#and stole a thief's heart to boot

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny slowly lowered himself down onto Luther's newest death machine thanks to his bat themed grappling hook. Making special care not to let his heart beat or his lungs take in breath lest Superman hear him and intervene, he used his intangibility to sink into the machine itself to steal its parts.

Yeah, so a full white outfit wasn't the best choice for stealth, but it was better than dressing like a traffic light. Plus the black gloves and boots made him feel nostalgic. It had been only seven months since the accident that took his life, so much has happened since then.

Biting his lip as he smiled as he began gathering up parts and wires with his intangibility and placing them into his bag. Lastly he grabbed the power source, which-surprise, surprise, is kryptonite.

After he grabbed what he wanted he quickly stuck a note on the maintenance panel of the machine for when someone opened it and discovered it now had a large hollow space, then simply sank down through the floor and flew to freedom.

Danny sighed once he was clear. Or, at least he thought he was.

"Young man." Crud. Danny turned around to see big blue floating behind him in all his red underwear glory. Great. "I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you." The Kryptonian said, looking pointedly at the large chunk of kryptonite Danny held under his arm.

Instead of an excuse, Danny got an idea. "Uh, hello? Recognize the mask?" He said, gesturing to his face.

Superman narrowed his eyes, staring at his face for a few very long seconds and just as Danny was about to cut his losses and book it out of there, a look of recognition graced the heros face. Sweet. "Thats Nightwings mask."

"Yeah. Just smaller."

Superman nodded, then asked, "Why aren't you wearing a bat symbol? I wouldn't have thought you were a thief if I knew you were working with Batman." Danny had to fight to keep his face neutral.

"I haven't decided what symbol I want on my suit yet." And that was true. Danny wasn't sure he wanted any symbol at all. The mark of the bat would mean that he belonged in the batclan, and Danny was a lone ghost. A wandering spirit if you will. He didn't belong anywhere.

Some small part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Jazz said that might be one of the reasons he's been behaving so poorly lately, but he brushed it off. Superman just nodded sagely. Danny doubted he actually knew how Danny felt and was just nodding along to appear sympathetic. Adults lie, and they lie often. Danny kinda hated them for it.

"Well, I'm kinda on a deadline, so I should get going. Crime to fight, goth furry to annoy, you know how it is." Danny said, waving the arm that wasn't carrying the kryptonite around in the air before using it to readjust the bags strap on his shoulder.

"Alright," superdude smiled warmly, "Tell Batman I said hi." Danny grinned back at him as he jogged away, "Will do!"

That went better than expected. Thank you, Nightwing~! The boy thought to himself as he ran off into a secluded area and turned invisible and flying away.

Just imagining Supermans face if- no- when Batman finally breaks and tells the Justice League about the little menace thats been stealing all his and his sidekicks stuff for the last few weeks nearly sends Danny into hysterics.

Danny still has Robins sword mounted above the fireplace in his favorite safe house in Costa del Sol. Red Hoods "favorite" motorcycle was in its garage and Red Robins wrist computer and chest harness thing were mounded in a glass case next to the first thing he stole from them:

Batmans utility belt.

Sure, its a pain to remove all the tracking stuff from them, but man is he proud of those accomplishments.

Still. Its better to leave Metropolis after he got caught by Superman. Its only a mater of time before someone finds out about the old switcheroo he pulled at the last museum robbery and that combined with the bodies of those creepy rich guys he had killed (human trafficer buyers) well, surely Batman has noticed he had been gone for a while and would pick up on the matching M.O. in Metropolis.

Time to bounce.

[hiatuswhore]

♕ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥

♕ A/N: If you cannot see it clearly, the title says, The Prince and The Street Rat. I really enjoyed writing this. No shade to other HOTD writers but all the plots be relatively the same so I tried to shake it up. Feedback pleaseeee.

♕ SUMMARY: The world works in mysterious ways and so does the residents of Kings Landing. One never knows what they find in the alleyways and rooftops. Whores, drunks, knights, thieves, sometimes even Princes.

♕ WORD COUNT: 5K

♕ WARNING: None🕺🏽

previous — Masterlist — next

Kings Landing. Home to the vile, cruel, and everything in between. You fall somewhere in the middle, a gray area—child thief. But where do petty thieves and struggling patrons fall in that spectrum? A child struggling to eat as the Targaryens sit in their fancy castle with more food and resources than necessary. This reality plagues you on the most challenging days and hardens you on the coldest nights.

"Stop that girl!" A man screamed, expertly sliding beneath a merchant table. You duck down an alleyway. Your heart hammering in your chest as you struggle to keep your hood from blocking your eyes. A sea of splintering colors and faces blend into a mix of nothingness, your focus evading the angry voice behind you. As you march forward, you turn a final corner, your eyes over your shoulder.

"Hey, watch it!" You grimace at the blinding pain, stumbling backward. In front of you, a boy groans, rubbing his forehead. His tunic worth more than everything you own, and his boots resembling a pair you stole a few moons back. He carries nothing visible to the eyes, nothing to quick swipe.

"You ran into me," He scoffs. Rolling your eyes, you push past him with your shoulder. In one swift motion dipping your hand in his pocket, nothing. His hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back, allowing you to skim his other—still nothing, "Are you thick in the skull, girl?"

"No, I'm in a hurry, so bugger off, would you!" You swing your hand connecting with his cheek, the smack echoing through the busy road. He releases your wrist with wide eyes, ignoring his face; glancing over his shoulder, your eyes widen at the sight of the Gold Cloaks. They carefully scan the road as you duck down a deadend, planting your back against the wall.

Still, the boy watches you curiously, his hood hanging loosely on his head, revealing the rest of his face. He narrows his eyes at you before glancing back toward the Gold Cloaks. You grit your teeth, ignoring his gaze as you listen to the approaching clink of armor.

"Prince Aemond, it is not safe for you to be beyond the gates unattended," Narrowing your eyes the boy grins. He removes his hood with a smug fire in his eyes as you stare at his pure silver hair. You have indeed done it this time. You struck a Prince—a Targaryen Prince. Every part of your brain screams to make a run for it, mentally preparing to scale the wall behind you as the Prince commands the Gold Cloaks to seize you, but none of that happens. Instead, the Prince merely chuckles under the knight's gazes as you stand behind them.

"Of course, Ser Harwin. Will you escort me back?" He says. The knight nods his head, turning toward the way of the castle. Aemond does not move immediately, and the two of you stare at each other. You offer a half nod before turning to the wall, carefully climbing it before disappearing altogether.

That night you laid in your hammock staring up at the stars, the moment still fresh in your mind. You struck the Prince, and he—he helped you? Shaking off the thought sleep found you almost faster than the painfully bright sun the following day. Walking through the market with most of your coils and curls pulled into two tight braids, the coins you stole the day prior ready to purchase today's breakfast.

"Thank you, Daltis. Tell Cayde I said hi," You say, handing him your coins as you turn toward the stairs with bread and a pail of water. The sun beams restlessly as you walk without a care through the streets. An occasional hello to locals who know you and a few choice words between yourself and the patrons you have stolen from. Nearing the closest thing you can call home comes to a halt as the familiar tight grip holds your bicep.

"Oh, come on, Lord Strong. I didn't even do anything today," Your matter-of-fact tone earns a sigh with a pointed stare. He backs you up onto a wall, a soft look in his eyes despite the patronizing finger he points at you.

"Kid, you keep it up, and I will have to deal with you. Here. Stop stealing. Do I make myself clear?" He holds out a pouch to you. Rolling your eyes, you snatch it from his hands.

"You keep doing this, and I keep telling you—I'm not your problem," You fail at pushing past him the strength of a ten-year-old girl, nothing compared to a grown man. A huff leaves your lips as you glare daggers up at him, "You're not my father, okay? Just leave me alone."

Harwin stares down at your small stature; opening his mouth, he closes it as nothing leaves his lips. He takes a step back, unblocking your path. You roll your eyes a final time before marching off. Back at the dead-end alley, you scale the wall, balancing carefully as you run to the next roof. There you plop onto your hammock, closing your eyes and placing your foot on the ground to slow the rocking. The busy chatter of the city melding into one indiscernible mix of movement.

"Ow," You mutter, opening your eyes just as another rock soars through the air—a few feet short of the hammock. Then, as another flies whizzing past your head, you stomp over to the roof's edge. Down below stands the boy—the Prince, his hood covering his hair. "Are you crazy?"

"Says the one who struck a Prince?" He asks, raising an eyebrow as you roll your eyes, muttering touché. You stare down at him, furrowing your eyebrows as he stares back at you.

"Have you come to stalk me in the streets, or do you need something, my prince?" Your mocking tone earns a dry chuckle as he shakes his head.

"Show me how to get up there. I saw you go down the deadend, but I can't figure out how you got up," Aemond says, furrowing your eyebrows. It's now your turn to chuckle.

"And why exactly would I do that?" You ask, watching as he puffs up his chest. So many people in the streets ignore the two of you—just another pair of Kings Landing's bastards.

"Because as your Prince, I command it," He says, his voice cracking as he squares his shoulders. You tilt your head back as a loud laugh leaves your lips, his stiff stature faltering.

"Oh really? You Targaryens are a riot. What's next shall I curtsy and fetch you a cup of wine? Oh, let me apologize before you bring your dragon and melt me from existence," You taunt, resting your chin on your elbow that you prop against the edge. His eyebrows pull as he clenches his jaw, all semblance of amusement leaving him as his eyes sharpen.

"How dare you! You're nothing but a stupid street rat!" He exclaims, scoffing. You spit down at him, narrowing your eyes before returning to your hammock. Mentally scolding yourself for once again disrespecting the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. You ignore his demands for you to return, despite the possibility of dire consequences.

"Bugger off, you boorish oaf!" You yell. After dodging a few more rocks, he throws up at you, he seemingly gives up. You are fuming at the nerve of him. Even as you sit high above him, he finds a way to look down on you, a stupid street rat.

The pouch of coins Ser Harwin gave you affords new furs, a cheap tent, and a week worth of food. You do your best to ration the remaining funds while looting unsuspecting patrons. It had been a fortnight since the Prince's last visit, and you did your best to not dwell on the unpleasant conversation. A huff leaves your lips as you walk back toward your home with empty pockets. The Gold Cloaks litter the streets leaving you little to no opportunity to make a quick coin. You stop by Mysaria to look for a bounty hunting job, but for the first time in your work with her, she has nothing. Not a single person to hunt down for owed funds, the Gold Cloaks ‘cracking down’ on crime.

“Dammit, Harwin,” You mutter, taking a deep breath as you turn down your road. The clear plan for the next few moons now squandered to mere weeks. Rounding the building into the alley, you pause, eyebrows furrowing as Aemond lifts his head. His face tomato red with his back against the wall as he sits on the ground. You watch as he sniffles before looking back down, hiding within his cloak. Closing your eyes, you whisper royal problems only bring trouble. Repeating it like a mantra in your mind as though you fear it will leave you.

You open your eyes immediately, groaning at the tug in your chest. While the Prince happens to be a douche, you are not. You walk over, begrudgingly joining him on the ground. Neither of you says a word at the other’s side or even looks at the other. Just mindlessly watching people pass by on their daily tasks. The silence setting ease between you, laughing as a woman screams at her husband, as a man fails to flirt with a woman, as Gold Cloaks patrol with an allusive, almost lurking nature. So many moving parts in such a small area.

“Hey, uh—if you want, I can teach you how to climb up—but only if you promise not to tell anyone,” You say, turning to him with a tight-lipped smile. Then, for a second, you both just stare, furrowing your eyebrows in an awkward huff before turning away. A pause ensues before Aemond lifts his fist toward you, “Deal.”

You bump his fist with yours before rising to your feet. At first, you both chuckle nervously as silence dances between you both. Then, you scale the wall, giving him a view of how to do it. Then, you laugh as he insists on being able to do it after just a demonstration alone.

“You know it’s okay—I failed plenty of times befor—“ You say leaning on the wall at his third failed attempt.

“I can do it myself!” He growls, glaring daggers at you. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you huff. Why the hell did I do this? You cross your arms, scowling at the back of his head as he fails a fourth time. He hunches down, hands on his knees, as he pants heavily. Turning his head, he catches your gaze, visibly sinking at the sight.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. My brother and nephews they—“ He inhales sharply, fiddling with his fingers with sunken eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, watching him rock on the balls of his feet. A poignant stare in his eyes before his eyebrows pull together, and he scoffs, “They gave me a pig.”

“A what?” You furrow your eyebrows as he avoids your gaze, a look of defeat in his eye.

“My dragon egg didn’t hatch. They said they found a dragon for me, but it was a pig. Pink dread, they called it,” He murmured, staring at the ground, leaving you to sigh heavily. Your own taunts rang in your ears at the sight of him, "They all laughed at me."

“You want to talk about it or learn how to climb the wall?” You ask, chewing on your inner lip. He huffs, biting his lower lip before pushing it into a pout as he gives the wall a look over, “Can you please show me how to climb the wall?”

“Okay,” You nod. Joining Aemond's side, you point to the chipped-in crevice. You use your left foot to boost off and swing your right leg over the wall. He tries again, getting the motion down but not swinging his leg high enough. On his second try, you nearly cheer prematurely as he almost makes it.

“Oh no, no, you’re going to get it. I promise,” You exclaim, folding your hands in front of your face with a nervous smile. Aemond sighs, running up, freezing as his leg goes over, and he sits on the wall. A large smile breaks across your face as his jaw drops. “You did it!”

“Yeah,” He chuckles. You direct him which way to cross before following behind him. At the top, you freeze as he stands in the center of your things, glancing around curiously.

“Uh yeah, this is me—“ You massage the back of your neck with a sheepish grin. Never have you brought anyone into your space, let alone a Prince. He points to your hammock, looking at you. Nodding your head, you watch as he sits staring at you. “The Prince and the Street Rat. We are disgustingly cliché friends. So how does this work?”

“I think we could figure it out,” He says, chuckling as his confidence glimmers through his meek exterior. You join him in the hammock, looking up at the sky.

“I despise your family,” You say. Neither of you turn to the other as he shrugs, “That’s fair.”

“No Royal drama,” You say, turning your head toward him. He meets your gaze nodding vehemently. Placing your foot on the ground, you swing the hammock, “So essentially, you’re saying your family is as awful as I imagine them to be.”

“Not necessarily. Not my mom. My brother and nephews mock me, father ignores me, and Rhaenyra has never seemed to care much for us,” Aemond lists off, his voice wavering as he stares at the waning sun.

“Sometimes us forgotten children have to pave our way on our own,” You shrug your shoulders, watching the sky as he eyes you. “You should start heading home, Aemond. Remember, no royal drama.”

“Of course. I will try to visit you tomorrow,” He says, crouching down to descend the wall. Opening your mouth to warn him of the particular way to go down, a loud grunt stops you.

“You okay?” He immediately responds, leaving you to giggle silently as he scurries away.

Keeping his word, he visits the next day and the day after, almost as if it were a part of his royal duties. He always arrived with something he conveniently non longer needed anymore, so thought you’d want it. The gestures were kind, but an ache raged in your chest.

“Aemond, thank you for everything. Truly but you have to stop bringing me things,” You say softly, taking his hand in your lap.

“Why?” He frowns, and you grit your teeth, speaking slowly, “I feel more like your charity case than your friend, and I detest it.”

“Oh, my apologies, I never meant—I’m sorry,” He says, casting his gaze down as he fiddles with the ends of his tunic.

“Don’t fret over it. You’re my friend and will continue to be so,” You shrug with a lopsided smile as you stare at each other. Your grin grows as he nudges your arm, whining for you to move over. “For what? So you can practice brooding as I relax?”

“I actually brought a book,” You playfully snore as he explains the philosophy text and his interest in the subject matter.

“You will one day wish you taught yourself this,” Aemond says, opening his book, and you lean back, still looking up at him.

“I’m busy learning the art of surviving. I’ll take street smarts every time,” You say matter-of-factly. He scoffs, a grin on his lips as he shakes his head.

“You’re smart. You could do more,” Aemond’s optimism earns a chuckle that does not meet your eyes.

“Don’t be ignorant, Aemond. It is so easy to dream so frivolously when the world was built for you,” He frowns, nodding his head cautiously as your words sink in. The visits rarely deviate from the same pattern, but you both savor each and every one. Even if the entire visit consists of bickering, the next visit carries on as though nothing ever happened.

For a time, this carried on until word spread through the kingdom about the death of Laena Velayron. The Aunt of his nephews, Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys. His presence in Driftmark required him to support his family. As you awaited his return, you continued your usual daily schedule, and without a doubt, it was odd not hearing the short Prince grunting up the wall. Or laughing at his seemingly always disheveled hair.

When word traveled of their return, nothing came for you from Aemond. For a time, you grew bitter, the sting of his absence and the death of Ser Harwin feeding a deep seeded disappointment. Rounding the corner down your street, you falter while approaching your alley. A Gold Cloak stands at the opening as another climbs the wall.

“What the hell!” You mutter as a replacement Harwin stands before you. When he calls your name, you cut back to make a break for it, only to find another Gold Cloak behind you. Your heart hammers in your chest as they lead you through the streets, the sun waning as your mind explores every punishment ever sentenced to thieves.

Worst case scenario, they take a hand, walking through the Red Keep a loud ringing sound in your ears. You wish Ser Harwin would round the corner as he often did and assure his peers he could take it from there. Instead, your breaths are shaky as your eyes sting from dryness and your lips burn from wetting them too much. Through the massive halls, you hold yourself carefully, clearly standing out from others in the corridor. Down a second hall, the Cloak stops at a vast door knocking twice before saying, “Your grace, we’ve come with the girl.”

“Come in,” A woman’s voice calls out, cautiously pushing the door open, you enter at a slow—cautious pace. The Queen stands with furrowed eyebrows at the sight of you, her green dress more expensive than your life. Aemond sits by the fire blocking his face as he stares forward. You glare daggers at the side of his head, the room's coziness doing little to ease the tension in the air.

“You liar! You promised!” You seethe, your face scrunching as the Queen gasps.

“You may not address the Prince like that girl!” Alicent exclaims, her eyes furious as you stare blankly at her.

“No, mother, it is okay. This is her, remember? She’s my friend—the one I told you about,” He says, turning toward you. He offers a weak smile as your face falls. The prominent stitching draws attention to a little over a quarter of his face. “The one I told you I want to help.”

The Queen’s annoyance dissolves as she looks at you, Aemond’s tales of your life plaguing her thoughts. She places her hands on your shoulders, an overbearing expression oozing in a suffocating waft of pity. “There’s a place for you here in the court if you ever decide you want it.”

“I don’t,” You say immediately, keeping your gaze on the floor. Alicent joins your side with a motherly shine in her eyes as she looks at you.

“I know. I just want you to know the offer is always there,” Alicent's words soothing as she excuses herself, leaving you to glare at her son.

“You promised,” You whine, hanging your head. Aemond swallows thickly while you bounce on the balls of your feet.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you, but as of late, I always have someone watching me,” Aemond speaks barely above a whisper when he turns to you. For a second time, you take in his sewn-up eye, red and puffy. Then, your glare dissolves, eyebrows furrowing while taking two cautious steps forward.

“What the hell happened?” You ask slowly as a servant stands by the window, avoiding looking at either of you.

“Like you said, my family sucks. That bastard Lucerys took my eye because I gained a dragon,” He says. Your eyes widen at his words, sending a smile across his lips.

“You finally got your dragon. See now, you truly are a pompous Prince,” You curtsy mockingly with a wide smile. In the back of your mind, the defeated, teary-eyed Prince you have befriended now finally getting his heart's only desire. “I’ll forgive you this time, only because you got your dragon. Which one is yours?”

“The biggest one, Vhagar,” He says, grinning as you take his hand, offering a squeeze. You do not stay long, nor do you miss the Queen’s presence by the door. She had been listening.

“(Y/n),” She calls out. Stopping in your tracks, you offer her a terrible curtsy. You bite the inside of your cheek, saying yes, your grace. “To my knowledge, you have made my son very happy. I am more grateful than you know. I understand refraining from the court, but I am Queen. I must ensure my son's safety, and hanging with you on rooftops is not good enough. Your belongings have been moved to the Inn Keep not far from the castle's main gates. Word is already spreading of his mutilation; he will no longer be able to continue venturing deep into the city. So you will be accessible to him outside the main gates. You may show yourself out.”

You frown, watching as she walks down the corridor. At the Inn Keep, the man at the desk bounces around nonstop. He avoids your gaze and chuckles sheepishly into the silence as he scrambles through his things. Upon handing you the key, he bows. Frowning, you leave him without another word. Your room's at the very top floor, and you do a spin taking in the enclosed walls. Comparatively small in regards to the room Aemond sat in.

On the desk sits a pouch and sealed parchment. The Targaryen wax seal staring back at you ominously.

By order of Viserys Targaryen, first of his name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm.

You stare poignantly at the words of the King—you are sure they were written at the Queen’s behest. Battling the strong urge to be sick in your sweetly decorated cage. The parchment declaring you officially in service to the Prince. You slam the parchment on the desk turning to the tiny fireplace and bed with more furs than necessary staring back at you. A suitable living arrangement, but at what cost?

When Aemond finally musters the courage to arrive outside the gates, you show him the decree. He only shrugs it off, muttering there are worse situations in the world.

“But now I cannot tell you to bugger off as I please,” You say, matching his pace as you both walk through the market.

“You were never allowed to do that. You just lack manners,” Aemond chuckles, pulling his hood down carefully, hiding his face. You walk past the tables in awe of your options. No longer patrolling to steal breakfast but to pay for it.

“What do you have for me today, Daltis?” You say, grinning widely at the old man. He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he disappears inside. “Street knowledge. When it comes to imports and exports, Daltis is your guy for food, clothes, and people. He almost always has a connection if you need something done quickly and quietly.”

“Here you are, little lady, and for your friend. Not certain about the name, but it’s sweet. Just came in from Dorne,” He says, digging through your pouch; you freeze as Aemond hands him more coins than necessary. Daltis’s jaw drops as his eyebrows furrow, but Aemond only shrugs, ducking his head down to avoid the man's gaze. You watch as Daltis thanks him profusely. Aemond turns on his heels biting into the almost fuzzy substance. You follow suit furrowing your eyebrows as the sugary flavor melts on your tongue.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen the generous,” You tease, and he scoffs, the corners of his lips tugging. In the corner of your eye, you note the guard watching you both. You frown, retracing your steps—has he been following us the entire time? Whether Aemond knows remains a toss-up as he gushes about Vhagar. “All that crying like a baby only for you to get the largest beast ever! Do you feel silly now?”

“I was not crying like a baby!” He exclaims. Outside the Inn, you drop to your knee, a sardonic smile on your lips.

“My apologies, my Prince. Please accept the remnants of this Dornish treat as penance for my foolish ways, your grace,” He slaps your hand, scoffing as a laugh bubbles from deep in your stomach. Up in your room, he falls back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. You join him, watching the unremarkable walls.

"Isn't this highly inappropriate for you to be in here with me alone?" You ask, turning your head to face him. He only chuckles, pointing out that it applies more to you, but you are not a high-born lady, so it does not matter.

“Would it be wrong to say I miss your rooftop?” He asks. You raise an eyebrow reminding him losing the rooftop was his fault. He sharply nudges your arm with his elbow, laughing to yourself, both of you basking in the silence. It stays like this until a knight retrieves him.

The years fly without a hitch between you both. However, you have the singular misfortune of meeting Prince Aegon. About a year after Aemond lost his eye, it became apparent the court was aware of your existence. Aegon laughed giddily at the sight of you, admitting he always thought his brother was lying.

"You never bother her! Ever, do you understand me?" Aemond exclaimed, not caring about being seen in the middle of the markets. Patrons gawking at the sight of the two.

"Relax, little brother, we just exchanged a few words. You see when I bite, she bites back. A sharp-tongued little friend of yours. I am curious to know her other talents," Aegon laughed as he offered you a half nod before disappearing into the city.

Unlike the eventfulness of that day, typically, Aemond teaches you court etiquette and aids in refining your reading skills, while failing to teach you high Valyrian. You keep him humble, reminding him that an entire world exists outside his palace.

Offering the desk man a wave, you rub your eyes while marching up the stairs. In your room Aemond sits by the window, not bothering to turn or acknowledge your arrival. The fireplace you have never touched crackles, warming your entire room. You are certain the desk man has given him a key, but the Prince ignores you each time you inquire about it.

“Do you break into every girl's chamber to brood, or do you honor me, my prince?” You tease, setting down your woven bag on your desk. Unpacking the water, bread, and fruit you purchased from the markets.

“Is it breaking in if I pay for it?” He asks, unmoving from the window. You remind him that the King pays for it, removing your tunic and pants, switching into the only gown you own. You halt at the sight of a box on your bed.

“You know I hate gifts,” You say, ignoring the smirk on his lips as you eye the box.

“You hate lots of things. It's your sixth and tenth name day. Shall I expect suitors at your door?” He asks, a tight-lipped smile on his face. Rolling your eyes and walking to your bed, you run your fingers over the intricate detailing of the box. The Targaryen sigil expertly carved on the top. Inside sits a beautifully sewn green gown. “My gift for your name day is still in preparation. That is from my mother.”

Holding up the gown, your eyes narrow, raising an eyebrow as you meet Aemond's eye, “And what is it that she wants from me?”

“Must there always be a motive with my mother?” He sighs, shamelessly you nod your head.

“She’s your mother, the Queen. So I respect her out of my respect for you and my responsibility as her subject. But I don’t trust her or any royal particularly,” You say, running the dress between your fingers. A silence lingering in the air as he watches you.

“Do you trust me?” His question brings a stillness to the room. Fiddling with the intricate detail in the chest area.

“Would you like the honest answer or the expected one?” He frowns at your words, biting his lower lip into a pout at your question.

“Since when did you differentiate the two?” He asks, shrugging, you take a seat on your bed under his waiting gaze.

“I’m no longer that ten-year-old girl who can get away with such a brutal tongue to those far above my station. I speak to you as I please out of our mutual understanding. I do not share that with your family, but because of our friendship, I must be prepared to address your family. I hope that day never comes but realistically, I must,” You shrug your shoulders, sighing at the chains that appear as a gown—binding you to the Greens. He says nothing for a long while, leaving you to inspect the dress, “There is turmoil in your family, Aemond. You know it, I know it, and so does everyone else. When the King leaves, he will leave behind royal drama. I have only asked two things of you and you already broke one. Please do not break the other. Your mother sending this gown all but confirms my fears. She intends for me to wear this, and I am certain it won’t be for the markets.”

“I’ll speak with my mother,” He rises to his feet, taking commanding strides to the door making your eyebrows furrow. You call out to him, but he does not turn back, saying, “I’ll be around soon.”

[wizardiest-wizard-of-oz]

if anyone wants I have a musicals playlist that's over 200 hours that has I think around 205 musicals here's an alphabetized list let me know if I'm missing any I should add (I don't like Andrew lloyd Webber musicals and I'm also not a huge fan of jukebox musicals more specifically mamma Mia) and if anyone wants a link please ask me

13

21 Chump Street

25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee

35MM

36 Questions

42nd Street

The Addams Family

Aida

Aladdin

Alice by Heart

Allegro

Amelie

Anastasia

Ani

Annie Get Your Gun

Annie

Anything Goes

Avenue Q

Back to the Future

Bat Boy

Beauty and the Beast

Beetlejuice

Be More Chill

The Big One-Oh

Billy Elliot

Black Friday

Bombshell

Bonnie and Clyde

Book of Mormon

Brigadoon

Bring it On

Once More With Feeling (Buffy musical)

Bugsy Malone

Bye Bye Birdie

Cabaret

Camelot

Carousel

Carrie

Catch Me if You Can

A Catered Affair

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Chess

Chicago

A Chorus Line

Cinderella (Rodgers and Hammerstein)

The Colour Purple

Come From Away

Company

Crybaby

Curtains

Damn Yankees

Days of Wine and Roses

Dear Evan Hansen

Desperate Measures

Dog Man

Dreamgirls

Dreamland

Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog

Drowsy Chaperone

Duolingo on Ice

Elegies

Epic (all released sagas)

Everybody's Talking About Jamie

Falsettoland

Falsettos Revival

Firebringer

Flora the Red Menace

Follies

Fosse

Frankenstein

Frozen

Fun Home

Funny Girl

A Funny Thing Happened

A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder

Grand Hotel

Grease

The Great American Trailer Park

Grey Gardens

Gutenberg

Guys and Dolls

The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals

G*psy

Hadestown (broadway)

Hadestown (off broadway)

Hairspray

Hair

Hamilton

Harmony

Heathers

Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Hello Dolly

Honk

How the Grinch Stole Christmas (this one is just for Patrick page)

How to Dance in Ohio

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying

Hunchback of Notre Dame

In the Green

In the Heights

Into the Woods

In Trousers

It Shoulda Been You

Jekyll and Hyde

Kimberly Akimo

The King and I

Kinky Boots

Kiss of the Spider Woman

Legally Blonde

Lempicka

Les Miserables (english and french)

The Lightning Thief

The Lion King

Little Do They Know

The Little Mermaid

A Little Night Music

Little Shop of Horrors (english and german)

Little Women

Lizard Boy

Love in Hate Nation

Love's Labours Lost

Mad Ones

Make Me a Song

Mame

A Man of No Importance

March of the Falsettos

Marguerite

Martin Guerre

Mary Poppins

Matilda

Mean Girls

Merrily We Roll Along

Miss Saigon

Monty Python's Spamalot

The Music Man

My Fair Lady

My Heart Says Go

My Son's a Queer (But What Can You Do)

The Mystery of Edwin Drood

Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

Nerdy Prudes Must Die (I only have one song because I'm waiting to watch it with my friend before adding more)

A New Brain

Newsies

New York, New York

Next to Normal

Nightmare Time

Nine

Octet

Oklahoma

Oliver

Once On This Island

Once Upon a Mattress

Only Murders in the Building (Death Rattle Dazzle)

The Pyjama Game

Parade

Pippin

The Prince of Egypt

Prodigal

The Producers

The Prom

Ragtime

Ride the Cyclone

The Rink

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Schmigadoon

Schmicago

Scottsburo Boys

Seussical

She Loves Me

Sherlock

Shrek

Shucked

Six

Smash

Some Like it Hot

Something Rotten

The Sound of Music

South Pacific

Spiderman Turn off the Dark

The Spitfire Grill

Spongebob

Spring Awakening

Starship

State Fair

Sunday in the Park with George

Superhero

Sweeney Todd

Sweet Charity

The Theory of Relativity

Thoroughly Modern Millie

Tick Tick Boom

The Time Traveller's Wife

The Trail to Oregon

Twisted

Urinetown

A VHS Christmas Carol

The Visit

Waitress

Wait Wait Don't Kill Me

West Side Story

Wicked

Water for Elephants

Wizard of Oz

The Wiz

Zombie Prom

Zorba

[glassydiatom]

Arturo, alias Aria de Deo! - He/him - 18 years old - Thief, busker, & street magician - gettin sillay with it - Stole a devil fruit from a pirate and ate it. Broken heart - He has the ability to turn into a kākāpō!

[ID: A young man sitting with a kākāpō near his left leg. The man, Arturo, has shoulder-length lavender hair with light purple bangs, tan skin, and a smile on his face. He wears a yellow cloth tied around his neck, a red and golden jacket with epaulettes, and a bundle of sampaguitas or jasmine flowers on his right chest. Under that jacket, he wears a white tank top. He has a red sash around his waist, and brown pants stuffed into dark-red boots. His laces are golden yellow, and the same sampaguitas are tied around some of the laces. End ID]

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Oh my goddddd! The Valentine fic is so cuteee! Thank you so much! I read it right the second it came out and I absolutely love it!!

How are you today? If you are still taking requests, may I ask for another fic?

Ace is a noble that turns into a thief at night (Kinda lile Robin hood) and people don't know the real identity of Thief Ace. Fem!Reader is also a noble that does not get along with noble Ace, but she is a fan of thief Ace (having a huge crush on him). Ace likes her back and is over the moon once he learns that reader like Thief Ace, but also very sad and doesn't know how reader will react when she learns about his real identity. Happy ending, please. It can be either fluff or nsfw or both :^) I just really love the romance in yohr writing.

Feel free to skip this if you are not comfortable. Have a great day!!

Damn it, you always know how to make me write something and need to put it into 2 parts! I kid, I kid, I love it, I really, truly do. They're such great ideas. Thank you for always sending them in.

Part 2: Who I Really Am

Warnings: theft, insults

Word Count: 1300

     Running across the rooftops, Ace chuckled to himself. He’d just dropped a load of cash off at various homes and orphanages. Not enough to be noticed by the guards, lest they realize and take it away, but enough to help each family. While he couldn’t do this every night, he would do it as often as possible, anything to help the people out. Having gone out to the slums before, he’d seen the suffering of those who lived below the middle district. It was something he couldn’t turn a blind eye to, so instead, he’d turned to stealing from people. But it was fine, the people he stole from always had more than enough to spare. Noble families with way too much money, merchants who flaunted their wealth like arrogant pricks, but he never hit up anybody who couldn’t afford it. He wondered if it was ironic that he, himself, was a noble. A noble stealing from nobles, actually what he did wasn’t that different from the things he’d seen other noble families do, he was just more honest about it. 

     Crawling into his bedroom window, Ace let out a soft sigh as he took off his ‘thief disguise’. A pair of beat up old, black shorts, clunky, cheap, black boots, a long black coat with red flames, a white scarf that he often pulled over his face, and an orange hat. Thief Alias: Spade, wanted all across the kingdom, dead or alive. His ‘daytime persona’? Portgas D. Ace. Adopted grandson of Marquess Monkey D. Garp, adopted brother of Sabo and Luffy. He’d been adopted after his father, a duke from another country and that country’s greatest hero, had died, asking his longtime friend and fellow ‘hero’ to take care of his son. 

     “So, who did you steal from this time?” a voice asked, startling the boy as he spun around. Stepping out from the shadows cast by his wardrobe was his blond haired brother, arms crossed and smirking.

     “Oh, Sabo. Fuck, you gotta stop doing that. Damn near gave me a heart attack. Nobody special, well, I mean, as a noble, they think they’re special, but nobody we ever care about.” Ace said, hiding his outfit in a secret drawer under his wardrobe. 

     “Great, but we have a party tomorrow, remember? This cuts into your sleep and I’m not covering for you again.” Sabo scolded. He didn’t mind Ace going out, what he minded was constantly being responsible for his brother. Despite being the ‘responsible brother’, he’d rather be stealing from nobles like Ace did. Thinking about it for a moment, Ace’s eyes lit up.

     “It’s Y/n’s party! She’s finally 18 so her parents are throwing her a coming of age ball!” Ace said excitedly. He’d had a crush on you for ages despite how often you turned him away, this party was his chance to impress both you and your parents. No one really knew why, but your parents had decided to wait a year on your coming-of-age ball, but he didn’t mind so long as he had a shot at you. If he could impress you, you’d let him court you, if he could impress your parents, they wouldn’t interfere.

     Smoothing out your dress, you took a deep breath. It was a fairly simple dress, but then, despite the kind of party, you’d wanted it to be. You wanted something that would make you look gorgeous, but not like all the other noble girls who always wore ostentatious dresses. Spade would never go for a girl like them, they were too stuck up and interested in their wealth, he’d probably be more interested in someone more low-key. Admittedly, it was still a dress befitting someone of your rank, but for a young noblewoman, it was rather ‘plain and uninteresting’. No large petticoats, no gemstones adorning the netting or waist, and no puffy sleeves. Sleek, simple, but gorgeous. You’d stand out from all the girls wearing large ball gowns while still looking stunning. Even your jewelry was simple. No large, complex necklaces, no giant earrings, and no stupid coming-of-age tiaras. Simple and elegant. Enough to catch Spade’s eye while not making him roll his eyes. Did you think he would stop by? No, not with so many people here, but maybe he’d peek in to see what was going on. 

     Standing in the crowded room, Ace eagerly awaited your entrance, his head perking up when he heard them announcing your presence. You looked more stunning than ever. Like elegance personified. Part of him had expected a poofy dress that wouldn’t look good on you with pounds of jewelry and make up to make you look as ‘beautiful as possible’ but would only serve to hide your true beauty. This… this made his heart stop. An elegant, streamline dress with simple gloves, a simple necklace with only a few stones, small, elegant, silver earrings, and dainty, yet ‘understated’ heels. Your hair was pulled up into a half ponytail and slightly curled, framing your face perfectly, and your make-up was surprisingly minimal. He couldn’t do this. You were too beautiful, too stunning, there was no way he could ask an absolute goddess like you to dance, to even approach you! Even still, he couldn’t let another guy have you. Swallowing hard, he wiped his hands on his suit and nervously walked up to you. 

     “C-care to dance?” Ace asked, hoping you didn’t notice the way his words were stuttered and broken up. 

     Staring at his hand, you sighed. Portgas D. Ace, another noble boy. While you weren’t particularly fond of most noblemen, you had a particular dislike of this one. Always bothering you, inviting himself to your tea time and helping himself to your snacks, coming and talking to you every time he saw you, even if it was clear you didn’t want to talk to him, and always, always, showing off! Still, it would be rude not to accept and his family was one you’d rather not spurn. Gently placing your hand in his, you let him lead you to the dance floor, the boy grinning like the idiot he was. Thinking for a moment, you grinned, you had just the thing to drive him off!

     “So, Ace, have you heard about the latest sighting of Spade?” you asked, watching a strange expression flash across his face for a split second.

     “Eh, only vaguely, I hear he’s causing more trouble for the other noble families.” he said with a small shrug as if he wasn’t interested.

     “Well, I mean, that is what he does, but I mean have you actually heard about him?” you pushed, watching as he shook his head no.

     “Nah, he’s not important enough to keep tabs on.” Ace lied. Okay, he knew exactly what ‘Spade’ was up to, but he had to play the part of an uncaring, stuffy noble.

     “Not important enough? Are you serious? Not only is he stealing from people like you and I but he’s the hottest topic in all of the social circles and my personal favorite.” you said, huffing slightly. It figured Ace wouldn’t like Spade, Spade probably stole all of Ace’s spotlight. Ace swore his heart entered his throat and stopped! You were a fan of Spade’s? You were his fan?!

     “A-are you sure?” Ace managed to force out, his voice wavering. It couldn’t be, the woman of his dreams was a fan of his? You liked what he did? You… would it be alright to say that you had a crush on him?!

     “Of course I’m sure! Spade is the most amazing guy in the kingdom and nothing anybody says can convince me otherwise!” you snapped slightly. You were serious, you weren’t putting on a show to drive him away, you actually liked Spade. Ace’s heart pounded now more than ever.

[seaprofound]

muse aesthetics !!

instructions: bold what applies to your muse.  repost, do not reblog!

[SOFT] baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | minimalist tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old Barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | cute stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night

[DARK ACADEMIA] neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a conversation | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story

[EDGY] closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low-quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks

[70′s] colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | DIYing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid-heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding

[PREPPY CASUAL] collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old Hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

Tagged by: no one—I stole it from @nectaric like the dirty thief that I am :P Tagging: @nuiruk, @velvetineblue, @seeasunset, @witch3rie, @fatesdesign, @stcries, @earthssprout, @mielmoto, @pagetorn, @saccharic, @singofus, @emcads, @multiicolor, @manaborn, @badboysupr, @mageiia, @storybounded, @manneatcr,  @brokentoys, @thcsevoices, @stellarisen, @never-surrender, @chatcambrioleur, @heedingcalls, @dethqveen, @cauterisen, @riidcr, @asoulunbound & youuuuuuuuuuu !!!!!!! just say that I tagged you, ok.

[flowerfeast444]

you were a house on fire || h.s {pt 5}*

harry styles x oc

chapter summary: Harry and Roe can’t help but let their thoughts wander when they are alone, leading them to meet again. (god i love this chapter fr)

word count: 2.8k

series masterlist

Roe was ten years old the first time she stole. Granted, it was a set of watercolor paints and a single, ragged brush from her elementary school, but still, she saw herself as a first-time thief. Her class just finished their painting unit in their art class, and while everyone except Ethan, her best friend, had their attention elsewhere, she slipped the supplies into her backpack. That was two weeks after the twins were born. Lucas found her stolen goods, barely eight at the time, and tried convincing her to return them because everybody knows that people who steal go to jail, and he couldn't have his big sister go to jail.

Of course, Roe promised Lucas she was safe, and it was okay for her to keep her paints. That, however, didn't stop her from hiding them whenever Blue Uniforms searched through the house. They always came with loud shouts and left with one or both of her parents. No. Her paints were safe. There was a spot between her dresser and the wall where the case could sit without falling to the ground. You only saw it if you knew it was there.

Roe woke up that Tuesday with a picture of it in her mind, still behind the dresser, collecting dust. It had been there since she was fourteen, and the Blue Uniform left with her dad like they had many times before. But unlike those other times, he didn't come waltzing back through the front door weeks or months later with a smirk on his lips and shake of his bald head. She left the case there, told herself she would bring it out again when her father's boots clunked around their house. Day after day, her hope dwindled until she forgot of its existence entirely- until now.

With a lull in clients at Keystone and today as her day off at the diner, what harm could she do by pulling the old dried up pigments from their hiding place? River was her only company at home, but she put him down for a nap only moments ago. So, Roe set up her paper, watercolor, and brush, and water in a cracked plastic cup that read "Pirates Cove!" on the kitchen table in the sunlight of midday. It was all there- her supplies, time, quietness, ambition to create, yet she couldn't think of anything to paint. No subject. No muse. At least, not one she desired admitting to.

Roe slouched into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. This was not how it was supposed to go. She wanted to paint a flower or some fruit. She wanted to be able to paint freely, without thoughts of a lingering lover plaguing her mind and ultimately restricting the feeling in her fingertips. It was as if she were actually there with her hands anchored around Roe's wrists.

Perhaps Roe was not meant to be an artist. She shook her head and blew a puff of air to send her bangs away from her eyes. She picked up her phone and dialed the only number she still knew by heart.

~~~

Harry's ringtone drew him from his warm afternoon nap. His body never knew which timezone to align itself with, and with no work for the unforeseen future, Harry found himself napping more than he did when he was a toddler. He wiped the crusted sleep out of the corners of his eyes and untangled his phone from the sheets near his left knee. "Niall Horan" lit up the screen in bold lettering under a picture of said man doing a handstand on top of one of their tour buses. Harry took that picture on their first tour and always admired it. By the time he was ready to answer the call, it was too late, sending Niall off.

Harry ran his hands over his face again. Certainly, Niall would have his ear for that one. Sure enough, seconds later, his phone rang again. "Hey," Harry answered, his voice heavy.

"Hey mate, you alright? You didn't answer, and you sound," he paused, "tired?"

"I'm fine. You woke me is all."

"Oh."

"Did you need something?" Harry loved talking with his best friend, but a much timider and hesitant voice had replaced the Irishman's typically quick and carefree one.

"No, no. Just checking in on you. Seeing how you're doing is all."

"I'm fine, Niall, really. Say what it is that you want to say, I know you have something," Harry huffed.

"I- all the boys, well really Liam and me, we want you to know that we're here for you and," he paused again. Harry thought he might've heard whispering on the other end, but perhaps he imagined it, "we know you're going through a tough time with everything- more than us for sure. Just- we're here if you want to talk."

Harry sighed as Niall continued his speech. Biding his time, he cast his gaze towards his window. A mourning dove landed on the fire escape and snatched a cockroach into his beak. The insect twisted its legs in an attempt to escape but soon gave up before the bird dove back down into the alley. Envy pinched his chest, but for which party, he did not know.

When Niall eventually stopped tripping over his words, Harry reassured him that he was fine and would call him in the case that he was not. They gave their goodbyes and hung up not long after. With no plans for the rest of the day, Harry allowed himself to fall back into slumber despite dinner hours approaching.

~~~

"I'm so glad you called, I needed this. And by the looks of it, you do too, babe," Sara shouted in Roe's ear over the thumping bass of a song she didn't recognize.

Roe tried her best to let everything go and allow the tequila to numb her throat. Secretly, she hoped it would numb everything above it as well, but so far the drink was failing on both fronts. She just went through the motions; take shots, dance, shout some song lyrics, repeat. These nights were rare, and they usually hit the reset button on her stress levels. It wasn't often she could let loose and not think about anything worrisome for a few hours.

But tonight, no matter what she did, she could only picture Ariel in the crowd next to her. Roe's heart twitched at every glimpse she caught of a brunette, and her chest burned because of it. She's not so sure she can blame it on the tequila.

Tequila, however, was to blame for her following actions. A simple 'hey' sat in the text box under Harry's contact for several moments, the blinking text cursor mocking her loneliness and indecision. She saved his number from work one night in case of emergency- whatever an emergency at an automobile shop would look like. She swore she wouldn't hit send, honestly, but a petite woman bumped into her shoulder and suddenly there's no way for it to be undone. She chewed her nails with a furrowed brow as the 'delivered' sign quickly turned into 'read' and three dots appeared underneath it before a reply came through.

'Who is this?' it read. Shit. This was a mistake.

'roe. sprry'

'Oh. Are you ok?' Roe looked up, sifting through her thoughts for a response.

A dancing couple caught her eye, distracting her from the task at hand. The woman nuzzled her nose in her partner's neck, swaying several beats too slowly for the song pumping through the speakers. The man didn't seem to mind, just swayed with her, arms resting naturally on her lower back. The rest of the dimly lit room meant nothing to them. The ceiling's strobe lights were shooting stars for all they cared.

Roe fleetingly wondered if she and Ariel ever looked like that. They never slow danced in the kitchen or stargazed together- "We're not a romcom, Roe," she would say. But, after long days of work and taking care of the kids, they laid atop each other on the scratchy living room couch, and Ariel hummed Something by The Beatles as she played with Roe's hair until they both drifted asleep.

Did it look like that? Natural?

The couple from before was now nowhere to be found and she worried about their mere existence at all. Rubbing a hand over her face, she responded to Harry, 'fine just drunk'. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she added, 'miss yu'.

This time, it took several minutes for a word back from Harry. Roe anxiously nursed a beer after deciding to take it easy on the tequila shots. The room spun, and she honestly needed to sit down, but she kept her eyes transfixed on her phone.

'Do you want to come over?'

With that, Roe made her way through the crowd towards Sara. It took a moment to locate her in the throng of bodies, but when she did, she made up an excuse of being tired and wanting to call it a night early. Sara understood because of course, she always does. Her kindness left Roe with a slight weightiness as she slipped her jean jacket on and stumbled to the train station a few blocks away.

Even in her state, Roe remembered the route to Harry's apartment. It wasn't a long journey from the bar, and soon enough, she knocked at his door. She barely had time to question her motives before it swung open to reveal Harry half-dressed. A pair of loose black sweatpants clung to his hips and a smug grin hung lazily from his lips. They spared but a moment as Roe stepped inside and dragged him closer by the drawstring of his pants, but despite their impatience, they first connected their lips leisurely.

"You taste like beer," he giggled.

"You," she traced her tongue down his neck and nipped at his collarbone, "smell like weed."

"Aren't we a pair?"

Roe kept her fingertips at his waistband, teasing gently as Harry guided them through the living room. Roe nearly pulled away, expecting to settle on the couch again, but Harry kept leading them down the hall. Every few steps, their footing fumbled, and they had to rely on the wall for stability. Harry's hand sank into her thigh at the bottom of her body-con skirt, and as the kiss grew heavier, the only thought running through Roe's mind was, take it off.

She would like to say they fell gracefully into the bed, but anyone in their right mind would know better. Roe's fingernails dug into the skin behind Harry's shoulder blade. She nearly apologized, but he let out a broken sigh and whispered, "again". Roe scratched again, this time dragging towards the sides of his ribs. They toyed like this for a few moments longer, reveling in each other's heat, rutting against each other. In the midst of this, her skirt had been pushed up to bunch around the thinner part of her waist, and Harry's sweatpants were nowhere to be found. Roe's jacket and tank top straps slipped from her shoulders, providing Harry the perfect opportunity to bite marks into her tanned skin. They rocked together, taking only what they needed from the other- perhaps an iota more. In the absence of speaking, their heavy breaths filled the room until Roe nearly felt the weight of it enclosing her every limb. By the time Harry's final moans subsided, Roe became hyperaware of the sweat beading on her forehead and the stickiness between her thighs. It made her nauseous.

They rolled away from each other slowly, disentangling limbs and the sheet that had become wedged between them. The bed had been slovenly before either of them fell into it; Roe could only imagine how badly the sheets needed to be washed now. She sighed and pushed herself from the bed, finding her clothes hurriedly. Harry stayed still and silent. Somehow after how close they had been only moments ago, they couldn't meet the gaze of the other. Roe wanted to ignore the panicked "shit" that fell from Harry's lips, but she couldn't. Weed paranoia would give a weak excuse for the tension in his face. Something was wrong.

"What is it?" A tall mirror rested against the wall beside Harry's dresser and Roe only took five seconds looking through it as she combed her bangs with her fingers to abandon it as a lost cause. She counted the lucky stars she hadn't worn makeup; if she had, there's no telling the kinds of looks she would get on the way home, and that's saying something. Here's to hoping the lame hour would allow her to stay somewhat anonymous. She gave herself one last once-over before casting her gaze to Harry, more than ready for his answer.

"Are you on the pill, by any chance?" he grimaced.

"Shit."

Roe allowed her face to fall into her hands for a moment. She quickly recovered, putting up a stone wall in her mind, and continued her mission of collecting her things. This time, her emotions were included.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," she replied sharper than she intended.

"I mean, all hope isn't lost, or whatever. I can give you money for a Plan-B or something. I very well can't go buy one, it'll end up in a magazine, and it'll probably be expensive for you." It sounded pretentious even before the sentence was fully formed. Even so, Roe merely shook her head and shoved her heels into her sneakers faster. "Fuck! I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean it like that."

"Doesn't matter if you meant it when we both know it's true."

"You could stay. We could figure something out?" It had been at least an hour since her last drink but she was still feeling the effects of it, and by the droop of his eyelids, Roe didn't trust Harry's sobriety either. The best thing for them was separating, Roe decided.

"Sorry. I just don't really do the whole morning thing. Plus, I've got to work tomorrow. Earn my own money."

"Ok," he clears his throat, "yeah, I get it. Sorry, again."

"It's fine," she demanded coolly.

Roe only looked back once as she left Harry's room. From their conversation, she half expected him to offer to walk her out. But, the telltale sound of a lighter clicking allowed her to take the final steps out the door with confidence. Her heart still beat quickly with adrenaline despite the quietness the Red Line provided her on her journey home. Winter showed no mercy, and by the time she stepped on the platform, her jean jacket barely provided any comfort. In some backward way, she was thankful for the sub-freezing temperatures. It kept her from overthinking the events of the night.

Roe unlocked her front door just shy of four in the morning. Despite her numb fingers and slight dizziness, she managed to go inside and kick off her sneakers without falling into a heap on the ground. Upon entering the living room, she noticed Lucas. He sat on the middle cushion of the couch, slouched so far down, she worried he would get a crick in his neck. A single lamp illuminated the left side of his face, but only just; they lost the original lampshade years ago and their mom replaced it with one from a thrift store that barely fit. So, the lamp now shone dimmer than ever, placed haphazardly on the floor in the far corner of the room (it was meant to be sitting on a table, but they never got around to buying one). All this to say, Roe could barely see Lucas, and yet, he looked worse than she felt.

"What are you doing up?" she asked.

"Could ask you the same thing. Aren't you supposed to be having a girl's night at Sarah's? You know you could've stayed over there, I've got the kids tomorrow."

"Yeah, no, I know"

"You look fucked up."

"Thanks." Roe smiled sarcastically.

"Did you ditch her?"

Roe busied herself by picking up the stray action figures littered on the ground near the stairs and shrugged; "Didn't feel like staying. Why does it matter?"

He shrugged and muttered, "Just kind of a shitty thing to do to a friend."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing that it's none of your business then."

Lucas threw up his hands in defense of her icy words, and watched her collect the remaining toys on the floor. When she finished, she dumped them in a bin next to the couch and finally retreated to her room. She debated peeling off all of her clothes and scrubbing the night off in a hot shower, but one glance at her bed convinced her otherwise. Without any further ceremony, Roe flicked off the lights and let herself fall into a dreamless sleep.

[captainthomasrobbie]

About Hawks and Snakes

Chapter 1

Fandom; The Collector (Series)

Characters; Arkin O'Brien, The Collector/Asa Emory

Specifics; Daemon AU

Summary;

"The Collector had originally set out to capture only the little girl, intrigued by her unique qualities. However, when a thief stole his prize that night, he stumbled upon something even more extraordinary. Who else could boast of taming a red-tailed hawk, or its human counterpart? If this man is determined to thwart his plans, then Asa is more than willing to return the favor."

Previous - Chapter 1 - Next

...

Struggling to resist the overwhelming urge to collapse and cover his ears at the deafening scream, he instead sought refuge from the stranger and, seizing the opportunity, fled back upstairs.

Cracking open the safe was a breeze now that he had the correct combination . Hastily snatching the gun, he allowed Astra, who had conveniently appeared by his side, to take the red jewel and, much to his dismay, swallow it. Arkin took a deep breath, gritting his teeth. "It's fine, that's fine," he reassured himself. He should have anticipated this turn of events. Unable to confront the situation at hand , he shifted his focus to locating the bullets. The issue? There. Were. None! Despite scouring every corner, he came up empty-handed. Discarding the gun, he realized he had to press forward.

Hannah. Right. He needed to find Hannah. The girl was still too young to possess a manifested daemon of her own , which could work in her favor as it decreased the likelihood of detection. However, it also posed a challenge for Arkin and Astra in their search.

To his surprise , he didn't have to wait long before hearing a noise. Following the sound, he stumbled upon ... a red box? "Oh God, please don't let the poor child be confined in there," he whispered.

Trembling, he opened the box, only to find not the child, but an elderly man ? Who is this individual, and what is he doing here? Arkin questioned in bewilderment. What in the world is happening? This was supposed to be a simple theft, for heaven's sake!

Despite his confusion, he attempted to converse with the man, who introduced himself as Larry. Their interaction was short-lived, however, as Larry's sudden outburst drew attention from others. Arkin discovered that the intruder was known as The Collector, a man who selectively gathered individuals, sparing only one, killing all the rest. Arkin's heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. The Collector was not just any ordinary thief, but a dangerous individual with a sinister agenda. As panic set in, Arkin knew he had to find a way to escape before he became one of The Collector's chosen victims.

Searching through the rooms in top floor, he noticed an open window in Jills room. Not looking around he rushed to it, which proved to be a mistake when he got caught in some sticky material that was poured on the floor. His boots started frying, smoke coming out of it. Least to say, Arkin was terrified, but he didn't give up, getting out of the shoes and jumping out onto the bed. That did made a loud noise of ruckus , to his disadvantage. Furthermore , he wasn't the only one who got trapped there. Victoria's daemon, the black cat was there with him, stuck to the floor. He acted quickly, not thinking, just trying to get the cat to be quiet. He tore away the poor cat and threw her out of the window, wanting to save her. This plan backfires as a guilottine cut her in half, a trap in the window. Arkin bites down on his tongue to not scream, eyes tearing up. Did- Did he just kill Victoria?

His thoughts were stopped by stumbing on the stairs and he was forced to hide under the covers.

The toll this all took on his mind was beyond words. After avoiding The Collector, he grabbed a paper clip and raced to the basement in a desperate attempt to save Michael, only to find him already dead, hanging upside down and mutilated. He couldn't bring himself to check on Victoria, the image of the slaughtered cat haunting him. The rest of the night was a nightmare Arkin wished he could erase from his memory . Jill's demise, the smaller lamb disintegrating before his eyes. A lamb led to the slaughter, indeed. Her boyfriend, some kind of lizard creature. And poor Hannah, the innocent child caught in the midst of it all.

The horror of that night would forever haunt Arkin's dreams.

...

But he managed to save her, protecting her from harm. Astra even bravely attacked The Collector, her talons scratching at his eyes. Together, they were able to rescue the little girl. She was swiftly pulled into a police car and taken to safety at the police station. As they were loaded into the ambulance, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. The ordeal was finally over. Every part of his body ached, especially his belly which was still bleeding from a deep cut. Astra had suffered a broken wing, sustaining a bite from one of the dogs before he could intervene. He closed his eyes, trying to relax as he waited for the paramedic to call his wife. But suddenly, chaos erupted. The ambulance was hit with tremendous force, flipping it over and leaving Astra in a cage while he was tied to a medical bed, unable to move or defend themselves. In a moment of sheer terror, he saw a figure approaching the ambulance. He screamed for help, thrashing against his restraints. But The Collector was relentless, opening the doors and seizing him. Astra fought back, but a venomous snake, a Russell's viper, coiled around her, immobilizing her. In a panic, he begged for mercy, pleading for their lives. Before he knew it, he was being forced into the same red box where he had found Larry before .

They were being collected , trapped in a nightmare they thought was over.

[earitei-lore]

November week three: A lost hand guiding a lost child (cw implied past child abuse and implied suicidal ideation)

Neyah walked down the street, looking down at their boots. The weather was cloudy and gray that day. Puddles from the previous day's rain still littered across the sidewalk. She had just completed another successful theft from some moderately-rich looking person, and she was trying to deal with that awful feeling she always got afterwards. 

What if they weren’t rich at all? What if I just stole their next meal? What right do I have to do that? Neyah’s thoughts grew loud, overpowering every instinct in their body and forcing them to stop walking. The dull-purple cat didn’t bother trying to shove the thoughts back. They’d just get worse if she did. They allowed themself to keep wondering about their purpose, or lack of it, in life, and whether it would be worth it to keep going tomorrow.

I don’t even want to be alive. Why do I keep trying to live anyways? What’s the point in continuing on. I should just– she couldn’t finish the thought before it was interrupted by the sound of crying. They forced themself back into the present to look around for the source of the sound, and somewhere to her left was a chubby yellow dog who looked no older than five. They were alone, with no parents in sight to comfort them. Neyah decided to go against their “no talking to strangers” policy and walked up to the kid.

“Hey, are you okay? Where are your parents?” she asked. 

“Mommy! Mommy! Where are you?” the child sobbed, ignoring Neyah.

“Hey, listen to me,” said Neyah, trying to soften their voice. “What happened? Do you need my help?”

“Mommy, my mommy, where is she?” The child looked up at Neyah with tears in their eyes. 

“I don’t know,” said Neyah. “Where did you last see her?”

“Mommy and I were walking down the street, I stopped to tie my shoe, and when I looked up she disappeared!” The child paused to sob again.

“Do you remember which way you were walking?”

“That way.” The child pointed in the direction opposite of the one Neyah had been walking in.

“Then let’s look for your mother there,” said Neyah. “I’ll walk you for safety.”

‘O-okay.”

The child grabbed onto Neyah’s hand, much to her surprise and momentary discomfort. They tried to pull her faster than she could walk, but she was able to get them under control pretty quickly using her significantly taller height. The two of them walked in silence, besides the sound of puddles beneath their feet. The air felt like static about to shock her. Neyah decided to break the silence by asking a question.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“My name is Beauden!” the child responded, much cheerier than before.

“Your gender?” Neyah asked.

“I’m a boy!” Beauden crossed his arms, as if that should’ve been obvious to Neyah.

“Alright, alright, let’s keep walking.” Neyah paused for a moment before adding: “Let me know if you see your mom, okay?”

“Will do!” Beauden responded.

Neyah went silent again, focusing their attention on the sidewalk ahead. They noticed a few passersby looking at them and the boy they were guiding, probably wondering why someone who clearly wasn’t his parent was holding his hand and dragging him along.

They probably think I’m a kidnapper or something, Neyah thought. It’s a fair assumption, since I’m already a dirty thief anyways.

“You never told me your name…” Beauden pulled her out of her thoughts. “What is it?”

Neyah paused for a minute. For whatever reason, his simple question has made their heart prick a bit with some awful feeling. They looked at Beauden’s eyes, which were sparkling with expectation, and then looked back down at their boots.

“It’s not important,” responded Neyah.

“Please?” 

Beauden looked up at her with sad puppy dog eyes, which stabbed through her heart. Neyah went silent again, continuing to walk down the street.

“...It’s Neyah,” they finally said.

“Woah, that’s a pretty name!” Beauden smiled at her. “Where did you get it from?”

“...I don’t remember where it came from.” 

Neyah could’ve just said that their parents picked it out, but they didn’t want to remember them at the moment. They shoved down the negative memories that were bubbling up to the surface and started to walk faster. Beauden had started rambling about something that happened to him earlier that week, but she had tuned out, nodding along so he wouldn’t get upset about her not paying attention. Eventually, Neyah heard a stomach that didn’t belong to them rumble, and they stopped walking.

“I’m hungry. I hope we find mommy soon.” Beauden said, looking down at his stomach.

Neyah fished through their pockets. They remembered that they had a small candy bar in there, but part of them was hesitant to give even that up.

You wouldn’t give your candy to a hungry child? You really are a terrible person. Mom was right about you. The other part of her chastised her for being selfish, so she decided to just hand it over to Beauden.

“Here. This should help hold you off until we find your mother,” said Neyah.

Beauden didn’t hesitate to snatch it out of Neyah’s hand. He quickly unwrapped the candy and ate it in one bite.

“I’m better now! Let’s look for mommy!” said Beauden.

Beauden grabbed onto Neyah’s hand and pulled them down the street. For whatever reason, Neyah didn’t try to get him under control this time. The two of them continued down the cloudy street. There were now a few rays of sunshine poking through the clouds, which Neyah hadn’t expected earlier. It made the once dull city around them almost look beautiful. There was now a warm feeling in their heart, which had been distant to them for a long time now. Wait, was that a smile on her lips? Neyah forced herself out of her thoughts again when she felt a tugging on her hand.

“Hey, That’s my mommy!” Beauden said, pointing at a distressed woman that looked a lot like him. “Mommy, over here!”

Neyah felt themself back up a bit. They really didn’t want any more attention focused on them, especially not from a parental figure. She saw Beauden run up to his mom from the corner of her eye, and tensed up, knowing what could come next. 

“Beauden! Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe!” said Beauden’s mom, wrapping her son in a hug.

Neyah felt their muscles relax a bit. Their worst fears hadn’t been true. Why would they have been? She knew that not all parents were like hers. They noticed Beauden’s mom asking him where he had been and what happened to him, but the noise of their conversation was drowned out by unpleasant memories bubbling to the surface. There was no way their parents would’ve hugged them after they had gotten lost. She would’ve just been scolded for falling behind. Or worse.

“Hello, aren’t you the cat that helped my son find me?” Beauden’s mom asked, forcing them out of the past.

“Uh, yes, that’s me,” said Neyah. They glanced around for a possible exit to the conversation, but they couldn’t quietly slip away this time.

“Thank you so much for bringing him back to me,” said the mom. “Let me repay you.”

She handed out a decent sum of cash to Neyah, about $70. They glanced down at the money. They didn’t deserve it. They were just a dirty thief, not a hero. However, their survival instincts kicked in, forcing them to accept the cash.

“Uh, thanks for the cash,” Neyah really wasn’t used to being given this stuff freely.

“You’re welcome,” responded Beauden’s mom. “Make sure to treat yourself. Beauden, let’s get home so I can clean you up, alright?”

“Okay,” said Beauden. He turned around and waved. “Bye-bye, Neyah!”

“Bye,” said Neyah, waving back.

She was left alone again. Alone in her thoughts, with no distractions this time. The sun had finally cleared up more of the clouds, bathing her in a soft golden light. Neyah glanced down at the stack of cash in their hand, wondering what to do with it. They glanced back ahead, noticing a train station nearby. The map of stops was long, stretching well outside of their province.

If I get a ticket, could I go back to…? Neyah thought, cutting off the end of their own sentence. 

They checked the map again, seeing that the train could take them back to where they wanted to be. However, something held back their heart, preventing them from moving their legs forward. They continued to stand still, wishing for the strength to go down a different path than the one their life was on. She had just guided a lost child, but in a way, they had been the lost one all along. Would they be able to guide themself back to a place that felt like home?

[tickly-tufts]

Gentle Persuasion

I have changed this title so many times.

Anyway, the first Saiouma Phantom Thief AU fic was pretty well-received, so here’s another fic in the same universe! It’s not really a direct sequel so much as another random encounter, so you could read it on its own if you want. With that said, I hope you like it!

Upon entering the interrogation room, Shuichi immediately noticed two things.

First, Kokichi looked exceptionally smug for someone who was tied to a chair. Even with his arms cuffed behind him and his ankles bound to the chair’s legs, he gave off the same confident aura as always. The detective had to admit that it was rather impressive.

Second… the thief had clearly been treated roughly. His hair was even messier than usual, his clothes were wrinkled, and one of his sleeves was torn at the shoulder. More worrying still was the bruising all around his neck, indicating he’d been strangled.

Shuichi frowned as he approached, locking the door behind him. He had come to question Kokichi regarding the whereabouts of a missing jewel. However, when faced with these unforeseen circumstances, the first thing he ended up asking was…

“Who did this to you?”

“Neeheehee… Is Detective Saihara worried about little ol’ me?”

Having long grown accustomed to being on a first-name basis with Kokichi, Shuichi was briefly taken aback at being addressed so formally. However, he quickly understood the thief’s intent.

“You don’t need to pretend we’re strangers or anything. They basically left me alone with you, and the security camera in the corner doesn’t actually work.”

The detective didn’t like the implications of the latter detail, but there was little he could do about it.

“Ah, makes sense. That guy earlier would’ve held back if it’d been recording,” Kokichi commented far too casually. “And before you ask, he looked too average for me to give you a useful description.”

Dammit. What justice was the detective serving if thugs like that were allowed on the force? The marks around the thief’s neck certainly weren’t making him feel better.

Carefully, Shuichi leaned in and brushed his fingers over the ring of bruised skin, only to pull back immediately when Kokichi flinched.

“Sorry! Did that hurt?”

“Jeez, you can’t just touch someone like that without warning!” Kokichi scoffed. “Are all detectives this rude, or is it you?”

Shuichi paused.

It would have been very easy to shrug off the thief’s answer. After all, there was nothing particularly remarkable about his words. His voice, however…

Maybe it was only the detective’s imagination, but he could have sworn he’d heard an unusual tremor when Kokichi spoke. Given how cocky and silver-tongued the thief typically was, it was a surprising thing to observe.

Was it just because he was hurt, or… ?

“Hey, earth to Shuichi! Why are you staring at me? I know I’m roguishly handsome and all, but you’re just being weird now!”

Well, he supposed it was as good a time as ever to test his theory.

Wordlessly, Shuichi reached out to touch Kokichi’s neck again, gently tracing the tender skin with his fingertips.

Almost instantly, Kokichi’s shoulders jerked up in a sharp, reflexive motion. At the same time, something akin to a squeak slipped out of his mouth.

“…Your neck is ticklish,” the detective concluded aloud.

The thief’s eyes widened, confirming his suspicions.

Feeling bold for once, Shuichi turned away to rummage around in his bag, grinning when he finally found what he was looking for.

“Hey, Kokichi, where’s the jewel from last week’s heist? You already know there’s not enough evidence to charge you, but the museum still wants it back.”

“Hmmm? How should I know? Actually, why the hell would I even tell you if I did?”

“Because if you don't… I may just have to persuade you.”

And then Shuichi pulled out a forensic brush.

The brush was black, designed for fingerprint dusting, but most importantly… it was very, very fluffy.

Kokichi paled at the sight of it.

“Nononono! This is cruel and unusual punishment! I’ll sue!” he exclaimed, looking genuinely panicked for once.

Shuichi was very tempted to smirk.

“You could just tell me where the jewel is, Kokichi. There’s no need to be difficult.”

The phantom thief scowled in response, only to lose all semblance of composure when the detective started stroking the brush against his neck. If Kokichi hadn’t been tied so securely to his chair, he surely would have toppled out of it.

“SHIHIHIT! NONONOHOHAHAHA!”

His cuffs jingled loudly as he writhed in place, shaking his head frantically yet unable to avoid Shuichi’s brush. The soft bristles tickled every inch of his vulnerable neck, running up and down the sides, over his pulse, and under his chin. He giggled when the detective moved to tease his collarbones, then squirmed when the brush swept across a bit of his upper back. Mostly though, he laughed. The sound was desperate, high-pitched, and undeniably cute. 

Unfortunately for Kokichi, it also spurred Shuichi on.

“Maybe I’ll actually find some fingerprints if I keep dusting here. Then I could catch whoever left these marks.”

“SH-SHUDAHAHAHAP! THAHAHAT’S NOHOT FUHUNNEHEEHEE!”

“Maybe not, but your blush right now is.”

“YOU’RE MEHEHEHEAN!”

After several more minutes of maddeningly gentle tickle torture, Kokichi finally gave in.

“OKAHAY I’LL TAHAHALK! JUSTAHAHAHAP! P-PLEHEASE!”

Shuichi complied, allowing Kokichi a few moments to catch his breath before raising an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“It's… under the floorboards… in front of the original display case,” the thief confessed tiredly.

“Wait, so you’re telling me the jewel’s been hidden in the same gallery this entire time?" 

The detective could hardly believe it. The truth was so silly, so absurd, so…

"…Just like you,” he mumbled to himself.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Anyway, I’ll try getting you released sooner rather than later. They’ll probably drop all of this once they find the jewel.”

“Hmmph. That’s the least you could do after tormenting me!” Kokichi summoned the biggest crocodile tears he could muster. “Y-you’re so cruel! My neck’s all b-bruised, and you didn’t even offer to kiss it better or anything!”

The detective considered the blubbering thief’s accusations. He knew Kokichi wasn't being serious, and yet…

“Don’t you have anything to sa-” Kokichi’s words died in his throat the moment Shuichi kissed his neck. 

For a few seconds, all Kokichi could focus on was Shuichi. The scent of Shuichi’s hair near his face, the softness of Shuichi’s lips against his skin, the kindness of Shuichi’s hand holding his chin.

It was over far too quickly. 

“I’ll be back as soon as possible to make sure you’re alright!” Shuichi promised. He sent the thief a reassuring smile, then rushed out the door.

…

Unseen by anyone else, Kokichi’s cheeks flushed even brighter than before. Rather than feeling embarrassment, though, he felt… warmth.

“You’re unbelievable…” he told the empty room.

[theramenbandit]

Supercorptober: Red + Party

“You’re gonna want to be careful with that,” Kelly warns her over the punch bowl. “It’s got the stuff.” 

She walks off with a chuckle and Kara watches her rejoin the rest of the Superfriends in the middle of the living room, huddled over a game of Catan. It’s not at all unusual, save for the fact that this is the last Catan that Alex and Kelly will be playing as girlfriends. The next time this happens, they will be playing as wives.

This is it, Kara thinks, the moment it starts sinking in. Alex is getting married. And adopting a kid, to boot. All of her dreams are coming true and Kara couldn’t be happier for her. Alex, her sister, her best friend, her partner in crime(fighting). She’d been her rock, her tether to humanity. Now she was going to be that for someone else. And Kara is glad that that someone is Kelly. Kara feels an unbidden pang of sadness at the thought, but she reminds herself that she’s not losing Alex, she’s just going to be having different priorities now. They’ll all still be working together anyway, and sister nights will still be a thing, both she and Alex made sure of that.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Lena sidling up next to her. 

“Hey,” she whispers, snaking an arm through Kara’s blazer. Lena’s hand moves over her back in a soothing motion, as though she knew where Kara’s mind was at. Kara loved that about her.

She’s a vision in a dress of deep burgundy that compliments her skin, clings to every curve. Her eyes are alight with the twinkle of mischief, and she might also be a smidge flushed, too, from the wine. It’s a (very) pleasant distraction. 

“You're crying already,” she teases. “It’s not even the wedding yet.” 

Only then does Kara realize that her cheek is wet.

“Well, I'm a sap for happy endings so…”

“Aunt Lena!” Little Esme, belle of the ball, tiny thief who stole hearts wherever she went, comes bounding up to them with the largest, proudest grin.

“Aunt Lena, this is for you.” The little girl gives Lena a friendship bracelet of red and blue. “Thank you for my reggle-later, I can play in the park with the other kids now.” 

Lena had thoughtfully come up with the device when she’d heard about the incident at Esme’s last foster home. She’d taught the girl how to use it some weeks ago, told her to think of it like training wheels until she learned to control her powers.

Lena admires the bracelet, chirrups about how well-made it is, and thanks Esme with a warm hug.

“They give those out to anyone these days.” Kara says in mock indignation.

Lena only scrunches her nose and sticks her tongue out at her.

The girl goes back to the larger group, or as Kara thinks, her adoring public, leaving the two of them alone again. Lena straightens up and puts her arm back around Kara's waist. She regards her gift with an endearing little smile on her face, and Kara’s heart is very near bursting; it surprises her that it hasn’t already.

“Suits you,” Kara says fondly. 

“What, this?”

“Happiness. The bracelet, too.”

Lena only gives her a soft little laugh in turn.

Kara tugs her ever closer and tenderly kisses her brow. Lena melts into it, lets her other hand rest over Kara’s abdomen. The moment takes them over, and the world around them fades away. One day, she might tell Lena that she is the best thing that has ever happened to her. One day, she might tell Lena that she loved her from the day they met. One day, she might tell her that she wants to spend the rest of her life making her smile the way she’s smiling now. One day. For now, Kara is content to have Lena back in her life, to have her here in her arms. If she’s lucky, Kara thinks, maybe she could have her happy ending too.

Alex’s voice cuts clear across the room.

“Hey!” She calls out jokingly. “No one is allowed to be cheesier than us tonight.”

Lena immediately buries her face in Kara’s shoulder, and Kara extends her arms placatingly as they move to join the others at the game table, uttering a bunch of sorrys the whole way.

“Yeah,” Kelly seconds with a laugh. “Go get your own engagement party.”

And with the way Lena is blushing so hard right now under the weight of all this affection, the way she glows being surrounded by people who love her, Kara thinks she might not need to wait too long to do just that.

[unprofessional-bard]

Bigby Having a Crush on a Co-worker Headcanons

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Based on this request.

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x F!Reader

Warnings: —

Author's Note: I hope this is okay with you and that you like it, dear anon who requested this 🥺💘

Enjoy!

• Bigby walks into Snow's office to an unfamiliar scent in the room. He then remembers that the new person who was chosen to help him around the office was going to start that evening.

• His eyes go wide at the sight of his new co-worker. A fable he hasn't seen before, but she somehow looks familiar.

• Snow introduces them, and as they shake hands, Bigby almost misses the way her heart rate picks up while he's entranced by how beautiful she is.

• She's later revealed to be none other than Puss in Boots herself. She used to be a thief, but no one really knew what she looked like as she was a professional and never left any leads or tracks behind.

• So it comes as a shock to Bigby, naturally. Her presence in the office she quite possibly stole from made him feel a little irritated, as he never was able to catch her, but the more they spend time and work together, it fades away.

• She's a little shy to his surprise, but that's okay. He doesn't like talking too much anyways. Her quietness helps out a bunch– it's as if he's alone, everything is mostly how they were.

• Except for the scent.

• Her scent is very kind to his sensitive nose, her perfume is pleasant rather than revolting and Bigby gets used to it pretty quickly.

• She wasn't his secretary, but his desk and files start to appear less messy after she visits his office to drop in some files throughout the day, which he appreciates, even though she respects his organised messiness.

• "You wanna get some coffee?" Also quickly becomes a nice habit between the two. He might not admit it, but he was glad to have someone other than Snow as his company.

• When he realises this, and thinks about how much he enjoys her shy little smiles and conversations that weren't tiring or work related, he comes to a full stop.

• He's absolutely screwed.

• Meanwhile, she's been walking around with burning cheeks and ears ever since they were introduced. She hadn't really seen him before, but she also never would've guessed he'd be a handsome, tired little wreck.

• It's attractive. To her anyway.

• He's tired– Almost never sleeps, a total workaholic (probably makes himself drown in it), and she couldn't even imagine the harassment he faced on a daily basis because of his reputation as The Big Bad Wolf– but it doesn't take her long to start to see through all the tough layers. He just needs some validation, she thinks... or just a hug.

• She feels like a schoolgirl, developing a little crush on him as she did. But she can't help it, not when he's being so... gentle, and careful. Caring, even.

• The more they work together, the safer she begins to feel around him.

• They both start to have solid ideas about what the other likes/dislikes, the silence starts to disappear over time, and they both grow more bold– Bigby more than her, anyways.

• It's still a little awkward on the outside: She's very shy and he's very introverted and neither of them like to talk too much. But between them? They have their own way of communicating.

• One day Bigby sees her cat form napping on his desk and almost loses it.

• An ordinary cat, but with the most beautiful eyes and fur, it's as if she was drawn by an artist.

• His heart warms at the sight and almost goes to caress her back, but her ears perk up and she goes back to her glamoured appearance.

• She apologises dozens of times, even when he says it's okay dozens of times back.

• "You spent the night here?" He doesn't care if she was glamoured or not (she wasn't like Toad after all).

• "I... Yes– But for good reason!" She starts explaining how she worked for a very late hour and fell asleep on the desk, and made herself comfortable while she was at it.

• "The door wasn't even locked." He's worried about how something could've happened to her.

• "I felt safe enough here."

• It's his desk. His office. He's confused, but not really. No one would dare enter his office because he's the Big Bad Wolf, right?

• "I– Well, you make me feel very... safe, Bigby." She cringes and braces herself for the worst.

• But the worst never comes.

• "Really?" Even he can tell that had nothing to do with his scary reputation. She nods and looks away shyly, and his heart leaps to his throat.

• He says her name so softly, a hundred thousand butterflies turn her stomach upside down. She looks into his eyes with a cute little smile and a fleeing gaze.

• Bigby slowly takes a small step forward and gently takes her hand in his big one, gives the top of it a soft caress and smiles warmly.

• She appreciates his gesture – keeping distance, giving her space to back off if she wanted to. But she doesn't.

• He brings her hand upwards very, very slowly, to his mouth and quietly asks: "May I?"

• She gasps quietly and senses his awkwardness, so she immediately smiles afterwards and nods. She can't quite believe how the tables turned the way they did when he places a soft, phantom of a kiss on her knuckles.

• It's so uncharacteristic and out of place, but she likes it very much, so she gives his hand a light squeeze with a big smile on her face.

• "I'm glad to hear that." He smiles back, referring to her feeling safe around him, and makes it clear that, after many many months, the feeling was indeed mutual.

[spacedikut]

the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

[paperpocalypse]

significance.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 26. Cuddling in comfortable silence before murmuring “I love you” + 47. “I’ve been in love with you for years”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,118 words

Warning: Swearing, violence

His head feels like it’s been split open, the rest of his body feels like one giant bruise and the Handler’s daughter has her fancy leather boot on his fucking throat.

Five couldn’t be less surprised by his luck.

“Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

He forces in just enough breath to answer her. “Eat shit and die …!”

The reaction is worth it. Lila lets out a furious cry, gritting her teeth and bringing her foot down even harder – and in doing so, changes her center of gravity. Opportunity. Five digs his nails into that damned shoe and pushes upwards. The sudden force sends her flying, and he can breathe again.

Fighting the ache in his bones, Five stumbles to his feet as she does the same. “Come on,” he pants, readying his stance as the woman turns to face him again. “What are you waiting for? Let’s finish this thing.”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, sniffling. “This isn’t gonna be quick. You are going to suffer for what you did.”

Suffer? For Christ’s sake – Five scoffs and drops his hands. “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ronnie and Anita Gill.”

“Mean nothing to me.”

“1993, East London.” Lila continues to stare at him like he knows what the hell she’s talking about. “You hog-tied them and you shot them in the head.”

Five narrows his eyes; it’s very possible that she’s just bullshitting him. But despite the rationality of just ignoring her and going for the kill, he searches his memories anyway. 1993, East London. Hog-tied. Tables overturned, the pleas of a couple inside a tiny flat in the middle of the night. Yes, wait – he does remember. 1993, toys strewn everywhere – he told you to close your eyes but you didn’t – East London, two quick shots –

“We had no choice.”

“I know. But …”

“The flower merchants,” he murmurs. Five looks at her with wide eyes. “They were your parents …!”

“And they never did anything to anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The Handler ordered him to kill Lila’s parents. Lila, who has powers like them. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Absorbing this newfound information, Five attempts to talk the woman down as he fills out the rest of the picture. “You’re right, alright? I killed them. But I killed a lot of people over the years. It was all just a job. Alright? That was never personal.”

At that, Lila laughs. “‘Never personal,’ my ass,” she sneers. “Yeah, I’ve killed – it’s always, always personal.”

“That’s why you’re not cut out to be an assassin.”

She yanks a knife out of her boot as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Bet your life on that?”

Right then, a shadow moves in the doorway to the barn. Five immediately knows who it is, and his heart seizes in his chest.

“Lila!” Your voice is firm and taunting.

Shit. Shit!

Without hesitation, Five lunges for the knife, only to find himself grabbing at air as Lila reappears behind you. The blade is pressed against your neck before he can even shout your name.

Five clenches his fists as he meets your eyes. Your expression is stony, hands stiffly grasping at Lila’s arm. Jesus Christ, just a little energy to blink – nothing –!

Fucking shit!

“Let her go.”

—

The bearded man smiles. “Sorry, no can do.”

The alley is frigid and dark, the air damp and rotting. He doesn’t move a muscle. In front of him, you breathe steadily, in and out, not saying a word. The steel barrel pressed flush to your temple mirrors the one against his.

“Just hand over your valuables and that briefcase, and we can be on our way.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice steady and cold. (It makes him proud.) “Everything stays with us.”

He looks at you. You blink.

Within the next half-second, he’s knocked your captor to the ground and the two of you are aiming the guns at their previous owners. They raise their hands almost immediately. Exactly like the exercise from his youth.

Another half-second, and both of you pull the triggers.

Five stares down at the corpse now lying on the ground. Then he straightens his tie and turns to you.

You’re still pointing the gun at the other target. His frown softens.

“[Y/n].”

Putting a hand on your arm, he notes how you stiffen, snapping out of whatever zone you had been in. You meet his eyes and breathe in sharply, then relax.

“We’re done.” You frame the question as more of a statement as Five takes the former thief’s gun from you.

“For the night,” he affirms, holding your gaze curiously. “You good?”

You wet your lips and tuck your weapon away. “I’m okay,” you eventually reply. He raises an eyebrow; your mouth twitches. “I just – well, you’re taking this whole assassin thing a lot better than I am. Pointing guns and shooting and killing for real, and – and all that pizzazz.”

“I was a member of the Umbrella Academy,” Five points out dryly. “Thirteen more years of formal training and being able to spatial jump gives me somewhat of an advantage.”

“… That’s true.” Still, you seem unsettled. “Five, you’re okay with this? We’re … killing people.”

“No. But we have no other option,” he says. “It’s only until I figure out how to get us back, alright?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”

The pair of you leave the alley, leaving the targets there to be found by the police. The fact that they had a gun pointed at your head should make him feel better about it. They were already criminals, too. Self-defense instead of cold-blooded “corrections.”

There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth anyway.

“You hold your own pretty well,” he murmurs after a while, trying to distract himself.

You grant him a small, knowing smile. “Thanks,” you say, taking his arm as the pair of you walk the rest of the way to the motel. “I had a good teacher while I was stuck in the ruins of the apocalypse.”

He hums. “Weren’t you lucky?”

Your hand tightens around the sleeve of his tailored suit.

“The luckiest.”

—

He’s going to kill her.

Teeth bared, Five starts toward her, only to stop short when Lila presses the blade harder against your throat.

“Not another step, Five,” she warns him, her grip tightening. “Or you’ll both regret it.”

“She’s not responsible for what happened. I was the one who killed them!”

“But she didn’t stop you, did she?”

Five struggles to control his rage. The knife is sharp and black underneath your jaw, ready to draw blood at a moment’s notice.

You inhale shallowly. “Lila,” you rasp.

“Don’t speak.”

“Look,” Five forces out as evenly as he can, catching the woman’s attention again. He can’t take his eyes off that goddamn knife. Five can almost feel the edge cutting into his own skin. “You wanna blame someone, blame the Handler, alright? She faked the kill order.”

“Bullshit! I saw the kill order. AJ Carmichael ordered it, and you and [Y/n] carried it out.”

“Lila, listen to what I’m telling you, alright? The Handler gave us the kill order. She came on the job, which she’d never done before.” He unclenches his fists with unwilling, trembling fingers. His mind is reeling. “You’re Commission. You know execs never go on jobs, but that day in London, she was there. Ask yourself why –”

“Stop trying to muddy the waters.”

Five swallows, pulse racing. He rips his eyes away from your neck to gauge Lila’s expression. Doubt is beginning to bleed into it, and he manages to keep his tone level.

Focus on completing the picture. No sudden movements.

“Think about it, Lila. It all makes sense.”

Lila’s grip on the knife relaxes by the smallest amount. She hesitates for a moment before speaking. “What?”

“She never cared about your parents. She was looking for you.”

What little is left of her anger melts off Lila’s face. For the first time, the girl looks completely vulnerable. And it’s not a farce.

“Why?” she whispers.

Come on …

“‘Cause you’re one of us.”

Lila whips her head around when Diego cuts through the silence, holding you even more tightly against herself. Five’s gaze snaps back to the knife again and he swears internally.

Dammit, Diego, you better have a plan!

“The Handler stole you, Lila. Just like our asshole father took all of us,” his brother explains carefully.

“No. It’s not the same thing.”

“You’re right. Because he didn’t have our parents murdered.” Diego approaches her, staying low to the ground, hands outstretched. “Listen to me, Lila. You were born October 1, 1989, the same day as all of us.”

The rest of his siblings close in on Lila, slowly, warily. The movement sends her into a panic, and she cuts a little into your neck. You let out half of a gasp and swallow the rest of it, but it’s enough.

Five sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her!”

“STAY BACK!”

“Five! Back off!” Diego shouts. Chest heaving and blood roaring in his ears, Five looks at him and then at your sweaty, frozen face – and against every fiber of his being, he listens and backs off, glaring venomously as his brother then turns to Lila again. “Lila? Lila, stop. Let her go.”

She turns her head from side to side, knuckles white as she keeps the knife against your throat. “No,” she chokes. “Diego, you don’t understand. They killed my parents. They took my life away from me.”

Five seethes. “For the last time, it was nothing personal –"

“And it was wrong. I know.” Diego’s eyes flit to Five’s, silently reprimanding. “You want to make them pay for what they did. But killing [Y/n]’s not gonna bring your parents back. You know that.”

“It’s not about bringing them back.”

He nods once, softly. “You’re right. It’s about justice. Honoring their memory.” Diego’s voice is gentle. “Trust me, Lila, I get it. I lost someone to the Commission too. She wasn’t family, but she was my friend, and I cared about her. She wasn’t supposed to die. She didn’t deserve to die. But she did.”

As Diego continues talking, Five keeps his guard up on the other side, watching and waiting for a contraction of a muscle, a single forewarning of violence. If another drop of your blood stains that blade, shit, he’ll kill the woman with his own two hands, Diego’s feelings be damned.

Tightening his jaw, Five shifts on his feet as he looks at you. You stare back with calm eyes – just like that night in the alley, but this time, with no signal for him to make a move.

Goddammit, they should’ve gotten you to safety by now!

“… Just think about whether taking another life would honor their memory. [Y/n] deserves a chance to start over, live a peaceful life with people she cares about. And so do you.”

Lila’s trembling. Yet, she refuses to budge. “If it weren’t for her and Five,” she whispers, “I wouldn’t need that second chance. I would have been all alone if Mum hadn’t found me that night.”

“But there’s a reason she found you. She’s using you, Lila. The Handler.”

“You’re wrong. She raised me.” Lila pauses, then asserts, “She loves me.”

“She’s dangerous,” Diego emphasizes. “And you’re scared of what she’ll do with all that new power. That’s why you dragged me to the Commission. Because I know what it’s like to love dangerous people.”

—

“Oh, my.” The Handler puts a hand on his shoulder, hovering behind him. “One hundred and forty-three kills on the simulation? That’s a new record. Very, very good, Five.”

Five bristles at her closeness, but he doesn’t move away, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of unnerving him. “Thanks,” he says tersely.

“Tell me, Five. From what I’ve seen during your training, you’d be a lot more efficient in the field if you were a one-man team. Working alone is when you work best.”

“I’m partnering up with [Y/n].”

“And you’ve filled out the paperwork and everything, I know. I know. But I implore you to think about it logically,” the Handler tells him, leading him down the hallway. “[Y/n] has highly marked assessments, but frankly, they’re nowhere near your level.” She raises her eyebrows at him and blows out a stream of smoke. “Forgive me for assuming, but perhaps this is less about a partnership that would benefit the Commission and more about your personal … relationship.”

Five smiles thinly at her. “With all due respect, we’ve worked together for years. Almost forty years, in fact. I can assure you that our partnership will deliver more than satisfactory results.”

The woman just hums serenely, eyebrows still raised and cigarette holder between her lips as he faces her. Behind her, he sees you approaching.

“Excuse me,” he says politely.

As he sidesteps the Handler to meet you halfway, your shared employer calls out to him, voice ringing through the sparse crowd of Commission drones. “You’re a dangerous man, Five,” she drawls, “and this is a dangerous job. If you want to protect someone, we won’t stop you, but don’t let it endanger this opportunity we’ve so generously provided. To the both of you.”

“Duly noted,” Five replies over his shoulder, walking away with you. He can hear the Handler’s heels click against the floor as she goes on her way as well.

“She’s suspicious about us partnering up, isn’t she?” you ask him lowly.

He frowns. “I would be too if I were her. But we have to stay together.”

“Well.” You reach up to adjust his hat, tilting it slightly. “In any case, I’m pulling my own weight in the field. Just like in the apocalypse. No one-sided protection.”

“[Y/n], this is different from the apocalypse. We’re not dealing with food shortages or bad weather – we’re dealing with people.”

“All the more reason for you to trust me.” Despite your usual controlled tone and mien, he sees the way that your eyes glint. “I’m kinda dangerous myself, Five. Especially for the people I love, and I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Five sighs.

“You’re so sappy, you know that?”

(Nevertheless, he finds himself mumbling those four words, just loud enough for only you to hear.)

—

“Difference is …” Diego glances around at their siblings, then looks down, “they love me back.”

“Shut up.”

“The only thing she loves is power. Now, the minute she can’t use you, she will turn on you, and deep down, I know you know that.”

She tilts the knife against your neck. Five sucks in a breath, his heart pounding.

“You don’t know me, Diego.” Lila’s voice is hoarse.

Diego steps closer. He lifts a hand to cover hers over the knife.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. “I know that we can be your family. If you just let us.”

Lila’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Hesitantly, she turns her head to look around at his family, and in that moment, Five has a cautious inkling that Diego’s words actually got through to her. She doesn’t resist when Diego pulls her hand gently.

When she releases you, he almost feels weak with relief.

Five murmurs your name as you stagger over to him; you grab his arms, and he raises his hands to hold your face between them.

“Shit,” he breathes, “[Y/n] –”

“I’m okay,” he hears you say, but his ears are ringing and your skin is cold and shit, your neck – delicately, Five tilts your head back, and you attempt to brush his hands away. “Five, it’s – it’s just a scratch …”

His fingers brush against a wetness on your skin. You wince, almost imperceptibly. He draws back to look at his hand, and when he sees the blood on his fingertips, your blood, the wave of relief crashing onto him abruptly morphs back into rage.

Before you can pull him back, Five lunges at Lila.

Gunshots echo throughout the barn.

—

You’re smiling.

—

He wakes up, gasping for breath.

“Oh, good! You’re still alive,” the Handler says, looming over him. Her lipstick is bright red through the dizzying blurs. “Lucky you. You got to see how this all played out.”

Grappling for air, Five tries to speak – tries to give one last word, to finally tell the damned snake to fuck off as he stares into the barrel of her automatic. But it hurts to breathe and he can’t. Fuck, it hurts. It hurts. His tongue feels like lead and his throat is closed up. All he can do is look.

But before she can pull the trigger, he hears gunfire.

Bullets rend flesh that isn’t his. Five’s eyes widen, stunned; the Handler gasps sharply. She turns. More gunfire.

She falls.

Shit, that could only mean.… Five struggles to lift his head, almost blacking out from the pain as the gunman approaches, crushing straw underfoot. A shadow falls over him.

The Swede silently tilts his gun down at his face, and he realizes: they are both the last ones. Everyone else is dead. The Swede’s brothers. The Handler. Lila. His siblings. You.

This is the end.

(This doesn’t have to be the end.)

… Five blinks, numb.

(You’re the one who got us stuck here.)

Unless …

(Seconds. Not decades.)

Seconds.

His lungs burn. Hope blooms in his chest.

(C’mon, Five.)

Concentrate. Hands clenching sluggishly, Five focuses on gaining back the feeling in them. Seconds, not decades. A familiar, electric buzz thrums through his bones, warm, crackling with energy. His hands begin to glow. Blue envelops them like they had so many times before.

It happens slowly, time reversing itself like molasses oozing back into a jar. The Swede lowers his arm and retreats. Bodies begin to rise. Five feels himself getting pushed up, and his feet touch the ground; he presses forward, running, refusing to look back. The sharp pains recede to a singular ache.

Seconds.

Seconds.

He breaks through behind the barn door with a gasp. Air fills his chest, full and crisp.

Immediately, Five looks back at you and everyone else, standing and breathing, and pats himself just to make sure.

Holy shit.

Spotting movement outside, Five leaps at the Handler just as she walks in, seizing her weapon and turning it on her. His finger curls at the trigger. She raises her hands in surrender, lips pursed.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What Five said,” he hears Lila ask. He doesn’t dare look away from her mother, meeting her poisonous glare with an equally cold one. “Answer me! Is it true?”

The Handler takes in a breath. “Well –”

Before she can finish her sentence, blood sprays out from her chest. She collapses. Dead.

The Swede. Five stares at her body, gun lowering. There’s a pregnant pause, void of any air – and then in his periphery, Lila shoots forward.

Luther charges after her. “The case!”

“No!”

Diego tackles him to the ground. Lila disappears in a flash of blue.

One dead, one missing. Neither of which are you or his siblings. There might be hope for them yet. Rolling his shoulders, Five turns his attention to the rogue assassin, cocking his gun and pointing it at him. The Swede reciprocates.

Nobody utters a word, for fear that it may be their last. But as Five feels the weight of the automatic in his arms, he wonders, suddenly, just how much he has in common with this man. A forgotten humanity. The death of their families. The force of a person with nothing to lose.

Except in the Swede’s case, he has no chance of gaining back what he had lost.

This is the end.

Five takes his finger off the trigger, then after a brief hesitation, lets go of the gun.

“Enough,” he says.

Nothing happens at first. The only sign that the man heard him is how he looks away from Five, surveying the rest of the barn’s occupants.

Five returns his gaze firmly, muscles tense, when he meets it again. The Swede regards him for another moment, then finally speaks.

“Inte mer.”

He drops his weapon. No more killing.

—

After Vanya helps the kid and calms him down, she goes with him and Sissy to help them pack up. Everyone else exits the barn as well to rest up and say their goodbyes before leaving, save for Diego, who talks to Herb and Dot with you and Five before joining the rest of the group at the house.

As soon as everything seems like it’s on track, Five brings you straight to the bathroom before you can protest.

“Five, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

In a familiar turn of events, you’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, sulking as he cleans the rest of the dried blood from your neck. Five scowls as he inspects the thin, rough scab underneath your jaw. For shit’s sake, it’s more than a ‘scratch’ – but at the very least, the cut wasn’t deep enough to cause too much bleeding.

Obviously, he’d have preferred it if you hadn’t gotten cut at all.

“She could’ve killed you.”

“I know,” you murmur. He glares at you softly, and you reach over to hold his hand. “Sorry for worrying you.”

Five scoffs, shaking his head. “Worrying me? I was damn well past worrying when she –” At that moment, he makes the mistake of seeing the guilt in your eyes, and he sighs. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You shrug quietly as he opens a large Band-Aid. “That I had to do something to keep you safe.”

“At your expense?”

Your miniscule smile changes into a grimace for a split second when he sticks the bandage on, but it returns immediately after. “You would’ve done the same thing, Five.”

All he can retort with is a displeased huff.

Silently, you stand up and turn him around, urging him to sit down this time as you pluck another hand towel from the stack that Vanya had given the two of you. Five sits still, mouth shut and eyes watching, as you start cleaning his face. Your expression is tender. A familiar feeling wells up inside of him.

Suddenly, you chuckle.

“What?”

“It’s just – if I didn’t know any better,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly grimy spot on his cheek, “I’d think that you were a schoolboy that just got into a fight and lost.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, good thing that you do know better, because I obviously would’ve won.”

“Obviously.” Your eyes glint, like they have so many times before.

—

“How bad does it hurt?”

Your hand is soft in his as he glances at his wrist, propped up on a stack of books, then into the small fire burning a few feet away. “Not that much,” he answers. “Thanks for splinting it.”

“Thanks for talking me through it.” You breathe in, head on his shoulder, testing the words on your tongue before you continue. “I was worried. I’m glad it’s feeling better.”

A wrist sprain is nothing to write home about, figuratively speaking. It’s more of an inconvenience than an actual concern; Five figures that the injury will heal in a week, a week and a half at the most. Frankly, he’s more concerned about how much longer it’ll take to complete daily tasks in the meantime.

… You, on the other hand – well, he wonders if you’ve ever gotten anything more than a few cuts and scrapes growing up. The closest he had ever seen you get to panicking was after he fell today, and you’ve been wandering around with him for years.

In a strange way, Five thinks, he was glad for it. He is glad for you. Glad for your presence, your level head. He is glad for the way you hold his hand and talk to him during the day and after dark. And he is glad, secretly, that you want to protect him just like he wants to protect you.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, rough and unbidden.

Five holds his breath when they echo in his ears. You stop tapping your fingers over his skin. Perhaps that’s a bad thing. It was not a mistake, of course, and he isn’t going to take it back, but if that wasn’t what you were saying this whole time – shit. He lets go of your hand, his throat scratchy and strangely closed up.

But then – your fingertips brush his face. He swallows.

“I love you too.”

[sherlokiness]

White, white, white, white, white but you know what's not white? Her blue eyes. Her dark honey hair. Her red cheeks.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

This is a Sansa reference. And not foreshadowing for Val turning into a wight. One could argue he forgot the color of Val's eyes but it's undermined by the fact that he put three dots before it. GRRM made Jon elaborate on what's white on Val(There are 5)just so he could contrast it to a color that is finally not white- her eyes cause they are blue. If it's a mistake then GRRM failed epically with this passage. Using an ellipsis for emphasis but not bothering to double check?Even the hair color is wrong!

Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice.

As you can see, GRRM later used the same trick with Dany. Person X is mentioned but then is later described with traits not belonging to them. I think we can conclude that both passages are talking about different people.(Sansa or Jon/Euron)

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Imagine if GRRM added that last line. I would be an Aegony rn. Gotta hand it to GRRM to make the moon do the impossible to have honey be turned into silver.

The last time he saw such a sight was this

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. 

Blue eyed, dark honey hair,belonging with a 'ghost' direwolf? Check.

He's so blown away he had to ask

"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.

Have you been trying to steal me? Jon and Ghost are one. "Ghost is a part of him..."

"You wrong me, ser. I am no thief!"

Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. "Then how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?"

Jon/Roland upon seeing Val/Sansa talks about stealing an important part of them.

The language used is "have been trying" meaning this is not the first time this has happened. When did she ever try to steal his wolf? It should be " Are you trying to steal my wolf?" I hope you can see my point.

It calls to mind this exchange

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

Anon means soon or shortly and only used twice. GRRM must have known that it is an unusual use of the word soon since she was referring to a dance in the past.

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

The correct meaning of anon is used here and it also makes us remember Waymar(Jon Snow parallel and who also happened to be Sansa's first love 🤣)

Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then."

We all know Jon will "dance" with the WW. But since anon is used, we harken back to Alys's words which Jon changed from the past (you danced) to the future ( you'll dance) with me.

So anon is not used correctly and this Jon response(he's about to betray the Wildlings) was also used incorrectly and it doesn't make sense unless he's foreshadowing a different event

The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and  drown. 

As I've explained here, there's no way GRRM used drowning in someone's eyes as a metaphor for falling in love multiple times(5 times) just to make the sixth one(Jon's) an exception. Let's look at this earlier Sansa chapter in the same book.

She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.

Sansa is fantasizing about the Knight of Flowers.

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

So "a man will drown in those eyes" while Jon said he "will fall into those eyes and drown." Such coincidental wording and both cases involve water (sea and wells).

It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue.

This is how Tyrion was described when he nearly drowned. Makes you think.