his jaw as she savored the taste of his lips. 

August then gently broke the kiss, pulling back to look down at her. 

‘You’re so warm,’ his gaze never left her face, yet his eyes were hooded with such want and desire. 

‘So are you…’ she whispered as her brown eyes flickered to his lips. 

A devious smirk curled up on his lips, ‘I know of an interesting way of warming up… if you wanna.’ 

Roslyn raised a brow, instantly catching the idea. It had been awhile since she had some. And they were alone, this would’ve been the perfect opportunity but, good things don’t last forever… not in this life. 

‘I’m down if you’re down,’ she said in a sultry tone as she relaxed her thighs so he could lay comfortably there. 

‘Well now is as good as—‘

Then, a twig snapped behind them. August paused for a second, placing his index finger against his lips. Carefully and silently, August pulled himself up and helped her up to her feet. 

He then pulled out his gun and gave it to her, whispering, ‘take this. Just in case.’ 

‘Wha— what about you?’ She whispered back in worry. 

‘I have a spare. Just—‘

And an unsettling cracking and clicking filled the air followed by pained grunting and snarling.

‘Infected. What the hell are they doing this close to Jackson?’ Roslyn asked, perplexed.

‘I don’t know. But we have to get rid of them. You with me?’

‘Do you have to ask?’ she smirked. 

‘That’s my girl. Now… silence.’ 

She gave him a nod for him to lead the way, and she followed him in a stack. 

***

The walk was probably 15 minutes when they stumbled across an encampment. It was vacant. Sort of. It consisted of sleeping bags, a few trinkets and emptied cans of food. They’d even created a fire with stone and wood that was now frostbitten. The intruders were gone for sometime now.

August let out a gentle breath as he stepped over a dead log. Roslyn took a step forward but August threw up his fist for her to stop. She let out a shuddered breath as she kept her gun up just in case. Once he’d finished securing the area, he pressed his lips together as he walked back to the campsite. 

‘Come look at this,’ he sheaths his gun back in the holster and squat down before the sleeping bag.

Roslyn walked around the log and walked into the encampment. She’d taken note of the WLF gear that were engraved in their belongings. 

‘They were here…’ 

‘Yeah,’ he uttered and took a deep breath. This was really fucking bad.

Roslyn let out a deep breath and looked down at him. ‘They’re after you…’ 

August let out a shuddered breath, ‘yeah.’

She closed her eyes as reality began to set in. ‘I knew it. I fucking knew it,’ she said through gritted teeth. 

August quickly stood up and looked back at her, ‘is there something wrong?’ His tone was slightly annoyed. 

‘Yeah! As a matter of fact, there is!’ She placed her hands on her hips, ‘now the well-being of Jackson is at risk all because you decided to come here!’ 

‘Look, I didn’t know they’d follow us OK!? You think I’d purposely bring them here?! To hurt you?'

‘Listen, I don’t know what your motive is! But right now, you are the bad guy!’ 

That stung August in the chest. 

‘You think that lowly of me?! Roslyn, you know me!’

‘Ha!’ Roslyn cackled. ‘You think because you threw me a surprise birthday party you think I should know you better?!’ 

A loud screech filled the air, causing them to look ahead. They waited for a second before the grunting became guttural screaming. 

‘They’ve heard us.’

‘Fuck!’ Roslyn cursed as she pulled out her gun. 

Two runners emerged from the darkness of the trees and stumbling behind them were two clickers. 

‘CLICKER!!’ August shouted as he shot at the runners. 

Roslyn began to shoot at their heads. Pieces of cordycep growth ricochet off of them before she put them down. Letting out a breath in relief, she looked up to see August fighting with the last living infected. 

She aimed the gun at the runner’s head but then August shouted,‘ROS! BEHIND YOU!’ 

Looking back, Roslyn was instantly tackled by a stalker. 

‘Ugh!’ She whimpered out as she fought to keep the infected mouth away from her. She held her arm at its throat as her other hand reached out to search for the gun that flew out of her grasp.

‘ROSLYN!’ August shouted out in fear as he managed to grab his ka-bar and stab the runner in the head. 

The stalker began to chomp down as it stretched its neck to try to get a bite. It was getting harder to hold it back by the second. Suddenly, a gunshot rang in the air and the stalker fell into her chest, dead as a door knob. Her ears rang with an eerie vengeance.

‘Ros! ROSLYN’ August shouted as he rushed over to her. 

With blood and brain fragments on her face, she quickly pushed the dead infected off of her, rolled over and emptied the contents in her stomach. Her hands gripped the snow as she dry heaved. 

August quickly rushed over and grabbed her by her shoulders to look at her, ‘Roslyn! Look at me!’ He grabbed her face so she could look up at him. 

Her heaving had stopped but turned into deep breaths. Her eyes focused on his as they began to calm her down. 

‘Shhh… it’s ok. I've got you remember?!’ 

Roslyn gave him a hesitant nod before she felt a stinging pain in her shoulder, ‘ah!’ 

‘You’re hurt,’ August said as his eyes landed on the ripped piece of cloth. 

‘Let’s get this off of you yeah?’ He then unzipped her coat and dropped it to the ground. 

When he looked back up, he’d immediately saw the torn fabric of her sweater on her shoulder. His heart shattered at the grim sight. 

‘Ros…’

Roslyn looked down to find the searing pain. She’d been bitten. 

‘Ah! Oooh… ooh my god!’ She shuddered out, trembling in pain.

This would mean she'd have to tell her deepest darkest secret. The secret that could get everyone around her killed. 

‘Ros, Ros, Roslyn— it’s alright! Look!’ He said as his breathing began to hitch. 

‘It’s not that bad!’ He began to laugh hysterically, ‘it’s … it’s going to be alright… please. Tell me everything is going to be alright!’ his vision began to blur at the bloodied sight. 

‘August…’ she let out a shuddered breath as she caressed his jaw, ‘I have something to tell you. But you have to promise me not to tell anyone. Only Ellie, Joel and Tommy know of this.’

August’s face softened as he looked down at her. 

He carefully took her small hand in his and squeezed it, ‘I promise… what is it?’ 

Roslyn bit into her bottom lip before hissing at the throbbing pain. 

She placed her hand over her shoulder, ‘I’m immune.’

From The River To the Sea, Palestine will be free. I’d like to make it clear that in no shape or form does this page support Israel or Zionism. The creator of the game, Neil Druckmann is a Zionist and I would like to make it very clear that this page stands in solidarity with the people of Palestine 🇵🇸. Boycott the game, boycott the show! CLICK HERE to find links to support and donate to Palestine & please continue to Boycott! Palestine will be free.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Jack Ohman, Sacramento Bee

* * * *

Grow a spine, Democrats.

LUCIAN K. TRUSCOTT IV

JUN 30, 2024

The New York Times Editorial Board called for Joe Biden to “leave the race” this morning.  You know who they didn’t call upon to leave the race?  The convicted felon, serial liar, and adjudicated sexual abuser and rapist, Donald Trump.

As Democrats, as a political party, as human beings, we should be ashamed of ourselves that it took a Republican former political operative to point out the obvious to us:  President Biden is our guy.  You don’t walk away from your guy because of one bad debate.  You stand behind him, and you double down.

That’s essentially the message from Stuart Stevens in a New York Times op-ed published online yesterday.  Listen to this, from the top of his piece: “It’s baffling that so many Democrats are failing to rally around a wildly successful president after one bad night. But it does remind me of why Republicans defeated Democrats in so many races Republicans should have lost.”

Do you know what he’s talking about there?  He’s talking about the lamentable habit of Democrats to navel gaze and nitpick their way out of political victories because they found a flaw in a candidate – not a flaw that was pointed out by Republicans, mind you, but a flaw that was brought up by fellow Democrats who thought the candidate not progressive enough, or in the bad old days of 1968, not sufficiently anti-war enough.  The list of assholes we could have beaten if we weren’t so busy beating up on ourselves is a long one, and it begins with Richard Nixon in 1968, who narrowly beat Hubert Humphrey for one reason:  because Democrats didn’t get behind their man and spent their convention and every moment thereafter squabbling amongst themselves, while the Republican Party got behind Richard Nixon and turned out their people.

I could go on.  If you’re from New York City, or New York State, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  Democrats in New York lost not one, but two mayoral races to Rudy fucking Giuliani, who was the exact same person he was then that he is now.  Democrats lost the governorship three times to something in a suit called George Pataki because they couldn’t come together behind a candidate.

And now look at us.  We have a Democrat in the White House who nearly everyone agrees is the most successful president we’ve had in years, and many of the big-wigs in the party, goosed along by the Traitorous New York Times, are saying that because Joe Biden was hoarse and lost his train of thought a couple of times in a debate with Donald Trump, he should step down as a candidate.

Donald Trump had a disastrous debate if you look at his performance the way we used to look at debates in the Before Time.  He started the debate as a convicted felon, and he lied for 90 straight minutes.  Every time he opened his mouth, another lie came out.  He lied about the big things, like his loss in the 2020 election.  He told a lie when he said Nancy Pelosi had “taken responsibility” for what happened at the Capitol on Jan. 6.  He lied when he said he had “offered” her 10,000 National Guard troops and she turned him down.  He lied about everything right up to and including his pathetic golf game.  And he refused to answer the big questions asked of him, such as one on abortion and whether he would accept the results of this year’s presidential election.

It used to be when a candidate told that many lies about so many important issues and ducked and dodged when confronted with his own record and previous lies, he would be declared the loser of the debate.  But Donald Trump, who starred on television for a decade and knows the medium as well as anyone who has ever run for political office, didn’t stutter or hesitate in his delivery.  No, he told his lies quite competently in a clear and understandable voice, even if what we were listening to was utter and complete horseshit and everyone knew it, even Republicans.

The New York Times hardly gave Biden the time to walk off the stage before their Serious Thinkers and Contemplators of Great Issues were calling for him to leave the race.  Yesterday, the Times ran a conversation about the debate between Michelle Cottle, Ezra Klein, and Ross Douthat.  Ezra Klein busily patted himself on the back for having been first back in February to say Biden was too old and should drop out.  Ross Douthat has been wrong and just plain stupid about so many things, it would take a novel to get to them all.  Michelle Cottle I was less familiar with, so I looked her up.  A 2018 Times press release announcing her appointment to the Editorial Board contained this nugget, which under the circumstances, tells you just about everything you need to know about her: “Among many other gems, her recent work has included (politely) nudging Hillary Clinton toward the exit.”

Don’t you just love that aside, “politely?”  Only in the New York Times would you find that descriptor of a backstabber still holding a bleeding knife.

I won’t go into the heap of garbage that comprised their conversation, except to quote this line, one among many of this ilk, from Douthat: “It’s pretty hard for a Democratic president to soldier on when he loses the media and the intelligentsia.”  Douthat, as we all must know, his having reminded us in such a timely fashion, is both intelligentsia and media.  Now ain’t that grand?  Oh, wait a minute, I just saw that Douthat graced us with a signed piece today called “Forget Defeating Trump,” that included this Admonition From On High Up in the Intelligentsia: “A second Biden administration would be unusually dangerous for the country in a very specific, very significant way.”  What he’s talking about there are “the ways that his obvious deterioration endangers the country that he nominally leads.” 

To which I say, I’m certainly glad that Douthat knows President Biden personally and so well that he could say that after watching a single debate with a man whose moral and psychological deterioration Douthat has witnessed but never acknowledged.

This morning, the Times ran a screed from “The Editorial Board” entitled, “To Serve his Country, President Biden Should Leave the Race.”  I will refrain from going into the so-called analysis of why the Editorial Board feels this way, although I suspect that it reflects at least in part the pique of Times owner and publisher, A.G. Sulzberger, who is said to have been plenty pissed that Biden wouldn’t sit down for an interview with the Times Editorial Board, over which Sulzberger would have presided.

Why is the New York Times doing this?  Some pundits, watching the New York Times indulge in its plethora of attacks on Biden over the last few months, not to mention the last four years, have said the Times wants a “horse race” because it’s better for the paper economically.  I think that’s bullshit.  I think the Times, as an avatar of Liberal Self-Flagellation, has simply reverted to type.  We’ve got a Democratic presidential candidate and there are some things we don’t like about him, so let’s remind all our readers exactly what they are.  As I pointed out previously, with one candidate in the race who is such an inveterate liar that the Washington Post was able to count more than 30,000 lies he told while in office as president, the Times saw fit to run a “both sides�� piece called, “Biden Loves to Tell Tall Tales, We Cut Them Down to Size.”  Among Biden’s “tall tales” was one he told about driving “an 18 wheeler,” which precipitated a lengthy analysis of how many wheels there were on various larger vehicles they could determine that Biden is known to have once driven, including a “cargo truck.”

The New York Times is so happy that all their nitpicking and nibbling and dissecting of Joe Biden allegedly proved itself out in the debate, they can barely contain themselves.  You have to wonder, with having published at least three opinion pieces calling for Biden to drop out so far, how many will they put up in the coming weeks?

But it wasn’t only the Times.  Look at this crap from Politico yesterday.  They assigned a “body language expert” to watch the debate.  Here is just a little of what he found significant about the debate.

Fuck Politico.  Fuck David Remnick in the New Yorker, who whipped himself into a tither and called Biden staying in the race “a national endangerment,” which is apparently what passes for Big Words at his magazine these days.

And fuck the New York Times.  They are fond of reminding everyone that they are not partisans, although you could hardly know it reading their coverage over the last months and the editorials yesterday and today. 

But we are.  We are Democrats, and it’s time for us to stand up for our candidate, Joe Biden.  I’m sick and tired of the navel-gazing roundelay that is going on all over the place – if we have an open convention, what’s going to happen?…if we don’t nominate Kamala Harris and put up someone like Gavin Newsome, what about the Black vote?…

On and on it goes, one “what if” after another, when we have a candidate, Joe Biden, and we need to beat Donald Trump, and we should be getting busy doing that instead of lining ourselves up in yet another typical Democratic Party circular firing squad. 

You know who’s enjoying watching us beat ourselves senseless because one debate didn’t go the way we wanted?

Donald Trump and the Republican Party.

We should take a page out of their playbook.  They don’t care if he’s a felon and a liar and an out-of-control lunatic who makes up weird shit and spews it out of his mouth like a firehose – sharks and electric boats, anyone?  Republicans want to win, so they’re behind him.  For some of them, his racism and cruelty are the point, it’s why they love him.  For other Republicans, it’s something they overlook in favor of getting the win.  But they’re united.  Felon or not, serial sexual abuser or not, fascist or not, they’re behind him all the way.

Come hell or high water, Biden is our guy.  Think of it this way:  if a few thousand Democrats hadn’t pissed around and stayed home because of the bullshit about “her emails,” Hillary Clinton would have won in 2016, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.  It’s time to stop behaving like spoiled children – oh, everything’s not perfect, and I didn’t get the present I wanted, so I’m going to go sit in the corner and cry.

Get a fucking spine, Democrats.  It’s time to buck up and support Joe Biden, tan or no tan.  We can’t have a few thousand Democrats in a few swing states equivocating again.  Get over it.  We need every vote.  Joe Biden needs your vote. 

[Lucian Truscott Newsletter]

[thai-with-booty]

So I didn't know but the Danes celebrate Christmas on the 24th, or at least that's what they were doing, we had a meal, it had duck instead of turkey and many of the vegetables boiled instead of roasted, but it was nice and we were sat around the table for a long time, there was dancing and giving presents. It was quite fun, after Oliver gave jib some expensive jewellery they disappear. I found out the next day they had finally had sex for the first time with each other in 2 months, she seemed relieved and as if it will have fixed everything, whereas I know he was probably doing it more out of duty and no excuse not to. So I went to bed with Emil, reminding him of his first Christmas gift from me many years ago, so he reenacting it cumming all over my boobs.

Christmas day was always odd in Thailand cos schools are open, people go to work and carry out their normal day, it's also 30 degree Celsius plus and sun shining. Oliver and jib were out most of the day, and I spent time with Emil, I also went out to meet another friend nut for the afternoon and evening. That was uneventful. I got back and me and Emil had sex before bed. After he fell asleep and I was on my phone when Oliver messaged me, meet me in the celler. I went down here and he said now was time for his Chrismas gift, he bent me over and fucked me until he was done, letting his big cock slide out of me, he said just what he needed and then left, telling me to wait a few minutes before he did. I went and showered and crawled back into bed with Emil. With Emil we are having sex 3-4 times a day like a couple, but every other day Oliver is fucking me, no concern for my pleasure, just taking sex from me. This morning Oliver walked in on me and Emil having sex, he knew we were for sure as he was unphased seeing us, he proceeded to say he was getting something from the bottom of the cupboard, and said we should continue as 'ive seen it all before ' he definitely looked at me as he said that. I was on top of Emil at the time, and was sat straddling him, Emil gave a little trust up as if I should continue, and so I've started to move up and down on his cock with Oliver a couple of meters away. After a minute of this Oliver grabs something and heads to the door, turning to look at me facing him riding Emil reverse cowgirl and says 'enjoy Emil, she's got a great body'. We finished a while after and he said in bed with me 'i think my dad likes you, he was looking at you a lot' I just joked would that be a problem, and he said no, my dad's always been competitive with me, and with that got up to take a shower. And that's where I am now morning of the 26th December

[smolvenger]

Nursing the Prince (Prince Hal x fem! Reader Oneshot)

From: The Hollow Crown (specifically the events of Henry IV Part One)

Word Count: 3641

Summary: You tend to Prince Hal's wounds after the Battle of Shrewsbury.

Warnings: Mentions of death and battles, but no actual violence. I try my best to sum up in modern terms what happens in Shakespeare's Henry IV Part One for those of y'all who watched and got confused. But a bit of angst and lots of fluff. Medical practices that I'm not sure are period accurate but it's my fic and I can do what I want. Reader gets a Badass mom.

A/N: Thanks to @evelyn-kingsley and @holdmytesseract for encouraging me to write this! I wound up loving creating this!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp

You followed your mother’s footsteps as you held a basket full of herbs. Just ducking out into the hallways. You kept a handkerchief and pressed it to your mouth to brave the bad smells. Once you were out, you released it, taking in the cold air of the upper floors of the castle.

“He’ll be fine- wasn’t too much pus from him,” Your mother mused, reflecting on her last patient.

Both of you walked down the stone hall to a bench. Your mother set her basket there and then pulled out a certain herb.

“This-see? This helps with sleeping. It helps when brewed into a drink.  And the king has had trouble sleeping sometimes-we’re going to give this to his physician who’ll give it to him. But you should know it too- in case you need it.”

You grinned at her. You took the herb and twirled it through your fingers before setting it down.

“I will. That’s good to know,” you confirmed.

You always admired your dear mother. She had a curiosity about plants, the human body, and of medicine since her girlhood. Though many discouraged her for years, saying such studies were only for men. That it was inappropriate for a lady who had connections to the throne to have an occupation. She ignored them to pursue her passions. That knowledge helped her heal a sick servant once. Then her own cousin. Then her cousin’s daughter. And so on, so forth- one after another would file after her. Soon, even those in the castle began to request her help. So, her life and free time was devoted to acting as a healer.

When she married your father, he did not force her to squash her talents but praised and supported them. Your intelligent, empathetic, defiant, and passionate mother in some circles may have been rumored to be a witch, but she was a heroine in your eyes.

Naturally, she asked you to assist her, and you agreed. You had to keep your mouth shut seeing skin sewed together. You became used to the sight of blood. Though there were times you would indulge in a look away at something gruesome. But you were catching on every day and learning what she knew.

“Well then, we might be called for an audience with the king himself. So stand tall and mind your manners,” she began.

You heard some doors creak open. Though it was early in the morning, visitors were common in castles. When your head turned, there was a jaunty rhythm of footsteps. A rhythm you knew too well.

Could it be? No…it couldn’t. He hasn’t returned since…

Sure enough, there was a flash of red from the next hallway. A bright red among that cold, grey castle where not even the sun could shine on today.

 Yes- it was! The Prince of Wales! Prince Hal! For that was what suited him- he had his father’s name and inheritance. But not his father’s standards of princely behavior. You pinched the herb as you took in the sight of him in his red jacket and red cap.

Yes, Hal…the young prince. The wayward, badly behaving prince. The prince more familiar with taverns than castles, thieves than lord, and whores than ladies. One would think the prince was no better than a rake.

The times you saw him, interacted with him, talked to him, nervousness made a pebble in your belly. You feared he would think you…boring. The kind that would make him run back to the taverns for adventure. But he looked you in the eyes after you curtsied and first gave him your name. He’d look at you. And listen. And if he didn’t like you, he didn’t act in a way to show it. You spoke at the banquets and parties you were invited to- when he showed up, of course. The odd castle dinner here and there. Part of you dreaded seeing the infamous scoundrel pop out. But he…he was always nice to you. Polite, perhaps as any prince. He listened to you more than he spoke. He asked after you and your parents.

Though you saw the glint of his eye of craving excitement…there was something more inside him. He was more than just a rogue. There was good inside him. Maybe even the potential to be a good king himself when the time came (And Hal being such an astonishingly beautiful young man definitely helped your bias).

You felt your own heart pick up speed. Despite the cold castle, you felt hot and self-conscious when he turned his head and saw you. There was a sad look in his eyes, his jaw tight. But his eyes widened at the look of you. But an Earl- an old man dressed in black fur robes- prodded his shoulder. The earl pointed sternly to the throne room. Hal glanced again at you, confirming he saw you, and then walked off in that direction.

“Mother-the prince! The prince is back!” you hissed.

“Back?” she repeated.

“He’s rarely around here anyone! Is something the matter?” you asked.

“Haven’t you heard?” she replied.

“No, I haven’t.”

She sat down on the bench, and you sat next to her.

“I’ll tell you the short of it, Y/N. The Earl of Northumberland’s son and heir, Hotspur, has just won a successful battle for the king. He took several men of the opposing army as his prisoners. According to law, anyone who takes prisoners in battle must give them to the king- it is their due and the law. But Hotspur refused to give the king the promised prisoners- right in the king’s face! In front of all court! The king was not very happy about that- imagine! -  and insisted he do so.  Then Hotspur got his family to agree with him- and they realized something. They got a claim to the throne.  They’re all a part of Richard’s side of the family, York!”

Richard the Second, the last king, was a king you only heard of. A king like a wisp of light. A king with a beautiful, blonde French queen who floated by him like a goddess on earth. A king who seemed only part of this world, not all mortal. A king with yellow robes and sleeves like a butterfly’s drooping wings. A king who spoke with a high, soft, gentle voice compared to Henry the Fourth’s low gravel. A king from a fairyland or heaven. A king who also taxed heavy. A king who took the money of old men as soon as they were dead. The king who lost favor with everyone. A king abdicated so that the people’s favorite- Henry IV- would replace him. But it seemed Richard hadn’t lost favor with everyone. Especially not those of his own family-of York.

“Y/N, they’re teaming up and going to overthrow the king himself on the throne! So can you blame him for being tense?” she finished.

“That would make me tense!” you agreed.

She shook her head and clicked her tongue.

“Many hail Hotspur as a hero. But believe me, my dear, he’s no better than a petulant child throwing a fit over not getting the toy he wants!” she vented.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. You held up an arm to shut it off. Then you placed the herb back inside the basket.

“So If Henry is going to battle- he needs help…like his son.” you mused

Like thunder, you heard the voice of the king echoing in the halls as he scolded his son. You hardly heard Hal’s response.  Even if you couldn’t make out all the exact words-God’s blood, the king sounded scary when angry! If the king was your father and scolded you like that, you would tremble and burst into tears in the throne room. It made you wonder how Hal would fare!

A servant said the physician was busy. You were escorted to a dining room to wait. Then there was a knock. But it was not the court physician.

‘His majesty, the Prince of Wales,” the servant announced.

In walked Hal, though he lacked the red cap he wore walking in. It freed his hair, so his auburn curls loosened from his head. Chairs creaked as you and your mother stood up and bowed.

“I noticed that both of you ladies were here and wanted to say my hellos,” he greeted.

“Consider us welcomed, your grace,” your mother replied.

“What happened with your father?” you questioned.

“I’m going to battle by his side. He’s giving me a command of my own. And I vowed to go and fight Hotspur- man to man,” he recalled.

“You’re going to go to battle…why should the heir apparent have to go to battle? Is he worried about losing the heir?” you questioned.

His blue eyes hardened, but he kept his voice soft.

“Father’s unhappy with me. Everyone knows that. I will redeem myself and trade Hotspur’s glories with my shame.”

“By dying?” you asked.

“If I die, I redeem myself, Lady Y/N.”

 You then took out your handkerchief, twisting it in your hands nervously.

“I have three other brothers more fit to inherit the throne. Or it will be Hotspurs. Father says he wishes that so himself,” Hal continued bitterly.

You took a step forward to him. To think this could be the last you would ever see him alive. He had to know. Had to know that even alive, he was…liked? Perhaps even…loved? No- no you couldn’t’ allow yourself that. Though your heart and soul knew otherwise. But you could let only a slip of fondness for him out. Just a little at a time. Especially while Hal still lived.

 You handed your handkerchief to him.

“Here-have this with you. Keep it by your side!” you insisted.

He accepted the light, pale cloth in his hand.

“Promise me should you live, you shall return it to me,” you continued.

He broke into a smile and a small chuckle. He played with the handkerchief with his long, beautiful hands.

“My lady- I couldn’t take your precious item,” he refused.

“No! Take it! I mean it!”

He moved the collar of his red leather jacket to his black shirt beneath. You felt the breath hitch in your throat to see a peek of his bare skin. Then you forced your eyes off it. Looking down to the floor like a modest maiden, not one who saw a glance of skin and could imagine more from it.

“Did you know the last time I had a favor from a woman it was from a prostitute?” Hal asked.

You perked up. Your mother raised an eyebrow.

“No, we didn’t!” she cried.

Hal let out a laugh, nodding his head.

“I did! I was at a joust for my father! And got a glove from the most experienced prostitute in London-and wore it!” he recalled.

“Do you compare me a whore, my lord?” you asked.

“No! But…I shall say I had yet to receive an act of kindness from anyone from any person here at court…”

He let out a deep exhale through his nose.

“Lady Y/N, thank you. It will be worn with pride,” he promised.

You gave him a small smile. If this was the last time he saw you- that’s the picture he should have.

“My Lord-please be careful. And train. Train so you can fight,” you advised.

“I always do, my lady,” he said, giving you a wink before he said goodbye to your mother and walked out.

Your mother was smiling ear to ear. She went up, grabbed your arm, and hissed in your ear.

“I’m old, but not blind my dear!”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Ladies don’t give favors to men they dislike. And you look at the prince like he was a honey-cake! I don’t blame you, though-he is definitely something to look at!” she said.

“Mother! Such talk! What if he overhears?” you whispered.

“And risk getting The Prince of Wales as a son in law? I don’t see any reason why not!” she responded.

You playfully swatted her arm. Then you both melted into giggles before it was time to continue with duties.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The day of the battle arrived. The day when the Northumberland rebels would face the Lancaster army. The day Hal would go to war and fight Hotspur.

It was a cold, grey day. Anytime you stepped outside the gust of wind whipped at your face. That morning there was a snowfall that stuck to the ground, and then was mixed with the mud.

How perfect, you thought in a dry tone.

 You would do your best to distract yourself. After all, it wasn’t like…you were married to Hal or anything. You paced about, unsure what to do, what to think. Perhaps you could go to your mother and confess your worries and cry. But you kept them hidden. Perhaps it was foolish to love a prince. Princes marry the daughters of kings, not the daughters of healers.

The day faded to the early evening. You sat in your chair near your mother. There was weaving and sewing to be done. With the crackling fireplace and howling wind, it was quite peaceful.

A servant ran up, bowing his head low and back up.

“A messenger, My lady! From Shrewsbury!” he announced to your mother.

Shrewsbury- where the battle was. There was going to be news at last. You dropped your sewing onto your lap and gripped the arms of your chair. A messenger- with blood and dirt smeared on him, came forward.

“Well, what do you have to say?” Mother urged him.

“The Battle is decided- The King won the battle over Northumberland. His caught enemies shall be executed. The rebels are captured.”

The words spewed out of you in desperation.

“And what of the prince?”

“The prince Hal lives- led his command to victory today.” The messenger reported.

You jumped at the words, dropping the sewing, and then picking it up. But counting every blessing. Becoming dizzy with relief.

“And Hotspur himself?” asked your mother.

“Slain by an old, fat knight called Sir John Falstaff. All are surprised but Falstaff shall be honored as a hero,” the messenger answered.

You sat back on the chair, smiling. Feeling the urge to well up a tear of happiness. Hal lived! He lived!

As the sun dipped further, you expected no further visitors. Yet as you were visiting the kitchens, you heard a knock on the door. You were alone- no servants around to answer.

“Must be the new one. He gets himself locked out,” you mused.

You opened the door and let out a shriek at the sight.

Hal stood there in his armor. His face was bloodied and dirty. His hair wet to where his curls hung limp on his face. He was panting deeply. His black horse stood in the distance.

“Your grace! My lord! What are you doing here?!” you cried.

“My lady! Let me in-please!” he begged in a pant.

You opened the door further. You realized he was limping; you pulled a chair close for him to sit.

“I need the help of your mother-I’ve been hurt! And there’s no better healer than your mother,” he explained.

After giving him a cup of cider, you raced back up.

“Mother! Mother! Quick! The prince is here! Prince Hal! He’s hurt! He’s in the kitchen and he needs your help!” you cried.

Your mother dropped her jaw. Then, picking up her skirts, she ran down. You followed her.

“Your grace- tell us! What hurts?” she asked.

“My…my leg…” Hal said.

She inspected it, then looked at you.

“We need cloths-hot water. Get some bark of the willow- should help with his pain!” she ordered.

You ran out, scrambling to get the items. He took off his heavy armor that fell with a crash to the floor. You returned with the supplies. He nibbled on the bark, grimacing at the bitter taste. She cleaned the leg with wine, washed it, and wrapped a bandage about his leg.

“You must rest, your grace. It isn’t bad- should heal with time. What else hurts?” she asked.

“My…my chest…and my shoulder…” he said.

You both helped off his armor with more loud crashing onto the floor. Your mother then removed his shirt to inspect the wounds. He was a lean man- a stomach with some softness in it and such a broad chest and biceps. You felt a twinge of lust, light as a sprinkle of salt over a meal, enter you looking at him. Trying to keep your behavior appropriate (he was not just a man- but fie, the future king!), you forced your eyes onto the cut on his clavicle.

“Hmmm…some damage there. But not deep. And nothing vital. Shouldn’t be bad,” your mother diagnosed.

She handed you the bowl filled with wine.

“Y/N…I think you should practice. Could be good use. First tend the wounds with strong wine to clean it…” she instructed.

She handed over a bowl of water and bandages.

“And then…some of this to clean it out. Then wrap it in a bandage.”

“But Mother…I don’t know if I…”

“You’ve seen it hundreds of times, Y/N! Here- I will go and check my herb closet for whatever else could help. I will be back later!” she interrupted. She let out a smirk at you.

You leaned closer and whispered to her before she left for the door.

“But-unaccompanied!”

She shrugged, her smile becoming devilish with the show of teeth.

“The prince is not the kind to take advantage of young ladies alone. And it won’t be long! Go and nurse him, Y/N.”

She kept her smile at you as she left through the door. You first took one wash cloth and wiped the dirt from his face. He accepted it as easily as a child. His bright, blue eyes looked up at you, saying nothing.

“There…better to see you now,” you said.

With a deep sigh, you forced your eyes on the cut on his left pec and down the left shoulder. Focusing on the task and not the stirring inside you from being by a half-naked Hal. Or at least, trying.

 You dipped the cloth into the wine and touched the pec wound. Hal winced a little.

“Not even royalty is immune to pain…” you commented.

“No, we are not…” he agreed.

You continued to wipe at it. Making sure the wine got rid of any infection.

“I’m glad you’re alive my lord.”

“I am too though…is it bad that I crave honor?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“You want to please your father. That I can imagine- I wish to please my mother, too. I want to live up to her as well.”

He shifted to keep his eye on you.

“But you do, my lady…you do!”

You set down the dirty cloth into the bowl of wine.

“And…I haven’t forgotten. My lady-look into the breastplate,” he guided.

“How come?” you asked, getting a cloth from the bowl of water. You rolled up your sleeves to squeeze the excess out.

“Your favor! I lived and I shall keep my word- it is yours again!”

You pressed the cloth to his wound.

“Hold it on there,” you advised.

He did as you retrieved the handkerchief. He was right- it was right there in his breastplate. A square of pure white among the silver. You picked it up, smelling his sweat on it- smelling him. Not that you minded the scent of masculine sweat and blood- blood that still coursed through him.

“My lord! I…thank you! I’m…I’m glad you are alive.”

“How come? Why should my death concern you, my lady?” he asked.

You turned around, both hands on your handkerchief again.

“Because…it would have been sad and…”

After some hesitancy, you added four words.

“I would mourn you.”

You then took the cloth back to the water. Blood stained the leftover water in the bowl. You then got a dry bandage. But Hal softened his gaze on you.

“All of my great shames…and I am worth your tears, Lady Y/N?”

When you wrapped it around and tied it up, you turned back to him. Seeing the shiny drop of a small tear in the corners of the prince’s eyes.

“Yes, my lord, I would…”

He then lifted his hand and placed it over yours, stopping it from moving away. You paused, not daring to take another step away. You didn’t want to- not from the feel of his touch.

“When we’re alone…could you call me Hal?” he asked.

“Yes, Hal, I can,” you replied.

He smiled.

“Oh, to live now and hear you say it!”

He cupped your face and then kissed you. You dropped leftover bandages in your hand from surprise. You felt his breath and tasted smoke and sweat. He wrapped a hand around you to keep you there. You leaned into it, feeling everything explode inside you, grabbing his face too to keep it close. Your inhibitions running wild, and all sense of decorum thrown out the window. All for the love of a prince.

He let go. You picked up the cloth again, smiling at him. His face was flushing and smiling back.

“Hal…that was…that was…” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry I frightened you, my lady. I should have asked, I-“

“No- that was beautiful!” you said.

He leaned closer to you.

“Then I should do it more.”

He then let go as your mother returned through the door. With her herb basket placed at her hip. She walked forward. With false chastity, you took a few steps away and he jerked his head to her.

“I trust His Grace is better,” she said.

He looked at you.

“Much.”

[ladywaffles]

humpback whales

mavdad + whales: a discord prompt written for @nicejobkid

So here’s the thing.

Bradley Bradshaw was all of eighteen years old with a head full of exactly jackshit nothing when he left Maverick and Iceman’s house on the end of the street. He didn’t know a goddamn thing about being an adult, even if he claimed otherwise. He left behind an entire life: baby pictures and journals and reels of home videos.

He really did think leaving was the only choice he had. In hindsight, it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

On the one hand, he knew it would be fine. The Navy always provides. He got three square meals a day at Basic and an annual physical that he always aced, thanks to a lifetime of playing baseball and racing Maverick around the diamond. His old man had no right sprinting that fast.

But then there’s the other hand: the calendar of shots and immunizations a teenage boy going off to college required, the yearly appointments with an optometrist, a dermatologist, and most crucially of all, a dentist.

Bradley, Iceman always said, was blessed in that he didn’t take after either Goose or Maverick, both of whom had terrible teeth. Their x-rays were surely some kind of dental case study in a textbook somewhere. But Bradley had taken after his mother and Iceman, in this regard: his teeth all came in like ducks in a row, pearly white like ivory piano keys.

Maybe it was just bad timing, maybe it was because his teeth were just that good, but when he enlisted, no one bothered to ask Ensign Bradshaw if he’d ever had his wisdom teeth out.

So fifteen years later, with a toothache so bad it’s finally driven him to the clinic—and isn’t that embarrassing, to survive Maverick Mitchell’s particular brand of insanity, an ejection out of an F-18, a dogfight in a jet that had no business being in the air, and a (controlled!) crash landing, only to be done in by a goddamn toothache—Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, aged thirty-four, with his newly re-acquired father in tow, has his wisdom teeth removed.

They don’t hook him up with an IV, thank goodness. Instead, they give Maverick a packet of pills to make Bradley take an hour before surgery that will supposedly knock him out for the duration.

As a member of the F-18 Ejection Club, Bradley’s been on the good shit for the past few months. He has sincere doubts about these pills.

“Bottoms up, kiddo,” Maverick tells him, pushing the pills towards him with a cup of coffee. It’s the same mug he gave Maverick for Father’s Day when he was ten years old.

“You’re the worst,” Bradley says, swallowing the pills in one go with a scalding hot gulp.

Later, Maverick will laugh at him over the dinner table as he recounts to Ice what exactly happened when Bradley had his wisdom teeth out. (He really shouldn’t have doubted those pills.)

The meds hit about fifteen minutes after he takes them. It falls to Maverick, all five-foot-and-change of him, to wrangle six-foot-oh of Bradley into the Bronco, strap him in, and haul him back out into the dentist’s office. He vaguely remembers being wheeled into one of the surgery rooms and led to sit on the chair, falling asleep, and then waking up to the dentist telling him they’d finished taking his teeth and they just needed to stitch him up.

He immediately bursts into tears—he hates stitches more than anything—and then conks straight out again.

He doesn’t really remember getting home, only that the next time he wakes up, he’s back in Maverick and Ice’s house, laid out on the couch. Maverick is whistling in the kitchen. He’d covered Bradley with an old blanket. A smart move on his part; Bradley drooled on it in his sleep.

Maverick comes back into the room with two bowls of very boring chicken broth.

“Good morning!” he teases. “I didn’t know you were such a lightweight, ducky!”

“Yuh’re de wurst,” Bradley gums through the cotton gauze in his mouth.

Mav hands him a bowl and a spoon. The broth is barely hot. Gross. He looks up at Maverick with the same baleful expression he used to get dessert before dinner as a kid, but Maverick just laughs at him.

“No dice here, Brads. You’re not getting anything hotter, unless you wanna get your stitches replaced.”

Bradley rolls his eyes and slurps his lukewarm soup.

Maverick flips on the TV. He turns on a nature documentary on humpback whales, then kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, the exact way that Bradley knows Ice doesn’t let him.

He can see straight through Maverick. It’s the same routine he used to do when Bradley would stay home from school sick. Animal Planet never failed to knock him out. It was more effective than anything else at getting him to sleep.

But this time, Bradley finds himself staying awake as he watches this otherwise ordinary whale documentary with Maverick sitting next to him on the couch. He’s an adult now, but Maverick is treating him as if no time has passed. There’s no resentment, no blame, for all the pain he’d caused his father.

He missed moments like this, in the years they spent apart. He’d almost forgotten how nice it was to have someone to care for you.

In the end, Bradley stays awake for the whole movie. It’s Maverick who falls asleep, his head lolling to the side to rest on Bradley’s shoulder. It’s not such a bad place to be, Bradley thinks to himself, trapped on a cozy couch with his dad.

He hits play on the documentary again and settles in closer to Maverick. The whales are pretty cool, after all.

[merlyn-bane]

okay I need to know everything about the backstory for Tren’s Xenoanatomy

AHHHHH i would love to talk about one of my trek fics!! especially my very first foray into mckirk :D

im gonna put this under a readmore bc i feel like giving myself permission to ramble today lmao

so tren's xenoanatomy specifically came about because we were watching one of those doctors-react videos about gray's anatomy and it occurred to me how much more hilariously off the wall medical shows would be in universes like star trek where there are nonhuman species around as well, and jim and bones just felt like the perfect couple to play with that idea with.

tren's xenoanatomy is also technically a companion piece for a larger spock x oc fic that will admittedly almost certainly never be finished or posted, but where basically after all of the bullfuckery the enterprise crew had been put through, they're made a part of the pilot program where starfleet starts assigning therapists to starships--particularly those on more extended missions. i do very much love nel, tho. i think he's one of my oldest ocs and he amuses me greatly because when high school merlyn first created him, he was norah. but then you grow up and you look at spock and you realize how incredibly homosexual he is. and so you simply trans your oc. and now his name is nel and he's still a therapist but he's also a hotter-than-thou top with a dildo collection worthy of a museum.

excuse the old art, we stay improving lmao.

anyway, back to the actual subject characters of the fic you asked for 😂😂 mckirk sort of continues to happen in the background of the main fic, and they've been in this same refusing-to-put-a-label-on-it holding pattern pretty much since the academy and the events of tren's xenoanatomy. are they friends? lovers? boyfriends? married? divorced? who's to say. neither of them. they of course get their shit together eventually, though. and also end up in an even stranger poly situation with a romulan woman named verelan that defects to starfleet after Events™️. it starts off very jim, jim's boyfriend, and jim's boyfriend's girlfriend, but jim grows on her eventually. like mold.

here's a nice little morning snippet of the three of them, as a treat since i went off on a wild tangent here and im not even sure if ive managed to answer the question 😂😂 don't let her softness with leonard here fool you, this is immediately followed by her declaring that the solution to his custody issues with his ex-wife is that she enter ritual combat with said ex-wife on his behalf.

“Dammit, Jim, what have I told you about fryin’ bacon without a damn shirt on?” “That you’re not fixing it if I burn a nipple off,” Jim prattles off. He tilts his head to the side in a clear demand for a kiss on the cheek. Leonard rolls his eyes but indulges him anyway. “Which we both know is bullshit, by the way. You love me too much to let me walk around with just one nipple.” “Try me, kid,” he grumbles, shuffling over to the stools lining the opposite side of the kitchen counter and settling into one. Jim sets a mug of coffee in front of him a moment later and Leonard tilts his chin up for a real kiss before Jim pads back over to the stove. “Thanks, Jim.” Jim just kind of grunts in answer, and Leonard snorts a little. Both of them glance up at the sound of feet on the stairs, and Leonard smiles softly when Verelan comes into sight. “Mornin’, darlin’.” He gets a small, fond smile in return, and she ducks down to kiss the top of his head once she’s close enough, resting a hand on his back as she does so. “Good morning, Leonard.” “Hey, where’s my kiss good morning?” complains Jim from the stove, letting his voice go all high and reedy in the way he knows annoys her the most. Leonard feels Verelan straighten behind him, and a glance up confirms that her eyes have narrowed at the blond. He doesn’t feel the need to intervene quite yet; this sort of interplay is fairly standard. Jim can’t breathe unless he’s winding someone up, and unfortunately for the Romulan, she tends to make it easy for him. “You do not get one, James,” Verelan drawls. “I do not like you.” “No, no,” says Jim, grinning now, unabashedly. “Pancake tax.”  They stare at each other, Jim continuing to grin while Verelan visibly sizes him up, trying to determine how serious he is. Leonard snorts again and is ignored wholesale. He sort of can’t believe she’s considering it this far; she must really want those damn pancakes. She hasn’t figured out yet that Jim would go hungry himself long before he denied food to anyone else.  Verelan finally folds first around the time that the standoff starts to remind Leonard of a pair of feral barn cats, her eyes narrowing a millimeter further before she gives a frustrated growl and all but stomps over to bestow a begrudging kiss to Jim’s cheek. Shit that he is, Jim just beams and leans into it.