#and seeing people rise to the challenge is always an unexpected delight

[immobiliter]

it's super fun to have two categories when it comes to how likely my muses are to ship: the ones for whom, as long as chemistry is established, a ship will be relatively straightforward, even if there's conflict/challenges involved or a slow burn element to it, and then the ones where the muse in question will actively fight against any attempts at intimacy and daring to ship with them is a challenge all of its own

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

The Hero of Love

The Hero of Love

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Leon x MC

Prompt: 14. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

Part of  Be my valentine content creation challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767

Tag: Kisses Fluff

Word Count  1.459

Author’s Note: Snow feel from the sky on a placid winter night, while a pair of lovebirds cocconed in their cozy nest show their love to one another as it burn brigher than ever filing their heart with much happiness and deep rooted affection. 🥰🥰

Tag list

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @aquagirl1978 

@william-rex @candied-boys @writingwhimsey

@fang-and-feather @moonstruckmelancholic

@wistfulwanderingone @rjthirsty @lichtluv

@ike-garden2024 @jollibeeshappiness @starzyquee              

@maeko-kun @rkmaru

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a chilly winter night, darkness fell on Rhodolite engulfed in the soft and pure snow falling since morning in the whole country, keeping everyone safe inside their homes, giving an unexpected twist to the monarch vacation currently snowed in a cottage hidden amidst the forest bordering with Jade, living their best life as only two lovers could finding happiness in the smallest task of each day away from the bursting and mess of the royal court, away from the golden cage of lies and deep in the simple easy life of commoners they felt more akin to, beloved and cherished by people and aristocrats alike for their wise ruling.

There bathing in the cozy atmosphere created by the cracking fire burning slowly in the fireplace they stood side by side on the sofa cocooned under a blanket, sipping the steaming hot cocoa Leon prepared beforehand from roses decorate mugs wearing handmade sweater as a soft lion plush keep them company nestled in a duvet on a nearby armchair.

The quiet atmosphere make her feel dizzy as she drowsily leaned her head on his chest feeling his gaze lingering on her a shy question escaped her lips as she looked up at his eyes glimmering in the darkness under the warm light of the fire looking almost like the sun had dawned a second time that day and only for her 

“Leon, I have something on my face ?” 

“Aside from your beauty ? ” his amber gaze glimmering like molten golden reflecting the warm color of the fire, the passion in them burning twice as much dripping over his sensual smile, she could not help but stare in awe at his gorgeous features as his raven hair seemed to dance with the the copper colored curls around his face melting together as he leaned unperceivable closer to his lover.

A sheepish smile on her lips she could not help but feel heat rising to her cheeks as soft shades of pink colored her fair complexion, her soft curls moving all around her gracious visage as she shook his head

“I was speaking about dirt spots. ” 

“I see. Let me take a better look at you.” softly he cupped her face in his hands staring at the soft frown on her lips making her even more adorable than usual like a spoiled little princess, His princess the one and only he has ever and always would have loved with all his heart for all eternity, taking advantage of her naivete was even too easy yet the temptation of teasing her was too strong to be ignored, his mind already settled to mischievous deeds he assumed the most serious expression he could muster as he told her 

“It seems you have some. Here let me clean them for you.”

her frown deepened only to be swiftly replaced with delight feeling his touch setting her heart ablaze all over again reveling in the light brush of his thumb over a corner of her bottom lip, swiftly replaced by his soft melting over hers swallowing the sweet moan that escaped her at the sudden but not undesired sensation took over her while a pleasant warmth spread in her heart as she fiercely kissed him back. 

Reluctantly and breathless they pulled away their fingers entwined with one another lost in the bliss of the moment she did not noticed his lips slide up to leave an an achingly tender soft kiss on her forehead, hiding her rosy blush nuzzling her face in his chest a light frown curled her lips she shook her head as his arms tighten around her 

“You are such a tease, it is not fair.” his hearty laugh reverberated deep in her heart showering it with his happiness, before she knew she begin to laughing with him letting that bright mirth fill the air of their small little cottage 

“It is not my fault if you are so adorable.” 

gently he cupped her face in his hands brushing his thumb sensually over her lips, feeling her warm breath fanning on his finger he tilted her chin up gazing into her bright eyes, his entire expression overwhelmed with happiness he gazed at her so affectionately making her feel like he was holding a precious treasure careful and lovely in his touch, their gaze reflecting all the love and affection they held for one another, soulmates destined to be, to defy all odds, laced with the red thread of fate.

A love story worthy to be in a fairytale for the prince who had finally found his princess, the same one they were writing together day by day loving and cherishing each precious moments, treasured memories all theirs to spoke of during long cold nights in which sleep late to come left them to enjoy intimacy growing stronger at each word murmured in sleepy pillow talks with secrets shared in whisper with only the aster as witness of the deep rooted love and complicity they had with one another.

He leaned closer bathing in the blissful expression of hers waiting, craving, yearning deeply for his kiss but too shy to ask for it, her lips slightly parted and her eyelashes fluttering lightly on her rosy cheeks begging to satisfy a desire he did not hesitated to indulge melting his lips on her once more, rolling down on the sofa, the pleasant flavour of the cocoa melting on his tongue rendered even sweeter by her moans he greedily swallowed leading his tongue in a passionate dance with her, smoldering kiss she deepened as her fingers crawled  to caress his soft raven curls mewling at the sensation of his hands sliding sensually down her body taking in every inch of her voluptuous curves, his fingers wandered greedily on them before settle down on her hips their hips moving softly against one another, breathless and panting staring in awe at the sight of her gorgeous colorful eyes widen with affection, smiling mischievously at her he bent over peppering light kisses all over her face and collarbone, covering each uncovered side of her skin his light tickles making her giggle filling his heart with the tinkling sound of her happiness

“You know I am quite eager to discover all your hidden sides.” his gentle voice dripping with admiration as he tenderly brushed his lips on her nose 

“You always manage to surprise me everyday. I swear you will never stop to amaze me.”  an hearty laugh escaped her lips 

“I was thinking the same.I love every single little thing about you, my hero.” softly she brushed the tip of her nose on his reveling in his smile resplendent like a smoldering fire brightening the dimly lit room making it warmer with his love radiating from his heart 

"I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much.” his honest confession make her heart swell with love in her chest, a smile bright to put the sun itself to shame curled his lips as affection took over her appearing on her lips in a tender smile her eyes glimmering in the dark as she looked at him

“Thank you for showing me what love is.” his amber eyes sparkled with affection, as a lovestruck adoration glimmered in its depth

“Oh Leon.” overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession she hug him tightly hiding her face in his chest to conceal her blush placing a tender kiss on his heart feeling his arm tighten around her as she slowly raise herself up enough to palace a soft kiss on his lips looking straight into his eyes, smiling at his words enough to melt even the coldest iceberg with its warmth.

“I love you so very much my princess.”

“I love you so words are not enough my lion.” 

Softly she nuzzled in his neck feeling his arm tighten around her back, feeling his lips delicately brush on her forehead, they drifted asleep together ready to explore the land of dreams hand in hand, careful to not awake Morpheus from his slumber with their pranks, awaiting the morning when they would have woke up only to continue living their dream together showing off their love to one another from the first light of dawn and well past the dusk, with only the aster as accomplices audience of their own fairytale written down with colorful ink on blank pages relegated in a book he would have surely not got tired of reading mesmerized by her soft voice as she read it to him on a lazy afternoon under a tree, grateful for that spell that caught in its hand every animals and humans alike, bonding soulmates destined by the universe to be together in the name of love.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze (19/25)

Previous ________________________

Yennefer pulled up to the school gates in her car. It was two weeks into the summer term at Dol Blathanna and three weeks since she’d last seen Ciri. She rolled her eyes at her own sentimentality. She’d always adored Duny and Pavetta’s daughter. She’d been dating Geralt when Pavetta had announced her pregnancy. It had been a strange moment for Yennefer. She’d never thought of herself as particularly maternal and children had never been something she’d craved in life, but when Pavetta had shown them all the photos of the tiny baby growing inside her womb, something had changed irrevocably.

She wanted that.

She’d always thought her career and financial security would be everything for her, but how could it be everything when she was missing a family.

She scoffed. She’d been naive at the time. She’d thought that her relationship with Geralt would last that time, that it would be the time when they didn’t crash and burn. She’d even considered asking him to marry her. She had loved him and they’d been on and off for years already at that point. Geralt and Yennefer, the romantic saga that would put fairytales to shame. Duny and Pavetta had even asked them both to be godparents.

A month later Geralt and Yennefer had split up… again.

But now, seven year old Ciri was bringing back all those old wants and aches. She’d spent a week with the girl in Cidaris before handing her back to Geralt in Posada, just in time for the girl’s birthday. Yennefer had stuck around long enough to help Geralt wrangle Ciri’s classmates for her party and then she’d made her way back home.

Only it didn’t feel like home anymore.

She hated that she was always the one to leave her family behind. She hated that she had almost become an outsider to the most important people in her life. She was terrified that they would move on without her. Triss seemed to rather taken with Eskel, and Yennefer felt a twinge of regret for not introducing her own friends to the family sooner. Geralt’s family had become her own, but Yennefer had never quite managed to allow Geralt into her own life. The only person he had met had been Istredd, and that was because Is had confronted Geralt just after she’d started dating him at University.

She didn’t want to miss out anymore.

She’d already started looking for flats halfway between Cidaris and Posada, she’d even thought about moving her gallery to Vengerberg. Her family had originated from there generations ago and she’d always thought it would be a little on the nose to move there but there was something poetic about it that intrigued her, that was after all why she had chosen Aedirn out of all the galleries offered to her at a young age. A Vengerberg canvas in Aedirn Gallery. The irony had been too good to resist.

Vengerberg was also much closer to Posada and to Ciri.

For now she had to be contented with ferrying back and forth across the Continent whenever she wanted to see Ciri, the girl she had come to love as a daughter.

She groaned when she noticed Jaskier standing amongst the children. Of course it was his turn on after school duty. Nevertheless she stood tall and glided towards the gaggle of children. She’d texted Coën from the petrol station on the way to Posada to let him know that he didn’t need to pick Ciri up from school tonight. Vesemir would be over after work to look after Ciri this evening. Yennefer and Geralt would have the delight of summer parents’ evening. Yennefer was rather looking forward to being on the other side of it for the first time. Poor Buttercup didn’t stand a chance.

Ciri screamed excitably when she saw Yennefer approach and Yennefer soon had her arms full of her daughter as she knelt down to hug Ciri.

“Auntie Yen!” Ciri laughed. “But I only just saw you!”

“I know, Princess,” Yennefer hugged the girl tightly “but I couldn’t stay away.”

“Are you staying this time?” Ciri asked, looking up at her with wide emerald eyes.

Yennefer sighed with a heavy heart. “Not this time, Ciri, but I’m working on it, alright?”

Ciri pouted and scrunched her nose up. “But…”

Yennefer bopped her nose. “Patience, Ciri.”

“Yennefer, what a delight.” Jaskier drawled sarcastically.

Yennefer looked up at the teacher with a smirk. Oh the things she would say if they weren’t in front of the children.

“Buttercup, pleasure as always.” Yennefer returned his sarcasm.

It wasn’t that she hated the teacher, quite the opposite in fact, she actually admired him in some ways but at this point the scathing remarks and barely concealed loathing was just a part of their routine.

“Mr Rivia didn’t mention that you would be picking up Ciri this evening.” Jaskier tilted his head, tossing his fringe away from his eyes. “It really is common courtesy to let the school know.”

“Geralt doesn’t know, Buttercup. It’s called a surprise which requires subtlety and discretion, neither of which you possess.” Yennefer smiled at the teacher.

He glowered at her with blue fire dancing in his eyes.

“Oh I can be very discreet, I’m more discreet than, than a Redanian spy!” Jaskier huffed with his hands on his hips. “Oh no.” His jaw dropped at some unspoken realisation. “No no. No!” He pointed at her accusingly.

“What’s wrong Mr Jaskier?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier blushed and stammered. “Oh, nothing. Nothing’s wrong, little Buttercup.”

“Mr Jaskier!” Ciri gasped. “Are you lying to me?”

Jaskier froze and Yennefer cackled. “Yes, Jaskier, Are you lying to her?”

He stammered unintelligibly before clearing his throat. “Right. Yes, Sorry Ciri. I meant that there is nothing wrong that you need to worry about, I just remembered something.”

Ciri put her hands on her hips, looking a little too much like Jaskier’s mini-me for Yennefer’s liking. “About Auntie Yen?”

Yennefer smirked. She could see the litany of curses Jaskier was saying in his head. He smiled brightly down at Ciri, though Yennefer could see the anger still dancing in his eyes when he glanced back at her. “I had just forgotten it was parents’ evening tonight. Yennefer reminded me, that’s all Ciri, I promise.”

Ciri scowled up at her teacher, scrutinising his words and then broke into her own dazzling smile. “Ok!”

Jaskier visibly relaxed. “So, Yennefer, will you be looking after Ciri tonight?”

Yennefer shook her head. “Not this time, Buttercup. I will be joining Geralt for parents’ evening.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

Ciri squealed. “Are you and dad getting back together?”

Jaskier’s face lost all colour. “An… unexpected development.” His voice cracked.

Yennefer sighed. She didn’t want to get Ciri’s hopes up. She had no intention on getting back together with Geralt, she’d just been trying to get a rise out of the teacher, which had absolutely worked. “We can discuss this in the car, Cirilla. Come now.”

It took a while but Yennefer eventually managed to convince Ciri that she was, in fact, not dating Geralt again. The young girl seemed a little disappointed by this.

“He just gets lonely.” She sniffed. “He tries to hide it but I see it, when he doesn’t realise I’m looking.”

“I know, Princess, but Geralt and I,” Yennefer sighed “We weren’t a good match.”

Ciri scrunched her nose up. “I just thought, if Geralt’s my dad and you were dating then… that would make you my mum.”

Yennefer almost crashed the car. As it was she had to pull over, her hands were shaking too much on the steering wheel.

“Auntie Yen?” Ciri asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t mind if you called me mum’” Yennefer took Ciri’s little hand in hers and squeezed tightly. “I can be that, with or without Geralt.”

Ciri grinned and unbuckled her seatbelt before clambering into Yennefer’s lap.

“Ok, Mum.” Ciri mumbled as she hugged Yennefer tightly. Yennefer felt like she couldn’t breathe, like a single breath would shatter the moment and she’d wake up back in Cidaris and this would have all been a dream.

She settled for holding the girl in her arms in blessed silence, holding onto the feeling for as long as she possibly could and praying to the gods that the moment would last forever.

___________________________________

Yennefer had just about managed to find something edible enough to feed Ciri for dinner. She’d been disgusted at the amount of tins in the cupboards compared to the fresh vegetables in the fridge. Luckily, Geralt seemed to have a better stock of frozen vegetables to make up for the lack of fresh produce. Ciri had grumbled about it and said that Coën and Geralt usually let her have pizza and chips.

Yennefer challenged this proclamation with a stare and eventually Ciri mumbled something about pizza and chips being a Friday or weekend treat.

Ciri was now scowling at the plate of chicken and vegetables in front of her. Yennefer rolled her eyes.

“Ciri, you have got to eat something.” She sighed. “You’ve even got chips.”

“I don’t like spinach.” Ciri pouted.

“You ate it in Cidaris.” Yennefer stated cooly. “What’s changed, Princess?”

Ciri scrunched up her nose. “Slimy, tastes funny.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes at the greenery on Ciri’s plate. “Let me try.”

Ciri pushed the plate towards her and Yennefer took a forkful, it tasted exactly the same as when she’d made it for Ciri back at her flat in Cidaris. She pursed her lips together and told Ciri to close her eyes.

“Why?” Ciri asked.

“The magic only works if you have your eyes shut, Princess.” Yennefer said calmly, allowing herself a small smile when she noticed Ciri trying to peek from behind her hands. “Eyes shut, Ciri.”

“Fine!” The young girl huffed.

Yennefer moved the spinach around on her plate and whispered a low fake incantation under her breath, just loud enough so the girl could hear. Ciri giggled and wiggled excitably in her seat.

“Now, Ciri. You must understand that Geralt can’t do this and it takes a lot of power so I can’t do it every meal time, alright?” Yennefer stated firmly, her hand hovering over Ciri’s plate.

“Yes, Mum.” Ciri drawled and Yennefer knew if the girl’s eyes were open she’d be rolling them.

“Good, now open your eyes and eat your dinner.” Yennefer said, pulling her hand away just as Ciri opened her eyes.

Ciri wolfed down her dinner without another word and Yennefer let out a small sigh of relief. After dinner, Yennefer plopped Ciri down in front of the TV to watch that pony show that she was so fond of, Geralt’s influence no doubt.

She sat down beside Ciri, scrolling through her social media on her phone. She shared a few posts from upcoming artists that she wanted to promote and tapped out a few biting remarks on replies that were from sensitive assholes who didn’t like that a woman was successful in their industry. She vaguely tried to follow the plot of the episode that Ciri was watching but she’d never understood the talking ponies.

She looked up when she heard keys in the door.

“Dad!” Ciri jumped up and ran to the front door. “Uncle Vesemir!”

Geralt picked Ciri up as she jumped at him. “Hi Princess, good day at school?” He asked before noticing Yennefer lounging on the sofa. “Yen?”

“Geralt.” She smiled and made her way across the room. “Vesemir.”

“Hello Yennefer.” The older man nodded.

Geralt shifted Ciri into one arm and pulled Yennefer in for a hug.

“I didn’t know you were visiting?” He asked gently.

She kissed his cheek and the pulled away to ruffle Ciri’s hair. “I was hoping to join you for parents’ evening. She’s my goddaughter too. I want to be a bigger part of her life, Geralt.”

Geralt scowled and glanced at Vesemir. “Yen.” He sighed with a sad smile. “I don’t think—”

“Not like that.” She swatted his arm. “I’m doing this for Ciri, Geralt. Not for you.”

Geralt visibly relaxed. “Right.”

“Mum can do magic!” Ciri shouted, a little too loudly judging by the way Geralt winced.

He raised an eyebrow at Yennefer. “Mum?”

“Obviously, Dad you never told me Mum was magic!” Ciri pouted.

Geralt hummed and put Ciri down on the floor, kneeling next to her. “Well she never told me, cub.”

Ciri covered her mouth with her hands, her emerald eyes went wide. “Was it meant to be a secret?” She mumbled behind her hands.

Yennefer shook her head. “Not at all, your father just never noticed.”

Geralt grumbled.

“Only the wisest of people realised, little sparrow.” Vesemir chuckled and moved further into the living room. “Ciri, are you going to show me what you’ve learnt on that instrument of yours? Geralt says Priscilla has been very impressed with how quickly you’ve picked it up.”

Ciri grinned and ran to the corner of the room the pick up the small ukulele case. “Mr Jaskier helps me during lunch sometimes! He says that practice makes perfect and even Mr Jaskier needs to keep practicing to learn new things all the time!”

“Does he now?” Yennefer smirked at Geralt who had suddenly gone very still.

“Yup!” Ciri grinned and pulled out a small plastic whistle. “This helps to make sure the strings sound right.” She explained and then started to blow on the whistle, and plucking at the strings of the small instrument.

“That’s very clever, little sparrow. Show me, how do I hold it?” Vesemir asked warmly.

And just like that the old man had Ciri’s full focus.

Geralt leant against the wall with his arms cross. His hair was pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head today, not his usual look but one that was rather handsome. Yennefer felt a pang of regret and yearning at the loss of their relationship but it passed quickly. They’d both moved on for a good reason, and things were going well with Istredd, slowly but well.

“Why are you here, Yen?” Geralt asked quietly.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “I already told you that, Geralt.”

He shook his head. “Nothing is ever so simple with you.”

“Can’t you just trust me for once?” Yennefer asked, bristling a little at his accusation.

He was right, of course, she did have an ulterior motive for being here. She wanted to watch his interactions with the teacher, perhaps plant a few seeds of jealousy so they’d have to act on their feelings. This was her first plan. Jaskier knew that Yennefer was Geralt’s ex so he would no doubt be envious to see them co-parenting Ciri. She just needed to make sure she didn’t overdo it and put the teacher off.

If this failed then she had another idea. She wondered whether Jaskier knew that Geralt was attracted to men. Geralt didn’t exactly radiate queer vibes and passed very well as a straight man when it suited him. Therefore she’d been in contact with another one of Geralt’s exes, an older man that he’d dated briefly when they’d been broken up. Regis and Geralt’s relationship hadn’t ended badly and the two were still friends. They didn’t see each other very often due to work commitments but they had the kind of friendship that lasted regardless of time and distance. Regis had been delighted to hear about Geralt’s little infatuation with Jaskier and had agreed to help out should it be required.

But that was Plan B. Plan A was tonight.

He narrowed his eyes and then nodded with a low hum.

“We have about an hour before we need to leave. I have the last slot with Jaskier. Vesemir will be here to put Ciri to bed.” Geralt explained.

Yennefer nodded and pulled her friend over to the living room where Ciri was patiently trying to teach Vesemir how to play a nursery rhyme on her ukulele. “Come on, White Wolf, what have I missed?”

______________________

“You don’t have to do this, Yen.” Geralt grumbled as they strode into reception together.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. Geralt had said the same thing at least a dozen times on the drive to the school. At least he’d had the common sense to let her drive instead of going in that disgusting truck. “I want to do this, Geralt, and your whining is not going to change my mind so shut up and try not to look like I’m leading you to the gallows.”

“Feels like it.” He muttered.

At this rate her eyes would be stuck in the back of her head. She linked her arm with his as they entered the foyer. Triss greeted them with a wave.

“Yen!” She called happily. “Geralt.”

“Hi Triss.” Yennefer smiled at her friend, a little envious of her easy going nature. There wasn’t a single person that didn’t adore Triss, she just had this way about her that made you want to be her friend, made you want to be better. Yennefer was not immune to this. It was one of the reasons they had remained friends for so many years.

“Do we need to sign in?” Geralt asked, straight to the point as always.

Triss passed him the register. “Just like before.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Hopefully not.” He gave Triss a sheepish smile.

“No.” She agreed with a laugh. “I would really prefer it if we didn’t have to call the police.”

Yennefer frowned as she looked between her ex and her best friend. “The police?” She asked haughtily.

“A misunderstanding.” Geralt grumbled. “If you’re staying the night I’ll tell you later.”

“Staying the night?” Triss asked, taking back the register with a raised eyebrow.

“School hall?” Geralt asked, ignoring Triss’s look of surprise.

“Umm. Yes. That’s right.” Triss was still eyeballing them.

“I’ll text you later.” Yennefer murmured and followed Geralt towards the main hall.

There were tables stationed all around the room, just like she remembered from her time as a teachers. Fuck she hated Parents’ Evening. It had been hell on earth. She caught Istredd’s eyes across the room and gave him a small smile. She was grateful that Geralt had book the last slot of the evening, it meant that there was a chance she could see Istredd when he was done. Luckily it was a Friday which meant that even if she didn’t get to see him tonight, there was always the weekend.

“Ah, Geralt!” Jaskier waved them over with a smile as another couple stood up to leave. “Yennefer.” He added more cooly.

Yennefer frowned. Triss and Eskel hadn’t been lying when they’d said that both Geralt and Jaskier had stopped moping around, but she hadn’t been expecting Jaskier to act so friendly towards Geralt, especially after weeks of supposedly avoiding him.

What the fuck was going on?

She glanced over at Geralt to see his reaction.

The man was fucking blushing.

“Mr Pankratz.” He shook Jaskier’s hand, smiling far too fondly for Yennefer’s liking.

Now, many people said that Geralt Rivia was hard to read. He had a habit of not saying much, especially when he was feeling overwhelmed, but Yennefer had always found him to be an open book. His face didn’t hide much and she had learnt to read even the smallest twitch of a smile dancing on his lips. So the way he smiled so openly at Jaskier told Yennefer everything she needed to know.

“Geralt,” She whispered in his ear, gripping his arm tightly. “Tell me, exactly how long have you two been fucking?”

Geralt growled and pulled away from her. “What the fuck, Yen?”

Jaskier laughed nervously. “Geralt? What’s going on?”

Geralt’s face was like thunder. “Nothing. Right Yen?” He asked pointedly, glancing over at Tissaia’s table.

Ah yes. Tissaia was currently headmistress, she’d heard all about that from Triss and Is.

“Oh no one is supposed to know!” She said a little too loudly.

“Shut up, Yen.” Geralt grumbled.

“Know what?” Jaskier asked. Geralt’s eyes flashed to Jaskier dangerously. “Oooh. That. Right. Yes.”

Yennefer smiled sweetly at the two idiots in front of her. “So, how long?”

“How long have I been teaching Ciri?” Jaskier asked pointedly.

Yennefer smirked but decided to it go. They were here to discuss her daughter after all. “Ciri, right yes of course. Since September I assume.”

“That’s right.” Jaskier said firmly. “The whole class has made excellent progress with learning sign language, one of my Buttercups is deaf,” He explained “but young Ciri is leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of them. She has the amazing ability to absorb new information and a wonderful dedication to her class work and friends.”

Yennefer smiled, genuinely for the first time since they’d entered the hall. She knew Ciri was special but hearing Jaskier confirm it warmed her usually icy heart.

“I am concerned that she’s throwing herself into her work instead of learning to process the trauma in her life.” Jaskier added. “Did you think anymore about what I said, Geralt?”

Geralt nodded. “I’ve been looking. I just…” He paused and frowned as he tried to gather his words. “I don’t know how to talk to Ciri about it.” He admitted.

“About what?” Yennefer asked. “Maybe I can help?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt with a tilt of his head. Geralt gave a small nod.

Yennefer scoffed, apparently they were communicating non-verbally now as well. What a fucking delight!

“I suggested that Ciri might benefit from some therapy.” Jaskier said quietly. “She’s been through, gods, she’s been through so much.”

“But she’s fine.” Yennefer interjected.

“On the surface” Jaskier agreed “but we don’t know, we can’t know, how much she’s bottling up underneath.”

“It’s a good idea, Yen.” Geralt said softly.

Yennefer sighed. She hated it but they were right. She remembered her own therapist from her childhood, they weren’t happy memories and the thought of Ciri having to go through the same thing made her want to scream, but in the end it had helped her. It was just a difficult process with no clear step by step journey, some days it felt like the therapy just made it worse before it got better again.

“Yen?” Geralt took her hand and squeezed gently.

“I’ll talk to her” She agreed “but the decision is hers.”

“That’s all we can ask.” Jaskier smiled sadly and then immediately brightened up. “Pris tells me her ukulele lessons are going wonderfully! She might even want to consider getting a guitar soon, it will be a little difficult for her to hold an adult guitar but there are smaller sizes that she can look at, it will be more challenging than the ukulele. There are six strings rather the four on the ukulele. My lute has thirteen so we don’t recommend that one for a while.”

“Not everyone wants to learn every stringed instrument in existence, Buttercup.” Yennefer said dryly.

“Which is a tragedy!” Jaskier laughed. “And I’ll have you know, I bought a flute the other day. I’m branching out.”

Yennefer smirked. “Practicing your blowing skills?”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at her with a playful smile. “Oh, darling, I don’t need any practice with that.”

Geralt cleared his throat and blushed vividly. “Let’s stay on topic shall we?”

Jaskier and Yennefer, surprisingly, laughed in unison at Geralt’s discomfort.

Well wasn’t that an unexpected development?

Perhaps Jaskier wasn’t as bad as she thought. They shared a smile before Jaskier delved deeper into Ciri’s progress and work at school. _____________________

Next

[justanotherlifeff]

Unexpected

The fact that Bakugou Katsuki may fall in love was nothing less than the most unexpected scenario to anyone and everyone who knew the explosive pro hero. However, it wasn’t the first time the hot head of class 3A proved everyone wrong. It all started when the Big 3 of class 3A, the batch of UA who almost always got attacked by villains, came to visit class 2A.

You were sitting in your usual place, completely bored. Ofcourse you were bored, who wouldn’t be when they are surrounded by idiots? You were one of the four students in class 2 who actually passed the provisional licence exams in their first year. To you, most of your classmates were useless dumbfucks since they didn't even pay the slightest effort to try to be a better hero. Not that you would ever say it loud though. You believed in showing them how stupid they are with your abilities instead of calling them out. You were a quiet person in general, rarely speaking to anyone from your class unless it's absolutely necessary. They avoided you as well, since, well, you were kinda intimidating and unapproachable. You always came second in written exams and first in practical exams after all. You were the star student of class 2A and you never failed to rub it into their face as you gave them a smug smile as soon as you beat someone's ass during training with quirks. Your quirk was strong and there was no questioning it. Your quirk was called energy. To put it simply, you could manipulate energy. It was a very overpowered quirk but it came with a price. Your quirk allowed you to go against the law of physics to create or destroy energy. You could make something explode into pieces just with one look while you can undo the kinetic energy of a bullet to render it useless at the same time. While creating energy, your own body's energy gets used up if you overdo yourself, which might make you pass out. When undoing energy, your bodt absorbs the energy that you had undone. Overdoing it may give you a heat stroke. You were better than all the dumbasses in class anyway.

When your homeroom teacher entered the class with three familiar senior students, you finally found interest in class. They were introduced as the big 3 of class 3A. You were always interested in that batch and you mentally cursed yourself for being an year younger than them. You loved a good challenge and almost no one from your class was good enough. They were cocky enough to ask the big 3 for a fight though. Midoriya Izuku, the green haired boy standing between the two other boys was reluctant about the class's proposal. Todoroki Shouto, the boy to the left with mismatched hair looked like he couldn’t care less. However, Bakugou Katsuki, the ash blonde boy to the right was the one who caught your attention. To be fair, he had your attention as soon as he entered the classroom. He wanted to fight and show these morons their place. Most importantly, he threw a challenge at the class to come at him. All 20 students against one. Needless to say, you loved a good challenge.

Bakugou Katsuki went into that class thinking that he'd have to deal with some cocky losers. 2A was known to be full of overconfident brats anyway. When those idiots threw a challenge at him, he expected them to be on their ass the second they attacked him. He was partially right. All of them were on their asses except this one girl. Her quirk was interesting. Every time he threw an explosion at her, the impact would come on him. She was untouchable. It took a while for Bakugou to figure out her quirk. At the end, Bakugou threw her off balance only after figuring out that she was untouchable as long as she could see him. He had to admit that this girl intrigued her since she gave him a competition on the level of Deku or Icyhot bastard.

The next time Bakugou saw you was when you came to him the next day, asking for help in training. You explained how everyone from your class was useless, a sentiment that he shared with you, and how you couldn’t improve your quirk sparring with them. Bakugou had ever chance to turn you away but your control on your quirk interested him, making him accept your invitation. You on the other hand was nervous. You knew Bakugou Katsuki from the sports festivals. On his first sports festival, you saw how much he wanted an indisputable victory. You came to respect that man then and there. After fighting with him, you were in awe. There was no denying the fact that he was your role model when you decided to join UA. As you expected, he was an amazing fighter, the only person who ever defeated you in a sparring match. Hence, you were nervous about asking THE Bakugou Katsuki to train with you. You almost were ready for a rejection but he surprised you by giving you a time and place and barking at you about not being late.

You were always a very punctual person. Hence, you were at the park he asked you to be at right on time. However, Bakugou was, well, more punctual, if that's possible since he reached 10 minutes before you did. "You're late." he grumbled at you. "You're early." you replied, not liking the fact that he called you late when you were not. "Tch whatever. Show me what you’ve got." he grumbled before you two started fighting. This was the begining of a little personal war between the two of you over who arrived first at the park. This always led to the sparring to start earlier, hence, end earlier as well. At the begining, you both just went home but after a while, the two of you had conversations on the one topic you both had in common, bitching about your stupid classmates.

When you were in your third year and Bakugou started his career as a pro hero, you expected these training sessions to stop. By that time, the two of you got close enough for Bakugou to consider you as a friend. You didn't know how much of an achievement it was for you. You were sad about the entire thing as you went for your presumably last training session, only to find at your delight that Bakugou decided to make time to 'train your stupid ass so that you could survive out there'. You were used to his brash manner of speaking. In his defence, you weren’t much better. The two of you bickered a lot but that's what it was, simple bickering. There were times when you two were fighting over something stupid and then laughing your asses off over something stupid that your classmates did. You didn’t know that you were the only one who could make him laugh this way.

However, there were some things that you did notice. You noticed that no matter how hard it was for him to make time between his hero duties, he never missed out on the training sessions. You never failed to remind him how grateful you were for his help. You noticed that no matter how much he wanted to be the number 1 hero, he always pushed you to surpass him. Ofcourse, you rarely won against him but you were much, much better than the first time you fought him. Most importantly, you noticed the lingering touches every time he pinned you ensuring his victory, his sharp crimson eyes gazing at your body for just one extra moment than required. You would be lying if you said that you didn't do the same. Over the years, the respect and admiration towards him turned into attraction. How could you even blame yourself? Watching his muscles flex under his tanktop every single day, his sweat covered beautifully sculpted neckline, the sweet caramel smell emitting from him, the strength of his sharp intense gaze, the diversity of his expressions every time he ranted or shouted or laughed and the soft smiles he rarely showed, there was no helping it. You had fallen for this explosive man and his explosive demeanour.

You had a general idea that he had some sort of interest in you and you knew that you definitely were interested in him, yet, you didn't have the courage to make a move. Why? Because it was common knowledge that pro hero Ground Zero doesn't do love. He said so in interviews ever since his popularity blew up. Many women approached him and he rejected everyone. Hell, he even ranted to you about it. You had a general idea that he was attracted to you but you were sure that he wouldn’t return your feelings. However, Bakugou broke your expectations yet again.

It started with Bakugo being distracted by the way you look every time you trained. He found himself looking at your flushed face when he pinned you down defeating you and imagining scenerios where you made that face for a different reason than training. He found himself admiring the way your breasts looked, wondering if it would fit his hands perfectly or if your ass was as soft as it looked. At first, he convinced himself that it was just his hormones acting out. After all, he was 18 and had a high sex drive. Things escalated when he realized that he had started to think about you every after he woke up with a morning boner, every time he fought a villain, pretty much all day. Memories of you laughing put his anger at ease (as much as it can get) and when he actually makes you laugh during training sessions, he literally doesn't shout at people nearly as much as he normally does the whole day. At this point, he was in denial. Deep down, he knew that he fell hard for you. For fuck's sake, you understood him. You were as ambitious as he is, you tried to improve yourself as much as he did and you never got offended by his behaviour. You were perfect. Then again, you were a weakness and the last thing he needed was a weakness. The number 1 hero shouldn’t have weaknesses. Yet he found himself helping you train everyday. You were a drug that he couldn't get off.

Bakugou never saw himself asking a girl out. Sure, he had one night stands like any other rising hero. However, not in a million years had he thought that he would go into a romantic relationship with a girl who would end up being his future wife. The sparring sessions continued even after you graduated from UA and went on to become a pro hero yourself. After all, your quirks worked perfectly together. As a rising pro hero yourself, you got invited to the I expo gala that year. The only problem was, you had to bring a plus one. You never were the most social person, however, ever since you became a pro hero, you befriended some people with an equal amount of ambition unlike your useless classmates. You were planning to ask Bakugou to be your plus one before one of your male friends asked you out. The guy had been flirting with you for a while and to be fair, you had already decided that you had no chance with the explosive hero. When Bakugou asked you to go to the I Expo with him as friends, you had to reluctantly reject the offer since you already had a date. While Bakugou didn't show any reaction to it, deep down, he felt a pang of jealousy and a strong desire to explode the unworthy bastard who thought he could take you from him. There was also anger within him at himself because it was his fault that he didn't make a move earlier. Hence, he decided to go to I Expo with his assistant at his new found agency.

After you went to the I Expo with your so called date, you realised that the bastard came with you to boost up his own career. Sure, he was a pro hero, but you were much popular than him thanks to your extremely powerful quirk. When talking to the media, the bastard had the audacity to declare himself as your boyfriend and acting as if you two had a secret relationship for years. You being a snarky person, completely denied everything on his face infront of the media, completely calling him out and leaving him there with the media as they proceeded on ruining his career with the latest gossip on how the pro hero tried to forge a relationship with (H/N) to gain popularity. Hence, you found yourself standing at the balcony attached to the hall room where the event was taking place. Taking a long sip from the alcoholic drink in your hand, you let out a sigh. Oh how you wished that you were here with Bakugou instead... It seemed like the Gods had finally looked upon you because you heard an extremely familiar voice behind you saying, "Seems like your dumbass got popular enough for people to start forging relationships huh?". Turning back, you found Bakugou staring at you with his familiar intense crimson gaze while sporting a smug smirk on his face. "Seems like it. Did your date run off too?" you asked him, discreetly checking out how perfectly the black suit complemented his frame.

"She's talking to the media to make them like me cause apparantly I'm an asshole." Bakugou grumbled, standing beside you. "You came with your manager?" you asked him, curious. "Manager/Assistant. Standing one person is better than two." Bakugou explained his reason behind overworking the poor woman. As if Bakugou understood the fact that you were silently judging his ethics, he snapped at you, "I pay her enough dumbass! She literally gets twice the amount than a regular manager cause I don't want to deal with too many shitty extras!". "Yeah yeah calm down.. Zeez.." You muttered with a smile. You really enjoyed his company. "Oi (L/N)?" you suddenly heard Bakugou call you after a moment of comfortable silence. What surprised you was his voice. It was softer than usual. "Yeah?" you answered, looking at him. He was looking at the floor, his eyes hidden by his hair. "Were you interested in that guy?" he asked you. A bit surprised by his question, you answered, "What? No.. Not really... He was a good friend but no...". "I see." Bakugou answered before looking straight at your eyes. "Since both our dates are stupid and left us alone, let's make this our date." he stated. Bakugou thought you wouldn’t notice the fact that he was blushing but he was wrong because you did. Unlike him, you knew that there was no hiding the fact that you were a blushing mess when you asked him shyly, "a friendly date or a date-date?". "A date-date you dumbfuck! I thought you were smarter than those extras!" he snapped at you. "How the fuck am I supposed to understand if you throw this at me out of nowhere?" you snapped at him. "By using some damn common sense you stupid fuck! Is it a yes or no for fucks sake?" he almost exploded. "Yes damnit! Stop exploding at everyth..." you were cut off with a kiss. Bakugou truly was a perfectionist at everything, you realized. Even at kissing. Your tongues battled for dominance, a battle that he won. His hands were on your waist and you didn't realise when your hands moved up to his shoulder. The media had a lot to say about it on the next day since someone took a picture of rising heroes Ground Zero and (H/N) passionately making out.

With Bakugou Katsuki, you always had to expect the unexpected. Ofcourse, you never expected him to confirm your relationship with him as soon as the media caught up, which was literally the next day, nor did you expect him to propose you in the most tsundere way possible five years later. He literally demanded that you marry him, throwing the topic at you out of nowhere and shoving a ring on your finger. Now that you were at the hospital, watching him hold your new born son, who looked almost like a mini Bakugou, with glossy eyes, you were yet again surprised by his tenderness. After all, Bakugou Katsuki always did the most unexpected things.

[Author's note: Hey! It's my first Bakugou×reader fanfiction. Hope ya'll enjoyed it! I do bnha requests too!]

[curiosity-killed]

betrayal! at the family dinner

in which Sirion is Miette

word count: 4204

Of all the things they’ve faced, the last Sirion expects to be a challenge is introducing Callebero to his parents. He probably should have known better. “You can’t be serious,” he signs. “He’s caused you enough strife over the years,” Malán insists. “He owes you this.” “He—what—strife?!” Sirion manages, repeating ‘strife’ in baffled emphasis.

Mamán frowns and looks to Malán. They’re all seated at the table, lunch forgotten between them. Only Malán is still eating; no doubt she doesn’t want to risk missing any clients at the shop. Mamán’s arms are crossed over her chest, fingers still stained purple from her latest batch of dye. “I’m with your malán,” she says as she turns back to Sirion. “If he thinks he’s good enough for you, he better not be too proud to visit us at home.” Sirion gawks at both of them, hands flat on the table. It’s rare enough for him to be speechless, but this time, he’s at a loss. “He’s the imperator princep!” he finally objects. This seems to do nothing to persuade them in any direction. Both turn matching flat stares his way, the same he always hated when he tried to get out of something as a kid. Now, he doesn’t feel the disappointment of his childhood but instead a baffled hopelessness. He can’t believe they’re serious. It’s a short ride back to the palace, and he spends it trying to come up with some way around this. He could just tell Callebero that both his parents died in a tragic accident. A wild horse escaped its owner and trampled them both in the street. It’s surely happened before. Probably. Any lie would be preferable to the embarrassment of telling Callebero that his parents refuse to come to the palace to meet him. He walks into the legion’s quarters and nearly immediately into Callebero himself. He barely restrains a groan. Callebero’s just swinging over the top rail of the training corral, and he grins as Jemma says something to him. As Sirion approaches, that grin turns to him and softens into a painfully affectionate smile. The dread Sirion had felt melts away in the face of it, and he smiles back reflexively. Callebero says something to Jemma before walking over to meet Sirion halfway. Strands of hair have escaped from his ponytail and cling to his forehead, and he swipes the sweat away with the back of his hand. It leaves the hairs smeared over his skin. “Hey,” he greets, a little breathless, “how are your parents?” The lies flit through his mind in a roll: trampled by a horse, mysteriously out of town for a prolonged period, moving to Soldato on short notice—and he wipes all of them away. There’s no use trying. “Good,” he answers with a smile. “Should you be out here?” Callebero shrugs, the same nonchalance he’s always worn when trying to get out of trouble. Sirion suppresses a reflexive smile even as he tries to keep a serious face. Callebero shouldn’t push himself—not so soon after nearly losing his remaining hand and life with it—but he knows he won’t really scold him. “Just testing my hand out,” Callebero says, flexing his left hand. The scars over his fingers are still bright and new, a fresh pink that’s stark against his skin. Sirion frowns a little at them, but he relents at Callebero’s cheerful grin. It’s hard to be the person to bring that smile down; it’s been too rare recently, outnumbered by the nightmares that wake him, shaking, in the middle of the night. “You have a minute?” Sirion asks. Callebero frowns but nods. “Of course,” he signs. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Sirion answers, rolling his eyes. Callebero smiles, abashed. He always goes straight to concern, a reaction Sirion never would have guessed when they first met. “I’m just headed to the baths,” Callebero explains, “but I can wait.” “No,” Sirion says, shaking his head, “it’s not that important.” Callebero hums and nods in acknowledgment. He eyes Sirion for a moment as they cross back through the garden. A little burl of irrational frustration bubbles up in Sirion’s chest at the way Callebero has to lean a little to catch Sirion’s eye despite being three years younger. It’s familiar after this many years. “Your parents?” Callebero asks. Sirion sighs, giving up. “They’d like to invite you to dinner at our home,” he explains. Callebero snorts. “I’m guessing they phrased it a little differently,” he remarks. Sirion winces. He’s never been a good liar, but he’d thought he could manage this one. He raises his hands to apologize but Callebero shakes his head, smiling a little. “It’s sweet,” he says. “They’re protective of you.” “Too protective,” Sirion retorts. “You’re their baby,” Callebero points out. That earns him a flat stare. Sirion doesn’t need anyone else on his mamán’s side of that debate. He’s twenty-three, not two. Callebero just grins. “I’d be honored to join your family at their convenience,” he says, all diplomacy except for that stupid, cheeky grin. It comes together quickly after that; there aren’t many times when Callebero’s free enough to take dinner out on the edges of the capital, and so there aren’t many choices for Sirion’s parents to pick from. When the day comes, Sirion finds himself in the midst of an unexpected crisis. He’s been nervous all day, a low-level anxiety thrumming under his skin. He knows there isn’t any real reason to be worried, but it’s hard to stop. The people who matter most to him in the world are going to meet tonight—and what if it goes wrong? What if they don’t like each other? It nags at him all day. Even the ones that he knows are irrational still needle at him—whispers like, what if Callebero realizes that he doesn’t really want to be with someone from such common stock? It’s unfair to think it, but the anxiety writhes under his skin. “Is this too much?” Callebero asks. “I don’t want to be overdressed but I also don’t want to be disrespectful…” He says it to the interior of the chest, and Sirion leans back on their shared bed and watches. He’s used to Callebero’s anxiety over different things, but this is the first time he’s seen it over something like clothing. From where he’s sitting, Sirion can see the way his muscles are tensed under his scars, shoulders tight. Sirion frowns, canting his head. “Armor’s not appropriate,” Callebero mutters. He huffs and turns to Sirion. “It’s your family. What’s best?” Sirion shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “Something normal.” Callebero stares at him, shoulders dropping and expression edging towards abject despair. He turns back to the chest. It’s that moment that makes Sirion’s nerves disappear. He stands and walks over to wrap his arms around Callebero’s waist, loose enough that Callebero could move out of them. His hair’s still damp from the baths and his skin warm. He sinks back into Sirion’s hold, and Sirion presses a kiss to his neck. It sends a little thrill of delight up his spine, that he can do this now. It’s still so new. “They’ll love you,” he signs. “No matter what you wear. Though you’ll freeze if you wear only this towel.” Callebero snorts and Sirion grins. It’s true, he’s finally realized. No matter the tough front his parents put up, they’re doing it because they love him. By his guess, it’ll take all of two minutes for them to realize Callebero loves him just as much, and after that, they’ll be home free. Sirion nuzzles the back of his neck, loath to let go of Callebero now that his arms are around him. Callebero puts up with it for a few moments before turning over his shoulder to press a quick kiss to Sirion’s lips and gently disengage him. “I should get dressed then,” Callebero says by way of excuse. It doesn’t bother Sirion and he goes back to sitting on the bed contentedly. Callebero has never been the neediest when it comes to physical contact, and recently, he’s struggled between wanting it and being unable to stand it. Sirion is only bothered by it when Callebero himself is; he is happy to simply be together. Fortunately, it seems to have settled Callebero, and he selects an outfit shortly. It’s sleek and simple: black and silver with gold accents at the throat and wrists. Sirion watches with a little smile as Callebero gently tugs the amulet out from his collar, resettling it over his chest. It’s a small thing, and it shouldn’t mean much—but it gives him a little bloom of satisfaction to see. “Alright,” Callebero says, turning to him. “Ready?” “Of course,” Sirion signs, straightening up. He grins and Callebero gives him a shakier smile. They take a carriage most the way, Callebero’s one concession to Hayalen’s security concerns. It only seems to make him more nervous, though; he rubs his left thumb back and forth over the nearest scar on his hand till it’d shine if it were a ring. There’s nothing Sirion can say to assuage Callebero’s anxiety and taking his hand would likely only make him more fidgety, so he lets him be. The carriage pulls to a stop at the end of the street, too wide to squeeze between the buildings here. Once the doors are shut behind them, Sirion reaches out to interlace his fingers with Callebero’s. There’s an immediate shift as Callebero exhales and his shoulders loosen. Sirion gives his hand a little pulse and then starts them down the lane. It’s a quiet street. Most houses are lit only by a candle or two, and many are already fully dark. It’s a working street, one that rises early and sleeps early. Even Sirion’s parents are often abed by this hour. It’s only due to the gravitas of this dinner that they’re still up. Once at the door, Sirion gives Callebero’s hand one more squeeze before releasing it to rap at the door. It swings open a little too quickly, as if his mamán has been waiting on the other side. Only—it’s not Mamán. “Nía?” Sirion demands. His sister smiles, polite but a little stiff. “Good evening and welcome, Your Eminence. Sirion,” she greets with a slight bow. “Callebero is fine,” Callebero says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you—?” “Oh!” Nía startles a little, as if surprised that she forgot to introduce herself. “Abanía, Sirion’s elder sister.” Callebero’s smile is pure diplomacy as Nía leads them inside and begins the introductions. Sirion only barely stifles a groan once inside the common room; this was supposed to be a relaxed dinner with his parents and Callebero, and instead, his entire rabble of siblings is here. Nía looks back at him once, and he flips his hands over, palms spread. It’s faster than signing ‘What in the seven saints is everyone doing here?’ and carries the same message effectively. She jerks her head in a gesture at Callebero, eyebrows up. Sirion scowls. “Mamán?” She shrugs, but she’s grinning. Sirion scowls harder and flips a rude gesture towards her. She signs back, “Love you,” and bites back a laugh at Sirion’s expression. He’s tempted, then and there, to tug Callebero back out the door and to the palace. He’d accepted their parents’ absurd demand, but that hadn’t included dropping Callebero into the mess of their entire family. Preemptive mortification is already heating his cheeks. One of them is going to say something idiotic—something from which there will be no recovery. Worse, they’ll start a political debate and wind up trying to shame Callebero himself. They could have dinner some other time. Saints, Callebero is the imperator princep—Sirion could have him order his parents to the palace and they would have no choice to obey. Certainly that would be better than whatever absurdity is about to take place. But when he looks to Callebero, to pull him out of danger, Sirion finds him oddly content. He wears a small smile that’s more genuine than when he meets with courtiers, and there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes. Saints curse me, he thinks. They’re staying. They settle in at the table, on the same flat pillows they’ve used since he was a child. Callebero folds neatly into place at Sirion’s side, pulling his bad knee close with his hand to keep it from sticking out. Sirion’s lips twitch downwards a little. If he sits like that for all of dinner, his knee’s going to half-dead by the time they return to the palace. His siblings haven’t brought any of their children, for which Sirion isn’t sure he’s grateful. They’d offer a distraction, at least, and his siblings are all better behaved when their own children are watching. Now, they have free reign to be absolute heathens. “Welcome to our home, Your Eminence,” Mamán greets. “We are honored to have you.” “The honor is mine,” Callebero answers. “To be among Sirion’s family is a privilege, and moreso to be welcomed into your home.” It’s a good answer. Malán sits up a little, eyeing Callebero with something approaching approval, and Mamán actually gives a real, if miniscule, smile. Sirion turns to his curry and tries to will this dinner to hurry up. The sooner they leave, the fewer opportunities Elarion has to bring up the government’s treatment of farmers beyond the capital region and the fewer chances Lione has to bring up embarrassing stories of their childhood. And yet—somehow, impossibly, it doesn’t happen. His siblings are mostly quiet except for polite conversation. Nía is attentive and polite, and Elarion watches Callebero with wide eyes, as if they can’t quite believe the imperator princep sits among them. Saojin and Avaril set the table as quickly and silently as servants at a grand banquet. They are all disturbingly polite. Their good behavior should be a relief, and yet Sirion feels somehow betrayed. They’re miscreants, the lot of them. He can hardly visit for an hour before Lione is chiding him about the mismanagement of the state grain stores, and Avaril was ready to march up to the palace and slice Valyn’s throat herself when Sirion forfeited his captaincy. Watching them now, it’s as if his entire family has been replaced with perfectly poised and polite actors. He is deeply and nonsensically disgruntled. Partway through, Callebero slants his gaze toward him, that quiet check-in they’ve perfected on the battlefield and in the court, and Sirion leans in just enough that their arms press briefly together in reassurance. Appeased, a small smile curls Callebero’s lips, and he turns his attention fully to the rest of Sirion’s horrible, terrible, no-good family. Looking up, Sirion catches mamán’s gaze resting on them with such gentle warmth that his entire face heats up. He ducks his head, not sure how to respond to that knowing smile. By the end of the night, most of his tension has worn itself out. A thin string of bewilderment still runs between his ribs, but no one has said anything terribly outlandish or challenged Callebero to a duel over his honor, so. All in all, it’s better than he expected. “Sirion,” Malán says, standing, “join me?” He glances at Callebero, but the answering look is content and relaxed enough that he can’t think of an excuse to stay. Unfolding himself from the low table, Sirion follows Malán to the courtyard where the cool storage is tightly closed against the lingering warmth of the day. From one of the shelves against the back of the house, she pulls a basket and drops it into his hands. Lost, Sirion looks down at the basket and then back to where Malán has turned to the cold storage. “Malán?” he signs, drawing one hand free. “He is a polite young man,” she says, setting a swaddled bundle down in the bottom of the basket. Sirion hurries to readjust, pressing it to his chest with his left hand so his right remains free, “and he is clearly besotted with you.” Heat flushes Sirion’s face, leaves him stammering uselessly. His hand twitches around signs he doesn’t quite make, too startled and embarrassed to form words. “He has some work to do to make up for his past failings,” she continues, “but it doesn’t seem he’ll shy from the task.” The basket is now heavy with dense loaves wrapped in wax cloth and at least two whole dried fish. Malán pauses, frowning down at the berry bushes crowded along the low wall. Resisting the urge to groan, Sirion reaches out to tap her shoulder. “Malán,” he signs, “we live in the palace. There’s no shortage of food.” She harrumphs and closes the wooden door of the storage cell, slotting the wooden lock in place. “You miss your mamán’s cooking,” she replies, “and he is far too skinny. If our son runs the imperator princep ragged, what will the neighborhood say? You know Failleron is always looking for a reason to talk.” Briefly giving in, Sirion presses a knuckle into the center of his forehead. He doesn’t bother pointing out that Callebero has always been gangly and lean. He did come back from Capall thinner, after all, and there’s no stopping Malán when she’s decided to fuss. “It could be seen as an offense,” he tries, “implying the Soko house is too poor to afford a proper staff.” Malán arches her eyebrows and reaches out to tweak his ear in a way that makes him flinch and grimace, regretting the little jade studs he’s wearing. “My son lecturing me on propriety,” she scolds, and he dips his gaze apologetically. “I am looking after my son’s partner and welcoming him in our family.” He sighs and lets it go, recognizing defeat. There’s a strange warmth in his chest as they turn back to the house, an unfurling sense of pleasure and relief that he refuses to look at too closely because he’s still a little peeved about the deception. Still, when Malán pauses just shy of the door to smooth his hair back from his forehead where a few tendrils have slid free, he exhales and leans in to the touch. “—and the seeds are still held by the garrison supplier.” Sirion freezes, eyes flying open. Stepping through the door, he finds Elarion leaning forward against the table and Callebero canting his head to the side just-so. From a stranger’s perspective, his expression would seem disinterested, aloof: his brow is furrowed and lips thinned, gaze dropping briefly toward the table. After this many years, though, Sirion recognizes the expression as one of serious thought and attention. He nearly groans. They’d been so close to getting out of this. “The garrison should only be involved in distributing seeds and surplus in times of need,” Callebero says. “Any other restriction is an abuse of their authority.” Elarion tilts his head toward one shoulder, gaze slipping away from Callebero. He notices Sirion in the doorway and has the good grace to at least look a little sheepish. “Thank you for telling me,” Callebero says. “I’ll see that it is included in the ongoing review.” From here, Sirion can see the way Elarion’s eyes widen as his gaze snaps back to Callebero. A sense of smugness unfolds in his chest, as if he is somehow responsible for Callebero’s own personality. Walking fully into the room, he stops beside Callebero and rests his hand on his shoulder. Callebero looks up, gaze snagging briefly on the laden basket, and raises his eyebrows in question. Humming faintly, Callebero draws himself up to his feet with only a slight hitch. The rest of them hurry to stand as well. “Thank you for your hospitality,” Callebero says. “The privilege was ours, Your Emi—Callebero,” mamán says, correcting herself as she bows. “Please, there’s no need for that,” Callebero says, looking vaguely embarrassed. Mamán steals a glance at Sirion first, as if to check, but she straightens and walks them to the door. Behind them, Sirion can see Elarion slump back on his elbows with a bewildered look while Nía shares a look with Avaril and hides a grin poorly. Lione has leaned over to say something to Saojin that makes them grimace and shoot him a look of betrayal. “May the saints watch over you,” Mamán says at the door. She’s perfectly poised, dressed in her very best robes with her hair pinned back neatly with the teak pin Malán gave her years ago. Compared to Callebero’s robes or even Sirion’s, the fabric is simple and the layers few, but her bearing makes it seem insignificant. Mentally, Sirion makes a note to badger Nía into helping him sneak a new set of robes for both their parents before the next holiday; both Mamán and Malán would be mortified if he gifted them outright without an excuse, but it’s not as if he has much use for his wages. They’re quiet as they walk back down the darkened street toward the waiting carriage, each digesting the evening. There’s a slight hitch to Callebero’s gait, a stiffness from keeping his knee bent so sharply for too long. When he’s certain Mamán must have gone inside the house, Sirion squeezes Callebero’s hand and lifts his to sign. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I really didn’t realize they all would be there.” A breath huffs out of Callebero, and he shakes his head with a little grin. “It was nice,” he insists. Sirion narrows his eyes, but he can’t glimpse a hint of insincerity in Callebero’s voice or face. Something wobbles in his chest like a stone perched precariously atop a cairn. “You truly didn’t mind?” he asks after a moment, a little hesitant. Pausing, Callebero turns to him fully and cants his head. In the low light of the street, he is formed mostly in sketches of light: the moon whisking silver down his cheek and catching in his eye, the glow of a lamp in a neighbor’s window golden on the nape of his neck. A small smile curls the corners of his lips, but his eyes are soft as he reaches over to take Sirion’s hand. “It was nice,” he repeats, giving Sirion’s hand a squeeze. “They care about you so much and…” He hesitates, eyelashes flicking toward his cheeks as he looks down and away. That stone settles in Sirion’s chest, and he doesn’t press for more. He knows Callebero’s family is spread thin and far, that the person who should have been closest to him is the one responsible for the pale pink scars across his hand and the darker ones across his cheek and back and severed arm. Letting out a grudging huff, Sirion squeezes Callebero’s hands and draws them back along the road.

“They liked you,” he signs after a moment.

“Mm?” Callebero hums, looking to him with a small smile. Snorting, Sirion hefts the ridiculous basket on his arm. “It’s a sign of love,” he explains dryly, “pressing food on you.”

The smile curves into a grin as Callebero laughs at that. He doesn’t worry at his hand anymore and his shoulders have eased, growing relaxed with fatigue and contentment. It settles Sirion, washes away the last of his stress and worry as they near the carriage. “I’m afraid I’m too poor a cook to reciprocate,” Callebero remarks. Sirion snorts and shakes his head. Around the carriage, a few of the younger neighbors have gathered to ogle the fine horses and talk to the driver. He recognizes a few of them—children of his parents’ neighbors, enough younger than him that he never really got to know them—but they all grow wide-eyed at the sight of Callebero and him walking shoulder-to-shoulder. “If you let Elarion and Lione complain about the government, you’ll have more than made up for it,” Sirion signs as they climb in.

“Ah Elarion had some sincere points,” Callebero replies, stretching his legs out and reaching down to dig his thumb into the side of his knee. “They’re more than welcome to join Jisel and I. Perhaps they’d bring some fresh perspectives.” For a moment, Sirion imagines his idiot brothers crowded into Callebero’s study late at night. They’d both be too scared to say a word, gawking at the fine room and horrified by the way Jisel and Callebero needle and tease each other. He shakes his head and breathes out a laugh at the very thought. The carriage rattles into motion, and Sirion reaches out to take Callebero’s hand. He presses a kiss to the silvering scars across his fingers and looks up at him with a soft smile. “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he signs, and Callebero’s expression turns sweet and open. “Of course,” he says. “I was glad to.” Humming faintly, Sirion tangles their fingers together and leans in so his shoulder presses into Callebero’s. In the morning, he’ll go back to being horrified that his siblings so gleefully conspired against him, but for right now, he settles against Callebero’s steady warmth with drowsy contentment unfurling in his chest. Maybe it isn’t the worst thing to be loved so fiercely.

[brief-candle]

ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇ - Laito Sakamaki

request info: succubus reader plays around with laito and makes him jealous on purpose.

they wanted her to become his girlfriend but i couldn't find a way to fit it in without the conversation looking kinda weird. and i also didn't write the scene where they did the devil's tango because this was on quotev and we gotta be family friendly pg clean over there.

i’m just posting the two things i did for dialovers bc i have nothing else to post atm,, after i finish the last request in my inbox i might write something self-indulgent... haven’t done that in a while so hmm

series: diabolik lovers.

notes: probably ooc laito, female reader, slight yandere, heavily implied nsfw (under the cut!!).

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

There was interest sparked from the moment they met eyes. Well, perhaps interest wasn't the correct word for it. Not for someone like Laito Sakamaki. To be truthful, he wasn't truly very interested with many people. Not when it was exceptionally easy to get what he wanted from them before he could move onto another of his victims.

For a short while, she seemed just as simple and easy as the rest of the people he'd bedded. Flirting back easily, smiling coyly as she did so. It was a telltale sign of interest, wasn't it? Many responded to him in that way, and from then on didn't seem to hold interest in anyone else. Only him, such a reaction born from minimal effort on his part.

What he wasn't expecting was for her to show others the same treatment with such ease, giggling along to lame jokes and getting very touchy as she did so. Everyone she seemed to interact with appeared to fall apart at the seams, heeding to her every beck and call very soon after. Seeing such a thing was strange to him, perhaps as he was not used to seeing someone else have such an effect over people. People that he was so used to controlling with the slightest lilt to his voice, the upturn of his lips having them fawning over him in an instant.

He found himself competing with her, silently declaring a war over the attention of their schoolmates. But no matter his determination that he would not lose- pride in that charm of his- he found himself losing every battle. The smallest input into a conversation from her would drive people insane with glee, the smallest of smiles raising people's moods for the entire day. Laito truly couldn't fathom how she could possibly do it, really.

For a moment he had deliberated that it may have been simply natural charm. That she simply wasn't aware of her effect on others, and had no idea that he was competing with her in the first place. However that was all very obviously disproved from the smug look in her eyes when she knew no one but him was looking. It was gone in a second, as someone had turned to talk to her once more, but there was no question that it had been there.

It seemed he'd have to up his game.

Rather than playing it tame with his ploys to steal the attention from her, he began to explore different tactics. Instead of outright fighting for attention (though no one seemed to notice that they were fighting for it), he started to use rather underhanded moves. Seducing more and more people than he'd done before, intimidating those that still stood by her, sometimes even going so far as to blackmail them. He was determined to be at the top of the food chain again, being the one that people thought of all day every day. Laito never really appreciated it, and chances were that he still wouldn't even after all of this. What he was appreciating was the entertainment- the challenge- that came from it.

What he would appreciate more is seeing her gradually break down because of it. Because of him. He was striving to reach a point where no one would even look at her, lest they risk his fury. But he'd still hold a hand out to her, to take her in and break her beyond repair, all under the guise of sympathy. Even just thinking about it got his nonexistent heart racing; her face, beautiful without a doubt, with reddened cheeks and puffy eyes that couldn't even cry any more than they had already. Those eyes, so vibrant and rich in their colour, filled with such despair and agony because of him. Though he couldn't decide if he wanted to show her off in such a state or keep her all to himself.

"What are you playing at, Mister Sakamaki?" Speak of the devil, and she may appear. Indeed, as he turned, he caught sight of you. Not that he needed to turn and face you, really, especially not with a look of confusion so feigned and practised upon his face. Yet he did so anyway, and internally delighted in seeing her.

He continued to play the innocently confused, answering: "Whatsoever do you mean?"

Though she was an exceptional actress, some of the irritation seeped through the cracks in her façade and tainted the usually affable tone in her voice as well as the sense of enchantment that lived in her eyes. She was visibly unimpressed by his faux guiltlessness, eyebrows furrowing just enough to form the slightest of creases before they were gone. Face back to neutrality, though not as beautiful as her brief frustration had been to him.

"I see," she paused, closing her eyes as he did so. If only she wouldn't do that, for she was much harder to read with her eyes closed. They were such a lovely colour, too. Thankfully she opened them once more when she continued, "I wouldn't recommend that you continue with what you're doing." As she spoke, that amiable smile came to her face again, one which didn't reach her eyes and distracted one very easily from her venomous emphasis which she delicately placed upon each softly spoken syllable.

That piqued his interest then, the threat spoken so mildly and the consequences left silent. He felt almost obligated to ask, failing to hide rising amusement, "Oh? And what will you do about it?"

She didn't rise to his challenge. Not immediately, anyway. But when she did, it was with a cutting civility and a long, cold stare: "I'll put bugs in your pants."

It was a child's threat, yes, but it was a threat which worked against the likes of Laito. Though he didn't reveal how much he detested at the mere idea of such a thing coming true. He hated the idea of insects being anywhere near him- never mind on him!

"The biggest ones I can find."

She was visibly trying very hard not to crack up at his reaction. No matter how much he tried to hide his discomfort, his pale skin paled even more. It was very tempting to tease and prod at him for it, but she resisted; it looked as if she'd be getting her way. She'd have got it one way or the other- that was something she was very good at- but it was always a pleasant surprise when it was this easy.

So, with an easy grin upon her face, she turned and headed down the hallway, left hand waving lazily, "pleasure doing business with you."

Oh, but it wasn't pleasant for him. He did keep his side of the one-sided bargain, but it was with extreme reluctance that only seemed to grow as time went on. With every fleeting touch she inflicted upon another, every simpering smile that they received- hell, every look she gave people began to grate on him. Why did she seem to give little bits of herself to everyone but him so freely? She barely even looked in his direction since their little exchange and days had began to merge with weeks, and he didn't know if he could take them forming months.

Especially since she always knew exactly what she was doing. The only times she would spare him a glance was when she did something that she knew would particularly annoy him. That was when she'd look in his direction, see him looking and stare just as smugly as she'd done before, with the same smugness that used to irritate him for different reasons.

It was still there now, poorly buried under false irritation as she tilted her head upwards to stare him in the eyes. Her eyes were somehow even more pretty up close, especially when looking in his direction.

"What are you doing, Sakamaki?" She was more relaxed this time, most likely due to having nothing to lose. Intrigue was very much present under layers of fake boredom, yet he didn't call her out on it.

"I could ask you the same question." Though he sounded relaxed, he wasn't as relaxed as he sounded on the inside. He'd acted on a whim, here, and even though the action wasn't unexpected of him, it felt rather foreign to him with her. There was something about her that seemed so different from anyone else he'd talked to in this school (apart from his brothers, of course), but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be.

She hummed in question, leaning forward until her nose nearly met his. So close, yet so far. How he wanted to lunge forward and take her lips in his, hoping it would satiate him somewhat.

"And why is that?"

He chuckled, not looking away from her for a moment; to break eye contact would be to admit defeat to her, and that was something he'd never do.

"You're full of questions today." Was all he responded with, barely acknowledging her question. She wouldn't have the satisfaction of knowing what he was thinking- how he was feeling- in the slightest. If he were to tell her then her ego would only grow, and that was the opposite of what he wanted.

He wanted her to squirm. To squirm like all the others when he pushed them so.

But she didn't.

"And you're dodging every single one of them." Finally, she broke eye contact, staring at his dark, loosely-tied necktie for a moment. Then she reached for it, twirling it around and around her finger with almost absent eyes. Around and around and around and around it went, and he mused that perhaps she'd never stop.

It did. Only when she reached up the tiniest amount to grip it in her hand, pulling it towards her. Their noses were very much touching there, and the slightest of friction from skin against skin had never felt so good to him before. Hell, he could've moaned from it had he not been so surprised.

Her eyes were so close, a colour so indescribably beautiful that he felt that he was drowning in an ocean of it from the sight alone. Especially so close. It was too close to be considered friendly- too close to even be considered aggressive. Well, not the type of aggressive that'd lead to a fight, anyway. Perhaps the other type of aggressive, though.

"You've been staring at me for a while," she stated, slightly tilting her head as she did so with an amused smile upon her face, "is there something you need from me?"

He, too, was amused by the situation. If he was not a vampire then he was sure his heart would've been beating out of his chest by now. It was a strange sensation, feeling so on-edge yet so immensely excited. Was this what it was like to play with fire? If so then he hoped it would never be extinguished.

"Perhaps," he cupped her chin in his hand, stroking it gently with long, slow movements of his thumb, "though I fear it's something only you can provide."

His gaze briefly strayed to her lips, lingering there intentionally longer than necessary, before flickering back up to her eyes. They narrowed in mirth.

"Oh? Is that so?"

Her movements were serpentine, head now close to his ear, so much so that her warm breath began to fan across his ice-cold neck.

"Well, then I can't deprive you if you're that desperate, now, can I?"

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

The sun was beginning to rise, yet neither of them noticed such a thing through the thick, dark curtains.

"I didn't think you were the dominant type," Laito spoke, the girl he was speaking to busying herself with dressing herself. He wasn't disappointed by any means, which was evident by his usual teasing, flirtatious tone of voice.

She snickered, "you certainly didn't seem to mind."

He grinned, waving an arm around in the air for emphasis, "of course not! It was a pleasant surprise."

"Though," he continued, staring at her whilst resting his face in the palm of his hand, "you still haven't told me what you are."

Completely unfazed by his question, she stared back with a smile still upon her face, "really- you haven't figured it out yet?"

Clicking her tongue, she strode over to her now-creased blazer that had been flung haphazardly onto the floor and shrugged it on, "I'm surprised. Surely you of all people have come across a succubus or two before, no?"

"A succubus?" He repeated, almost dumbfounded. As far as he knew, they were just some fantasy creature. But her being a succubus would answer a lot of his questions about the whole situation which had so far gone unanswered.

"Yes," she merely commented, slipping on her shoes now. At this point she was fully dressed, whereas Laito hadn't even bothered making an effort to put any clothes on.

With one final glance, she opened the door, "well, I hope to be seeing you a little more, Laito."

And with that, she left.

He hoped to be seeing a bit more than a little more of her. Let's just hope he doesn't get too greedy now, though.

[lokislytherin]

euphoria // vampire!jungkook

pairing: vampire!jeon jeongguk x human!reader

summary: you’re scared of vampires - until one saves your life one night.

word count: 1988 + 1808 + 2373 + 1798 + 1046 + 2113

chapters: prologue / chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / epilogue

"No!" Jeongguk howls as you fall unconscious, brown eyes rolling to the back of your head.

He knows too well how much being bitten without permission hurts, and it hurts to see you in pain like this.  A red haze of rage floods in before his eyes, and his fangs slide out of his gums.  If it means keeping you alive, he's more than willing to unleash the feral beast inside.  Both sides of him have a common goal now - the side of him that's still human wants to protect you, and the vampire side wants a continuous supply of your sweet blood, preferably fresh.

Seokjin's motorbike screeches to a halt, the witch jumping off nimbly and landing on both feet.  He taps Jeongguk's head with his phone-staff, linking their minds.  Focus, Jeongguk, Jin says, keep your emotions in check.  You won't win this without a clear head.

Even through the rage, Jeongguk can register his words as a warning.  He takes a deep breath, and the red dissipates.  He knows you'd prefer him alive - or as alive as he is now - and he'd prefer you alive too.  Besides, if you died, who knows what Seokjin would do to him?

I'll create a distraction and bring Y/N to safety.  I trust you to deal with this leech without attracting mortal attention.  He pats Jeongguk's shoulder in an almost brotherly manner, and Jeongguk is suddenly glad the other man is with him.  Go get your vengeance, JK.  I'll turn a blind eye. The vampire holding your unconscious body hostage sneers at the duo standing before him.  "How unexpected: a witch and a vampire joining forces to protect a lowly human.  My, I never thought I'd see the day! All you're missing now is a werewolf."

Next to Jeongguk, Seokjin goes rigid.

Jeongguk snarls, baring his fangs in a challenge.  "Let her go." Jin's eyes dart from side to side, planning the best way to get Y/N out and escape.  "If you want her, you'll have to go through me.  And you hurt her, so I'll kill you."

Jeongguk sounds more confident than he is, and the vampire must have picked up on it, for he shrieks out a laugh.  "Oh, little leech.  So young and naive." His nails are long and dirty, so filthy and unkempt they resemble claws.  He looks like something out of Dracula.  "I wonder how your little blood bag will taste." You're already bleeding from two puncture wounds in your neck, but with a slice of a nail, he slits your throat, blood spurting out of your jugular.  Seokjin grits his teeth, fists clenched.  "Mmm, she smells good, doesn't she?" The older vampire taunts.

Jeongguk's nostrils flare, but he tries not to inhale.  He doesn't want to confirm the other bloodsucker's words, but neither can he deny it.  Seokjin's scent is the only thing tethering him to sanity - the base of it is calming rose, but his anxiety smells like sour blackcurrants.  Stay calm, Jeongguk tells himself, stay calm.  Do it for Y/N. It's time, Seokjin murmurs in his mind.  Close your eyes.

Jeongguk listens wisely.  "Look behind you," the witch sneers right back at the vampire.

Like the fool that he is, the vampire turns his back to Seokjin, and Jeongguk closes his eyes just in time to sense a sharp burst of light from behind his eyelids.  When the light fades, both Y/N and the witch are gone, the only trace of their presence bloodstains and motorbike tire tracks.

Jeongguk sighs a silent breath of relief.  At least you're safe now.

"Stupid witch." The vampire scowls, fangs gleaming as red as his eyes.  "Now you've cost me my dinner." He rises to his feet with an ugly smile, flexing his fingers and claws.  "Time to settle this like real men, little leech."

“You’re not a man,” Jeongguk spits out, “you’re a monster.”

The bloodsucker quirks a brow, grinning at Jeongguk.  It's vile, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck raise.  "And what makes you so different, little leech?" He takes a step forward, but Jeongguk will not be cowed.  "We're the same, you and me.  We're vampires, we need fresh blood to survive.  You've probably killed humans before.  You can deny it all you want, but you know you're a monster too."

"You're wrong," Jeongguk grunts, crouching into a fighting stance that's as familiar to him as his own body.  The bloodsucker delights in seeing the younger vampire tremble, knowing he has hit a sore spot.  Jeongguk clenches his fists, knees bent, jaw set.  "You were the one who turned me." The vampire hums.  "Oh, I remember you.  You put up one hell of a fight, little Taekwondo boy." He licks his lips.  "The fear only made your blood sweeter."

The young vampire growls, forcing down the bile that rises in his throat.  "I'll kill you for hurting Y/N."

"I'm a vampire.  I'm already dead." He smiles, malice gleaming in his crimson eyes.  "But you already know that, don't you, little Taekwondo boy?"

Little does the bloodsucker know, Jeongguk has a wooden stake hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket, courtesy of Seokjin.  You'll need backup, the older man had told him beforehand, once I leave with Y/N, I won't be coming back for you.  She doesn't heal like we do.  Seokjin had pressed the stake into his hands.  I trust you to walk out of there safe and hurt as little as possible.

Stabbing the stake into the bloodsucker's chest would be an act of mercy, and terrible as it sounds, Jeongguk wants the other vampire to feel pain.  He deserves it for hurting Y/N, doesn't he?

But is it right? Would it make him as much of a monster as the other vampire if he were to kill him slowly? He banishes the thoughts from his brain with a shake of his head.  He can't afford to be thinking like this.

"You can't kill me, can you, little Taekwondo boy?" The vampire mocks him, malice in his eyes.  "You're too weak." Jeongguk snaps.

The only time he'll ever be weak is when he's with you, and are you here now?

No.

Back when he learned Taekwondo, his master had always told him to have courtesy, integrity, perseverance, self-control and indomitable spirit.  Even now, he would not fail his master - he'd taken those words on as rules of life, not just sports.  A year ago, he had been human, terrified kicks and punches no match for the vampire.

Now, he's a vampire.  He's ten times stronger than he was before, and he won't lose.  Just pretend it's a Taekwondo match, he thinks to himself.  One point for a basic torso attack, two for a spinning kick to the body, and three for a kick to the head.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he goes immediately for a punch to the torso, gauging the other vampire's speed in comparison to his.  The vampire nimbly dodges out of the way, but Jeongguk isn't fazed - it's just like a regular match, except neither he nor his opponent are human and they are fighting at twice the speed of a normal match.

Now, for a spinning kick - he launches himself off the ground in a roundhouse kick, aiming for the head.  It would've been a brilliant kick: after years of training, he had perfect form, with immense strength and speed to match.  

What a pity the other bloodsucker had to grab him by the foot and slam him down onto the ground, digging sharp nails into his leg.

"I won't fall for that again," hisses the leech.

If the bloodsucker will play dirty, Jeongguk will do the same.  The rules of Taekwondo don't apply anymore, not when your opponent is fighting to kill.  Jeongguk will not give up, not when your life is at stake, as are the lives of the innocents who may be subjected to vampirism in the future.

No more people will be subjected to the bloodsucker's cruelty, not if Jeongguk can help it.

He charges forward, body slamming into the bloodsucker with superhuman strength and speed.   He tackles his opponent to the cold concrete floor, fists driving mercilessly into his face.

The older bloodsucker retaliates with a hiss that sounds more animal than human, sharp nails slicing at his skin.  They're literally fighting with tooth and claw - Jeongguk can feel the vampire draw blood with his nails, and he doesn't hesitate to take a chunk out of the leech's arm when it comes too close to his face.

What would Y/N think if she saw you like this? He squashes the thought. Perhaps there is no honor among the undead - they must fight to survive, through whatever means necessary.

A split second of distraction is all it takes for the other vampire to pick him up like he weighs nothing, tossing him against a nearby wall with superhuman strength.  Jeongguk's eyes widen, hearing the air whoosh by his ears before an ominous crack in his chest reverberates in his body.

He grunts upon impact.  A broken rib, probably.  It hurts, but he refuses to show how much it does - letting the bloodsucker see the pain would be a victory to his opponent.

The bloodsucker stalks to where Jeongguk lies slumped against the floor with a hand cradled around his chest.  "Not so tough now, little Taekwondo boy?"

I trust you to walk out of there safe and hurt as little as possible, Jin's voice echoes in his head.  Do it for Y/N.

He raises a claw, ready to deliver the killing blow.  He sneers down at the younger vampire.  "You've gotten better, little Taekwondo boy.  But still not good enough."

Jeongguk grits his teeth through the pain.  "You're wrong," he growls, voice deadly quiet.  He smiles coldly.  His jaw is clenched, eyes stormy blue.  "Goodbye."

He yanks the stake out of his pocket with superhuman speed and rams it into the bloodsucker's chest with all the strength he has.

It goes right through the heart.

The bloodsucker's eyes widen in shock before an unholy wail rips out of his mouth.  Jeongguk watches, emotionless, as the vampire before him explodes into smoke and ash.  The air of death weighs heavily in the air, the scent of blood lingering on the floor, on his skin.  Death tastes bitter on his tongue, but the primal, sadistic side of him savors the taste.

Jeongguk hears and smells them coming before he sees - two pairs of footsteps; two males, one smelling like rain and the other like pine wood.  It smells clean, but the vampire crinkles his nose when he sees them.

They're hunters, dressed in dark jeans and leather.  There are only two of them, alone, attracted by the miasma of death and the bloodsucker's last scream.  From his position in the dark, he sees the light of a torch flicker.  It doesn't shine on him.

"Namjoon, what do you sense?" One hunter asks.

The hunter - Namjoon - hums thoughtfully.  "Somebody's already done our job for us.  Two vampires, one's dead.  I can't sense where the other one is."

'Sense' is an odd word to use in this situation, but Jeongguk doesn't question it.  He doesn't know why Namjoon the hunter is sparing him, but he's glad.  If they're here, they were probably planning to kill him.

"Are you sure?" The other hunter presses.  "There's blood around here." He pokes around at Y/N's bloodstains, but the other hunter still shakes his head, telling his partner one vampire is gone and the only thing left of the other is ash and dust.

Jeongguk glances at himself.  His shirt is stained black with blood, skin peeling from his knuckles, a long gash running down one calf,  On the other calf, there are crescent moons marked in blood.  His chest aches from the pain of a broken rib, and he knows he won't heal unless he feeds.

It's time for him to leave.

He lopes off into the shadows and leaves the hunters to their work, an insignificant part of the night once more.

[signefaine]

The Alpha and the Omega

This dream, it keeps coming to me of nights, and so I stop my wanderings, and put these notions to paper. I know these people not.

Nights before battles were always tense, it has ever been so, and this was no exception.

Loki paced in his tent, sweating lightly, unable to calm the usual sense of adrenaline that was coursing through his veins. It was unreasonable for him to be so unsettled, and it angered him. He was a seasoned battled commander. His troops were ready, eager for the fight that awaited them, and though it would be fierce, their cause was just (not that it mattered, for their part, but for him, it did...mostly), and his planning was perfect. They would have everything to their advantage...the terrain. His tactics...their obedience was unquestionable. He would return victorious, and Thor would be once again see that he had done the correct thing by retaining him, Loki, as his Right Hand...

But why, in the name of all the Nine, was he so ill at ease?

It was the first time since he wed, it was true, that he was off to war. But his bride, Lordiss, was no shrinking violet, for all that she was such an unexpected gift to him...he stopped his frenetic movement, his face softening as he cast his thoughts back to her...so many things had changed since he met his Vanir sorceress, the Omega to his Alpha...she matched wits with him, challenged him, never giving quarter...for all that she was the softness to his steel, she did not yield easily, and he loved her all the more for it. When they discovered each other at a secluded Scholastica for Sorcery, buried deep within Vanaheim’s forests...it was two puzzle pieces snapping into place. He did not know he was an an Alpha, completely ignorant of the the Alpha/Omega universe and dynamic. They were thought to be completely extinct. She knew she was one of the few Omega left in the Nine, and kept her unique position close to her heart...it was a position of power, even as it could be seen as a deep flaw of weakness in her makeup. She had studied the deep magical lore she could wield, if she could only find the right mate. In Loki of Asgard and Jotenheim, she found her match, immediately. No more suppressing her true self...just as he no longer had to mask his Alpha tendencies he had often thought were deficiencies in his character. Tinder met flint...they met. They fell. They bedded. They wed.

Thor was furious, for Thor. Loki had not asked for so much as a by-your-leave, and Loki was officially his heir. Marrying a no one from Vanaheim threw major kinks into diplomatic relations with all the realms, but Loki gave not a single fuck, so to speak, and Thor knew it. Once he saw how perfectly matched his brother was with his new bride, and the contentment she brought to him, Thor soon was mollified. He loved his brother, and after all, a contented Loki was infinitely easier to bear than an irascible, irritable, scowling God of Mischief who was his chief adviser, diplomat and tactician in times of war, as now.

Loki drummed his fingers on the crude wooden table he had fabricated with his seidr...he should have doffed his armor, and be seeking his bed, and some form of rest. Once the darkest hour before dawn arrived, he would be donning it once more, and preparing for attack...and yet...he was struggling with this deep, restless certainty that something was gravely amiss...

:Loki...:

He spun, daggers in hand immediately. He had shielded his tent and campfire completely, no one was to gain entry, and yet there was a voice, a presence behind him, who could have breached his wards...?!

Standing behind him, with a wry smile, was none other than his bride, Lordiss...

“Lordiss,” he croaked with a tight throat and chest. “Are you real, or are you a Sending?” He reached out quickly, although his hands were shaking. What could have brought his wife to attempt such magic, on the eve of battle, so close to the enemy...

“It is I, husband...” She reached out, and clasped his seeking hand with hers, clasping it so he could feel the warmth and strength of her grasp. “Across the distance, I could sense your unease, and came to comfort you. You should not be so restless...what troubles you, my heart? Come, you should be in your bed, mean and rustic as it is...let me hold you awhile.”

“Are you mad, or have you gone simple?” He raged, even as he took Lordiss to his chest and held her tightly. “Whatever possessed you to come to me, this close to enemy lines, and...our son, you left him...our child, and my heir, he is just a babe...”

“Our son is safe, you numpty.” Only his wife could say such things to him and survive. Anyone else would have lost their life for such open mockery, even though it was said with such loving tenderness. “Think you I would abandon any child, let alone our infant son, without the strongest of spells protecting him? The slightest hint of him stirring will whisk me back. You forget, my Prince, to whom you speak...I may be your wife, and your Omega, but I am also the Omega Goddess...and I protect my family, and what is mine.” Her eyes flashed momentarily. It was one of the things he loved about her...she was skilled in her craft, and brooked disrespect from no one, let alone him.

Loki bowed his head slightly, resting it atop his wife’s curly hair, which was as wild and unruly as ever. “You still have not made me understand how you are here, my seidr has set up the strongest of wards...”

“And you are my Alpha...my husband...and father of my only son. I felt your need, and I am here. There is nothing that can keep me from you, Loki...and it would do you well to remember that. I respect you, and will never intrude or interfere in your duties...but when I feel your need, I will always come.” Lordiss looked up at him, her eyes hot and her breasts heaving with the fierceness of her commitment to him. “And what is more...I have need of you, this night. Come to bed with me, Loki of Asgard. Let me care for you. Let me bring you some release from this tension, so you may find some rest...”

Without fear or awkwardness, her hands reached out to cup and stroke his manhood through his armor, and his body responded, as it always did, rising to her touch. “Lordiss...goddess, woman, I am in the middle of an army, surrounded by thousands of soldiers! I cannot simply...”

“None shall hear. You can, and you will...because I have need of you. Will you deny your Omega, Alpha, when she comes to you in need?”

Those were potent words, a challenge, and well she knew it. Loki’s eyes became hooded, as his swelled under her caressing fingers, and he quickly pushed her back against his modest bed. The only care he had taken with it was to ensure it was large enough to fit his long frame, but now he extended it to fit both of their bodies. “Woman, I simply do not understand, why you feel the need for a tumble now, of all times...” he groaned as he tugged at her clothes, and she divested them both of their garments with a quick charm, bringing another moan from his throat.

Their son was less than a year, and her body showed signs of carrying him still, which aroused his lust further...her belly still rounded and soft, and her breasts still ripe, and full from feeding his voracious appetite, as she refused the services of a wet nurse, much to his erotic delight. “I am going to have you fill me so completely with your seed that you are going to go into battle bone dry,” she growled, rubbing her wet nether lips across his straining cock. “You will be able to ride your horse as hard as you must, because I am going to ride you, tonight...”

“Gods...!” He gasped in utter delight and shock. True, the passion between them was fiery and scorching, but to have her suddenly appear like this, to be so blatantly wanton and eager...he wasn’t going to question! But it was almost enough to make him wish to be going into battle more frequently, as her mouth descended upon him, and began to make good her promise...like a succubus, she fell upon him and did not stop her ministrations, licking, bobbing, sucking, even as he cried out her name, his hands caught up in her luxurious hair, her mouth engulfing him so completely that he could see and feel the bulge in her throat.

“Lordiss...gonna...oh my wife, you...cumming! Gods!” She looked up at him, her eyes sultry, and continued to lick and suck, her nose buried in his curly hair, breathing in his scent, swallowing him down, and gentling his high as he continued to thrust up against her until eventually he slowed, and became still...

Only then did this...vixen, that was somehow his bride, release him to slowly slide up against his panting form. “Are you feeling better now, my dearest? Do you think you can rest, now...?”

“No, I do not believe I am quite able to say I have slaked everything you have aroused in me just yet...” Loki answered her with a hot, filthy grin as he quickly rolled her over, and pinned her to the bed. “You have...come, all this way, and the least I can do is return the favor, my indulgent, dearest, most giving bride...”

Provocatively, Lordiss arched her hips up against her husband, panting with the exertion of her efforts of earlier, as well as with her own needs. “All I am hearing are words, words, words...”

“I’ll give you words,” he snarled, and pierced her with one quick stroke, causing her to keen with pleasure. She was wet, aching with repressed desire, and he shuddered as he found her swollen and hot, so ready for him already.

“Norns, Lordiss, you are positively drenched,” he groaned. “What...? Why...?”

“Too many words, my love...fill me...I need you, ah, gods, Loki, my own, please...!”

Within half a dozen hard pumps, Loki could sense her walls fluttering around him already, and she was crying out incoherently, shaking her head back and forth. “No, please...stop, wait...!”

This was enough, always enough, to have him still. “Lordiss? What is it, am I hurting you?”

“Get up...I want to be on top...in your lap...please...”

Quickly, he allowed her to be in the position she requested. With a beatific smile, she soon had him tightly within her again, but now she whispered in his ear, “Look down...and watch, as you enter me, my love...see how well my body receives you...!” As he did so, he let out a loud groan, watching his length pierce her lips, and felt her shuddering in delight again...and then...and then...

Lordiss took his head sweetly in her hands, and drew it to her breast, murmuring, “Drink me down, my husband, my Alpha, my love, as you cum...oh, my Loki...! Cumming me...! Drink me down! Ah! Ah! Ahhhh...!! I love you!!”

As Loki felt her walls clamp down on him like a vise, her body’s natural let-down reflex began, and his mouth was instantly filled with the sweetest milk he had ever drawn from her, and to such an extent he almost sputtered on it...eagerly he drank from her, and the more he suckled, it seemed the harder his wife came on his cock, crying out in the loudest, most uninhibited ecstasy he could every recall, if he could think...He was now forming a knot, which easily popped into her body, unlike before...Loki did not always knot with every orgasm, but now he was tightly joined with Lordiss and soon cumming as well, jerking up into his convulsing wife who was incoherent with bliss, filling the area between her thighs with his spend as completely as she was filling his belly with her rich, warm milk, which was somehow even more satisfying and erotic than he ever, ever recall...

How long this went on, neither of them could say...it seemed as though their orgasms were endless, so profound and shattering they were...

But eventually, their cries, and their strainings, lessened, grew gentler. Loki’s head fell back, his eyes closed. There was a trickle spilling from the corner of his lips, and Lordiss’s face was enraptured, smeared with euphoria. He leaned back limply into his pillows, taking his wife’s body with him, even as she still warmed his slowly deflating cock.

“Lordiss...that was...are you...did I...”

“I am well, my Alpha. Better than well...and I will stay right here, and now you are forced to rest, until I can move away...and I have no desire to do so.”

All Loki could do was mutter a hum, and then a snore. Lordiss giggled. This was very like her husband, and she was quite pleased with the way things turned out...she had her reasons for summoning all of her skills to travel so far, break through his spells and appear. She had felt his agitation, and knew the source of it. She felt guilty because of it...and now, at least, she had solved part of the problem...

With a push of her own seidr, she waved her fingers, and a flask appeared, bearing her personal crest. Should Loki feel the need for sustenance whilst on the field, he would have his own...personal refreshment, none of that nasty mead or dirty water for her Prince. No. What she had to offer him was powerful, and she would explain it to him later.

Much later...

But soon, she knew she had to nudge her beloved, and with much regret she did so... “My Prince. It is time to rise. You must prepare, and I must away.”

With the discipline of centuries, Loki was immediately alert. “Yes. You must leave, immediately. And we will discuss this, upon my return, Lordiss, do not think we will not!”

She merely smiled, and kissed his cheek, as she cast a spell to refresh the air in the tent, which now reeked of their activities...because she brought with her clothing the scents of lavender, vanilla, and honey, if nothing else, and there was definitely “something else” heavy in the atmosphere. She also gestured to the flask. “Drink that, and you will never grow faint, lose focus, or your alertness...forgo mead. You will find it keeps your wits as sharp as...well. It will not fail you.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, and he unfastened the stopper. After sniffing the contents, his pupils dilated. “Lordiss...”

“No one will notice. Remember who and what I am, and have faith in my abilities. I have faith in yours. Kiss me, and I am gone. I will see you when you return in triumph...I await your return in our bedchambers.”

Passionately, Loki grabbed his wife, even as he was still nude, and she was already clothed. He kissed her deeply...and she stepped away, smiled...and was gone. She did not fade, or shimmer. One moment she was in his vision. The next, she was not. 

Loki shook his head, with a wide grin on his face.

“What manner of a woman have I married?” He asked himself aloud, looking around at his empty tent, remembering how he was so anxious before, and now he was completely confident, raring and eager to begin this battle, so he could return home to the bewitching creature that he had wed...

He flung open the flap doors, ready to roust his aide de camp and everyone else that had the misfortune to caught asleep. It was time to go to war. It would be a difficult, challenging battle, and he would glory in every moment of it, because how dared these imbecilic scum challenge his might? They would be routed, and schooled. No one would make this mistake again.

Lordiss was right.

He was able to ride his steed without fear, because she had rode him so skillfully the night before...legends were made that day, of how the great Prince Loki rode like a madman...the enemy saw him coming, and many of them fled in fear from the sight of him alone...those that were close enough to see him throughout the bloody day caught him taking tiny sips from a small flask that obviously held some great magic potion, because each time he brought it from his lips, he was always re-energized, with the strength of ten. His eyes would fairly blaze, and he would have new insights on how to further accelerate the rout his plans and the army’s might were already creating. What he had hoped would take at least a full day’s worth of hard fighting was completed by early afternoon, and by that point he had obtained a full surrender, with minimum Asgardian casualties. High on his success, he drafted a message of this victory and had it sent to King Thor, who arrived shortly thereafter to accept the defeat of the vanquished, and to celebrate with the valiant army.

As ever, King Thor’s Right Arm, Leader of the Vanguard, gave not two shits about the pageantry and pomp of the celebrations...he wanted nothing more than to get his troops back home.

He wanted to get himself home. Battlefield carousing was never his style and never would be. Yet there was work to be done, and it took a full three days for everything to be completed before he and and his army could return to Asgard...

When he led the victory procession into the palace, he looked up hopefully towards the palace dais, wishing to see Lordiss to welcome him. Yet, it niggled at his mind. She had been so very specific... “Look for me in our bedchambers,” she had said. Rather ill form, that. She would know she should be present here, to publicly celebrate his return, just as she had been there to see him away...there would be very few things that would excuse her from this duty.

One would be childbirth, which would be out of the question. Three days would not give her that excuse, he had just seen her, not that anyone knew that, and he knew she was not giving birth...

Another would be illness...and again, he had just seen her, hale and hearty...

His gut clenched as his eyes flickered about...whom had she sent in her stead?

There. Standing with her head bowed in patient humility (although it made him roll his eyes so vigorously he could see behind him, but needs must) was her second-best lady. Brigyd.

Hold.

Second-best.

So, where was Alva?

Lordiss did not stir without Alva at her side...

Loki barely dismounted before he was at Brigyd’s side. “Lordiss. Alva. Where are they?” He spoke quietly, but tersely. He did not wish to create more of a scene than he already had, more than Lordiss’ absence had undoubtedly created.

“Your lady wife is unwell, Prince Loki, and Alva is attending her, but she will recover,” Brigyd was serene, but he could sense the flicker of anxiety beneath her poise. “She is resting in your bedchambers, Your Grace...”

Loki was striding down the halls before she was even finished.

Unwell? Unwell?

When he reached his suite of rooms, he was even more dismayed to see the rooms had guards posted by Lordiss’ personal men-at-arms. What the almighty fuck was taking place that Lordiss felt the need to place guards about their rooms in his absence? Thor would tear the palace apart if there was any threat to his beloved sister-by-marriage...granted, their union was not of his choosing, but he had grown fond of Loki’s wife, and was completely enraptured by his nephew.

“Captain Ivar? Sigurd? What is the meaning of this...?!”

“Now that you have returned, Prince Loki, we may stand down. Many congratulations upon your mighty deeds,” Ivar spoke respectfully, but once again, Loki sensed the man’s deep unease, and the two guards could scarcely wait to leave his presence. In fact, they could not move quickly enough...

Loki flung the doors open with his seidr, and was about to bellow for Alva, for Lordiss, for answers, but as soon as he entered, he was hit with a wave of scent that all but drove him to his knees, and he had his answers.

Alva awaited him in the foyer, and spoke quietly.

“Your lady wife has entered...her heat, Your Grace.  For reasons she has refused to divulge with me, she is adamant about not taking any suppressants, and has barred herself in your chambers. This began three days ago, in fact, the day we heard of your battle. I was forbidden to contact you, or do anything save bar the doors to ensure there were no...incursions upon her presence. Her personal men-at-arms were constantly at watch, and there were no incidents. Now that you have returned, I pray you can knock some sense into her thick skull! I will  leave you to your privacy...”

Alva fled, well aware that being between an Alpha and Omega, while an Omega was in an untrammeled heat, was a recipe for disaster at worst, and embarrassment at best.

Loki had already been prepared mentally to take his wife to bed and ravish her, still high from his victory...then he wished to take her to task her for her wildly undisciplined behavior for coming to the field...but now...caught up in the pheromones of three days worth of unsatisfied, unmet physical needs...

He stormed into their chambers, finding Lordiss lying flushed, miserable, and weak on their bed. No longer the strong, passionate woman that all but pounced on him previously, she was now trembling, sweating, and barely able to lift her head.

“Just tell me why,” he growled fiercely. “You knew. You knew this was coming, and you said nothing to me, and neglected the most basic care for yourself!”

“Ancient...magic...” Lordiss rasped. “The...milk of an nursing omega. Given willingly. Whilst...in...season...grants tremendous power.” Her voice was so faint, he had to cross the room to hear. “I knew I could not tell you. It was...why...you...so distraught. Didn’t plan this!”

As angered as he was, Loki knew she was not deceiving him. Her first heat after birth...she had no way of knowing when it would occur...and it explained why he was as tense as he was on the eve of battle. He knew, across the realms, that his mate needed him. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he knew something was. It was this.

Lordiss even said as much, when she came... “I have need of you...” and he failed to truly hear her.

No wonder she was so eager, almost frantic for his seed...she knew she was facing her heat without him, and had no way of knowing for how long she would be cut off from her other half, her Alpha, her protector...everything in her body was screaming, crying, craving, pleading for him...by the Norns, he’d knotted, how could he be so dense, so fundamentally and cosmically blind? Loki vanished his armor, so desperate to be besides his beloved.

Once he gathered her in his arms he actually hissed, feeling her skin on fire next to his. “Norns, Lordiss, how did you cloak this from me...and why?”

“You know...why...!” She was all but sobbing in relief as he vanished her clothing, pressing the cool length of his form against her, kissing her everywhere. “You couldn’t know...it was the last bit of...the...ritual...” her eyes fluttered closed in exhaustion and ecstasy. 

Her was everywhere, soothing, touching, licking, suckling...and although it was rapidly bringing him to dizzying heights, and recharging his Omega’s energy, he soon noticed she was not responding as he thought she would, and he was chagrined. “Lordiss?”

“Price of the ritual...I sacrificed my ability to peak, for this heat.”

“You what?”

The timbre of his rage actually shook the walls, but she dismissed his ire impatiently.

“Think you I care about orgasms when I knew I was ensuring your safety? Your returning to me safely? I would endure much more, knowing you would in fact come home to me intact, without grievous harm...I remember the nights you would plan and plot, racking your brain...you were so concerned about this battle, and whilst you had my every confidence...it was within my power to give you this extra protection. And I would do it all over again. Once I saw the opportunity, I grabbed it with both hands. It is my right, Alpha, and you cannot stop me...!”

Ah, there was the fierce Goddess he wed...she was returning to him as well...she was still not herself, and she was still going to suffer, for the rest of her heat. He knew he did not have her knowledge, or training in these ancient magics. She had been studying them long before they met, and as arrogant as he was in his own powers, he yielded to hers, unquestioningly. It was foolish not to, and Loki was not foolish. 

Dense, perhaps, but never foolish.

“Omega of mine...I cannot circumvent what you have set in motion,” he purred, his voice a silken threat as he caressed, pleasured, and cherished every inch of his wife. “But know this...I will do everything within my considerable skill set to make this next little while as easy as I can for you, as is my right...and once we are past this, I am going to make up for every. Last. Missed. Opportunity.

“And then, o beloved Omega...there will be discipline. Oh yes. You will never put yourself in harm’s way like this. Ever. Again.”

A deliciously provocative smile crossed her face. “Chastisement there may be...but my beloved Alpha mine...you cannot stop me. And you know it well.”

Loki growled deep in his chest, and Lordiss moaned...for while she was denied orgasms, she was still able to feel sexual pleasure, and his purr always heightened her arousal. The next few days would be one long season of delayed gratification.

But having him in her arms again...and the knowledge he was protected by her great, abiding love for him...made it, and the clawing ache in his absence, worth it.

Loki cared for her lovingly, keeping her as content as he could...their doors sealed from the outside world, food and drink appearing only as he summoned them, so he could feed his beloved by hand, and no one would disturb them...their son was well cared for by his nurse and was even fed well by similar means as Loki’s flask had been filled previously. All was well.

Because she was his, and he...was hers.

Alpha, and Omega. 

[dantesinfcrno]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘.

I N  S U M M A R Y   –––   𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆 ; the explorer . 𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎 ; two .  𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 ; slytherin . 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒆 ; four .  𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆 ; physical touch . 𝒎𝒃𝒕𝒊 ; istp . 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 ; chaotic good .  𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔 ; runespoor . 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏 ; sagittarius . 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 ; sanguine .

𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆 ; the explorer .

the explorer archetype’s goal: to live an inspiring and fulfilling life. the explorer is authentic, curious, and independent. they want to answer questions such as: “why am I here?” or “what is my purpose?”. the explorer wants the freedom to forge a unique path and focus on self-discovery and the meaning of life. although one to criticize the establishment, the explorer would rather venture down their own path than put up a fight. just as much as they crave freedom, they also strive to help others feel free. their biggest fear is feeling trapped.

C L O S E  R E S U L T S   –––   the rebel + the caregiver .

𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎 ; two with a three wing, sexual/social instinctual subtype . 

twos are empathetic, sincere, and warm-hearted. they are friendly, generous, and self-sacrificing, but can also be sentimental, flattering, and people-pleasing. they are well-meaning and driven to be close to others, but can slip into doing things for others in order to be needed. they typically have problems with possessiveness and with acknowledging their own needs. unselfish and altruistic, they have unconditional love for others. their basic fear is of being unwanted, unworthy of being loved. the twos with a three wing are more driven and extroverted. they’re supportive and empathetic, and tend to search for the spotlight. they fear being unwanted or worthless, and avoid this by building personal connections with others and working hard to meet the needs of the community. their most basic desire is to be loved and accepted, and they may express this by being extremely attentive and attached to other people. they also tend to suppress their own negative emotions, which, when done frequently, can lead to high levels of stress or unexpected outbursts.

the subtype that exudes the most raw charisma and sexual energy, sx/so. they may identify so strongly with whatever they’re involved with that they often become the symbol of its core essence, and sometimes its lead agent for change. hardly content with the status quo, this subvariant seeks to alter the fundamental structure of something while at once embodying it’s purest or most extreme form. they enjoy pushing other’s buttons, especially those resistant to their modes of expression. may exploit and seek to redefine sexuality to reflect their own colorful and uncertain understanding of it. can feel pulled between wanting a life of maximum intensity and reassuring episodes of peaceful convention. motivation: to impact others, question assumptions, challenge convention. familiar roles: provocateur, activist, exhibitionist.

C L O S E  R E S U L T S   –––   type seven .

𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 ; slytherin .

the slytherin house is known for being associated with a tendency to look after their own. they are always striving to be the best, but will never leave their own behind. they’re cunning, resourceful, determined, and ambitious. slytherin has produced its share of dark witches and wizards, but members are not afraid to admit it.

C L O S E  R E S U L T S   –––   gryffindor .

𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒆 ; four .

predominantly homosexual, but more than incidentally heterosexual.

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆 ; physical touch .

a person whose primary language is physical touch is, not surprisingly, very touchy. hugs, pats on the back, and thoughtful touches on the arm — they can all be ways to show excitement, concern, care, and love. physical presence and accessibility are crucial, while neglect or abuse can be unforgivable and destructive. appropriate and timely touches communicate warmth, safety, and love to you.

C L O S E  R E S U L T S   –––   quality time + words of affirmation .

𝒎𝒃𝒕𝒊 ; istp, the virtuoso or the artisan .

an improviser type, best at handling crisis situations. their core needs are to have the freedom to act without hindrance and to see a marked result from action. their energies are focused on skillful performance, variety, and stimulation. they trust their impulses and have a drive to action. some of their unique themes include: actively solving problems, observing how things work, unsettled by powerful emotional experiences. virtuosos are actually quite enigmatic. friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, virtuoso personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. their decisions stem from a sense of practical realism, and at their heart is a strong sense of direct fairness. instead of being overly cautious though, they are likely to go too far, accepting likewise retaliation, good or bad, as fair play. while they’re creative and energetic, istps are known for being stubborn, reserved, and prone to risky behavior.

𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 ; chaotic good .

a chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. they make their own way, but they’re kind and benevolent. they believe in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations. they hate when people try to intimidate others and tell them what to do. they follow their own moral compass, which, although good, may not agree with that of society. they do what is necessary to bring about change for the better, disdain bureaucratic organizations that get in the way of social improvement, and place a high value on personal freedom, not only for oneself, but for others as well. they usually intend to do the right thing, but their methods are generally disorganized and often out of sync with the rest of society. 

𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔 ; runespoor . 

the runespoor patronus is very rare. it is cast by a very complex witch or wizard, an individual who has deep thought and uncommon understanding of the world. it is said that each head of a runespoor has its own job, there is the head that decides what the creature will do, the head that often drifts off into fantasy, and the head that criticizes the other two. someone who casts this patronus is precise in decisions they make, but they can loose themselves in deep thought. they are incredibly wise and often live to bring greatness to their names. snakes are symbolic of change, fertility, healing, energy, and the duality of good and evil.

𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏 ; sagittarius sun ; libra rising ; scorpio moon . 

restless, cheerful, and friendly, sun in sagittarius people are generally on the go. they have a love of freedom, and a disdain for routine. generally quite easygoing, sagittarians make friends with people from all walks of life. they have an often blind faith in people, and in the world. their optimism is infectious, although it can get them into trouble from time to time. these are curious people who love to learn. the need for escape is generally strong, and some come across as a little irresponsible. 

sagittarius sun / scorpio moon people are independent, capable and usually successful at whatever they are doing. there is the sound judgment and great wisdom of the sagittarius combined with the scorpio’s determination and ability to turn everything they want into a project. they’re intense and astute, but can also be temperamental, blunt and hypersensitive. discrete and intelligent, they will come up with great plans and strategies that will help them advance quickly in both professional and personal life. renewing themselves is one of their abilities. they love to dig deeply into unusual subjects and the exotic and the uncharted fascinate you. they seek to experience as much as possible in life and they are sensual and pleasure loving. they always get up from falls, no matter how many times they are setback or personal misfortunes they encounter.

the sagittarius sun / libra ascendant is known to be clever, intelligent and educated. their environment is delighted by their charming personalities and the joy they have in life and so, all hearts are easily won. these people know exactly how to take center stage and thus gain popularity. they have amazing artistic and psychological skills, besides their exquisite taste and knowledge on how to deal with others.

𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 ; sanguine / choleric blend .

sanguines are naturally people-oriented. they have an active, positive movement in a favorable environment. they influence their environment by encouraging others to work together. the sanguine is by far the most versatile of the four temperaments and has the potential for the widest range of behavior due to possessing the widest range of emotions. they are extroverted, fun-loving, playful, activity-prone, impulsive, entertaining, persuasive, easily amused, and optimistic. they are enthusiastic, expressive, tend to be very affectionate, and are word smiths. sanguines are very competitive, and they usually like sports of any kind. they tend to be disorganized and easily forgetful, and sometimes have difficulty controlling their thoughts and emotions. they fear rejection or not making a favorable impression. individuals with this personality have a hard time doing nothing and engage in more risk seeking behavior.

the sanguine-choleric combination is driven by the primary need to be accepted socially and the secondary need to get results. they are more assertive than the other sanguine combinations, being very persuasive and making good debaters! they have an outgoing interest in others and the ability to gain the respect and confidence of various types of individuals. they exhibit poise and confidence in most situations, especially social events, and will become bored without activity and social involvement.

[ymiwritesstuff]

A Traitor to The Country

This was requested by the wonderful @fortune-fool02, I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for once again requesting!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Valentine’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: You had your suspicions about the Steel Ball Run race and those suspicions only grew once you entered said race. However your travels almost come to an end when your biggest secret is revealed.

Notes: Spoilers for Part 7

The Steel Ball Run race was no ordinary race as it was filled with unexpected and dangerous events that forced the unfit racers to retire early on. Every day survival was the main objective and the constant enemy stand attacks kept you on edge the entire time. You had your suspicions about the race from the very beginning and your father’s desire to keep you far away from it led you to believe that the race had a deeper purpose. And your desire to find out exactly what that purpose was, caused you to sneak out of the watchful eyes of your father and join Steel Ball Run.

You had to stay cautious not only due to the dangerous mystery surrounding the true purpose of the race but also because you absolutely had to keep your identity hidden as your father would follow the course of the race, keeping his eyes on the thing he was pursuing, which you later found out to be the Holy Corpse. Still, you had to thank your father for not allowing you to appear in public too much. Valentine preferred to keep his personal life and relations hidden away to maintain his strong presence as the President and thanks to this, you could somewhat rest easy knowing that the common folk wouldn’t be able to recognize you.

And fortunately for you the two males you found yourself traveling with, Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli, didn’t know of your true identity and that’s how it was supposed to be. All they needed to know was that you were an ally helping them to find the corpse parts. The only thing you cared about was keeping the Holy Corpse away from your father as during the race you had quickly realized just how much blood he was willing to shed as the assassins he sent out were more than willing to put an end to the three of you.

Leaving your usual boring surroundings also gave you an opportunity to feel an immense sensation of freedom as well as a feeling of thrill and excitement you had never experienced. Even though your mission was under quite grim circumstances, you had to admit, this was.. Refreshing. Being in Johnny and Gyro’s company was definitely delightful, though you found yourself growing closer with the latter.

Gyro was.. Interesting, to say the least. You weren’t even sure why he attracted you so much, but there was just something about him that caught your eye. He was cocky, reckless and sometimes downright rude, but one thing was clear, he was determined to get his hands on the corpse and you had promised to help him in any way you could. However you could never let him know about your relation to the President as you were sure the Italian would not take the news well. And that thought of him finding out scared you more than you thought.

~

The heavy rain poured on you, the thunder distantly rumbling around you and the two males. Blackmore’s heavy breathing could be heard even through the piercing sound of the rain, the man laying on the ground with blood spilling from his fresh wounds, his stand that took the form of a mask, shattered. He would die soon. You glance over at Lucy, who was crying uncontrollably, seemingly traumatized from the recent events. Poor girl. You were fortunate that she hadn’t recognized your features that you were hiding under a hood, but still, your heart was hammering in your chest, an uneasy feeling slowly absorbing you.

Blackmore spits out more blood, which makes your eyes look at him. So this was yet another stand user your father had sent after you? They were getting more and more powerful and you already dreaded the thought of having to fight more of them or even your father himself.

The uneasy feeling bugging you only increases when your father’s henchman locks his eyes with yours, immediately making something ignite within them. “Y-you..” His trembling hand stretches and points at you, making your eyes widen. No. Please no. You grab the edge of your hood and pull it, in an attempt to hide your face more. This doesn’t seem to work though as the man before you continues his attempt to utter words:

“Th-the President’s.. d-daughter.. i-is-” Suddenly, the loud sound of a gunshot rips through the air and Blackmore finally goes limp, blood leaking from the new would on his head. The three others look at you, shock plastered across their features. Your hand that holds the pistol is trembling, smoke rising from the muzzle and your breathing is almost as heavy as the now fading rain once was. Your heart is pounding so hard it feels as if it’s about to rip through your ribcage. This was bad. Your secret had just been revealed and you know for a fact Gyro had heard those quiet words of the now deceased man.

“What he hell did he just say?!” Gyro looks at you, but you’re unable to look back at him as you’re too focused on processing what just had happened. A sudden breeze blows your hood away almost intentionally, revealing your features that you’re sure the blonde girl next to you recognizes. Your guess is confirmed to be true when you hear her quiet gasp.

“You’re.. (Name) Valentine. President Valentine’s daughter.” Lucy’s words painfully pierce you and your identity is revealed and confirmed to Johnny and Gyro. Your eyes quickly move to look at the Italian, his enraged and shocked expression painfully burning your insides. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“So you’re telling me that you are that asshole’s daughter?! Look at me and tell me that’s not true (Name)!” Gyro’s voice is mixed with disbelief and anger, twisting your stomach in increasing anxiety. Your mouth stays shut and you can already feel the tears start to form in your (E/C) eyes. If only you could say that it was not true but no words come out of your mouth, only increasing Gyro’s frustration. 

“Gyro.. Please.. I’m sorry..” Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you just tell him? It would’ve at least been better than this. He was angry, not only about the fact that you were related to his biggest enemy but also because you had kept all of it a secret from him. Gyro felt betrayed and being lied to was definitely something he didn’t tolerate well. How was he supposed to know that you weren’t going to kill him and Johnny?

“Sorry?! Yeah, now you’re sorry ‘cause your little secret has finally been revealed!” Hearing his words only increase the amount of guilt you feel, your fast heartbeat ringing in your ears like a loud bell. You can’t say anything. What can you say? Sorry? That didn’t seem to work. You understand Gyro’s anger and can only blame yourself for causing it. A part of you just wishes to disappear and retreat back to your normal life. No. You can’t just give in. You have gotten this far and you had to do something.

“I never meant any harm! Please Gyro, I just want to make sure the corpse doesn’t end up in my father’s hands!” Your promise to help Gyro was genuine and you were determined to keep your promise. You would never do anything to harm him or Johnny and right now, the true challenge was convincing Gyro that you were not an enemy as the understandably probably thought.

“My father is a horrible person and I will not allow him to get the corpse.” You force your tears away and replace them with a determined gaze you without a doubt inherited from your father and focus that gaze on the Italian. “He may think his actions are those of justice but he has spilled far too much innocent blood and I refuse to just stand by and do nothing!” Gyro stays quiet and those tiny flecks of anger were still more than apparent in his emerald green eyes but the good thing is that he’s listening to you and hopefully also believing your words.

“So please, Gyro.. Let me stay by your side..” It was thanks to Gyro and Johnny that you had been able to get this far and if they were to abandon you now, you would never be able to accomplish your mission. You wanted to help them. Help him.

Gyro looks at you and notices your unrelenting gaze that seems to drill itself into the deepest parts of his mind. He recalls the time he met you and remembers you holding that same look in your eyes, only now it seems much more intense. You had shown no signs of aggression and he has never felt unsafe when around you. If you were an enemy, you would have already killed them. He has always deemed himself to be good at reading people and right now, your expression holds no signs of malice or wickedness.

With a sigh, he mounts Valkyrie yet again and returns his gaze to you. “We should get going. If you want to keep those corpse parts out of your father’s reach, you have to find the parts first.” When your face lits up in utter disbelief Gyro can’t help but to crack a small smile. He always felt strange warmth coating his insides whenever you were happy or excited and this time was no exception. You mount (Horse’s name) and look at Gyro once again, eternally grateful for allowing you to continue your travels with him and Johnny. You were a traitor to your father and your country, but you had promised yourself to not let anything deter you.

Even though Gyro was frustrated just a moment ago, he’s delighted to realize that you were nothing like your father and secretly hopes to see you surpass him and hopefully kick his ass as you had just shown how well you can wield a gun.

..Or maybe the latter is something he’d do himself.

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

November 2019 Empire Magazine The Rise of Skywalker Article Transcription

IT ALL STARTED with a Jane Campion retrospective. The Lincoln Center in New York was entering night two of an in-depth celebration of the Kiwi filmmaker’s work when, during a sold-out screening of The Piano, one member of the audience received a text message. He then received another. And another. Hunched down in his seat towards the middle of the auditorium, screenwriter Chris Terrio glanced furtively at his mobile as yet another text pinged to life on his screen. It was from J.J. Abrams. Just like the last. And the dozen or so before that.

It was 10 September 2017, and several hours earlier Terrio had received the first in what would become a torrent of communication. “I’ve just signed on to Episode IX,” it read. “We’re gonna write a new script. Would you consider writing it with me?”

“He didn’t even say the words ‘Star’ and ‘Wars’,” recalls Terrio, with a laugh. “He didn’t have to. I’d been about to go off and direct a small movie, but when you hear Star Wars, everything else goes away.”

Terrio agreed on the spot, planning to join Abrams in California as soon as his schedule would allow. But the texts kept coming. Throughout the afternoon, thoughts, ideas and questions popped up one after the other; Abrams’ frantic thumbs tapping out the first seeds of story and flinging them across the country to his newfound partner. And so, with Michael Nyman’s haunting score swelling around him and a still-buzzing handset in his grasp, Terrio stood up, shuffled apologetically along a row of seats, and walked out of the cinema, leaving Campion’s Oscar darling behind.

[Above image caption: “Director J.J. Abrams, cast and crew confront Klaud, the Resistance’s newest addition, at Pinewood studios”]

“J.J. is constantly brimming with ideas and, in the very best way, he’s very impatient about them! So we just started getting into it then and there. I got on a plane to LA the next day.”

Less than a week earlier, however, Episode IX’s future hadn’t looked nearly as certain. In development for the past two years under the auspices of Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow, the film had abruptly flown off the rails on 5 September, when it was announced that Trevorrow was off the project. Rumours of script disagreements circled, but regardless of the reason, Lucasfilm had a serious problem: arguably the most important film in Star Wars’ history suddenly had no director, no story and a release date drawing nearer by the day. So Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy sent up a flare to the one man she knew without any doubt could safely take Star Wars over the finish line. 

“Getting involved in IX came as a bit of a shock,” recalls J.J. Abrams. “I had completed VII, Rian [Johnson] was doing VIII, and I was not meant to do IX at all. But the opportunity to not just finish the trilogy, but to finish the story that George began -- this trilogy of trilogies -- was too compelling and too tempting to reject.”

After delivering The Force Awakens, then the third-biggest movie in history, Abrams had taken a bow and walked away, returning to Bad Robot and a pair of TV pilots he’d been meaning to write. It was here, in his self-imposed exile, that Kennedy sought him out. Sure, it was an office just over a mile from Santa Monica pier rather than the grassy bluffs of Ahch-To, and Kennedy hadn’t so much climbed 500 hand-carved steps as punched ten digits into her phone but, like a vision of Episode VII’s final moments, there she was. Unexpected. Holding out something Abrams had thought lost and daring him to take it back. 

“It’s exponentially the most daunting thing I’ve ever been involved with,” Abrams admits, eyebrows raised as if he still can’t quite believe the magnitude of the task. “But it was more exciting than it was anything.”

The director sits across from us in his suite at Beverly Hills’ Montage hotel, not far from where we last met, six years previously, when he’d just started work on a treatment for what would eventually become The Force Awakens. Abrams’ return as Star Wars’ Supreme Commander was announced just one day after Trevorrow’s departure, allaying the fears of both fans and shareholders alike: voices just a day before crying out in terror, now suddenly silenced. But with only two years to end a saga that had been four decades in the telling it was clear from the outset he was going to need some help. And so he composed a text (then several more) and sent them flying towards a movie theatre 3,000 miles away, where the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Argo was attempting to watch a film.

“I’ve admired Chris Terrio’s writing for a long time. I called on him because I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t know it would be quite as challenging as it was.”

[Above image caption: “Top: Martial art experts put Daisy Ridley through her paces. Above: Abrams with Oscar Isaac in Jordan”]

In a time when vast, interconnected stories have become commonplace, and breadcrumbs to the payoffs in Avengers: Endgame can be traced back ten or even 20 films, it’s hard to believe that the Star Wars sequel trilogy didn’t have its course firmly locked in before Episode VII ever left the spaceport. But, just as Abrams himself left neither chart nor compass for Rian Johnson to navigate with, so he began work on The Rise of Skywalker with nothing to guide him but his wits. It is, by Abrams’ own admission, his preferred method of working. An instinctive storyteller by nature, his impulse is to do what feels right in the moment, rather than slavishly adhere to some pre-ordained master plan. Very appropriately for a franchise so rooted in this exact philosophy, Abrams’ inclination has always been, as Alec Guinness once safely advised, to stretch out with his feelings.

“You can’t plan everything in advance -- which my ‘Revenge Of The Jedi’ poster proves,” he says. “You have a better idea and then you implement it. When I was working on VII, I’d be lying if I said I knew everything that was gonna happen in VIII and IX. I had some ideas, but we had a release date the required us to work on  VII!”

So Abrams and Terrio started from scratch. They spitballed ideas during the day, swapped rapid-fire texts at night and, piece-by-piece, set about exploring the fundamental questions this movie had to address. Not least of all the aftermath of The Last Jedi, in which Rian Johnson, continuing Abrams’ story, had made some rather significant changes.

[Death Star section break]

[Above image caption: “Really big space dog just out of shot”]

THERE’S A WELL-WORN dramatic principle most commonly ascribed to Anton Chekhov that insists if you see a gun in the first act of a play, it must go off by act three or you’re simply wasting the audience’s time. The same, it appears, is true of dark side degenerates as, despite being sidelined in The Last Jedi, Chekhov’s Knights Of Ren will finally go off in The Rise Of Skywalker.

The Knights -- from which Kylo draws the latter part of his name -- are a nightmarish squad of enforcers who do the bidding of the former Ben Solo. A rag-tag band of thugs and killers decked in black just like their leader, though far more battleworn. Armoured in disparate styles -- one sports a cowl, one an angry welders mask, another a checkered draughtboard faceplate -- they pack a similarly eclectic arsenal, from multi-barrelled assault cannon to oversized, anime-style sword, poleaxe and a wicked-looking mace. 

Referenced so portentously in The Force Awakens and glimpsed so very briefly during Rey’s vision on Takodana, the Knights and their role in Kylo’s fall from grace were set up as a major piece of the Star Wars puzzle. That is until Johnson, who clearly didn’t share Abrams’ interest, dropped the idea, sweeping them briskly under the rug next to the mystery of Rey’s parentage and the bisected corpse of Supreme Leader Snoke. “Let the past die,” instructed Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. “Kill it, if you have to.” A sentiment, one could argue, that cut to the very heart of Johnson’s film.

“We thought about that line a lot,” says Terrio. “Rian did something that any good second act will do, which is create the antithesis. In The Force Awakens Luke Skywalker is a myth Rey’s obsessed with and there’s a warm embrace of the past. What Rian suggested is the past is a mixed bag and you can’t rely upon it to tell you where to go in the future. What we’re doing with Episode IX is trying to create a synthesis between those two points of view.”

And so, just as the investigation into Rey’s lineage looks set to be reopened, so too are the Knights back with a vengeance (not to mention Abrams talisman Greg Grunberg as pilot Snap Wexley). With Johnson’s tenure over, we’re playing in Abrams’ yard once more, although our suggestion that he might somehow be trying to course-correct is given short shrift.

“I never found myself trying to repair anything,” Abrams interjects. “If I had done VIII, I would have done things differently, just as Rian would have done things differently if he had done VII. But having worked on television series, I was accustomed to creating stories and characters that then were run by other people. If you’re willing to walk away from the thing that you created an you believe it’s in trustworthy hands, you have to accept that some of the decisions being made are not gonna be the same that you would make. And if you come back into it, you have to honour what’s been done.”

And what has been done is significant. Luke Skywalker is dead, passing on his knowledge and the mantle of last Jedi to Rey; The Resistance has been all but wiped out; Snoke is gone; and Kylo Ren -- now Supreme Leader Ren -- is more broken than ever, riven by conflict through the unlikely bond he forged with Rey. Bold and decisive, Johnson’s directions changed the board entirely, his sharp turns and gear shifts delighting some while earning the ire of others.

“Any time you are telling a story that people deeply care about, there is bound to be discussion and debate,” says Kathleen Kennedy. “That is something that has always been fundamental to the fabric of Star Wars.”

For Abrams and Terrio, meanwhile, the new landscape also brought with it new possibilities. 

“Some of the most interesting scenes in The Last Jedi are the conversations between Rey and Ren,” says Terrio. “We’ve tried to pick up that complicated relationship that really has been present ever since the interrogation in Episode VII. When Ren takes off his mask, there’s a nakedness about him with Rey that he doesn’t express to anyone else. Rian developed that in fascinating ways and we’ve been able to develop it even further.”

Ren, left pointedly bare-faced by Johnson throughout VIII, now hides his face once more. It’s a development that, while not a rebuke to The Last Jedi, demonstrates the different touchstones that resonate with each director. Although, Abrams expands, reuniting Kylo with his mask is about more than just sinister aesthetics. 

“Having him be masked, but also fractured, is a very intentional thing. Like that classic Japanese process of taking ceramics and repairing them, and how the breaks in a way define the beauty of the piece as much as the original itself. As fractured as Ren is, the mask becomes a visual representation of that. There’s something about this that tells his history. His mask doesn’t ultimately hide him, and his behaviour is revealed.”

Ren’s temptation by the light, like Rey’s temptation by the dark, forms the spine of a moral ambiguity that Johnson build on in VIII and very much carries over to IX, bringing with is a sense that George Lucas’ more clearly defined duality might be a relic of a simpler time. Neither light nor dark, The Rise of Skywalker and its characters exist more within what could be considered the grey side of the Force -- something underscored by the tantalising footage of ‘Darth Rey’ (complete with cowl, hangover pallor and double-bladed red lightsaber) that closed Abrams’ D23 Expo footage presentation in Anaheim in August. 

“I’d rather let that one lie,” he deflects, when pressed on the subject. “But I will say that the movie has a number of things that you wouldn’t expect to have happen and you wouldn’t expect certain characters to do. There are surprises along the way.” He smiles, mischievously. “And that’s one of them.”

[Death Star section break]

[Image captions: “Top to bottom: Rey (Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), and BB-8 listen intently to C-3PO (Anthony Daniels); Billy Dee Williams returns as Lando Calrissian; Joonas Suotamo, in Chewbacca’s threads, plays with his son on set.”]

THE VALLEY OF The Moon in Southern Jordan has seen its share of action. Cut into the red sandstone cliffs near Aqaba, the striking lowlands known in Arabic as Wadi Rum have been visited by both real and fictional Lawrences of Arabia, stood in for the face of Mars, been the birth place of the Alien in Prometheus, and will next year double as the eponymous desert planet in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. It’s no stranger to stormtroopers, either, having played host to the ill-fated Jedha outpost in Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One. Today, though, Wadi Rum is a different part of the galaxy entirely, standing in for Pasaana: a new locale in the canon, and home to the bedouin-like Aki-Aki: a nomadic race of walrus-lie aliens with twin tentacles dangling from their maws in place of tusks. 

Pasaana, along with the nippier climes of snow planet Kijimi, is one of several new worlds visited by The Rise of Skywalker. But most importantly, it’s a place where the heroes we’ve become acquainted with over the past two films will come together at last. 

“The heart of Star Wars for me is the group of unlikely bedfellows on a breakneck adventure,” says Abrams. “And in Rise Of Skywalker it’s the biggest and most dastardly threat the galaxy has seen. The opportunity here was to have this group that has now become a surrogate family have to deal with this massive horror: the war to end all wars. Not just on the outside, but one the inside, which is to say it’s meant to be as much of a challenge personally as it is physically.”

Abrams’ war of wars has been well equipped: The First Order is stacked with new brass in the form of Richard E. Grant’s Allegiant General Pryde, neo-fascist ranks swollen by triangular-winged TIE Daggers and blood-red garrisons of newly commissioned Sith troopers, their angular crimson armour giving a fresh twist on the faceless squaddies -- much to Hasbro’s delight. The Resistance, too, will see its share of reinforcements, including Billy Dee Williams’ Lando Calrissian -- reprising the role after 36 years. Even General Leia Organa will return: the late Carrie Fisher making an appearance thanks to the discovery of unused footage that somehow fit the narrative perfectly. 

The action itself has been teased in the barest glimpses: Rey and Kylo duelling on the wreckage of a Death Star; Rebel X-Wings and blockade runners fleeing destruction; a sky bristling with Imperial Star Destroyers, their numbers great enough to block out the star.

The presence of Old Empire firepower, easily overlooked, points to The Rise Of Skywalker’s biggest curveball to date. Back in April, when Abrams showed the first trailer at Star Wars Celebration in Chicago, the reveal of the film’s title was almost eclipsed by the familiar cackle of the original Emperor echoing over those final frames. When Ian McDiarmid himself walked out to demand, in full Palpatine rasp, that the projector “roll it again”, all present lost their shit in unison. How could this be? Is he a clone? A Force projection? Did he survive that fateful plummet down the Death Star shaft” Could Palpatine have been telling Anakin the truth when he spoke of Darth Plagueis The Wise’s cure for death? Irrespective of the fine print, Star Wars’ biggest of bads is officially back in business.

“Some people feel like we shouldn’t revisit the idea of Palpatine, and I completely understand that,” Abrams concedes. “But if you’re looking at these nine films as one story, I don’t know many books where the last few chapters have nothing to do with those that have come before. If you look at the first eight films, all the set-ups of what we’re doing in IX are there in plain view.”

The sheet scale of the task he’s undertaken cannot be overstated. Star Wars has been, by far, the most enduring and influential story of the modern era. Having to put the capstone on a saga that has shaped both childhoods and adult lives for several generations is something neither Abrams, nor producer Kathleen Kennedy, looking ahead to what the future holds for Star Wars, take at all lightly. 

[Above image description: “Is it time for now Supreme Leader Ren (Adam Driver) to fulfill his destiny?”]

“We don’t have a crystal ball,” says Kennedy. “We tried to look at Solo and see if we could do two movies a year, and we found, ‘Hmm, that’s not going to work.’ So we backed off of that a little. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about lots of different stories. That's the exciting thing about this universe.

“It’s been an honor to inherit and continue this iconic saga that has touched audiences for so many years, and we feel the weight of that every time we set out to tell these stories.”

The wider universe will, of course, live on. Whether through The Mandalorian on TV, or all-new movie sagas currently in development by Johnson and Game of Thrones’ David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. But for the core story, what for so many people is Star Wars, the final destination is now in sight. 

“I’ve always loved the start of something,” says Abrams, “because of what it promises. Endings are hard. A great ending not only needs to honour everything that’s come before but, whether it’s a novel, a series or a film, you want to have it feel like it could end no other way.”

And so it comes back to feeling. In a world of meticulously planned franchises and strategic, multi-phased rollouts, Star Wars, as its core, has always trusted in The Force. Abrams had not expected to be here, had not expected to finish this tale. But now, as he places the final pieces of the puzzle, he feels like it was always meant to be. There’s a symmetry to him being the one to deliver The Rise Of Skywalker, just as there is in the fact that, faced with this near insurmountable challenge, his impulse was not to assemble story groups or worry about the top-down view, but to switch off his targeting computer, let go his conscious self and act on instinct. 

“This story is alive, and you have to listen to it,” he says. “When you land on something that gives you the chills, that’s the only way you know if it feels right. You can deconstruct it all you want and try and make sense of how you found it, but somehow it finds you.”

He pauses, reflecting for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just the way I can’t quite explain how we had this footage of Carrie that we’re using. You can say, ‘Oh well, it’s just luck, it just happened to be,’ but it feels like something else. And I neither can nor want to explain any of it.”

Just as every saga has a beginning, so too will this one find its end. Abrams and Terrio have taken Lucas’ vision to its conclusion, and the story that began on 25 May 1977 will end on 19 December 2019.

“It’s been a pretty crazy ride,” reflect Terrio. “When I was a kid watching Return Of The Jedi on loop, I felt like I was the only person Yoda was speaking to. And then there I was all these years later, sitting in a tent in Jordan doing this film. You have this highly personal relationship to Star Wars, and then, suddenly, you find yourself right in the middle of it. That feeling is sort of indescribable.”

It’s one that, at the very least, is almost certainly worth having a movie interrupted for.

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER IS IN CINEMAS FROM 19 DECEMBER

((Thank you to users @arlath_ma and @chinchingin on twitter for their photos of the article))

Article images can be found here: https://twitter.com/arlath_ma/status/1178648719325093888?s=19

[trashmenofmarvel]

Interlude

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After being separated for months, you take Bucky to Central Park on Christmas Eve to show him all the sights he missed in the last 70 years.

(For @bitchassbucky​ ‘s Holiday Writing Challenge! Thank you!)

Prompt: It’s snowing/raining and my hands are cold, so I’m gonna stuff them inside your jacket pocket.

Warnings: Mild angst, slightly unreliable narrator

Note: This can be read as a standalone or as part of the Devil’s Backbone series.

Word Count: 3k

AO3

The wet pavement crunched under your boots, damp from the snow that had been salted and washed away. Locals and tourists alike were free to traverse the sidewalks without fear of falling and bruising tailbones.

Not that you were in any danger of falling. Bucky had his arm looped around yours so tightly you felt your fingers starting to tingle from lack of circulation.

“We’re fine,” you reassured him for the fifth time since you’d left Stark Tower—or the Avengers Tower, as it was now colloquially called. “No one’s looking, no one cares.”

The unyielding angle of Bucky’s jaw told you he didn’t agree, his blue eyes wide and watchful as he scanned the busy streets for signs of danger.

You gave an impatient, fond huff and pulled him along. You were freezing and you wanted to finish your outing and make it back to the tower before it started snowing. Judging by the grey pregnancy of the low-hanging clouds, you doubted that would be a wish fulfilled.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he grumbled, keeping his head dipped down so his eyes were covered by the rim of his black ball cap. “In fact, it’s a stupid one.”

“We can’t stay cooped up forever,” you said with a gentle nudge of your arm. “And if you hover over Tony much longer he’s going to sic Dum-E on you.”

“Like to see him try,” he muttered under his breath. Despite the gruff and snark he doled out in equal measure, you could feel the tension in his arm ease. You were clinging to the right one, of course, as Bucky insisted he keep his left free and ready for any eventuality.

His paranoia wasn’t completely unfounded. He may have been exonerated, but there were still people out there who had unfinished business with the former Winter Soldier. National governments with grievances against HYDRA and looking for a scapegoat, not to mention surviving cells within the organization. Pierce had been only one head of HYDRA, and the rest were proving difficult to flush out of hiding.

And of course, there was Rumlow. That particular bastard had been hanging over your head like a black cloud ever since he had escaped from the burn unit months earlier.

You shivered, instinctively moving closer to Bucky’s side. He glanced down at you, a frown touching his lips, and he only hesitated a moment before placing his arm around your shoulders.

The warmth of his touch did wonders to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the wintery air.

The expanse of Central Park soon lay before you, everything coated in white from the bare limbs of the trees to the wide footpaths. Dozens of ice-skaters had already taken to the Wollman Rink. Red and green and blue parkas stood in contrast to the stark landscape, the skaters circling like colorful ducks on a frozen pond.

But it wasn’t the people below you were watching, it was Bucky. The taut muscles of his face had gone lax, his eyes distant and far away with the interlude of memory.

“We used to go skating, me and Becca. Not here, this place didn’t exist, but on the Lake.” He slightly tilted his head, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Steve was too delicate back then, couldn’t skate with us. Besides, with how many layers he would be wrapped in, he woulda looked like a penguin waddling on the ice.”

When you remained quiet, he flicked his gaze downward and found you already watching him.

“What?” he asked, moving his left gloved hand through his hair in a sheepish gesture.

“Nothing.” The little smile on your face couldn’t seem to disappear, even when you tried to squirrel it away. “Come on.”

You led him down the paths deeper into the park. With the previous day’s snowfall, everything was covered in a gentle blanket of white, looking every bit like you were in the middle of a fairytale.

Bucky had a deeply traumatic relationship with the cold, which was why you checked on him frequently, but his blue eyes were round with delight, not terror, as he took in the sight of the winter wonderland. Something loosened within you and you breathed a little easier, but you were ready to abort the mission at the first hint of panic.

Soon you were at the Carousel, nestled inside a squat brick building. You were relieved to see it was open—not because you thought Bucky would ever go for a ride, but because you wanted to see his reaction to the historical attraction.

As the ride came to a halt and the current riders began to disembark, he edged closer to the edge of the path, his head tilted at that curious angle again as he looked through the snow-covered foliage to the open windows.

“This… this is different. But also familiar? Am I… misremembering this?” He sounded unsure, his brows pulled into deep creases as his lips formed into a pout.

“Nope.” You slightly lifted your chin, unable to keep the slight pride out of your voice. “The carousel you remember burned down in 1950. This one used to be in a trolley terminal in Coney Island until they moved it here in 1951.”

The way his face lit up, his eyes brightening as his eyebrows shot up, made the whole trip worthwhile.

“The West 5th Street Depot! I remember it!” he said, a slow but excited grin blooming on his lips. “I miss those noisy old streetcars. Steve and I used to…” He trailed off, the lightness of his expression slowly vanishing, as if it had never been there to begin with.

“What?” you asked, suddenly afraid you had triggered an unpleasant recollection. You knew strolling down memory lane was a risk, but you’d thought the benefits would have outweighed the negatives. Now, you weren’t so sure.

Bucky turned toward you, but instead of his face being drawn and pale, he wore a self-conscious grimace.

“Here I am, going on and on about the past, when…” He haltered again and teethed at his bottom lip. You knew it was a nervous gesture, but it always made you a little hot under the collar. This time was no exception.

“What?” you prompted, forcibly pulling your gaze up to his eyes. “What is it? Something wrong?”

He shook his head with a rueful pull at his mouth.

“That’s just it.”

Bucky reached down and took your left hand in his right, looping his fingers through yours. The unexpected gesture made your heart sing like a bird.

“Nothing’s wrong.” His eyes softened, and you didn’t miss the flush of his cheeks. “Everything is… good. Too good to be true.”

Clearing your throat, you shook your head and said, “I haven’t even showed you the best part yet.”

His brows rose in a dubious slant. “That right?”

“Mmhmm.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you smiled. His gaze dropped toward your mouth, and the heat of his stare was enough to melt all of Wollman Rink.

With your hand still in his, you tugged playfully, pulling him after you. “It’s not far!”

Bucky’s lips were pressed into a deliberate line, but the laughter was bright in his eyes, unobscured by troubled memories or moments of self-doubt, and he tagged along after you quite willingly.

It was only when you were within sight of the skating rink that he slowed his pace, forcing you to shorten your own footsteps. You turned back to tease him for being such an old man, but the words died on your lips.

Bucky’s eyes were fixed on the frozen surface. You had been at a safe distance before but were much closer now, and you didn’t think you were imagining the pale shade of his skin.

“No skating,” you said, preemptively and firmly. When he appeared unconvinced, his jaw as tight as a snare, you wrapped your arm around his waist, purposefully pulling his focus to you. It worked; Bucky hard-swallowed but met your gaze, his eyes slightly wide.

“Promise.” You slightly squeezed him against your side. “You’re gonna like this.”

Bucky simply nodded his head, the implicit trust in his eyes more meaningful than any words he could have said.

With a small smile still on your lips and your gloved fingers still intertwined with his, you led him up a curve in the path to a small concession stand. Baby blue wood with painted white trim, it looked like something from a bygone era, much like the man standing next to you.

The smell wafting toward the cart, however, was familiar to you both. By the time you had finished waiting in line and both took your cups of hot cocoa, Bucky had gone red around the ears, no doubt remembering the last time the two of you had shared hot chocolate. The vivid memory forced you to duck your head and focus very closely on your steaming cup.

There were children around for Christ’s sake.

Still without saying a word, you carefully hooked your right arm around his left. Even through the thick fabric of his sleeve, you imagined you could still feel the cold titanium underneath.

Bucky eyed you out of the corner of his vision, his gaze reproachful but immediately forgotten when you pulled him down to sit beside you on a bench cleared of snow.

The view was impeccable, on a slight hill overlooking the rink, and beyond was the tree line with the grey clouds and skyscrapers framing the background. Even in the dreariness you could see the hulking outline of the Avengers Tower, rising and disappearing into the cloud cover like a dream.

“Wow,” Bucky breathed out, capturing your sentiment of the view perfectly. Except you weren’t looking at the skyline.

“Right?”

He turned his head and caught you staring, but all you offered in response to his raised brow was a half-shrug and a mischievous little smile as you tucked back into your cocoa.

As you sat in comfortable silence, just far enough from the rink for the sound of laughter and voices to be muffled and distant, it began to snow. Crisp flakes drifted down, just to immediately melt on the bend of your knee. The soft whiteness of the world around you was a comfort and brought up only fond memories. You wished that were the case for Bucky.

Despite his warm jacket, a tremor ran down his shoulders. You switched the cup to your left hand, and without hesitation, plunged your right deep into his jacket pocket.

Bucky gave a start, opened his mouth, and then closed it promptly when you pulled yourself closer, purposefully melting into the curve of his side.

“It’s snowing, I’m cold, and you don’t need this pocket. Thought I would grab it for myself.” A smirk pulled at your lips and you added, “Unless you want to share.”

Bucky’s deer-in-the-headlights expression would have been funny if it hadn’t tugged at your heartstrings so fiercely.

He brushed the tip of his tongue over his lips—you still couldn’t figure out if he knew the effect it had—and his Adam’s apple plunged as he swallowed.

“All yours.”

His cheeks had a ruddy tinge to them by time he averted his eyes and turned back to his steaming drink.

Despite your teasing, sticking your hand in his pocket and sidling up to him was as far as you were planning to go. It had been a while since… Well, your feelings hadn’t changed, but they might have on his end. Bucky had been on the run for months, and your time together before that could be counted in hours.

A very intense time, as short as it had been. A time when you had gotten to know the Winter Soldier almost as well as you’d gotten to know Bucky Barnes, and you couldn’t lie and say it hadn’t been a hell of a rough beginning.

You could also say you were moving slow for his benefit, and you were, but you also didn’t know how to bridge that divide created by time and distance.

Apparently, Bucky did.

He spoke your name, softly but without any of his previous nervousness. When you turned your head, opening your mouth to respond, he was right there, and you didn’t even have time to blink before his lips were on yours.

They were just as soft as you remembered, a heat behind them that could melt the deepest snows.

Hot cocoa forgotten, you parted your lips, an invitation, as you curled your fingers into his long hair.

Bucky’s strong arms were around your waist in a second, pulling you closer and lifting you into his lap. Your fingers tightened in his hair and he groaned low in his throat.

You didn’t care who saw, you’d let Bucky do whatever he wanted to you, right here in front of New York and God and whoever else wanted to watch because you needed him like you needed air, and it had been so long—

“Agent Williams?”

No, no, not now.

“Are you awake, Agent?”

No! Go away!

You rolled over onto your side, giving a frustrated groan into your pillow.

“Ah, good. Mister Stark wishes to know if you’ll be down soon. Shall I inform him that was a yes? Or a no?”

You mumbled into your pillow and realized the AI probably couldn’t understand your resentful utterances. “What time is it?”

“It’s eight thirty-six, ma’am,” Jarvis answered succinctly.

You gave another pained groan. It wasn’t his fault Tony couldn’t contain himself like a kid on Christmas… oh.

“God, right, I’ll be down in a sec.” You rubbed at your face as you pulled yourself into a sitting position. The dream clung to you like smoke and you couldn’t seem to shake it off.

“Mister Stark says, ‘If she’s not down in five minutes I’m gonna have Dum-E tear open all her presents.’ I believe he’s being serious.”

“I’m sure he is,” you answered with a tired sigh.

You got dressed while on autopilot, your thoughts drifting far away as you stared out the window at the grey morning light. It was snowing again, and a deep ache settled in your chest at the memory of snow settling into Bucky’s hair.

No, not a memory. A dream, but one so unfairly clear because it was based on a memory. You had gone through the same motions the day before… with Steve.

Not the handholding or the flirting (or God forbid, the kissing), but you had taken him to Central Park in hopes of showing him everything that had changed since he’d been there in the 40’s.

The difference between Steve and dream-Bucky’s reactions had been startlingly different. Steve had still told the story about how Bucky and his sister had skated on the lake while he had to be on the sidelines. He too had also recognized the old carousel from the trolley station.

That was where the similarities ended. Bucky’s tense vigilance had been absent from Steve’s face. Bucky’s aversion of the rink had also been fabricated in your mind; Steve hadn’t seemed to care at all, even though he too had been frozen in ice for a long, long time.

The outing with Steve had been enjoyable, especially when Sam and Nat had joined you later that evening to see the Christmas lights strung around the park, but you had never stopped thinking about the person who wasn’t there.

Even then, even when it had been eleven months since the events in D.C. and the last time you’d seen Bucky, you still looked for his face in the crowd and felt his absence in the hollow space beside you.

It had grown worse when you’d passed by the concession cart selling hot cocoa, the familiar rich sent sending you back to the safe house where you’d hidden with the man who had broken you free of HYDRA’s captivity. Bucky had only just started to emerge from the chilling persona of the Winter Soldier, and the scent of hot cocoa had been one of his first memories of his previous life as James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve had caught the pause in your step, noted the faraway look on your face, and had asked if you wanted to stop for some. You’d quickly shaken your head and moved on. It was stupid, really stupid, but you didn’t want to share that with anyone else. Not even the man who had been Bucky’s closest friend.

Eleven months with not a single sign. You’d figured out long before now that if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. It made his absence hurt all the more.

You picked up your phone and scrolled through your messages as you did every morning. No strange or unknown numbers, just a few messages from the people waiting for you a few floors above in the common room.

T. Stark: You up yet? Im going to turn on the fire suppression system in your room

T. Stark: come on no one needs more than 6 hours of sleep get up

T. Stark: Im serious Williams your shit is my shit if you dont come up in 5

S. Rogers: Don’t worry about Tony. Take your time.

S. Wilson: Please save me from these man children

An amused smile crossed your lips before you could stop it.

There was one last message. There weren’t any words, only a single picture. Chocolate chip pancakes stacked ridiculously high, slathered in syrup and topped with sliced bananas.

You stomach immediately rumbled; Nat knew you so well.

You put your phone into your pocket, the smile slowly falling from your face. This was the first time you’d spent the holidays with people who treated you like… well, like a real family.

There was only one thing missing, and no matter how hard they tried, no one could fill the void he had left behind.

Someday, you told yourself as you left your room and crossed the hall to the elevator.

Someday, it won’t be a dream.

[uomo-accattivante]

The upcoming (November) online issue is still sold out, so below is a transcription of the Empire Star Wars article:

(NOVEMBER 2019)

IT ALL STARTED with a Jane Campion retrospective. The Lincoln Center in New York was entering night two of an in-depth celebration of the Kiwi filmmaker’s work when, during a sold-out screening of The Piano, one member of the audience received a text message. He then received another. And another. Hunched down in his seat towards the middle of the auditorium, screenwriter Chris Terri glanced furtively at his mobile as yet another text pinged to life on his screen. It was from J.J. Abrams. Just like the last. And the dozen or so before that.

It was 10 September 2017, and several hours earlier Terrio had received the first in what would become a torrent of communication: “I’ve just signed on to Episode IX,” it read. “We’re gonna write a new script. Would you consider writing it with me?”

“He didn’t even say the words ‘Star’ and ‘Wars,’” recalls Terrio with a laugh. “He didn’t have to. I’d been about to go off and direct a small movie, but when you hear Star Wars, everything else goes away.

Terrio agreed on the spot, planning to join Abrams in California as soon his schedule would allow. But the texts kept coming. Throughout the afternoon, thoughts, ideas and questions popped up one after the other; Abrams’ frantic thumbs tapping out the first seeds of story and flinging them across the country to his newfound partner. As so, with Michael Nyman’s haunting score swelling around him and a still-buzzing handset in his grasp, Terrio stood up, shuffled apologetically along a row of seats, and walked out of the cinema, leaving Campion’s Oscar darling behind.

“J.J. is constantly brimming with ideas and, in the very best way, he’s very impatient about them! So we just started getting into it then and there. I got on a plane to LA the next day.”

Less than a week earlier, however, Episode IX’s future hadn’t looked nearly as certain. In development fo the past two years under the auspices of Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow, the film had abruptly flown off the rails on 5 September, when it was announced that Trevorrow was off the project. Rumours of script disagreements circled, but regardless of the reason, Lucasfilm had a serious problem: arguably the most important film in Star Wars’ history suddenly had no director, no story and a release date drawing nearer by the day. So Lucasfilm President Kathleen Kennedy sent up a flare to the one man she knew without any doubt could safely take Star Wars over the finish line.

“Getting involved in IX came as a bit of a shock,” recalls J.J. Abrams. “I had completed VII, Rian [Johnson] was doing VIII, and I was not meant to do IX at all. But the opportunity to not just finish the trilogy, but to finish the story that George began -  this trilogy of trilogies - was too compelling and too tempting to reject.”

After delivering The Force Awakens, then the third-biggest movie in history, Abrams had taken a bow and walked away, returning to Bad Robot and a pair of TV pilots he’d been meaning to write. It was here, in his self-imposed exile, that Kennedy sought him out. Sure, it was an office just over a mile from Santa Monica pier rather than the grassy bluffs of Ahch-To, and Kennedy hadn’t so much climbed 500 hand-carved steps as punched ten digits into her phone, but like a vision of Episode VII’s final moments, there she was. Unexpected. Holding out something Abrams had thought lost and daring him to take it back.

“It’s exponentially the most daunting thing I’ve ever been involved with,” Abrams admits, eyebrows raised as if he still can’t quite believer the magnitude of the task. “But it was more exciting than it was anything.”

The director sits across from us in his suite at Beverly Hills’ Montage hotel, not far from where we last met, six years previously, when he’d just started work on a treatment for what would eventually become The Force Awakens. Abrams’ return as Star Wars’ Supreme Commander was announced just one day after Trevorrow’s departure, allaying the fears of both fans and shareholders alike: voices just a day before crying out in terror, now suddenly silenced. But with only two years to end a saga that had been four decades in the telling, it was clear from the outset he was going to need some help. And so he composed a text (then several more) and sent them flying towards a movie theatre 3,000 miles away, where the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Argo was attempting to watch a film.

“I’ve admired Chris Terrio’s writing for a long time. I called on him because I knew it would be a challenge. But I didn’t know it would be quite as challenging as it was.”

In a time when vast, interconnected stories have become commonplace, and breadcrumbs to the payoffs in Avenger’s Endgame can be traced back ten or even 20 films, it’s hard to believe that the Star Wars sequel trilogy didn’t have its course firmly locked in before Episode VII ever left the spaceport. But, just as Abrams himself left neither chart nor compass for Rian Johnson to navigate with, so he began work on The Rise Of Skywalker with nothing to guide him but his wits. It is, by Abrams’ own admission, his preferred method of working. An instinctive storyteller by nature, his impulse is to do what feels right in the moment, rather than slavishly adhere to some pre-ordained master plan. Very appropriately for a franchise so rooted in this exact philosophy, Abrams’ inclination has always been, as Alec Guinness once sagely advised, to stretch out with his feelings.

“You can’t plan everything in advance - which my ‘Revenge of the Jedi’ poster proves,” he says. “You have a better idea and then you implement it. When I was working on VII, I’d be lying if I said I knew everything that was gonna happen in VIII and IX. I had some ideas, but we had a release date that required us to work on VII!”

So Abrams and Terrio started from scratch. They spitballed ideas during the day, swapped rapid-fire-texts at night and, piece-by-piece set about exploring the fundamental questions this final movie had to address. Not least of all the aftermath of The Last Jedi, in which Rian Johnson, continuing Abrams’ story, had made some rather significant changes.

THERE’S A WELL-WORN dramatic principle most commonly ascribed to Anton Chekhov that insists if you see a gun in the first act of the play, it must go off by act three or you’re simply wasting the audience’s time. The same, it appears, is true of dark side degenerates as, despite being sidelined in The Last Jedi, Chekhov’s Knights Of Ren will finally go off in The Rise Of Skywalker.

The Knights - from which Kylo draws the latter part of his name - are a nightmarish squad of enforcers who do the bidding of the former Ben Solo. A rag-tag band of thugs and killers decked in black just like their leader, though far more battleworn. Armoured in disparate styles - one sports a cowl, one an angry welder’s mask, another a checkered draughtboard faceplate - they pack a similarly eclectic arsenal, from multi-barrelled assault cannon to oversized, anime-style sword poleaxe and a wicked-looking mace.

Referenced portentously in The Force Awakens and glimpsed so very briefly during Rey’s vision on Takodana, the Knights and their role in Kylo’s fall from grace were set up as a major piece of the Star Wars puzzle. That is until Johnson, who clearly didn’t share Abrams’ interest, dropped the idea, sweeping them briskly under the rug next to the mystery of Rey’s parentage and the bisected corpse of Supreme Leader Snoke. “Let the past die,” instructed Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi. “Kill it, if you have to.” A sentiment, one could argue, that cut to the very heart of Johnson’s film.

“We thought about that line a lot,” says Terrio. “Rian did something that any good second act would do, which is create the antithesis. In The Force Awakens Luke Skywalker is a myth Rey’s obsessed with and there’s a warm embrace of the past. What Rian suggested is the past is a mixed bag and you can’t rely upon it to tell you where to go in the future. What we’re doing with Episode IX is trying to create a synthesis between those two points of view.”

And so, just as the investigation into Rey’s lineage looks set to be reopened, so too are the Knights back with a vengeance (not to mention Abrams talisman Greg Grunberg as pilot Snap Wexley). With Johnson’s tenure over, we’re playing in Abrams’ yard once more, although our suggestion that he might somehow be trying to course-correct is given short shrift.

“I never found myself trying to repair anything,” Abrams interjects. “If I had done VIII, I would have done things differently, just as Rian would have done things differently if he had done VII. But having worked on television series, I was accustomed to creating stories and characters that then were run by other people. If you’re willing to walk away from the thing that you created and you believe it’s in trustworthy hands, you have to accept that some of the decisions being made are not gonna be the same that you would make. And if you come back into it, you have to honour what’s been done.”

And what has been done is significant. Luke Skywalker is dead, passing on his knowledge and the mantle of last Jedi to Rey; The Resistance has been all but wiped out; Snoke is gone; and Kylo Ren - now Supreme Leader Ren - is more broken than ever, riven by conflict through the unlikely bond he forged with Rey. Bold and decisive, Johnson’s decisions changed the board entirely, his sharp turns and gear shifts delighting some while earning the ire of others.

“Any time you are telling a story that people deeply care about, there is bound to be discussion and debate,” says Kathleen Kennedy. “That is something that has always been fundamental to the fabric of Star Wars.”

For Abrams and Terrio, meanwhile, the new landscape also brought with it new possibilities.

“Some of the most interesting scenes in The Last Jedi are the conversations between Rey and Ren,” says Terrio. “We’ve tried to pick up that complicated relationship that really has been present ever since the interrogation in Episode VII. When Ren takes off his mask, there’s a nakedness about him with Rey that he doesn’t express to anyone else. Rian developed that in fascinating ways and we’ve been able to develop it even further.”

Ren, left pointedly bare-faced by Johnson throughout VIII, now hides his face once more. It’s a development that, while not a rebuke to The Last Jedi, demonstrates the difference touchstones that resonate with each director. Although, Abrams expands, reuniting Kylo with his mask is about more than just sinister aesthetics.

“Having him be masked, but also fractured, is a very intentional thing. Like that classic Japanese process of taking ceramics and repairing them, and how the breaks in a way define the beauty of the piece as much as the original itself. As fractured as Ren is, the mask becomes a visual representation of that. There’s something about this that tells his history. His mask doesn’t ultimately hide him and his behaviour is revealed.”

Ren’s temptation by the light, like Rey’s temptation by the dark, forms the spine of a moral ambiguity that Johnson built on in VIII and very much carries over to IX, bringing with it a sense that George Lucas’ more clearly defined duality might be a relic of a simpler time. Neither light nor dark, The Rise Of Skywalker and its characters exist more within what could be considered the grey side of the Force - something underscored by the tantalizing footage of ‘Darth Rey’ (complete with cowl, hangover pallor and double-bladed red lightsaber) that closed Abrams’ D23 Expo footage presentation in Anaheim in August.

“I’d rather let that one lie,” he deflects, when pressed on the subject. “But I will say that the movie has a number of things that you wouldn’t expect to have happen and that you wouldn’t expect certain characters to do. There are surprises along the way.” He smiles, mischievously. “And that’s one of them.”

THE VALLEY OF The Moon in Southern Jordan has seen its share of action. Cut into the red sandstone cliffs near Aqaba, the striking lowlands known in Arabic as Wadi Rum have been visited by both real and fictional Lawrences of Arabia, stood in for the face of Mars, been the birth place of the Alien in Prometheus, and will next year double as the eponymous desert planet in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune. It’s no stranger to stormtroopers, either, having played host to the ill-fated Jedha outpost in Gareth Edwards’ Rogue One. Today, though, Wadi Rum is a different part of the galaxy entirely, standing in for Pasaana: a new locale in the canon, and home to the bedouin-like Aki-Aki: a nomadic race of walrus-like aliens with twin tentacles dangling from their maws in place of tusks.

Pasaana, along with the nippier climes of snow planet Kijimi, is one of several new worlds visited by The Rise Of Skywalker. But most importantly, it’s a place where the heroes we’ve become acquainted with over the past two films will come together at last.

“The heart of Star Wars for me is the group of unlikely bedfellows on a breakneck adventure,” says Abrams. “And in Rise Of Skywalker it’s the biggest and most dastardly threat the galaxy has seen. The opportunity here was to have this group that has now become a surrogate family have to deal with this massive horror: the war to end all wars. Not just on the outside, but on the inside, which is to say it’s meant to be as much of a challenge personally as it is physically.”

Abrams’ war of wars has been well equipped: “The First Order is stacked with new brass in the form of Richard E. Grant’s Allegiant General Pryde, neo-fascist ranks swollen by triangular-winged TIE Daggers and blood-red garrisons of newly commissioned Sith troopers, their angular crimson armor giving a fresh twist on the faceless squaddies - much to Hasbro’s delight. The Resistance, too, will see its share of reinforcements, including Billy Dee Williams’ Lando Calrissian - reprising the role after 36 years. Even General Leia Organa will return: the late Carrie Fisher making an appearance thanks to the discovery of unused footage that somehow fit the narrative perfectly.

The action itself has been teased in the barest of glimpses: Rey and Kylo duelling on the wreckage of a Death Star; Rebel X-Wings and blockade runners fleeing destruction; a sky bristling with Imperial Star Destroyers, their numbers great enough to block out the stars.

The presence of Old Empire firepower, easily overlooked, points to The Rise Of Skywalker’s biggest curveball to date. Back in April, when Abrams showed the first trailer at Star Wars Celebration in Chicago the real of the film’s title was almost eclipsed by the familiar cackle of the original Emperor echoing over those final frames. The Ian McDiarmid himself walked out to demand, in full Palpatine rasp, that the projector “roll it again”, all present lost their shit in unison. How could this be? Is he a clone? A Force projection? Did he survive that fateful plummet down the Death Star shaft? Could Palpatine have been telling Anakin the truth when he spoke of Darth Plagueis The Wise’s cure for death? Irrespective of the fine print, Star Wars’ biggest of bad is officially back in business.

“Some people feel like we shouldn’t revisit the idea of Palpatine, and I completely understand that,” Abrams concedes. “But if you’re looking at these nine films as one story, I don’t know many books where the last few chapters have nothing to do with those that have come before. If you look at the first eight films, all the set-ups of what we’re doing in IX are there in plain view.”

The sheer scale of the task he’s undertaken cannot be overstated. Star Wars has been, by far, the most enduring and influential story of the modern era. Having to put the capstone on a saga that has shaped both childhoods and adult lives for several generations is something neither Abrams, nor producer Kathleen Kennedy, looking ahead to what the future holds for Star Wars, take at all lightly.

“We don’t have a crystal ball” says Kennedy. “We tried to look at Solo and see if we could do two movies a year, and we found, ‘Hmm, that’s not going to work.’ So we backed off of that a little. But that doesn’t mean we don’t think about lots of different stories. That’s the exciting thing about this universe.

“It’s been an honour to inherit and continue this iconic saga that has touched audiences for so many years, and we feel the weight of that every time we set out to tell these stories.”

The wider universe will, of course, live on. Whether through The Mandalorian on TV, or all-new movie sagas currently in development by Johnson and Game Of Thrones’ David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. But for the core story, what for so many people is Star Wars, the final destination is now in sight.

“I’ve always loved the start of something,” says Abrams, “because of what it promises. Endings are hard. A great ending not only needs to honour everything that’s come before but, whether it’s a novel, a series or a film, you want to have it feel like it could end no other way.”

And so it comes back to feeling. In a world of meticulously planned franchises and strategic, multi-phased rollouts, Star Wars, at its core, has always trusted in The Force. Abrams had not expected to be here, had not expected to finish this tale. But now, as he places the final pieces of the puzzle, he feels like it was always meant to be. There’s a symmetry to him being the one to deliver The Rise Of Skywalker, just as there is in the fact that, faced with this near insurmountable challenge, his impulse was not to assemble story groups or worry about the top-down view, but to switch off his targeting computer, let go his conscious self and act on instinct.

“This story is alive, and you have to listen to it,” he says. “When you land on something that give you the chills, that’s the only way you know if it feels right. You can deconstruct it all you want and try and make sense of how you found it, but somehow it finds you.”

He pauses, reflecting for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. Just the way I can’t quite explain how we had this footage of Carrie that we’re using. You can say, ‘Oh well, it’s just luck, it just happened to be,’ but i feels like something else. And I neither can nor want to explain any of it.”

Just as every saga has a beginning, so too will this one find its end. Abrams and Terrio have taken Lucas’ vision to its conclusion, and the story that began on 25 May 1977 will end on 19 December 2019.

“It’s been a pretty crazy ride,” reflects Terrio. “When I was a kid watching Return  Of The Jedi on loop, I felt like I was the only person Yoda was speaking to. And then there I was all these years later, sitting in a tent in Jordan doing this film. You have this highly personal relationship to Star Wars, and then, suddenly, you find yourself right in the middle of it. That feeling is sort of indescribable.”

It’s one that, at the very least, is almost certainly worth having a movie interrupted for. 

STAR WARS: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER IS IN CINEMAS FROM DECEMBER

###

Il materiale di origine: Empire Magazine via Imgur

[motherwasapapafucker]

Strange Attractors Prologue: Fall Out

“We’ve done it,” The Doctor said with shock, studying the scanner intently as he saw Gallifrey fall away behind them. “We’ve actually done it!” he danced between Jamie and Victoria, spinning around them in delight.

“A canny believe it Doctor, your plan worked.” Jamie said with a wide grin that warmed the Doctors hearts.

“That was marvellous,” Victora said grasping the two in a tight hug. “The looks on their faces when you used the sneezing powder.”

The Doctor allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction, leaning on the console he plotted their journey out. He almost couldn't believe it himself, they’d escaped, he’d been waiting years, decades even, as he concocted a plan that made his previous escape from Gallifrey look like the hastily carried out farce that it was. Their arrival, awarded to him in a warped mockery of his previous life, had only pushed him to bring the plan into effect earlier than he had initially conceived. His handlers believed he worked best when supported by loved ones, they’d been right.

“We’ll be out of their immediate sphere of influence soon-enough,” The Doctor said glancing at the scanner. “The fog should begin lifting shortly.”

“Fog?” Polly wrinkled her nose in confusion.

“The memory blocks? Periods that exist only exist vaguely?” she shook her head and the Doctor turned to face Ben. “What about you Benjamin, how’s your memory, anything you can’t quite recall?”

“My memory’s fine Doctor?” 

“No spaces, absences of any kind?” he shook his head.

“Perhaps…” The Doctor pondered as he paced the room. “Perhaps they didn’t see the necessity in memory blocks for the lesser species, yes, yes, that must be it.”

“Lesser species!” Zoe gave an indignant cry.

“A turn of phrase,” he smiled at her warmly. “Please forgive me, you’ve spent enough time among my people to get a sense of their views on the wider universe. I sometimes forget I’m as much a product of those attitudes as any other Time-Lord, I fear my time among them has only increased my blindness.”

“I’ll say,” Dodo smirked. “They kidnap me and poor Helen to help you deal with The Terrible Zodin and don’t even bother to thank us afterwards! I’m not sure they would have taken us home if you hadn’t escaped.”

The Doctor paused mid-stride, glancing at his fellow escapees; Dodo Chaplet and Helen Mortimer, briefly unsure when his keepers had opted to pair him with the two. Seeing them again was an unexpected kindness, and despite their initial disbelief he was the Doctor, they had quickly become a dependable duo, helping him through the toughest months...years? Of his ongoing captivity. It must have been during the Zodin affair...regardless, their sudden reemergence into his life had helped push him towards escape.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “They don’t have much respect for the unlike. You may have gathered that from some of our ‘adventures’. He all but spat the word, what little he could recall clearly already disgusting him. “Intervening only when it suits them.”

“Still, some of the scrapes we got into, eh Doctor?” Steven said, giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Sontarans, Vespiforms, Players, The Embodiment of Gris, The Corsair and her sinister crew, hardly the underdogs of the universe.”

“And we all agreed that Tannis chap needed to be stopped,” Ian added, joining the pair. “Or were the Time-Lords wrong to intervene there?” The Doctor turned to give Chesterton a piece of his mind only to find Jamie staring down at him. “And you have to admit it’s nice that ye can actually fly the TARDIS now, control where we’re going an’ aw that.” The boy flashed a cheeky grin. Something was wrong here, who…who was he travelling with. He’d left...he’d left with Jamie and Victoria, or was it Zoe and Ben? Tony and Paula? They all spoke to him, voices echoing across the console room, always close by, but he only had two companions.

“You can’t really call it to control when your journey is already decided” The Doctor snapped, trying to fight through the fog, tiredness he’d been fighting off since his trial threatening to flood over him. He needed to focus, to ignore the distractions, only a little longer and he would be safe. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve always felt.” He flashed a weary smile at Ben and Polly, turning his attention back on the console. “And yes, we may have dealt with threats, made the universe safer, but safe for who? Whose interests were we really serving? For every Tannis there were half a dozen researchers whose only crime was being curious about their universe. We...I toppled tyrants at the behest of tyrants, never daring to challenge them in ways that really mattered.”

“Was I really so bad to work with?” Serena shot back, hurt dripping from her voice. “You’ve built our people into monsters, they could have exiled you, killed you even. Instead, they welcomed you back, allowed you to keep doing what you’ve always done, only with the support and comfort of home.” He’d seen her die, he’d had to tell her family, she couldn’t be here, none of them could.

“She’s right you know.” another, immediately recognisable voice said. The Doctor turned sharply, refusing to accept it’s presence. They wouldn’t, would they? Of course, of course they would. Only they could be so cruel. “Would you really abandon it all again Grandfather? Our people, our family?”

“Please don’t go!” John and Gillian chimed together, twin daggers piercing his hearts. “We almost never got to see Cousin Susan before you came back.” The Doctor rested his head against the console, cold surface and distant rumbling offering little comfort in the face of what he knew he had to do. They would never let him go, not really, not like this. It was a nice lie, one he wanted to believe in, but it was still a lie. With a cacophony of giggling grandchildren behind him The Doctor rose slowly, one hand dabbing his nose with a handkerchief while the other methodically worked the console.

Hands fell on his shoulder, Jamie and Victoria peering around him with a keener interest in the console than either had ever displayed during their time together. “Are you okay?” Victoria asked with lilting concern?

“Aye Doctor, whits the matter? No getting cold feet are ye?”

“Of course not,” he said with a clap, shoving past them as he moved around the console, working buttons and switches with lightning-quick reflexes, finally coming to a stop directly across from them, slow rise and fall of the column warping half their features. “I just wanted to take the time to say how much I value you both, I really don’t know that I would have survived these last few yea...well however long it’s been...without the both of you. When you came back, when they brought you back I should say, I was over the moon, you were a glimmer of hope in the dark.” He began working the console, quick glance confirming they were advancing on him. “I think they thought you would pacify me, make me softer, more willing to work with them, but they made a mistake there.” He savoured once last glance at their faces, as good an imitation as any. “I would never allow you to be trapped with them.”

“Aww gee it up Doctor, ye canny escape them.” Jamie said with a hint of anger, the two converging on him from either side.

“Jamie, Victoria...” The Doctor dabbed his forehead, jabbing a final command into the console with a grim smile. “Thank you.”

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Parking Tickets and Politics

Well, it’s the 21st in Australia, so happy holidays, @ambersagen! 

This one was written for the @stetersecretsanta

It all starts with a parking ticket because yes, Peter is exactly that petty.

Peter won’t lie. He’s been adrift in his career for a little while now. He’s a born predator, and law seemed like a perfect fit, right? A wolf swimming with all those sharks. And Peter has done very well for himself, but he’s bored with it now. He came, he saw, he conquered, so now what?

Talia tells him he’s having a midlife crisis, but fuck Talia. Peter’s way too young and way too pretty for a midlife crisis, thank you very much.

So, it starts with a parking ticket.

Peter is back in Beacon Hills for the weekend of Cora’s birthday, and he comes out of his favourite coffee shop to find a ticket under the wiper of his car and the asshole who wrote the ticket just slipping his pen back into his khaki shirt pocket.

“What the hell is this?” Peter demands.

The cop levels him with a stare, and Peter realises too late that it’s no lowly deputy, but the sheriff himself. And he looks decidedly unimpressed. “This is a no standing zone, sir.”

“What?” Peter squints at the sign. “Seriously? How long has that been there?”

“About three months.”

“Well, it’s bullshit! Why the hell would you suddenly turn this into a no standing zone?”

The sheriff shrugs. “You’ll need to take that up with someone at city hall, sir. I don’t write the local laws, I just enforce them.”  

“Of course,” Peter says, snatching the ticket from underneath the wiper blade. “Fifty dollars?”

“Have a nice day, sir,” the sheriff says blandly, but Peter thinks he probably means Fall in an open sewer and die, sir.

“You too,” Peter says, barely holding back his snarl.

The sheriff has the audacity to whistle as he walks away.

Peter narrows his eyes at his retreating back.

Peter is not paying the parking ticket. Okay, so he was parked in a no standing zone, which is technically against the law, but what about the spirit of the law? He climbs into his car and drives straight to city hall, ready to defend himself against this egregious abuse of power, and finds himself face-to-face with a middle-aged woman called Janice, who is wearing a sparkly dolphin brooch on her bosom and a scowl on her face.

Peter tells her all the reasons that the packing ticket is unfair, unjust, and unconscionable. And then he shows her his most charming smile—the one that never fails—and asks if she can see any way at all to waive the fine…

“No,” she says, and slams the grate down at her counter.

Well, fuck Janice and fuck her sparkly dolphin.

This means war.

***

“Oh, Peter,” Talia says that night, handing him a paper plate with a thick piece of Cora’s birthday cake on it. “You’re not serious?”

“I am absolutely serious,” Peter tells her. “I’m going to bring them down from the inside.”

Talia sighs. “Can’t you just be normal and get a sports car and a hideously age-inappropriate girlfriend?”

“What’s going on?” Cora asks curiously, wedging herself between them to grab another piece of her cake.

“Your uncle is having a midlife crisis.”

“I am not!” Peter growls.

Cora looks to Derek, who has been shoving cake in his face for the last few minutes and looking increasingly regretful that he’s overheard any of this conversation at all.  

“The sheriff gave Peter a parking ticket,” Derek mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. “So he’s going to run for mayor.”

“Well,” Cora says approvingly, “that escalated quickly.”

***

It’s surprisingly easy to run a mayoral campaign. Peter winds up his last few cases in LA, tells the other partners that he’s taking a sabbatical, and sets out to hire the best campaign team he can, so that he has to do as little actual work as possible. Braeden, his personal assistant, comes with him because, as she says, at least it will be good for a laugh. Peter would love to fire her for her attitude, but she turns out to be an incredibly capable campaign manager.

The incumbent mayor, Gerald Argent, is a poisonous old toad who is absolutely blindsided by Peter’s unexpected foray into politics, but smirkingly tells the press that has been mayor for twelve years, and he trusts that the local voters will value his experience over whatever Peter Hale is bringing to the table.

Pleasingly, the initial opinion poll that the local newspaper runs suggests that Gerard’s trust is largely misplaced. And really, Peter can see why. Taxes are on the rise, but meanwhile the streets are potholed, the local community hall needs urgent repairs, the water pipes are at least eighty percent rust, and the town’s parks and public spaces haven’t been spruced up in years.

Clearly the problems in Beacon Hills run deeper than a few ridiculous no standing zones.

There is one more candidate running for mayor: Natalie Martin. She’s personable, smart, well presented and, unlike Peter, has lived in Beacon Hills for the last decade. At the beginning of the campaign she’s trailing him in the polls, but Peter knows she’s the real challenge.

“You can’t run your entire campaign on photo ops and sound bites,” Braeden informs him one night as they’re eating takeout in Peter’s campaign office.

“Why not?” Peter asks.

“Because eventually people are going to want substance.”

“Do you even know how politics works?”

“Do you?” she shoots back. “Look, you’ve got a lot of support because you’re a Hale, and that apparently means something in this podunk little town, and because people really don’t like Argent. But Natalie has actual community connections here. Real ones that she built herself.”

“Firstly, podunk?” Peter asks her, but Braeden is from LA, so he supposes he can let it slide. “And secondly, since when are you on first names terms with the opposition?”

Braeden raises her eyebrows. “We go to the same yoga class.”

Peter spends a few moments pondering that lovely mental imagine. “Fine. What do you suggest I need?”

Braeden pokes him with her fork. “You need someone to endorse you. A public official who is trusted, and popular, and respected.”

“Someone like who?” Peter asks suspiciously.

Braeden grins. “Someone like Sheriff Stilinski.”

***

The annual Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department Christmas Fundraiser is held in the community hall with the sagging roof. All of the mayoral candidates are invited, because Sheriff John Stilinski, Braeden tells Peter, doesn’t play favourites. Sheriff Stilinski has never endorsed a mayoral candidate before. It’s an odd tactic for a man who is in an elected position himself but considering that for the past two elections Gerard Argent has run unopposed, Peter thinks it’s probably quite reasonable. Because who would endorse that old fuck weasel Argent, unless they had a gun to their head?

This year, Peter thinks, will be different. He goes to the party with the express goal of winning John Stilinski over, and having him endorse his mayoral campaign. And why wouldn’t he? Peter is charming, witty, and an all round delight. Any fool can see that.

John Stilinski, it turns out, is not just any fool.

“A little bird tells me that you don’t endorse mayoral candidates,” Peter says, when he catches the sheriff by the punch bowl.

“That’s funny,” the sheriff says, stacking his paper plate high with triangular sandwiches and cocktail onions. “A little bird told me that you’re only running for mayor in the first place because your ego got bruised by that parking ticket I wrote you.”

“Oh, please don’t sell me short, Sheriff Stilinski,” Peter says. “I’m also running because I’m rich and bored.”

The sheriff snorts and walks away.

“What?” Peter asks when he catches Braeden’s disbelieving look.

“You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, Peter Hale.”

It’s lucky he’s paying her for her honesty, and not her good manners.

Still, she has a point. And Peter narrows his eyes when he sees the sheriff and Natalie Martin in what appears to be a friendly conversation a few minutes later over by the sad, drooping Christmas tree.

Peter rolls his eyes and heads back to replenish his punch, because clearly this entire evening is a waste of his time.

This time when he gets there, there’s a boy standing by the table. Well, a young man. He’s tall and lean, with tousled dark hair, eyes the colour of whiskey, and a smattering of moles on his face and throat. He looks adorably awkward in his cheap suit, like a fresh little intern on his first day in the corporate shark tank.

“Hello,” Peter says with an easy smile.

“Um, hi!” The boy gives a full-body jerk as he straightens up and waves. Then, obviously knowing just how exactly like a long-legged fawn on a frozen pond he appears—all flailing limbs and uncoordinated twitches—he flushes beautifully.

Peter leans in close. “Boring, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. A bit,” the boy says, and gulps down a mouthful of punch.

Peter looks him up and down, and isn’t at all subtle about it. The boy pinks up even further.

“Want to join me in the bathroom?” Peter asks him.

The boy’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “Are you serious right now?”  

“Sweetheart,” Peter tells him, dropping his voice to a low, sultry tone that never fails him. “I am always serious about getting my dick sucked.”

The boy blinks at him, jaw dropping.

Peter smirks, and saunters towards the bathroom. He doesn’t even look back to see if the boy is following him. He’s Peter fucking Hale. Of course the boy is following him.  

***

There really is nothing nicer than a pretty boy with a wet mouth on his knees in a bathroom stall. Peter has often thought so and he is, of course, always right. He rests his hand in the boy’s tousled hair, and smiles down at him.  

“Aren’t you just delectable?” he asks the boy, and unzips his pants.

Actually, it must be Peter who is delectable, given the way the boy dives on his cock. He’s sloppy and clearly unpractised, but that has a certain charm all of its own. And he is nothing if not enthusiastic. He licks and laps and sucks like he’s in a race to the finish, and Peter is happy to oblige him in that. Fast and dirty have always been two of Peter’s favourite things.

He curls his fingers into a fist, crisp hair gel crunching, and helps the boy into a rhythm that is more-or-less smooth. The boy, in turn, curls one hand around Peter’s thigh, and the other around the base of his cock. He grips it tightly, and Peter’s hips shudder. His balls draw up, and he’s almost disappointed at how quickly he’s going to come, except it feels so fucking good. Screw stamina. Peter can blame it on the stress of the campaign later, or the length of time it’s been since he last got laid. In the meantime, he’s going to go hell for leather and give this kid the ego boost of his short, inexperienced life.

And it’s all going so very, very well, right up until Peter hears footsteps in the bathroom, wonders if he remembered to lock the stall door, realises as it opens that he didn’t, and then Sheriff Stilinski is standing right in front of him, jaw on the floor as he stares at Peter, and the kid, then Peter again.

“Hale! What the fuck are you doing to my son?”

Whoops.

All in all, Peter is very lucky to escape the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department Christmas Party with his balls still attached to his body.

He’s probably not going to get that endorsement now, is he?

***

“I think,” Peter says the next morning, perching on his desk and tapping his fingers on a stack of files, “perhaps a fruit basket?”

“A fruit basket?” Braeden asks, deadpan.

Peter shrugs. “Well, I don’t know. What is the appropriate apology gift to send the man whose endorsement you desperately need to win an election but whose son you accidentally publicly violated at a civic function?”

“There is no such gift, Peter!”

“Hmm,” Peter says. “Muffins?”  

***

Over the next few days, the Sheriff Stilinski problem does not go away. In fact, it gets worse. Not only is Peter sure that the sheriff will never endorse him, but he’s also gotten three new parking tickets in that time. Okay, so he was technically parked illegally once, and overstayed his limit at a meter twice, but Peter knows when he’s on the receiving end of a petty vendetta. He’s orchestrated enough of them in his lifetime to recognise all the signs.

Clearly this is war, and clearly Peter needs to end it.

He’s going to have to go on a charm offensive, which means somehow making things right with John Stilinski. Which means, probably, first making things right with his son.

He needs information, and he sends Braeden to get it for him.

“Stiles Stilinski,” Braeden says the next morning. She sets her coffee cup and bagel down on her desk. “His real first name is unpronounceable. He’s the only child of the sheriff. He’s nineteen, thank fuck, and despite scoring 1550 on his SAT and the offer of a partial scholarship from Stanford, he goes to the local community college. He likes comic books and curly fries, he has ADHD, and he once wrote an entire high school Economics paper on the history of male circumcision.”

“I’m impressed,” Peter says. “How did you manage to dig all that up so quickly? And why is it so oddly specific?”

“Natalie told me at yoga,” Braeden says. “She used to teach him. By the way, what happened at the Christmas fundraiser is already being whispered about around town, so you’d better make it right before Argent’s campaign team picks up on it, or you’ll just be another sad political candidate who got caught canoodling with a teenage boy in a bathroom stall.”

“Excuse you,” Peter says. “The boy in question is of age, no money was exchanged, and unlike every fucking conservative asshole politician out there, I’m actually incredibly proud of my ability to get into compromising positions with gorgeous young men. Have you even seen my Instagram?”

Braeden suppresses a shudder. “Unfortunately.”

“So, if I make things right with the boy—”

“Stiles,” Braden interjects.

“Stupid name, but yes, fine. If I make things right with Stiles, that should clear the air, and then I can apologise to the sheriff and get his endorsement.”

Braeden raises her brows. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“I’m attractive, wealthy, and white,” Peter tells her. “Everything is easy.”

***

Everything is not easy.

The Stilinskis live in a dull little house on Oak Street. Peter turns up when he knows the sheriff will be on shift, and Stiles will be home alone. He parks out the front of the house, retrieves the Christmas gift basket he bought from the trunk of the car, and makes his way across the lawn to the front door. He steps up onto the porch, plasters on a charming smile, and rings the doorbell.

He waits.

Moments later, the door is pulled open, and Peter sees the boy again.

He’s not wearing a suit this time. He’s in sweatpants and one of the ugliest graphic t-shirts that Peter has ever seen, although it is old and worn enough that the ribbing around the collar sags and offers a tantalising glimpse of the boy’s collarbones. Peter has always been a sucker for collarbones.

The boy—Stiles—widens his eyes as he takes in his unexpected visitor. “What the hell do you want?”

“Hello, Stiles,” Peter says, and holds the gift basket out. “Merry Christmas.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles says, folding his arms over his chest. “If you want my dad’s endorsement so much, maybe you should have invited him to fuck around in a bathroom stall instead of me.”

“Maybe I should have,” Peter agrees, watching Stiles’s face turn an interesting shade of red. “Except that’s not what that was about at all.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth,” Peter says. “I had no idea who you were, except for a pretty boy with a prettier mouth that I really wanted to stick my dick in. It’s not that deep, sweetheart.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“No,” Peter says. “That was an explanation. This hamper is the apology.”

Stiles’s expression does something complicated a second before he slams the door in Peter’s face.

Peter sighs and looks down at the gift basket. That’s a hundred and fifty bucks he’s wasted.

He helps himself to the gingerbread and leaves the rest on the doorstep when he goes.

***

Braeden takes one look at him when he walks back into the office, shakes her head, and announces that she’s taking a late lunch. It leaves Peter nothing to do except bask in the company of his campaign workers and volunteers. He does that for twenty seconds, then hightails it out of there to catch Braeden.

“It didn’t go well, I take it,” she says as they wait in line at the nearby coffee shop.

“He slammed the door in my face,” Peter grumbles.

“I like him already.” Braeden glances up from the screen of her phone. “What? You could do with a lot more people slamming doors in your face, Peter. It’s character building.”

“I already like the character I have.” Peter scans the board as they reach the counter. “Vanilla latte with a shot of espresso, please.”

“Make that two,” Braeden says.

They move to the side of the counter to wait for their order.

“It is an issue though, Peter,” Braeden cautions him. “Or it will be, once Argent’s team finds out. Unless you and the sheriff can play nice, this could actually sink your campaign.”

“I’m working on it,” Peter says. He digs the packet out of his coat pocket. “Gingerbread?”

***

Peter’s campaign office closes at five. All the staff clears out then. Braeden leaves shortly after for her yoga class, and Peter sits at his desk, leans back in his chair, and closes his eyes and wonders if this is what Talia means when she talks about karma biting him in the ass.

Except, no.

Karma is no match for Peter. This is just a little bump in the road to the election. Peter can absolutely make this right.

At 5.37, a bottle of Regalo Chardonay with a festive ribbon tied around the neck smashes through the front window of the office.

***

At 6 p.m. Peter is ringing the doorbell at the Stilinskis’ house again, and finishing off the last of the gingerbread. Nobody answers, but there’s a battered blue Jeep in the driveway, so Peter knows his quarry is home.

He rings the doorbell again, knocks for good measure, and then sighs. “Stiles?” he calls. “My campaign office does have security cameras, you know.”

Stiles wrenches the door open, glowering. “You think I’m fucking scared of you?”

“Clearly not,” Peter says, “or you wouldn’t throw bottles of wine through my windows. May I come in?”

It’s not a question so much as a statement of intent. He pushes his way inside the house before Stiles can slam the door in his face again.

Stiles rolls his eyes and stomps away down the hall.

Peter follows him, taking in the house.

It’s not much, for a man of the sheriff’s standing, although it’s more lived-in than run down. None of the furniture matches. And is that a stuffed fish mounted above the television in the living room? Peter cringes inwardly. Everything here is wrong on a visceral level. Peter’s first instinct is to call an emergency decorator. His second is to actually use his werewolf senses and parse this out.

Hideous style aside, the sheriff’s house smells of something stale and a little acrid. And then Peter realises that no, it’s not the house, but the boy. Here in his own environment, Stiles’s scent is strong, and it smells like… like loneliness. There’s a slight chemical scent of medication as well. ADHD, he remembers Braeden telling him. But mostly it’s loneliness.

Peter wonders if that has anything to do with the fact that it’s less than a week until Christmas, and there’s not a single decoration in the house. Not a single acknowledgement to the season. Not a single twirl of tinsel or ugly glittery bauble anywhere.

Peter enters the kitchen to discover Stiles drinking milk from the carton.

Stiles shoves the milk back in the refrigerator and glares at Peter. “Are you going to tell my dad?”

“No,” Peter says, and is surprised to find it’s the truth. He drove over here gleefully delighted that Stiles had given him the ideal leverage in this whole situation. Peter wouldn’t press charges if Stiles agreed to get his father to endorse him. Really, it was perfect. Except now, in his house without a single festive decoration and a boy that smells of Adderall and unhappiness, Peter isn’t gleeful at all. He’s intrigued. “But I’d like to know why a clever young man like yourself just did something so monumentally stupid.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You don’t care.”

“No, but I’m curious,” Peter says, and leans against the counter. “And who would you rather explain it to? Me, or your father?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment, and Peter isn’t sure if Stiles is going to answer it.

And then Stiles closes his eyes briefly and sighs, seeming to let all of his anger out with that long breath. “You pissed me off, okay?” He opens his eyes again. “I don’t like being used.”

“I already told you, Stiles,” Peter says softly, “I didn’t know whose son you were that night. That’s the truth. I mean, I did want to use you, but politics had nothing to do with it.”

Stiles’s mouth quirks in what appears to be an attempt to fight an unwilling smile. “Asshole.”

“Absolutely. Ask anyone.”

“Most of my life I’ve been the sheriff’s kid,” Stiles says. “I love my dad, and I’m proud of what he does, but I hate being the sheriff’s kid. Do you know how many parties you don’t get invited to in high school because everyone thinks you’re a narc?” He snorts. “To say I was unpopular is a gross understatement.”

Peter feels a rush of unaccustomed sympathy for the boy who has clearly struggled with feelings of inadequacy for years, followed immediately by a rush of warm pride for the boy whose first instinct when he thought he was being lied to was petty revenge and property damage.

Stiles shrugs. “So I finally put high school behind me, then some hot guy picks me up, and it turns out he was only using me to get to my dad. Because I’m the sheriff’s kid. And then he turns up on my doorstep and lies about it, and tries to bribe me with a dumb fucking Christmas hamper!” His face flushes. “Well, that’s what I thought.”

“Excuse you, it was a very nice hamper,” Peter counters.

“You took the gingerbread! That’s the best part!”

“Yes,” Peter says. “That’s why I took it.”

Stiles huffs, but his scent is sweeter than before. “So you really weren’t lying to me then? About not knowing who I was?”

“I really wasn’t lying,” Peter says. “I didn’t know you were the sheriff’s kid. I was just having a really boring night, and you looked like a wonderful distraction.”

“Asshole,” Stiles mutters.

“Yes,” Peter reminds him with a smirk. “We’ve established that.”

***

There was another bottle of wine in the hamper, fortunately, and this one is still intact when Peter digs it out. Stiles produces two tumblers from the kitchen cabinet, and they sit at the small breakfast table and dig through the rest of the hamper.

“Is this cheese?” Stiles asks, squinting at the packaging.

“The label clearly says fromage,” Peter says.

“What’s that stuff all over it?”

“That’s the wax.” Peter wrestles the cheese back off him. “God, what a philistine you are. Do you even have a cheeseboard?”

“No, I don’t have a fucking cheeseboard!”

“A chopping board then,” Peter says. “And a knife, while you’re up.”

“I’m not up.”

“Stiles,” Peter says. “Be up, or I’m not sharing the chocolates with you afterwards.”

Stiles groans, but leaves the table long enough to find a knife and a chopping board. “This cheese had better be nice.” And then, when Peter cuts it: “Gross. What’s all that weird stuff in it?”

“It’s blue cheese,” Peter tells him. “Shut up and try it.”

Stiles is not a fan. And, as he leans over the sink and gargles tap water, he tells Peter repeatedly and with increasing profanities.

Peter drinks his wine and smirks.

Stiles is an utter disaster of a human being but really, this is the most fun Peter has had in ages. And he suspects that it’s the most fun Stiles has had in ages too.

Peter apologises for the cheese by opening the sugared almonds, and he and Stiles work their way through half the packet before the conversation turns to the actual season and Peter mentions the lack of decorations in the house.

“Meh.” Stiles shrugs. “It’s sort of pointless, you know? Back when my mom was alive we’d put up the tree and everything, but Dad works most Christmases, so it’s kind of pointless if it’s just going to be me for most of the day. I’ll bet you have a tree and everything, don’t you? Like some fancy weird-ass bullshit minimalist thing that cost more than my Jeep.”

“Stiles, trees from the Dollar Store cost more than that Jeep,” Peter says, and laughs at Stiles’s outrage. “I don’t have a tree, actually. I go to my sister’s house. She has a tree. It’s an eight foot tall Fraser Fir, although it’s so full of decorations you can hardly see the branches.”

“Sounds very extravagant.” Stiles scoffs, but Peter can hear the underlying wistfulness in his tone.

“It’s ridiculous,” he agrees. “Ludicrous. And not at all environmentally sound.”

“No,” Stiles agrees, his smile dimming a little. For a second he seems a little adrift, his fingers twitching restlessly on the table top, and then he brightens and attacks the hamper again. “Is this fig paste going to taste as gross as that cheese?”

“Let’s try it and see,” Peter tells him, passing him a cracker.

***

“Braeden?” Peter asks the next day, spinning in his office chair and regarding the plyboard that someone has tacked up over the window until the repairman arrives.  

“What?” she asks, glancing up from her computer.

“If one wanted to woo a nineteen-year-old boy with no discernable taste at all, how would one go about it?”

Braeden pinches the bridge of her nose. “Seriously, Peter? This is how you’re going to get the sheriff on side?”

“Oh! Do you think it would work?”

She gives him a death stare. “I’m going for coffee. And no, I’m not getting you one.”

***

“Hello,” Peter says that afternoon when Stiles opens the door suspiciously. “I’ve brought you a Dollar Store Christmas tree and a gingerbread house kit.”

Stiles lets him in.

***

“You know what’s fucked up?” Stiles asks with a scowl.

“Is it this gingerbread house?” Peter asks, unsuccessfully trying to hold a wall in place and get the frosting to take at the same time. It’s a mess, and everything keeps collapsing.

“Apart from that,” Stiles says, accidentally snapping a gingerbread door. “Whoops. Anyway, my dad is working again tonight, even though he already worked a morning shift.”

“Well, it’s Christmas,” Peter says. “The silly season, right? Lots of people doing lots of stupid things.”

Stiles deflates. “I know that. I just… tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, you know? Ugh.”

There’s a sort of a quiet desperation to his voice that makes Peter wonder exactly how many times he’s been disappointed to be alone, however much he tries to pretend he’s not.

“I know,” Peter says, and makes a note to have Braeden find out exactly how understaffed the Sheriff’s Department is.

“This isn’t working,” Stiles says, staring down at the gingerbread house. “You know what we should do?”

“Give up and eat it now?” Peter asks hopefully.

“No. Wait here.”

Stiles thumps upstairs and returns moments later with a couple of plastic dinosaurs. He positions them in the remains of the gingerbread house. “There! Dinosaur carnage.”

“Perfect,” Peter says, and snaps off part of a wall to make it look more authentic.

***

“You’re smiling,” Braeden says suspiciously the next day as they share takeout in the campaign office. It’s closed for Christmas Eve, but both Peter and Braeden are used to long hours after the law firm in LA, and they tend to gravitate towards afternoons like these: just the two of them, in an empty office, plotting and planning.

“I often do,” he says, shoving aside a bunch of budgetary spreadsheets so he can reach the spring rolls.  

“Not like this,” she tells him. “It’s not your usual evil smile. It’s like you’re actually happy.”

“Do you know, I think I am happy?”

“Stop it,” Braeden says, and digs her chopsticks into her noodle box. “It’s weirding me out.”

Peter’s smile grows.

***

On Christmas morning, Peter turns up at Talia’s house with Braeden and a shitload of presents. He stays long enough to enjoy a few breakfast pastries, unwrap his gifts underneath the Fraser Fir, smirk at Derek’s obvious crush on Braeden, and then announces that he has other plans.

“You have other plans?” Talia asks him. “On Christmas Day?”

Peter swings his car keys around on his finger. “Yes.”

Talia looks to Braeden for an explanation.

“I think he was visited by a bunch of ghosts,” she says thoughtfully, “and we’re in the middle of his redemption arc.”

“Actually,” Peter lies, “I’m hoping to get laid.”

“On Christmas Day?” Talia exclaims.

“You’re right,” Peter says. “I’ll probably settle for a festive blow job.”

And he hightails it out of there before Talia can throw something at him.

***

“What the hell are you doing here?” John Stilinski asks when he opens the door. He’s already in uniform.

“I invited him, Dad!” Stiles yells from somewhere inside the house. “Let him in!”

“You invited Peter Hale for Christmas?” the sheriff asks suspiciously.

Stiles breezes out from the kitchen. “No, I invited him to come over for a Lord of the Rings marathon. I have chips and salsa.”

“Sounds perfect,” Peter says, and it actually really does.

The sheriff narrows his eyes at him.

“But John,” Peter says, “if you have a moment, I would like to talk to you about your department’s budget.”

“I’m running late,” the sheriff says. “What about it?”

“Well, bearing in mind that the town’s water pipes really are the priority, I think I can still see a way to getting you enough funds to afford to hire two new deputies after the election,” Peter says. “And that’s without sacrificing your overtime budget.”

The sheriff regards him silently for a moment, and then nods. “Well, if you’re still here when I get back, I can take a look at the figures.”

“Smooth,” Stiles says with a snort when the sheriff has left. “Natalie Martin could only promise him one.”

For a moment Peter is taken aback, and then he realises it’s because he spent the entire night running the figures Braeden gave him and it never once occurred to him to do it to win the sheriff’s endorsement. Instead, he’d done it because the department was understaffed. He’d done it because it was the right thing to do.

Oh God.

Who is he right now?

He’s not really having a Christmas Carol redemption arc, isn’t he?

Because if he is, he really has no idea what to do with that.

***

Peter has never watched the Lord of the Rings movies, and watching them with Stiles is a delight. Stiles must have seen them hundreds of times, but he still grips his cushion excitedly when the hobbits are fleeing from the Nazgûl, gasps when Gandalf falls to his apparent death in the Mines of Moria, and cheers when the Riders of Rohan appear. Peter has, of course, read the books, and finds himself engrossed in the movies.

He finds himself more engrossed in the boy sitting next to him though.

A boy who is wasted in a town like Beacon Hills.

“Why are you at the community college?” he asks curiously. “I’ll bet you got better grades than that.”

He knows he got better grades than that.

Stiles reaches out to scoop some salsa onto a chip. “I wanted to stay here, I guess.”

Peter thinks there must be more to it than that. “What are you studying?”

“Sociology,” Stiles says. “And when I finish that, I’m doing the six month POST diploma.” He catches Peter’s look. “Police officer standards training.”

And there it is, Peter thinks. He glances around the room and sees a framed photograph of a dark-haired woman smiling out at him.

“How old were you when your mother passed away?”

“Ten,” Stiles says, his scent souring. “It was pretty rough, you know? Me and Dad both kind of fell apart for a while there, but we look after each other now.”

Not, he looks after me. No. There must have been a shift in their dynamic when Stiles’s mother died. Peter imagines a small boy trying to hard to fill the spaces that his mother’s death left. A child, trying to be a cornerstone. An anchor.

And he’s still trying, even if he doesn’t realise it. Trying to be there for his father, both at home and, in the future, at work. It’s love the compelled him to stay in Beacon Hills.

How strange.

How strange that this nineteen-year-old boy is as fiercely protective of his father as any wolf.

How strange, and how wonderful.

Stiles has so many facets, each of them shining a different light. But at his core he is a better person that Peter will ever be.

Well, not like that’s much of a challenge, Peter supposes. There are microscopic life forms that live in the darkest parts of the ocean that are better people than Peter Hale. But still. It’s a compliment.

“More chips?” Peter asks, noting that the bowl is empty.

Stiles nods.

Peter takes the bowl into the kitchen, refills the chips, and returns to the living room couch. When he sits down, Stiles leans into him, his head coming to rest on Peter’s shoulder.

“We should eat the gingerbread house too,” Stiles says.

“Mmm,” Peter agrees. “Before the dinosaurs do.”

Stiles laughs, and tilts his head to look up at him. His eyes are sparkling.

Peter dips his head down.

Their mouths brush.

The kiss is soft and chaste, and tastes like corn chips.

Peter has never been happier.

***

Stiles is snoring on the couch when John Stilinski arrives home from work. Peter is in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

“You’re still here,” the sheriff says, in a tone that says he’s reserving judgement, but he’s doing it in a very pointed way.

“I’m still here,” Peter agrees. “How was your shift?”

The sheriff rolls his shoulders. “Not too bad.”

“I made you some sandwiches,” Peter says, going to the refrigerator to get them out. “Stiles says you like turkey and mayo?”

The sheriff takes the plate warily, and peels the plastic wrap off it. “You made these?”

“Yes,” Peter says. “Stiles made me put salad on them too, so I apologise for that in advance.”

The sheriff snorts. “Sounds like him.”

Peter turns back to the dishwasher.

“Listen,” the sheriff says. “I don’t much like you, Peter, but my son clearly does, and I’m glad you gave him someone to spend Christmas with. So thank you for that.”

“It was my pleasure,” Peter says, turning back again. It’s not just a platitude, and Peter thinks, by the look in the sheriff’s eyes, that the man knows it too. “I know you don’t like me, John, because I’m an asshole. It’s a feature, not a bug.”

The sheriff looks dubious.

“But I do make excellent sandwiches,” Peter says. “And I will make an excellent mayor. I’m an asshole, but I’m an incredibly capable one. Running local government is going to be child’s play for someone like me. I’ve been a top criminal attorney for the past fifteen years. I made partner in six, and I have never lost a case.”

“Huh.” The sheriff shoves another sandwich in his mouth. “You couldn’t get out of that parking ticket down at city hall through, could you?”

“That’s fair, but have you met Janice? That woman is a brick wall!”

“She’s on my bowling team,” the sheriff says. He sets the plate down on the table. “Now, how about we discuss that budget of yours?”

And Peter is happy to oblige.

***

By the time Gerard Argent’s campaign team tries to scuttle Peter’s election campaign with a sex scandal, it’s too late.

The sheriff bristles indignantly at the low-key press conference when the reporter from the local paper suggests he has a personal reason for making the announcement. “No, I’m endorsing Peter Hale because of his support for the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, and for his commitment to upgrading the town’s infrastructure and services. Next question.”

The reporter persists. “So the fact that Peter Hale and your son are in a relationship has nothing to do with it?”

Peter leans in towards the microphone, glancing at Braeden. “I’ll take this question, Sheriff.”

Don’t fuck it up, he can hear Braeden willing him. Don’t fuck it up.

“Gerard Argent has been mayor of Beacon Hills for three terms,” Peter says. “And during that time your taxes have gone up while the town’s infrastructure literally crumbles around you. But by all means let’s focus on who I’m dating, and not on the fact that Mayor Argent has grossly mismanaged your tax dollars for over a decade, shall we? God knows I love a juicy story as much as the next person—you can follow me on Instagram—but my boyfriend and I are both consenting adults. Now, are you sure you’ve set the bar for political journalism low enough with this bullshit, or do you want me to grab a shovel and start digging?”

He smiles for the cameras.

The reporter gapes, Braeden facepalms, and the sheriff snorts, but Peter thinks he’s made his point.

And so, happily, do the voters.

***

Peter Hale is sworn in as mayor of Beacon Hills on a chilly January morning.

He invites Natalie Martin to be his deputy.

By February, the no parking signs are removed from outside Peter’s favourite coffee shop, and the work on replacing the town’s water pipes has begun.

In Peter’s new office, which is filled with the sort of expensive and minimalist furnishings that Stiles hates, hangs a framed parking ticket. It’s the first thing people see when they enter the office. Peter enjoys telling people it’s a reminder that not even the mayor is above the law, when really it’s a reminder of how being a petty and spiteful asshole has gotten him everything he ever wanted.

Stiles laughs at it gleefully every time he drops by to visit.

[astrologysh]

Forecast for the signs in 2019 by Masumi

check the rising sign!!

Aries

Aries will rock too much in 2019 and will enter 2020 as a new person. 2019 has the regency of Mars, wich is the regent of Aries. It's an extra dose of strength, energy and courage in the vein! If you use all that extra gas wisely, it will build an excellent foundation for your future. Work the self-knowledge, as this will help you to open even more the doors that are wide open of opportunities for you in 2019. Travels, lucky encounters, incredible people, unimaginable experiences will show you how limitless the possibilities of life are. Focus on solutions, keep hope alive, put your wisdom into practice and fly a lot!

Love: In 2019, you'll be more intense than ever and so much attention on how you communicate with your loved one. The golden tip here is to try to think before you say - this will save you from many unnecessary fights. Apart from that, everything will be quiet in love and the way will be especially open in the sexual field. Enjoy it because the end of 2019, there for December, reserve some situations let's say "crap".

Work: The cat leap for you, in 2019, is to seek a job in which it’s possible to find a purpose. When you understand that, girl, you will not miss opportunities. You have all the tools in hand, do not get defeated, open your mind to the possibilities. How about finally enrolling in that course you've always dreamed of? Maybe this move will make all the difference.

Taurus

In March, Uranus arrives again in Taurus, initiating the renewal with full force. If you've done your homework to get rid of the old pasture, you'll find more green lawns in 2019. At first it may be kinda crazy to see the fall of much that you considered to be absolute and eternal truth, but if you open the mind, you will see that this is great and new doors (or pastures) will arise. You will become more courageous, you will believe that everything is possible in this life. Another thing: in the new year, stop associating stability with success. Whoever draws this can sail with greater tranquility during this period when Uranus passes through Taurus.

Love: In February, you will be able to live many special moments in this respect. There are great chances, even, of happening that unexpected delight that turns your head upside down. Oh, separations can happen at that time too (remember that thing of letting go of what no longer serves). Let's say that in 2019, your love life will get in the way. May and June will be especially positive and intense. Just take care with the jealousy.

Work: With the entrance of Uranus into Taurus, possibly many Tauruses will change their profession. I know you guys usually insist on a few things, but, believe me, it's going to be a good change, you'll feel refreshed. The tip is do not get stuck in a rut and, like I said up there, stop associating stability with success. 2019 will be hot for a sensational 2020.

Gemini

After so much inner work, it's time to roll up your sleeves and focus your energy on pursuing a life purpose. Jupiter in Sagittarius contributes with this moment, showing that it is time to apply the experience gained from the last years in practice. As much as Jupiter in Sagittarius is a very positive period and full of gifts, Gemini can be a bit challenging as it will require focus and deepening. It is to aim and to go until the end.

You will learn that "going to the bottom" can be a lot of fun and that by doing this you are not wasting time, on the contrary, it will serve as the basis for exploring an even wider world. You will realize what really keeps you from living the adventures you long for and, who knows, become a source of inspiration to many. Do not be intimidated by your expectations and the expectations that people throw at you. What counts is YOUR experience. The tip of the year is: get organized, take care of your body - keep your diet and exercise up to date - from your daily life and be practical in your decisions.

Love: Affective relationships will not be the focus of the year (or at least they should not be). 2019, for you, it needs to be about finding one purpose beyond the other, about delving deeper into subjects in general, from just scratching the surface, to being in the shallows. Otherwise, neither you will grow nor your relationships. Be aware also of how you communicate with others, do not guard things, talk about your feelings is not weakness, it is a sign of maturity.

Work: "Jumping from branch to branch" could have been a lot of fun, you met people, had some great experiences (some not so much) and increased your repertoire as a whole. The problem is that 2019 will be a year that will invite you to have a certain stability, to specialize more in the subjects you love, the world is really full of possibilities, but to shine, you will have to choose something within them. While many of the other signs will need to open the mind, twins already have an open mind, so, will roll a mini existential crisis. Get caught up in something that is going to be successful.

Cancer

Ruled by Mars, 2019 counts on the presence of Jupiter in Sagittarius, so now is the time to evoke the strength and courage that exists in you to take the next step on your journey. It's not time to rest! Learning to know how to enjoy quiet periods with quality is what will help you to move on. Delegating tasks and knowing how to best choose partnerships will also be key issues this year.

Keep working hard on detachment, for by the end of 2019 life will bring the necessary and inevitable changes to a 2020 of great progress.

Love: The tip is to focus on work, it will even be the priority. But that does not mean that a good thing will not happen, a legal move. The first half of April, for example, reserves a few moments of romance and much in tune with the loved one. The important thing is not to be distracted by these issues, to continue on this path of pursuing a purpose. Only then will you understand what true love is.

Work: November will be a great month for work. In the meantime, there will be a lot of internal questioning, a lot of search for purpose. The solution to going through this phase more peacefully is not waiting for a miracle, moving around, putting your hand in the dough and being open to meeting people - they will be able to help you in the near future.

Leo

In 2019, a movement of liberation and renewal continues. Leo will still eliminate many masks that mask the actual brightness that exists inside of you. It's time to apply everything you know in practice. It is not enough to have the speech, it is necessary to realize all the sense of justice, ethics and integrity in your life. Jupiter who has already entered Sagittarius and will remain there until December, sending lots of luck and abundance on their way. He came to help expand consciousness, showing that everything is possible and that everything has a solution of surprising forms. Will be many plot twists!

Love: May can be a good month for relationships, but nothing too serious, 2019 will be a year over abundance and plenty. In August, the birthday month of many leo’s, your potential in the loving and sexual field will be high. And there it is with you, whatever you want, you will have. Mars, Venus and Sun will be in conjunction with Leo and you will be charisma in person. November will have some surprises in that regard.

Work: You will be able to count on the luck and abundance of Jupiter. If you really want to get well, you will, but you need to reinvent yourself. Believe more in yourself, get rid of some labels, leave what others think about there and trust your cue. Maybe in February you feel lost. The good news? This will soon pass.

Virgo

The feeling of being a little lost continues in 2019, precisely so that you develop your intuition and stop leaning only on what you know or can prove. After all, there is no way to realize our dreams by following strict rules. At times it is necessary to fly into the unknown. The tip is to work self-knowledge, meditation and lead the life more good, as if everything were a great game of discoveries.

Love: Half of the year is going to be a little party in relation to love, you will not be so willing to stick to just one person. Jupiter in Sagittarius is about catching up on the choices you've made in life. You will not be so interested in relationships, you will be interested in learning new things and this will be your asset. The more interesting you are (and this is through experiences and studies), the more interested people will appear. Save this info.

Work: Because of this Jupiter in Sagittarius, you will feel this need to catch up with the world. And there are going to be a lot of opportunities in that direction, you just can not be insecure. Invest in a good course, in broadening your knowledge that victory must come.

Libra

The search for a more purposeful life, finding a path or a career that brings more fulfillment, and other grander definitions are about to happen during 2019. You may even need to say goodbye to some things/people that were already present in your life, but this is part of the new start to come in 2020.

Jupiter will pass through Sagittarius until December 2019, bringing a bucket of opportunity. Everything is possible when the mind is open and unrestricted. Those who seek to take courses, travel and broaden their view of the world may benefit even more from this passage. The more Libria opens the mind to new theories, the greater it’s the career expansion in 2020. 2019 is a time of caring, strengthening, and planting seeds to live something completely new by 2020.

Love: It will not be as tense as the year of cancer, but it will either it goes or it streaks. What makes sense in your life stays, but what does not, goes away. You will also feel a great need to think more about yourself and only then you’ll understand what needs to be done to live your relationships in a more mature and complete way.

Work: That anxiety and fear of becoming adult should continue in 2019. Do not expect too many concrete things, you'll be more in a search than it makes sense to you, of what is in fact your passion. Keep your head open for opportunities, lower expectations and trust: an hour, half out of nowhere, answers will come.

Scorpio

In 2019, more precisely in March, Uranus enters Taurus instead. Now, lighter and more prepared, Scorpio’s are ready to dive into new territories and experiences.

You should enter into a process of understanding your beliefs and limiting fears, prejudices and judgments so that they do not prevent you from moving forward in your endeavors. In addition, the paradigms linked to abundance can and should be monitored! Over the next few years you can learn a lot about how to shape your ideas and how to deal with financial issues.

Love: No worries in this industry, Neptune in Pisces can bring a sense of being protected, as if you have something caring for you. When you're lost, it's like having a pet guardian angel. And you will find the way, the better: perhaps you feel that you are finally connected bodily and soul to someone - something that you value highly. It's going to be crazy. March will have some fights, but April will be a time of peace. July, with the cold, you'll be very calm. But wait until October, will be a perfect month for love!

Work: By 2018, you have understood many things for yourself and discovered many possibilities. Now in 2019, with Jupiter in Sagittarius, it will be optional. You will continue this growth. It is only to have discipline, to believe in yourself and to trust your intuition that will indicate the correct steps. By doing this, you will often feel in the right place at the right time. It may be that in May you were a little doubtful about your career, but it will be fleeting.

Sagittarius

It's time to open your eyes, accept life as it is and find a greater sense behind everything that exists. Saying goodbye to the rose-colored sunglasses is key to harnessing the wonderful energies of the year. How to do this? Traveling, experiencing new flavors, getting to know new places, theories, people and taking courses that expand your worldview. Sagittarius who does this will reap a lot of fruit, will experience very crazy coincidences and will really realize that anything is possible.

Love: First of all, you're going to rock a lot in 2019. It will be a year of sex, party, sex, partying and more sex and more partying. You just can’t fantasize about relationships, look at your present, enjoy it. You also need to go into the real world, platonic loves may even be fun, but they can paralyze your life. All fields are open to you, just give up high expectations and open up to the unexpected.

Work: If you have some business of your own, it's time to tap the expansion plans. It may also be that some travels take place and that you meet many new people. Things will roll, you will have energy, you will be excited and it is time to discover new limits. It is important not to forget that to grow at work, to be promoted, to earn more money, it is necessary to see some sense in your trade. If he can somehow benefit the other, even better. 2019 will be the year of understanding that we need to bring some good to the world. August is going to be a very good month!

Capricorn

December 2019 it’s Capricorn's turn to receive Jupiter's visit for a year, expanding the Capricorn's life in all directions. That is, 2019 represents a period of adjustments to finally conquer new horizons in 2020. Taking advantage of the presence of Jupiter in Sagittarius, studying, expanding awareness, ending restrictive paradigms and freeing yourself from absolute truths, is fundamental to be able to reap the fruits in 2020. Liberation is the key word of this period. Get ready to meet new people, places, and maybe even change professions.

Love: You don’t have to worry about it, the ideal is to focus on the career, to broaden your knowledge. If it is to spend energy in love, let it be with whom it is worth. You need to use time wisely. They will have good things for everyone. May have very nice moments in love. Maybe even you see yourself wanting new things, another kind of relationship, or even meeting someone completely different from the people you used to date.

Work: Saturn that is annoying to the other signs, in Capricorn it gives a big help - since it’s at home. So, it's time to do what you like best in life: work, because the reward will come. At times, it's true, you'll feel like you're out of control, but it's important to trust you're on the right track. In June, some challenges may come, but by September everything will be resolved (many cool things can happen, miraculous things!).

Aquarius

It is time for Aquarius to seek meaning and to rediscover their values ​​behind everything they do and believe, to renew their ideas, to become flexible and to understand that there is no absolute truth in life. These are the factors that will help you plant the seeds of the fruits they can harvest in 2020. Putting theory into practice brings the necessary flexibility to really change in a larger context and why not in the world? This is what makes it possible to make the impact that Aquarius so much loves! The connected Aquarians are only preparing the new world that will unfold from 2020.

Love: You are very modern, everyone knows, but now it's time to live this modernity in practice. 2019 will be about getting rid of old concepts, things you hardly believe, but for some reason still can not give up in practical life. I know it may sound kind of subjective, but it's time for you to be a real Aquarius.

Work: The combination Jupiter in Sagittarius will be very massive and reflect on your work, as it will provide an environment for learning many things. It will be the new discoveries, by the way, that will make you succeed. One just needs to be careful not to get too distracted in the midst of so much novelty. Focus. 2019 will be like a seesaw for you: after a month of great success and bonanza, another month of a lot of rush. Don’t look like something bad, but be prepared! May and September will be especially auspicious.

Pisces

Jupiter will pass through Sagittarius until December 2019, pressing pisces to put their visions into practice. As Neptune will form square with Jupiter for most of the period, many fantasies and illusions will be replaced by consciousness. You will see that much is possible and in ways you have never imagined. This fall of delusions may, however, not be the quietest thing, and you may experience much disappointment in the middle of the road, depending on how attached or accustomed you were to the ideas. That will be very clear in September.

Love: If you insist on the fantasy world, prince enchanted and these things, you can be sure: it will be bad. Real life hurts more, but it is much better than that life that happens only in your head. Face reality, when you stay in the world of imagination, you are not accepting your present as it is, you are not loving things as they are. The advice here is for you to binge, put your feet on the ground and also be lighter, give you the opportunity to play more and stress less. April, July and September: save these months, because it will be very positive times for love, you will feel very connected with someone, telepathic type indeed.

Work: The general advice and what counts here is also to put more feet on the ground. In 2019, you will be called to for everything you know in practice. When you decide to do this, events will happen that will show that not everything was as you imagined, but that does not mean that it will be a bad thing. Be open, choose something that you are very much in order to do. It may be difficult at first, but there are planets that are giving support, and you will learn too much.