#but i do think i found some paper that will work i just have to hope its decent quality

[luveline]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

cw painkiller high, light suggestive theme 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hello.” 

You lift your gaze without blinking. Hotch is standing in the doorway, making his way in with a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm and a white envelope against his chest. 

“Hello,” he says again, meeting your wide, still eyes with concern. “You okay?” 

“Flowers for me?” 

“You’re the one here in a hospital bed. They’re from me and Jack. He insisted.” 

You nod up and down robotically. Your heart is unhappy today. You’ve been fast and slow and now it’s running fast again, a tip-tip-tip on the heart monitor that makes Hotch frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They told me you were on a lot of pain medication, you shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Is it not working?” 

“I feel a lot.” 

“And that’s unsettling,” he surmises.

“Can I have my flowers?” 

Hotch offers them to you immediately. “Why don’t you count to a hundred for me?” 

“They’re beautiful, but there’s not that many.” 

“Count to one hundred. I can start. Do you need me to start for you?” 

You dip your face into the flowers. “I love when you say stuff like that.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer you. You begin counting, hoping he’ll say a nice thing if you do as he asked. The numbers get mixed up after thirty five, there really aren’t enough flowers to count to a hundred, but when forty five and fifty four begin to feel like the same number spiritually, Hotch reaches for your forearm and gives it a squeeze. That means job well done. Nobody else in the team gets arm squeezes —they’re for you. Nobody else has noticed, but you have. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

You beam at him. The heart monitor beeps in slow loops. “You’re welcome. Did it help?” 

“I’d say so.” He takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the chair, pulling the chair towards the bed with his foot, and getting comfortable beside you, a little lower down than you but tall regardless. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.” 

“I got you flowers the last time you were injured.” 

“I know,” you say with a laugh. “I know, it was amazing.” 

“Here’s your card from Jack. I’ve opened it for you, I hope that’s okay.” 

“I cannot open anything. I tried to stab my pudding open with a spoon and broke it and can’t find the sharp part in my blankets. I’m worried it’s going to poke me.” 

Hotch stands from his chair. “That’s not good.” 

You take up Jack’s card, pinching the folded printer paper and pulling all of its homemade glory from the envelope. The front has a red heart drawn with bandages wrapped around it, and inside is a message written in impressive penmanship considering his age. To Y/N, it says, Please get well soon. We are hoping you to have a speedy recovery! Love you, Jack and Aaron 

“It says you love me,” you say. 

“Mm, Jack wrote the message. He misses you.” 

You catch the feeling of Hotch’s hand where it slips between your legs and almost burst, giggling excitedly, which makes his hand jump away from you like a fish out of water. “You have the spoon!” 

“Found it. No more danger.” 

“Thank you. I knew you could find it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The pain medication Hotch spoke of is starting to make itself known. You hadn’t felt very different to begin with, the only worthy note your absence of pain, but right now you feel weird. Light. Happy, but strange, like the opposite feeling of missing a step. You know something’s wrong and you know it’s the medication, but you’re elated at the same time. Hotch is here. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’ll know. 

“Do you think I feel happy ‘cos of you or the morphine?” you ask. Softly, slurring, you swallow and try not to sound as drunk. “I feel amazing.” 

“It’s the morphine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had some myself, but I remember feeling amazing at the time, and you’re on a lot more of it than I was.” Hotch sets himself back down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you staying for long?” 

“Until they make me leave,” he says. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Yesterday you were here for ten minutes and I felt like my heart was bruised.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment. His eyes seem darker than usual. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to be home to take care of Jack.” 

“I know you had to, it’s not your fault, but I still missed you.” 

You prop Jack’s amazing card on the nightstand with a proud grin. You love Jack Hotchner, he’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest boy you’ve ever met, and it must be because of his parents. You’ve not met Haley many times, but Hotch is amazing. It makes sense that his kid would be just as awesome as he is. Turning your attention back to the flowers, you find the courage to ask, “Do you think you could bring Jack to see me?” 

“I think he might be a little young for hospitals, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, maybe I can see him when I’m out of the hospital? How can I say thank you for the card? Does he still like bears?” 

“He has enough bears,” Hotch says gently. “You don’t need to buy him anything, he just wants you to get better soon.” 

“You’re such a good dad.” Your lashes kiss with the force of your smile. “You’re lovely. Jack is really kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re handsome,” you continue, slinking down in the bed. You feel tired but not sleepy, craving a really big, hot sandwich. Hotch holds your gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“What?” he asks quietly. 

“Can you please get me a big, hot sandwich? Maybe with hot chicken? Or spicy chicken in a burrito? I really need it to be hot.” 

Hotch laughs aloud and reaches for your forearm to squeeze you again. “Of course I can. I’ll call Derek and I’ll make him get you both of those things, if you like.” 

“Oh, good. I really really don’t want you to leave but I really want the sandwich more than I want you to stay.” You tip your head to one side. “If you hugged me again I’d say I want you to stay more than I want the sandwich, ‘cos you haven’t hugged me in a long time.” 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, the pad of his thumb working against your wrist. 

“No, I know I’m not supposed to want you to hug me.” 

“We’re friends,” he says, shaking his head, “good friends, aren’t we? It’s alright if you want a hug. I should be better at giving them.” 

When he was with Haley you wouldn’t have dreamed of wanting it, because your affection for him has always been more than a friend‘s. You’ve guarded the secret carefully over the years. What’s more unfair to a wife than to fancy her husband? But Haley left Hotch, and he’s been single for a while now, and you think that lately he’s actively dating. He’s always had pride in his appearance, but his suits are tailored again. His hair is left to grow beyond what’s easily maintained. He and Dave occasionally joke about him getting back out there —he doesn’t need to get out there, you’re right here. 

You can’t help frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I think I’m a bad friend.” 

“You aren’t a bad friend.” 

“I am, I have ulterior motives.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes. “Honey, everybody does. You’re fine. You’re a good friend. You know you’re the sole member of the team who’s remembered Jack’s birthday every year? Remembered mine?” 

“I don’t do that to be a good friend, I just love Jack.” 

His hand slips down to yours. He holds it briefly. “I know you do.” 

“It’s why I remember yours,” you say, shaking your head, annoyed he’s taken his hand back but ready to move on to better things. “Can you ask Derek for my sandwich now, please? Please, please, I’m so hungry I’m gonna die.” 

Hotch gives you a funny look. “How about I go and get you your sandwich? I’ll be very fast. I’ll go to Sam’s across the street, would you like that?” 

“Can I have maybe a donut too?” 

“Sure, honey. I’ll get you a half dozen.” 

“Really?” 

“Sure. Do you want any in particular?” 

Hotch goes off to get you a sandwich and you click the button for more morphine without really thinking. You’re asleep before he gets back.

—

You wake up shaking. 

Aaron straightens in his chair. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it’s nearing the end of your visiting hours and he’s been here since three. Your sandwich is stone cold in the bag and he’s not sure how he’ll get it warmed up.

Your arms are trembling badly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Hotch, where am I?” 

Aaron stands. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had some morphine and it ended up sedating you. The shaking will calm down soon, but nothing’s wrong, okay?” 

You’re noticeably confused, and Aaron hates it enough to sew his fingers between yours. His are thicker by quite a bit, but he’s used to smaller hands. He’s careful with you. He can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier. 

The undercurrent of fear you’d been harbouring begins to ebb. You let Aaron hold your hand and settle back down into your sheets, turning your face toward him and shutting your eyes. You don’t seem sleepy. He’s not sure what’s wrong. 

When you say you love him, he understands. He loves you, too. He doesn’t think that he’s in love with you, but he could be. He’s had enough guilty daydreams about it, batted them away, moments doing the dishes or at the gym or when you’re standing together working a case, where he forgets to forbid himself the pleasure and imagines you in simple intimacies. He sees himself taking your hand. He pictures waking up to the smell of you on his pillows. When he’s especially pent up and you’ve haunted him with your bare face or a shy smile, he ends the day thinking of you. How he’d kiss your head with just a little of his weight atop you, or a lot. 

And then he feels so horribly wrong for doing it that he resigns himself to the distance between you forever. 

Aaron doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he could fall in love with you if given the chance. He has to determine how honest your morphine-confession was, and there’s no time like the present. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

“I brought you the donuts and a sandwich, but I’ll have to reheat it. I’m sorry.” 

“Did I ask for a sandwich?” you ask, startled.

“A hot one. You emphasised.” 

“Thank you, Aaron. I don’t think I’m hungry now, I’m kinda queasy.” 

“You had a little bit more morphine than you should’ve.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says under his breath, “that’s not your fault.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly. Any want to draw the truth from you is quickly dwindling. All he wants now is to make sure you’re okay. 

He spills himself closer to you and, without untangling your hands, brings your thin blankets to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. The queasiness won’t last long. In fact, eating might help, but we can wait.” 

“Don’t you have to go home?” 

“No, I can stay if you want me to.” 

“Please, I want you to.” 

“You’re still on the morphine,” he says, rubbing your hand, “I can ask them to lower your dosage if you don’t like it, but you have to remember that it’s keeping you unaware of your pain.” 

You hesitate. “I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Then it won’t,” he promises. You had more than your fair share of pain. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“This is all I want. For you to look after me.” 

He takes a measured breath. “I would love to look after you.” 

You turn your head half an inch to see him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying to blend the half of him you know at work with the half of him responsible for his outer life, the part of him that flirts with beautiful women at bars, the part of him that loved being a husband. “I don’t know what you want, and now isn’t the time, but,” —he prepares to be brave— “if you want me to look after you, then I will.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Can you kiss me?” 

His heart skips a beat. “No, honey, I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Not even on the head?” 

His stomach aches, but it’s a good feeling. Like worrying you lost something and finding it in the first place you’ve looked. “On the head I can do.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed in wait of his kiss, a light, chaste brush of the lips to your temple. The morphine makes you laugh, a girly, giggly bubble of it as you burrow into the sheets, like he’s tickled you. He’s twice as endeared when you squint at him like you’re waiting. 

“Can I–”

“One more,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “Any more than that and you’ll die of embarrassment when you’re not drugged out of your mind.” 

“I’m not out of my mind. I’m just hallucinating. Or having a great dream.” 

He’s inclined to agree, but he knows with confidence he hasn’t had any heavy medication today. He gives you a fond look and sits back down, obliging you when you scramble to put your hand in his again. It’s a weight he could get used to holding.

“I really like you,” you confess quietly. 

He quite likes you in return. “That’s great, honey. Do you want to talk about it later? Maybe you can have one of your donuts.” 

You don’t take his misdirection as rejection, you just pull his hand to your chest and smile. “No thank you. I can wait.” 

He can wait too. 

[nightsandrewrites]

Illyrian Males Pt. 2

Pairing: Cazriel x Reader

Summary: You navigate a new mating bond, while Cassian and Azriel reveal things they've been keeping from you...

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Smut, BDSM, depression, self sacrifice, use of Y/N

a/n: I had a block on this for the longest time, unsure where I would take a part two but it finally fell into place. This is darker than the first part, buckle up friends.

Part 1

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

The paperwork pulls in and out of focus in front of you. You rub the palms of your hands into your eyes and let them drop to the table with a sigh. It’s no good, you’ve been sitting here for far too long and nothing is getting done. You shove the papers away and pull one of the library's heavy books towards you.

“Y/N I’ve been looking for you.” Rhysand appears from the shadows of the bookshelves. “Well, you found me.” You smile up from the dusty tome. “Tell me that you’ve come for something far more interesting than this.” You gesture to the work spread out before you.

“I think so.” He smirks and takes a seat opposite you. “I’ve just received word that most of the female Illyrians in Windhaven have agreed to start training.” “What!” You shout and then shrink back as you recall the quiet sanctuary of the library around you. “What do you mean? Who convinced them?” “You did.” He reaches forward and starts flipping idly through one of the books on the table “Apparently the group you were headed to see in the cottage the other week witnessed that trainee lunge at you and then watched you take him down. Seeing your quick reaction and ability to defend yourself convinced them.” He straightens a little then and starts glancing around your small study space between the shelves. “That’s amazing, I’ll start working with Cassian on a training plan.” You start searching for a pen so you can jot down some ideas. “Hopefully when their training begins news will start spreading to the other camps and we can get those females involved as well.” “Speaking of Cassian.” Rhysand leans forward onto his forearm “Why do you smell like my General?” He grins wickedly at you. “And my Spymaster for that matter.” You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. “Well, I-, actually what I-” you were sure the blush now tinged your neck and the tips of your ears. “Relax” Rhysand leans back in his chair “It’s none of my business.” He begins picking invisible lint from his shoulder and you smile softly at his little ways of making you more comfortable. You take a deep breath. “Actually you should know.” You exhale to steady yourself. “I was hoping that Cass and Az would be here when you found out, but I’d rather not leave you to jump to your own conclusions.” You glance up to find his eyebrows raised in a ‘who me?’ fashion. “I know that they are mates and, well, I am also their mate.” You bite your lip waiting for his response. His eyes widen in surprise for all of three seconds and then he leans forward on clasped hands. “I triad bond huh.” He reaches a hand into the air, materialises a book from nowhere and begins flicking. “Extremely rare, I’ve actually never met someone in a triad before. I wonder if there are any additional benefits or detriments when compared to a regular bond.” he begins rambling “Of course I’ll mask your scent” Without looking up he clicks his fingers and you feel a ripple of his power wash over you. “You three will make an excellent case study, of course if you’re willing to answer some questions, nothing too personal obviously.” “Wait, you can mask my scent?” You ask. “Of course, who do you think has masked the scent of those two all over each other for centuries? You’ll be able to scent each other but it keeps it covered for others. It’s a tiny piece of my magic, a good way to keep burning it off really.” He replies without looking up from his new research.

“We decided to keep the bond a secret for now, if you’ve been doing it for them why wouldn’t they get you to do it for me right away?” You try to control the level of your voice. Rhysand looks up at you with a levelled stare.

“Y/N, they may be two of the greatest warriors to ever grace the Illyrian legions but they’re still males.” You cock your head to the side trying to understand. “They’re being territorial. They want you to smell like them. Even though it’s stupid and risks the bond being exposed.”

“Oh.” You sit back and feel the blush that just started to fade reappear across your cheeks.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

You walk into your room and find Cassian waiting in the armchair you keep in the corner.

“Finally, I thought I would have to come pull you from the library myself.” He jumps up and scoops you into his arms as your feet leave the ground.

“I got caught up with Rhysand.” You explain as you dip your head down and place a soft kiss to his lips. A flurry of jealousy washes down the bond.

“Really? Rhys?” You raise your eyebrows at him as he sets you back on your feet.

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “Mating bond is still chaffing a little bit.” He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair as he ducks his head.

“Well he knows now, about us I mean.” You gesture awkwardly between the two of you.

“You told him?” He smirks mischievously.

“I didn’t have to, he was curious to know why I smelt like you and your mate” You smack him lightly on the shoulder as you push past and dump your bag at your desk. “Why didn’t you tell me about the scent masking?” 

“Honestly it slipped my mind.” He shrugs. “It’s not like we’ve really left the house so the secret's still safe.”

He crosses the room towards you until you're forced to lean back into the desk to look up at him.

“Also is it so bad that you smell of me and our mate?” He dips down and begins to brush his lips along your neck.

Right. Our mate. The one who’s become increasingly distant. Who trains longer and stays in his study later into the night. The one who let Cassian take over your blade training after one small disagreement.

You drop your head to Cassian’s chest and let a small sigh escape your lips. He lifts your face with gentle fingers under your chin.

“This is about Azriel?” His dark eyes flick between yours.

“What if he’s disappointed Cass? What if he regrets accepting the bond?” You can feel the tears forming in the back of your throat.

“Trust me baby. He doesn’t regret it. He’s just…” His gaze falls to the middle distance above your head, searching for the right words.

“Pushing me away?” It had only been a few weeks and whilst things between you and Cassian had never been better the opposite was true for Azriel. Of course the three of you had fallen into bed together numerous times since the bond clicked. But you couldn’t help but feel like he was only going along with it all for Cassian’s sake.

“Listen, Az and I have been mates for a long time.” He brushes his fingers along your cheek. “We found a way of… managing our relationship. He’s just still trying to figure out how you fit into that.”

“He gave up my training. He no longer visits the library in the afternoons. He stopped consulting me on intel.” You pout not convinced by his words.

“Let me show you something. Do you trust me?” A wicked grin appears on his face.

“Of course.” You straighten, intrigued by the mischievous glint in his eye.

“I need you to block out your bond to Azriel. Just like you’ve been practising.”

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

Cassian trails his fingers down your bare ribs, your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you as you focus on keeping the shield in your mind in place.

“Good girl, now if you need me to stop at any point I want you to use the safe word.” He murmurs into your skin as he leaves soft kisses along your hip.

“Safe word?” You squirm a little, eager to have him pay attention to the ache between your legs.

He smirks up at you and though you’ve been bare before him so many times now it still sends a flush across your skin. “A safe word is for whe-”

“I know what a safe word is Cass!” You smack his shoulder for the second time today. “What’s the safe word?”

“Stardust.” He murmurs and then immediately licks a stripe up your core, flicking your clit with his tongue. You throw your head back against the pillow and let out a soft moan.

You’d had lovers before but had never quite found you enjoyed receiving oral the way you did with your thighs wrapped around the head of one of your mates. Their tongues devoured you in ways you’d never experienced before, soft where you needed, hard where it counted and always so warm.

Cassian quickly works you to the edge and you swear small white spots begin to swim behind your closed lids. You feel your core begin to tighten as Cassian quickly pulls away.

You let out a small whine and glare up at him as he holds himself over you, grinning like an idiot.

“Still have that wall in place sweetheart?” He cocks his head to the side. You quickly check the shield between you and Azriel is still in place.

“Yes, but why did you stop?” You pout.

“Good things come to those who wait.” He chuckles, leaning down, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He kisses you softly, slowly, savouring the moment and you can taste yourself on his lips. Soon his fingers find your sensitive clit and your hips unintentionally grind up to meet his movements. Your hands grab at thick biceps covered in Illyrian swirls, giving you purchase for more movement. You pant in soft moans as Cassian kisses down your chest, reaching a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. He quickly works you to the edge again. 

“Oh god, please” You whine at his assault.

He leaves one nipple to nip at the tight bud of the other and just when you feel like you could shatter he pulls his hand away. “Cass” Your voice a soft whimper at your lost pleasure.

“Do you need me to stop baby girl?” His voice is a soft gravel, almost daring you to ask him to stop.

“No, I need you to not stop.” You give him a small shove and he tumbles to the side pulling you on top of him as he spins.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m giving you exactly what you need.” His eyes sparkle with mischief but you don’t have time to question it as he guides your hips down onto his length. Your head tips back gently with a moan as you adjust to the stretch of him.

It could be centuries and you’d never get used to the feeling of him entering you. His thick length slides into you, filling you completely. You begin to rise on your knees, aching for the friction of him inside you.

“Mmmm, ride me baby, I’m all yours.” Cassian pants beneath you, his eyes screwed shut savouring the feel of you wrapped around him.

You plant your hands on his chest, bouncing up and down as his hips roll to meet yours. Already worked to the edge twice, you can feel the coil tightening inside of you. A series of small whimpers escape your lips as Cassian palms at your hips and your chest. You can feel his head drag across your soft walls, building pressure exactly where you need it. Suddenly Cassian is  coming with a groan. His fingers digging tightly into your hips as you feel him pulse inside you. You bite your lip unsure what to do. You're glad you could bring your mate pleasure but he’d never finished before you, Hel these males usually made you come undone twice before they were finished with you.

“Relax baby girl.” Cassian reaches up and releases your bottom lip with a gentle swipe of his thumb. “I said I’d get you what you needed and I meant it.”

He reaches across the bed to his discarded shirt and begins pulling it over your head.

“Keep that shield in place and go find our mate.” He gives you a wink before helping you off the bed with a small smack to your ass.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

You pad down the hall towards Azriel’s office. The soft glow of the rising moon outside reminding you that you were still yet to eat. And you were hungry, famished, but for something that no food could satiate. Your shadow slides along the wall catching your eye and you wonder what kind of picture you paint right now. Bed tangled hair, Cassian’s oversized shirt falling off one shoulder and his cum slowly sliding down your inner thigh.

You reach Azriel’s door, hold your breath a little and push it open without knocking. He’s bent over his paperwork, hair tousled slightly from running his hands through it, wings slouching a little behind him. At first he doesn’t look up from his work.

“I’ll be just a few more minut-” You see the moment your mingled scents reach him. His whole body stiffens, his head snaps up to take you in, his pupils blow wide like a predator that’s just spotted its favourite prey and the pen in his hand snaps in half.

He moves faster than you've ever seen and has you pinned to the wall in a second.

Azriel leans forward and whispers across your neck “I was wondering what you two were up to when the bonds cut off.”

You can’t even form words as Azriel consumes every sense. His warm body pressed against yours, his right leg nestled against your core. His scent sends your brain into overdrive and all you can manage is a small whimper as you roll your hips against his thigh.

“I can smell his seed on you sweetheart, did he not satisfy you enough?” His voice is deep and rumbling. His wings are flared out behind him blocking you from the empty room as his shadows make agitated swirls along his wings.

“Please Az, he didn’t let me.” You grab the front of his leathers pulling yourself closer to him as your hips continue to find friction on his thigh.

Azriel freezes. He becomes so still you wonder if he’s even breathing. You pull back and find that his eyes are almost completely black, his shadows have slowed to a crawl behind him, like a snake coiled for attack. A shiver runs down your spine as you realise you're staring into the stone cold eyes of the Night Courts Spymaster. You silently berate yourself for wanting him more for it.

He pushes off the wall and you instantly miss the feel of him against you but he slides his fingers around your wrist as he pulls you from the room.

“I’m going to fucking kill him, I swear.” He snarls as he leads you back down the hall to your room.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Just as Azriel turns to enter the bedroom one of his shadows snaps out and wraps itself around Cassian's neck. 

“You wanted my attention?” Azriel curls his free hand into a fist and the shadow tightens around his airway. Cassian sits up in the bed and attempts to pull the shadow away, struggling for air.

“Now you have it.” Azriel snarls, dropping your wrist and striding towards the bed.

“Az don’t hurt him!” You cry out and try to tug Azriel backwards.

The shadow loosens but remains looped around Cassian's neck. He pulls in gasping breaths that match Azriel's heaving chest as he towers over the end of the bed.

I’m okay baby girl, he’s not going to hurt me. Cassian’s gruff voice enters your mind.

Y/N you should go clean up while I deal with him. With the bond now open Azriel’s cool tone slides into your mind as well.

But- You begin a little unsure but you’re quickly interrupted.

She knows the safe word, she doesn’t have to go anywhere. Cassian sits up straighter glaring at Azriel in challenge.

More of Azriel’s shadows begin to crawl along the bed.

Why does she know the safe word? Azriel seethes.

You stand frozen watching the back and forth between them.

Well I wasn’t going to edge her without the safe word was I? Cassian cocks his head to the side and you swear you see a vein pop in Azriel’s neck.

Azriel spins and you duck a little to avoid his outstretched wings.

“How many times?” His dark eyes now fall to you.

Cassian replies before you can “It was onl-”

The shadow around Cassian’s neck slides onto his face, gagging him. Other shadows pounce from the mattress and swirl around his wrists pinning him down.

“I swear to the Cauldron if you fucking speak again.” Azriel growls over his shoulder. He stands before you, the picture of death. Dark wings splayed across the room, hands balled into fists, muscles strung tight. And you're surprised to find your voice does not waiver as you reply.

“Three times.”

“Y/N it’s up to you if you want to stay or go.” He nods sharply and turns back to face Cassian, giving you the opportunity to slip out of the room without a fuss if needed. Instead you slip past him, climb onto the bed above Cassian’s head and rest against the headboard. Both their eyes trail your movements before Azriel’s land on Cassian again.

“So you think you can take pleasure from my mate and leave her unsatisfied?” Azriel begins loosening the top of his leathers as he paces around the bed. He reaches for the sheet that is still covering Cassian’s bottom half and whips it away.

“Figures you’d be hard again, you always were a fucking whore. Maybe you’ve lost your touch? Couldn’t keep it up long enough for Y/N to get off?” He breathes a sinister chuckle.

A low growl ripples through Cassian’s chest, still gagged and bound by shadows, at the insinuation.

“Would you like to help me teach him a lesson love?” Azriel questions you as he removes the top half of his leathers and undershirt sending muscles rippling.

Your mouth is watering at the sight of him and it’s all you can do to nod dumbly as you reply “Yes please.”

Azriel’s eyes spark in surprise and then the mattress dips beside you as he leans towards you.

“Show me how he used you sweetheart.” His fingers brush gently down the length of your jaw.

You send the images flickering down the bond – of Cassian’s mouth on you, his hands bringing you to the edge and finally of you riding atop him.

Azriel’s eyes are completely black as they flick between yours. Wordlessly he reaches for you and pulls you into his arms. Cut him off baby girl. His deep voice curls in the back of your mind as his soft lips brush against yours. You do as he says, lifting a shield between your mind and Cassian’s.

Cassian’s throat rips open in snarls from where he lays on the bed with the two of you kneeling before him. Your eyes flick across to him, your heart constricting at his distress and you immediately want to reach out to him.

He’s okay. Azriel’s fingers find their way under your chin turning your attention back to him. He’s just swearing at me profusely for cutting him off. First I want to take care of you. He begins to trail kisses down your neck. Then we can deal with him.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian watches from the top of the bed as Azriel positions you on all fours. You’re faced towards him, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Cauldron he wishes he wasn’t bound right now.

Give her back. Cassian growls down the bond at Azriel. Furious he’s been shut out from your mind, from your emotions, with you so close.

You can have her back when I think you deserve it. Azriel snarls as he slides into you from behind. Cassian watches your breath catch, feels you clench at the sheets beneath them and he’s slowly going mad. He struggles against the shadows that pin his wrists to the bed and attempts to shift the shadows that bind his mouth. He’s never been so close to safe wording before. Your proximity but infinite distance pulls and frays at every instinct he has.

Azriel has set a hard and fast pace, bringing you to the edge that Cassian refused to tip you over. And as you come undone with panting whimpers, Cassian bucks his hips into the air with a muffled groan, failing to find the friction his leaking cock is begging for.

Azriel slides out of you, cock still hard and glistening from your release. That’s how you pleasure my mate Cassian. Azriel’s growl filters through the bond.

Fuck you, she’s mine too. Cassian bites back, the only way he can right now.

Oh no, I think I’ll fuck you. He smirks darkly. Eventually.

Azriel gives you a small nod and you crawl forward towards Cassian, and Hel if he was standing he would have gone to his knees at the sight.

Your plush lips wrap around his head and he throws his head back against the pillow, a groan escapes between clenched teeth. Fuck this might be all he needs to survive, forget food and water he’ll live off your touch alone if he needs to.

Your head bobs up and down his length and he can feel the pleasure building. Can feel his muscles tightening, ready to pump his release down his pretty mates throat.

Suddenly Azriel has his hand wrapped in the hair at the nape of your neck pulling you off him with a small pop.

“Good girl, that’s enough.” Azriel purrs into your ear before capturing your mouth with his, sliding his tongue along your lower lip.

Cassian’s chest rises and falls in deep pants. Release me now Azriel or I swear to the Cauldron I’l-

You’ll what? Azriel cocks his head to the side. You’re not really in any position to be making demands.

Azriel releases you then to lie back on the bed. He looms over Cassian, face hovering only inches away, wings flared wide behind him almost blacking out the room. You have a pretty face General, but I want to hear those pretty noises to match. He punctuates his remark by sliding two long fingers inside Cassian.

Cassian’s skin already feels like it’s on fire and Azriel’s assault on that spot inside him might just cause him to combust. He simultaneously wants to throw Azriel through the nearest wall and kiss his stupidly handsome face. Azriel hadn’t let himself take control like this since they had accepted the mating bond with Y/N and Cassian had finally found the right buttons to press -  Y/N’s. Now he was both reaping the benefits and paying the price for it.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

You lay beside your mates as you take in Azriel at work. The bulge of his arms, the scars that litter his torso criss-cross with Illyrian swirls, the half smirk that graces his lips as he pulls whimpers from Cassian.

Azriel’s eyes are still clouded in darkness, wholly focused on the task at hand which now appears to be Cassian’s punishment.

Long fingers slide in and out of Cassian, stretching him open with every pass. You want to reach out to him, to open the bond and allow your emotions to mingle with his but you don’t want to go against Azriel’s command. This was the control that Cassian had alluded to. The side of Azriel they had kept away from you. The night you found out about the mating bond comes back to you...

‘ You don’t scare me, Shadowsinger. You let admiration flow through the bond along with your words. In a blink of an eye Azriel is crowded over you, arms braced on the sides of your chair.

Really? He smirks down at you in challenge ‘

Should you be afraid right now? Azriel hovers over Cassian propped on an elbow. One hand thrusting inside him the other pulling at the hair from the top of his scalp. He’s grinning down at Cassian’s muffled cries like he might just sink his teeth into his flesh to make him cry out more. His wings a flare out dimming the room and the shadows that hold Cassian down are joined by others that swirl along the bed, slide over muscled bodies, until they appear to be drowning in darkness. 

But Cassian doesn’t fight for the surface, his head is thrown back as moans of pleasure reverberate through his chest like he’d willingly give his last breath for Azriel to keep going. Suddenly you watch Cassian stiffen, his eyes shooting open as Azriel stills. You’re sure more violent words are exchanged between them as Azriel once again denies Cassian of his release.

Your skin tingles at the sight and without an ounce of fear, you realise that maybe you want to drown in the darkness too.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian’s eyes flick to you as you move across the bed but you keep your gaze locked to Azriel. You slide a hand across his shoulder and he rises at your gentle command, settling onto his knees. Your focus never wavers as you settle yourself across Cassian’s waist towards the shadowsinger. His grin is gone and he watches your every movement carefully. You let your eyes wander down his toned chest, watch his abs flex under your gaze before landing on his thick length. Azriel’s hard cock brushes his stomach, the thick vein running along the underside revealed to you. His cock hovers only inches from Cassian’s which is flushed red as you watch a bead of precum swell at the tip. With them both straining before you, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to take them both at the same time. To have them filling you, stretching you -

Oh sweetheart, say the word and your wish is my command. Azriel purrs. Your eyes flick to meet black ones as you lift yourself from your perch on Cassian’s chiselled torso, giving him the perfect view of your ass, before sinking down on his length. His hips make a feeble attempt to meet yours but Azriel is upon you, strong calloused hands gripping your hips and holding you down.

Azriel’s mouth captures yours, nipping and sucking at your bottom lip. His rough hands explore your body, sliding over soft skin and cupping your breasts. You let out a small whimper at the all consuming sensation of one mate stretching you open while the other runs expert hands along every nerve. Azriel pulls back, a short growl rolling from his chest.

“What’s wrong?” You pant softly. “He won’t keep quiet.” His eyes flick over your shoulder momentarily at Cassian. The lord of bloodshed was never one to go quietly, so you can only imagine what he’s throwing down the bond at Azriel right now. Azriel takes up your hands in his and places them on his shoulders. He leans forward, lips brushing your neck and murmurs “Hold on sweetheart.” Your fingers flex into thick muscle as he leans into you.

“You want more General?” He snarls over you before lifting Cassian’s hips slightly. The movement forces him even deeper inside you and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. Without warning Azriel slams into him. Cassian lets out a muffled cry that you hope is more pleasure than pain.

“Is that enough for you?” Azriel chuckles darkly. Azriel’s large hands envelop your waist once more as he guides you up and down on Cassian in time with his own thrusts. You let yourself go, let Azriel use your body to pleasure Cassian as all you can focus on is your own. When you find yourself on the edge again Azriel’s gentle purr is there.

Drop your shield, let him feel all of you Y/N.

You do as he says, dropping your mental shield and finally opening the bond to Cassian again. A flood of emotion washes over you, of relief, anger, envy, happiness all swirling together but the prevailing sense of lust is all consuming.

Cassian’s emotions tangling with your own is overwhelming and that coil building inside of you snaps. You fall willingly into the dark abyss of your release. Seeing you reach your climax has both of your mates falling after you and soon the only sound in the room is the mix of panting breaths.

Azriel recalls his shadows and immediately Cassian claims you. He grabs your sides and twists you towards him, lips laying kisses to any piece of skin in his reach.

Y/N? Cassian’s low timbre reverberates in your mind, soft and timid.

I’m here Cass. You run your fingers through his soft hair, doing your best to calm him. Are you okay?

Never better sweetheart. His fingers trace circles on your back. Just need you here. Need you close.

Having the bond cut off had obviously taken a toll on him, like a carrot on a stick Azriel had dangled you in front of him the entire time.

You are far tastier than a carrot my love. I just need a few minutes to recentre. Also I’m afraid if I let you go I’ll make good on some of the nastier promises I made Az. His broad chest bounces beneath you with his chuckle.

Yes you were starting to get rather creative towards the end there. Azriel chuckles along with him. I’ll get you both some water.

Azriel’s weight lifts from the bed as you lean down and kiss Cassian softly.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

So, this is what you’ve both been keeping from me? You slowly trace the Illyrian tattoos along Cassian’s chest with your fingertips. He ponders the ceiling for a moment before responding.

When we first met Azriel at the Illyrian camps, he was untrained, never learnt to fly and had a darkness that trailed after him. His mouth quirks with a smile, obviously remembering the time fondly. However your bottom lip juts out in a pout, recalling why it was so in the first place.

After bein- Cassian paused for a moment After the childhood he had, having never known a sense of control, his untamed power would just take over. He ended up in twelve fights in his first week at camp.

Cassian leaned down, absentmindedly brushing his lips to the top of your head.

Shortly after the mating bond snapped we discovered a way for him to manage. An outlet that gave him full control when he felt himself slipping into the darkness. Everyone thought his new friendship and proximity to the future High Lord was the cause of the change. That he was now able to maintain focus, control and wield his power better than ever. Only Rhys and I knew the truth.

It was very generous of you, to become that for him. You smile softly.

Cassian breaks out into a deep laugh, the vibrations tingling your skin.

Oh no, it wasn’t generosity at all. He grins widely. My horny ass got me caught out after Az got in a fight with Rhys one night. His eyes went dark, shadows flying, solid muscle straining in flight leathers. He looked as if death came to walk the earth and I got fucking hard. He laughs again at himself. Az scented it and jumped me, Rhys couldn’t winnow away fast enough. I guess you could say the darkness called to me.

I think I know the feeling. You giggled to yourself. Cassian raised a hand to your chin, pulling your eyes to his dazzling grin still wide.

And that is why we are made for each other my love. He pulls you in for another lingering kiss.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel softly pads back to the bedroom with two glasses in hand. He’d stopped at his room to throw on soft pants and a light shirt even though he didn’t want to be away from either of you for a second. It felt strange not being the one comforting Cassian right now but he knew that Y/N was what he needed. Especially after he had made her withhold the bond. Azriel pulls his bottom lip between sharp teeth. He has to admit that was dark, even for him. But Cassian never truly wavered and that scared him a little. One day he was going to do something that caused Cassian to truly snap and there would be no going back.

Azriel reaches your bedroom door and takes in the sight of his mates tangled together. Y/N half sprawled over Cassian, hair fanned across his chest. Cassian’s hand resting possessively on your hip, holding you to him even as you rested in a state between sleep and awake. He doesn’t know how long he stands there taking them in. Gods they look like they were made for eachother. Like they were poured from the Cauldron in the same moment and have only now found their way back to each other. Both so beautiful, strong and filled with light.

He catches one of his shadows sliding along the bed to you both and his heart freezes. In your combined blooms of light his shadow is the thorny vine. The weed that is pruned as to not cause destruction and decay to the beauty.

Azriel stumbles back towards the hall. How did he not see it? For so long he thought the Cauldron had made a mistake in giving him Cassian. And of course he never deserved a second mate, especially not one as brilliant as Y/N. And now here was the proof.

Perhaps he was a placeholder until you and Cassian could meet? Perhaps he was a mistake altogether? Whatever the reason, he saw it clearly now. He didn’t belong between you, he was a burden to be shouldered and you both deserved so much more. You deserved each other. He slipped from the room completely.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the suffocating warmth that has you rolling away from Cassian. You’re sure he runs ten degrees hotter than any normal being. You slide your fingers along the sheets searching for the cool touch of your shadowsinger, only to come up empty. You sit up scanning the dark room but don’t find a single shadow out of place.

Azriel never returned with the waters he promised and there are no glasses on the bedside table to suggest he returned at all. Cassian mumbles into the pillow beside you as you pull his discarded shirt over your head for the second time tonight. You swing your legs off the bed and pad down the hall.

You approach the dim light of the kitchen to find a note pinned beneath a blade on the kitchen counter. Panic begins to set in, your heart pounding in your chest. You hear a commotion down the hall and pray to the Cauldron that it’s Azriel who will appear to quiet the noise pulsing in your head.

But it’s Cassian who stumbles into the kitchen next to you. Sensing your distress he’d obviously lept from the bed only pausing long enough to collect his underwear and a blade.

“What’s wrong?” He pants eyes darting around the room, assessing for a threat. You nod towards the note on the counter not trusting your voice.

He approaches it cautiously, as if it could jump from the surface and attack at any moment. He pushes the blade aside, picks up the note and reads it in the time it takes for you to figure out how to breathe again.

You watch as Cassian’s wings fall. The tips dragging on the ground. He reads the note again as if that will change anything about its contents.

His hand falls and he steps towards you, handing you the note.

“He’s gone.” His low voice rumbles.

My love,

Forgive me. I hope this letter remains in one piece long enough for you to read but I can understand if you do not grant me such a privilege. I never thought I would need to say goodbye to you, as you are my home. But I can not jeopardise your safety, Y/N’s safety, any longer.After centuries my darkness still remains unpredictable and for so long you have been its balm. Somehow you have kept the shadows inside me at bay. 

But now my darkness threatens your new light. Y/N is everything you have always deserved. She is warmth, calm, serenity and whilst I wish beyond anything to bask in that light along with you I cannot take that risk.

I know I do not have the right to ask anything of you now but I beg of you to take care of her. Be her protector where I cannot, be the strength she needs and the mate I cannot be. Until my last breath I will be yours.

Always. Azriel.

“He’s gone.” You manage to choke out.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel scratches another line into the rough rock wall. Three months. It’s been three months since he left and he’s not sure how he’s still breathing.

Originally he planned to flee the Night Court entirely, settle far away perhaps on the continent. But he couldn’t bring himself to even cross the border.

He could stay close, he told himself. He could embody the shadows that are loyal to him, become a part of the darkness. From this small cave in the mountainside he could watch over Velaris, monitor for danger. Maybe one day he’d even have the strength to return to the city, moving between the shadows only to catch a glimpse of his mates on an errand. 

He could see it now, Cassian trailing after Y/N complaining about carrying all of the gifts you’d buy for Starfall. You’d give some witty reply and then stand on tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.

Starfall. It was tonight. Azriel’s eyes traced the sky as if he’d already catch a glimpse of those dazzling lights in the waning evening light. He’d never been apart from Cassian on this night, he’d never even had the chance to properly spend it with Y/N. But you had each other and you would be safe from him. 

He rubs at his chest. His heart straining behind his ribs, as if it feels betrayed by him, as if it will leave him here in this cave and return to his mates alone. Azriel takes a steadying breath and steps back into the darkness of the cave. He wouldn’t go back. They were better without him.

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

You stood on the balcony of the eerily quiet House of Wind. On Starfall your home was usually a buzz of activity but this year Rhysand had moved the festivities to his river house to give you some peace and quiet.

But the quiet was suffocating as you stood alone. One mate was missing and the other…

Cassian had become a shadow of himself. After Azriel left he trained less, took on less missions from Rhys and eventually stopped leaving his room.

Every morning you bought him food, every evening you curled up with him and told him of your day but you could feel him slipping from you.

His once dark black wings had begun to fade to an ashy grey. On the days he dressed his sirens remained dull and lifeless. You were lost on what more you could do. You were losing him.

Tears roll down your cheeks and reflect the first tumbling lights of Starfall. An all encompassing sadness washes over you, your lungs becoming tight and it slowly becomes harder to breathe. It was as if your emotions were too much for one person to hold.

Your breath catches in your throat. It couldn’t be?

Azriel? You reach out.

After months of Azriel having the bond shutdown you didn’t realise when he’d crept back in. You try to reach for more but you feel his presence sliding away.

No. He had to stay. You couldn’t keep going on like this. You throw down the bond the one thing that might get him to stay.

I think Cassian is dying. You let out a sob. Azriel he’s fading and I don’t know what to do.

One moment you're watching the stars fall from the sky, the next they’re blacked out by a pair of wings high above you. The Illyrian drops sharply from the sky and lands heavily next to you, vibrations sent rumbling through the stone.

“Az?” You whisper.

Azriel straightens from his landing. He looks disheveled, hair askew, dark circles permanently embedded under even darker eyes.

“I know I don’t deserve-“ he doesn’t look at you as he speaks. “What’s wrong with him? Was he poisoned? Injured?” He stares out over the balcony and you can see his jaw clench.

“You left.” You growl out.

“That’s not important right no-“ He snarls

“No! You. Left. Azriel. That’s what’s wrong with him.” You throw the images down the bond. Cassian slumped in his chair. Of his fading complexion. Wings barely lifted from the floor.

Azriel flinches at the sight. Then he finally looks at you. Tears welling in his eyes.

“I had to Y/N.” He swallows thickly. “My nature is literally the depths of darkness. I skate a thin line of control and I can’t afford to fall from that ledge now that there is you.”

“Az-“ You move to step toward him.

“No.” Azriel shakes his head and side steps further from you. “You don’t understand. Cassian is whole and good and light. He is the moon. And you. You are his stars. You are two of the same. Meant for each other.” He grips the balcony's ledge so tightly the scars of his hands bloom white. Your emotions are at war inside you. You are furious that he left, joyful that he has returned and heart broken that he doesn’t see himself the way you do.

“If Cassian is the moon and I am the stars then Azriel you are our night sky.” You move to him now, resting your hands lightly on his forearm. The note he left that night beginning to make sense. “Your darkness doesn’t dim our light, it’s the reason for our brightness. Your darkness is the blanket in which we rest, the sanctuary in which we relied upon.” You take a steadying breath.

You begin to step back, to give him some space “But if your heart does not beat for us the way-“

Azriel’s hand snaps to your wrist and suddenly you find yourself wrapped in his arms, your face burrowed in his chest. His lips brush against the top of your head.

“Do not. For a second. Insinuate that I don’t think of you both in every second of every day.” You hold him infinitely closer at his words.

Time stretches on between you as you stand in each other's arms. Eventually you pull back.

“I need to tell Cassian that you’re here.” Azriel releases you from his arms and immediately you want to go back to him.

“You will stay?” You ask wary that as soon as you turn he will disappear again.

He nods. “I’ll wait to see him.”

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

The door clicks closed on Cassian’s room as you step back into the hall. You find Azriel there waiting for you.

“He said” you pause.

“He doesn’t want to see me.” Azriel finishes unsurprised.

“Yes.” You admit quietly.

“It’s okay Y/N. He’s always been a stubborn ass.” His lips lift in a soft smirk. “I deserve much worse.” His wings fall and he turns to walk back down the hall. You quickly follow not wanting to let him out of your sight.

He pulls a chair out from the dining table and slumps into it. Instead of taking a seat of your own, you move to stand between his legs. He welcomes you into his space, hands finding your hips as your fingers brush across a stubbled jaw.

“I want to stay.” He whispers, dark eyes meeting yours.

“Then stay Azriel.” You whisper back. Letting your fingers trail across his face, committing every line and freckle to memory.

“How will you forgive me?” He turns to brush his lips along your palm. “How will he?”

“Just give it some time Azriel. He needs to know that you are staying for good. That you are committed to this.” You can’t bring yourself to say that you need it too, but you can see in Azriel’s eyes that he understands.

You stand in peace for a moment. Azriel was far from forgiven but he was here, back in your arms, back where he belonged.

“I’ll take the dedication.” Azriel nods after a moment, as if all is decided.

“The dedication?” You take a half step back trying to read his face.

“It’s an old Illyrian custom, the greatest act of commitment of one Illyrian to another.” He stands from the chair and takes your hands in his.

“It’s a sacrifice I will make for him and for you. I don’t expect either of you to forgive me right away but it’s a start.” His eyes are determined as they flick between yours.

He brings your hands to his lips and kisses each of them gently.

“I have to go to Windhaven. But I’ll be back soon.” He releases your hands and goes to move away.

“Wait.” You put a hand to his chest. “If this dedication is so important why haven’t you or Cassian taken it before?”

“Cassian wouldn-” He pauses. “It’s an outdated tradition. It’s rarely completed anymore. But I promise Y/N.” He steps forward and places a light kiss to your cheek “I’ll be back.”

He disappears over the closest balcony and a sinking feeling won’t leave your gut. Azriel is desperate to fix things between the three of you. What if this dedication is dangerous? What if he doesn’t return because he no longer can?

Azriel had said it was an old tradition no a sacrifice, but of what? He said that Cassian wouldn’t… No. This is bad. Whatever this dedication was Cassian didn’t want it from Azriel, which meant it was definitely dangerous. And Cassian was in no state to stop him. You did the only thing you could think to do.

Rhysand!

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Rhys arrived at the house only moments later, his deep velvet suit twinkling with the lights of Starfall. Within the Night Court you could usually always reach him, but given recent events he had been extra vigilant of you and Cassian.

“I’m sorry to pull you from your family tonight.” You apologise.

“You are all part of my family. Is he okay?” Rhys tilts his head in consideration.

“Cass is fine. What’s the dedication?” You rush out.

“What? How do you know about dedication?” He looks at you with wide eyes and gods that cannot be good.

“Azriel’s back. Cassian wouldn’t see him and he’s gone to Windhaven to take the dedication. What is it? Is it another Rite?” The more you talk the whiter Rhys’ face becomes. And then he’s furious.

“That fucking fool.” Rhysand’s wings burst forth and he pivots heading back the way he came, to the stairs to the rooftop.

“Rhys?” You rush after him, taking the stairs two at a time.

“The dedication is an ancient Illyrian tradition. Usually performed by females.” His low growls echo through the stone stairwell. “It’s the ultimate act of submission of one Illyrian to another.”

Your stomach rolls at the implications. If the Illyrians no longer performed this dedication then it had to be truly barbaric.

“What act?” You pant out as Rhys reaches the door to the roof.

He turns to you briefly, “He’s going to remove his wings.”

You freeze. Your body literally locks into place at the top of stairs as Rhysand bursts onto the roof and takes flight, disappearing into the night sky.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t know how long you stand there, frozen in place. Azriel was going to remove his wings? Maybe they were already gone?

No. You couldn’t think like that. But why did he think you’d want that? Cassian wouldn’t want that, would he?

A thousand more questions run through your mind before your trance is broken by the appearance of two bodies in the sky above you.

Suddenly one body shoves away from the other and two pairs of Illyrian wings are silhouetted by the lights of Starfall.

Thank the Cauldron. Rhysand had reached him in time. You can hear their shouts of arguing far above you, but you can’t make out what’s being said.

You take the moment to reach out to Cassian.

Cass. You feel his warmth wrap around your mind. It always felt like being rugged up near a crackling fire when he reached for you. Azriel took off to Windhaven to take the dedication. He’s okay. Rhysand brought him back. All the warmth leached from your mind and you felt his side of the bond go cold. You let out a breath. You’d deal with that issue later, you could only handle one problem at a time right now.

Rhysand and Azriel were finally gliding back to the roof, both looking furious. As Azriel’s feet touch down you’re almost sent tumbling by a black blur flying past you. Cassian collides heavily with Azriel, sending his back slamming into the wall of the house.

Cassian, now dressed in full Illyrian leather's red sirens flaring brighter than you had seen in weeks, has Azriel pinned with a forearm to his chest.

“What the fuck are you thinking.” He snarls.

Azriel doesn’t even attempt to fight back, he allows himself to be held against the wall, wings flared on either side.

Rhysand takes quick stock of the situation like he’s seen this scenario play out a hundred times before and maybe he had. His eyes find yours and you give him a small nod, giving your thanks and letting him know that you’ll be okay. Rhys takes to the sky once again, returning to his family at the River House.

“You don’t get to reappear after three months and then take off to Windhaven for the dedication!” You’d never seen the fury in Cassian directed at Azriel before.

“What were you going to do huh?” He doesn’t wait for Azriel to respond. His voice raises as he becomes more desperate “Go through all that pain, retrain for weeks to adjust to the change in balance, just to rejoin a battle and leave yourself vulnerable? You enter a ward and you don’t winnow out! Did you think about that? That you wouldn’t be able to leave the ground anymore? That you wouldn’t be able to get out? That you wouldn’t be able to get her out?” Cassian tosses his head back in your direction. Azriel's eyes flick from Cassian to you and you can tell he hadn’t thought about it. That type of combat was Cassian’s forte. Those are the things that Cassian would always think about first.

“For what Azriel?” He lifts his forearm and slams it back into his chest.

“For you!” Azriel finally shouts back. “For you and for her. I would gladly deliver my wings to you on a silver platter if it meant you would even look in my direction again.”

“What?” Cassian steps back stunned.

“I left because I thought you’d both be better off without me.” Azriel pushes from the wall.

An image of you and Cassian tangled in bed together floods your vision and you realise it’s from the night Azriel left. You watch as his attention is drawn to one of his shadows crawling towards your resting figures and you know that's the moment he decided to leave.

You immediately answer with a memory of your own. With the conversation that directly preceded Azriel’s perspective.

He looked as if death came to walk the earth and I got fucking hard. Casian laughs at himself. Az scented it and jumped me, Rhys couldn’t winnow away fast enough. I guess you could say the darkness called to me.

I think I know the feeling. You giggled to yourself. Cassian raised a hand to your chin, pulling your eyes to his, dazzling grin still wide.

And that is why we are made for each other my love. He pulls you in for another lingering kiss.

You let the memory fade and you’re all brought back to the roof.

“You said we were the moon and the stars,” Cassian cocks his head in consideration as you step forward. And you already know you’ll have to fill him in on that conversation later. “But left to our own devices we burn each other out. You are the diffuser. You are the solace that cradles the light, that controls the burn.” You take his hand in yours, letting all the love and concern you have for him slide down the bond.

“If you thought she was made for me and I for her you were wrong.” Cassian’s voice is hoarse from the yelling. “We were made for you.”

Azriel’s eyes well with tears.

“And you walked away.” Cassian turns back to the house, all the fight now depleted from him.

Azriel bows his head in defeat.

“Cassian.” Azriel begs.

Cassian stills halfway to the door.

“I want to come home.” Azriel’s voice breaks.

“Then come home.” Cassian tosses over his shoulder before striding back into the house.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- a/n: So I think I'm incapable of writing a happy endings at this point, but Part 3 maybe?

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[kiwriteswords]

The light reflects the chain on your neck [Aaron Hotchner x Birthday!Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 700|| AN: It's my birthday weekend, so I wanted to share a few ficlets of Reader and Hotch inspired by that. These will be fully self-indulgent, so I apologize! Tags/Warnings: female reader, reader's birthday, gift giving, BAU!Reader, building romance, fluff. Summary: You wouldn't have picked Hotch to be the gift-giving, birthday-celebrating guy--but for you, he is.

The bullpen was quiet--quieter than it had been in days. The case had been a long one, stretching over state lines, exhausting every last ounce of patience and energy you had.

But it was done. The unsub was caught, the victims’ families had answers, and the team had finally made it back to Quantico, some retreating home while others finished reports under the dim office lighting.

You stayed behind, not ready to leave just yet. There was something about the stillness of the office after hours that felt grounding, like the adrenaline still coursing through your system needed time to settle before you could convince yourself to sleep.

Hotch was still here, of course. He always was. His office light glowed faintly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. He had come downstairs at some point, returning from whatever final briefing he had to endure, and now he was across from you, leaning against the edge of your desk with that ever-present sense of quiet authority.

His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves rolled up past his forearms--telltale signs that even he was tired.

“You should go home,” he said, voice low in the near-empty bullpen.

You smirked, raising a brow as you leaned back in your chair. “You first.”

He huffed a quiet breath, amused but not entirely disagreeing. Instead of responding, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it down on your desk with the kind of deliberate movement that made your stomach flip.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

Hotch met your gaze, expression unreadable but tinged with something softer. “Your birthday was two days ago.”

You blinked. With everything that had happened, you had barely thought about it. The case had swallowed up the week, leaving little room for anything outside of work and exhaustion.

“You remembered?”

He gave you a look--one that suggested he found the question absurd.

You hesitated only briefly before taking the box, fingers carefully peeling away the paper. 

“Aaron Hotchner,” you paused at the wrapping paper, raising a brow, “you got me a present?”

His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Yes, that’s generally what people do for birthdays.”

A quiet laugh left you, shaking your head as you continued to unwrap the gift. “I didn’t think you did birthday gifts.”

“I don’t.” He hesitated, then added, “Not usually.”

The weight of those words settled over you, heavier than they should have been.

You pried it open with delicate fingers, breath catching at what was inside. Nestled neatly in a small velvet pouch was a locket. Simple, elegant, something you could wear every day without it drawing attention.

Your fingers traced over the smooth surface, its weight both unfamiliar and achingly familiar all at once. “I had one like this when I was a kid,” you murmured. “But I never knew what to put inside it.”

Hotch remained quiet, watching you with that quiet intensity of his.

You carefully pried the locket open. Inside, on one side, was a small photograph of the team--one of those rare moments where you were all together, laughing, existing beyond the chaos of your work. On the other side, a second photo.

Just you and him.

It wasn’t staged. Wasn’t forced. Just a candid moment from an outing you didn’t even remember, the two of you standing side by side in quiet conversation, the familiarity between you obvious even in a still frame.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the warmth creeping into your chest. “I can’t believe you remembered this photo.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”

The words settled somewhere deep, somewhere you weren’t sure you were ready to acknowledge yet.

You weren’t sure a man had ever bought you jewelry before. Something about it… jewelry--it felt so…so intimate. 

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you traced the edge of the locket. “You know, you’re dangerously close to ruining your reputation.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d get from him in the middle of the office. “So I’ve been told.”

Silence stretched between you--not awkward, but weighted with something unspoken. Something neither of you had put into words, not yet.

You glanced at him, something caught between gratitude and something else--something deeper. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He nodded once, then pushed off your desk, his voice softer than usual. “Come on.”

You pocketed the locket carefully, grabbing your bag before following him toward the elevator.

For the first time in a long time, the idea of going home didn’t feel so lonely.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216  

[parker-artio]

Batfamily head cannons I have- in no specific order:

Jason went back to school/got his GED, then went to college and got his English, History, teaching, and musical arts degrees, just so he can shove it anyone’s face when they try to say he’s dumb or say he’s a drop out.

Damian fosters animals in the manor. He’ll show up with two boxes of kittens, and everyone will see like 10 kittens around the house until it goes back down to just Alfred- wait did he always have that cat named Knives? Yes? Okay, well then the 10- 9 my bad, the nine cats find homes and he’s left with Alfred and Knives.

Dick IS the male equivalent of Barbie, he’s got a full wall just dedicated to the degrees he’s accumulated over the years. He’s got an art degree and a business degree. No one knows where he gets the time and he refuses to elaborate.

Tim has albinism. Now I know some people hate the Asian Tim HC because of the stereotypes it makes him fall into, but I personally HC him as mixed (Wasian). I like to think that Jack was Armenian and Janet was white- can be interchangeable-, but Tim came out with albinism, white wavy hair, blue eyes, and skin whiter than paper. But because of how much he looked up to Robin and found him cool, he started to dye his hair black (kinda like Jason back when he was a ginger/strawberry blonde).

Duke is trans. This is a projection so don’t say anything about how we saw him when he was young. I know. He’s just one of my favorite characters and I love to HC my favorite characters as trans like I am. But I think he’s specifically a Demiboy or a trans man- I’m kinda on the fence. But either one works for me.

Cass is the shortest batkid- by a LANDSLIDE. I personally think she’d be like 5’2 (157cm) while all of the other bat kids are like 5’5+ (165cm+). I have no reason beyond the fact she’s scary. Like imagine you’re being attacked by this 6’5 (195cm) man who’s wearing a red helmet just for this girl over a foot shorter than him to be the reason you should actually be scared?? Id shit my pants.

Duke can SNIFF out a bargain. If you’ve watched the amazing world of gumball, think about Nicole and the way she straight up sniffed out a bargain and we met her parents. That’s how I think he is. They go into a store and Tim picks up a game and Duke pauses, for a second thinking, then shakes his head ‘Nah, it’s cheaper by 32 cents at Walmart. Trust’. Tim does not gaf about its price. But he puts it down just to please Duke.

Jason has all of his foster parent licenses and shit. He got them before he was even deemed legally alive again. Then proceeded to get them again as actually Jason Todd. He has his address listed as the only Safe House with normal neighbors. The apartment complex probably has like two-three rooms and the neighbors all have kids too.

Cass choreographs ballet dances to Tik Tok sounds and posts them and they go viral, to the point people don’t even know who the OG dancer is. (It’s her.)

Tim will not acknowledge someone if they don’t refer to him by name. If he’s at a gala and they try to talk to him by calling him ‘Drake’ or ‘Bruce’s son’ or anything else he just turns around and walks away. But as soon as they do refer to him by name he starts to talk about how shitty the world is. (From the verity of ages he says it to, they either don’t like what he says or agree 100%)

Dick can and will yell in your face if you try to disrespect someone in his presence. If you’re talking to someone and you keep cutting them off he will yell at you to shut the fuck up and let the other person say what they need to say.

Damian is that person who people will always go to if they need advice on how to get a new animal. Say you want a bird, you’ve never had one before, Damian will be the person you trust to ask the questions to. And he’d answer you no matter how dumb the question is. ‘How many times do I feed her?’ ‘Two to three times a day.’

[mihii-i]

Hey hope school is going well !,i was wondering if u could do a yae miko modern fic where she's dom ^ ^, I have adhd low key can't think past that lol

not-so-sweet angel.

Pairings: yae miko x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, modern au, college au, shorter fic (I am sleepy stop), mentions of masturbation, fingering, semi-public sex, lazy writing, I don’t like how this came out, smoking, sesbian lex, girls kissing I don’t know leave me alone, wlw, sough rex, leave me alone, upset author, not proofread.

A/N: @y0ka13 was a little tired to write mizu fics and I’m kinda sleepy so yes let’s go also this fic wasn’t the surprise I was talking about but earlier so put ur panties back on bc the time of said surprise depends on another author is all im gonna say. 🕯️

Indistinct chatter ran rampant in the halls paved in the direction of your lecture hall, your feet planted firmly against every square of stone peeking out between the crevices of which they were cemented together. The soles of your shoe mindlessly dragged along the stone in a scratchy grating noise as the clouds above peeked past the peak of your campus building, allowing you to get lost in the fluffed up white heaps bundled up along the sky.

Two thick books were hugged against your chest as you wandered off into thought during the gap between your back to back classes, cool air batting to your face while carefully lowering yourself down onto a nearby bench conveniently situated behind you. Years of hard work at this institution felt like nothing but slaving away at the endless stacks of paper scribbled with lines of overinflated texts, dreams of grasping at your goals only straying further and further as you constantly found yourself questioning the point of studying so hard if everything went to shit anyways.

You were slowly going insane. That much was obvious. From the way you found yourself hunched over a desk countless times, while the sky simmered into a dark wash of pitch black peeking through your dorm window, with sprinkles of stars caught in the corner of your eye if you looked close enough. Every night seemed like torture as you aimlessly scrabbled for the information to stick inside your brain, temples aching alongside your weakened limbs.

The overflow of assignments accompanied your sleepless nights that began to creep into every aspect of your life as the norm, ink hovering in a large splotch above the clean sheet of paper your pen bled against. Bitter notes of the aftertaste of coffee seeped into your mouth every morning post all nighter, tongue pulsating as your face scrunched up in distaste at the sting nearly making you crash mid lecture, while you struggled to fix your eyes open through the barrage of content.

Yet in the midst of the draining haze of merely living to keep up, a certain someone surely soothed that throbbing ache of fatigue eating away at you slowly, her presence alone pushing back your worry as you spent quite some time staring at the woman stood tall in the distance everytime. Honestly, having a crush on Yae Miko was meant to be a little distraction, merely a puppy crush that wasn’t supposed to grow to be anymore than—well, just that.

However, it spiked up progressively throughout the course of each month of the dragged on semester. Finding yourself noticing little things, such as how strands of her pinkish hair were perfectly smoothed over, reflective in the sunlight like that of a model. Eyes fixating on her as her lips parted to push out a sigh building on her tongue during a lecture, or the way she held her pen between her thumb and index finger in a squeezed grasp, resting her cheek onto her palm to stare unamused at the polished wooden podium with disinterest.

Yeah, it was obvious you weren’t just crushing like a dumb highschool kid.

You just couldn’t help it. Miko was practically perfect, it was pretty easy to get lost in the swirling purple that plunged you into the depths of her irises, swallowing you up like an electric storm. Yet gentle enough to nurture you into a cradling embrace between swirls of said storm.

Relying on someone who only occasionally talked to you as her friend a few times to be your ground was…probably too much. Yet you couldn’t help it.

Either way, it wasn’t like you simply stared at her to get the stress of the cluttered workload off your shoulders. Of course, you did indulge in yourself quite a few times, even if that little voice urged you not to. Rocking your hips back and forth against the ridges of your fingers hilted deep inside your cunt as your legs parted on either side of the bed, sharp intakes of breath pumping through your nostrils in rapid successions.

Your mind would always wander to Miko’s gentle smile sadisticallly stretching her lips as her hand planted you down, imagining her long nails scratching along your warmth with each stroke, voice rasping out her name in the confines of your dorm on those particularly stressful nights.

Being the perhaps not-so-sweet angel you were, you’d feel that awful cramp of guilt clinging onto you every time you came, nervously looking down at your clear coated, slick fingers stringed with your juices as you feared her finding out somehow. Would she be disgusted? Would she never even look at you again? It really was too much to take in, chest lurching as you attempted to push away any thoughts to dive back into the depths of your study sessions again.

“(Name)…”

You were still lost in thought, contemplating upon every minuscule occurrence that snaked into your life.

“(Name).”

Was someone calling you? You were pretty out of it to notice as an odd ringing trickled into your ears slowly.

“(Name)!”

Your head finally shot up to the pink haired woman observing down before you, hands on her hips as her low cut shirt exposed slivers of her pale skin in the wake of sunlight outdoors. Glancing around, you noticed how it was nearly empty outside, before looking at your phone, panicked. Damn, you were so out of it you probably had a mini sleep in your whipped out daze.

“Miko..?”

She continued to stare down at you, allowing you to take her hand as she helped you up onto your feet, your books still clutched in a hook within your freehand. Rubbing your eyes, you squinted over your blurred vision to get a view of her, nearly panicking when you realized the situation you got yourself into as a consequence of the grueling night you spent staying up.

“Easy, (Name). You looked like you were about to pass out, darling.” She muttered in a low chuckle, your breath choking up at the mere pet name she threw out there.

“I have to-“

“Don’t bother. Let’s just skip together. I mean your professor won’t get off your ass if you don’t won’t he?”

You managed a tiny nod, tensing up as she grasped your hand boldly with that elegant smile of hers, stretching her peachy lips into a grin that beheld her sophisticated nature.

God, you were attracted to her like a sore loser.

—

Even in those little fantasies of yours that you had conjured up on stressful nights, nothing could rival the crashing wave of pleasure that coiled up between your thighs in this particular moment as Miko’s thumb pressed against the swollen nerves of your clit, teeth grazing along the deep, purple bruises littered freshly along your skin with her fingers lodged inside you.

Who knew that Miko’s innocent request to skip class and hang out would evolve into you being railed out in the open, shielded from few sets of eyes, yet easy enough for anyone to spot if they bothered to look.

She had originally led you to the balcony of a building through a fire exit that only faculty knew, the cool steel of the stairway smoothing your palms as you climbed up to behold the view of the entire campus. Kindly, she had offered up a firm cylinder that slipped between your fingertips almost naturally, not taking long for you to notice that it was in fact a cigarette.

Of course, you couldn’t turn down your crush casually handing you a smoke, an intimate gesture presiding within the palm of your hand as you saw it. Upon lighting it, you couldn’t miss the flicker of gold roused in her purple irises, staring at you with what you had perceived to be a sort of hunger to be satiated.

And you were in fact right.

Her lips against yours felt like a saccharine taste of a sweet you couldn’t quite put your finger on, yet one of which you savored as the unexpected motion lingered onto your tastebuds as something to commit to memory. You didn’t even hesitate when her nimble, slender fingers undressed you briefly, pulling your trousers down far enough to have access to your pussy, yet far enough up so you weren’t fully unclothed down your lower body.

Head blanking at the overwhelming sensations, you couldn’t manage out anything but pathetic squeaks and moans at her rapid pace, far too quick for a session that tore near pornographic moans out of your throat, yet occurred in a setting where any student could walk outside and see her fucking you against the cold stone of the grey railings.

Miko only chuckled at the pathetic compliance you exhibited before her as your fingers squeezed at her wrist, attempting to slow her unforgiving pace to no avail. Each obscene noise wrenched out of you only spurred the pink haired woman in her ruthless onslaught against your walls clenching around her digits, nails dragging along your g-spot, reached by the deliciously perfect length of her fingers.

Each sharp breath rolled off your tongue in motion with the squelching of slick pooling from between your thighs, Miko’s gentle praises mixed with her harsh words ringing in your ears at each fervent thrust of her fingers slamming up into you at a steady angle that brushed up against all the right places of your heat.

The familar build up in your stomach mirrored that of the various times you’d touched yourself thinking of Miko, yet you would’ve never imagined her actually being there to quench that thirst roaring in you for so long, eyes rolling back from the slightest push of her fingers, plush against the warmth your slick walls. The mushy texture nearly making her slobber all over your neck like her last meal before whispering out.

“Come on, you can cum for me before anyone sees, can’t you?” She purred, freehand brushing against your bottom lip in an attempt to alleviate the overwhelming pleasure flooding your whole body accompanied by coaxing more moans out of you. You only responded with a weak nod, hips harshly bucking foward into her fingers repeatedly.

Until you gradually sank down in one final thrust, lips pressed into an “o” shape as you cried out with your juices spilling down to decorate her knuckles, a small whimper rasping out of you as she withdrew her fingers from your hole. Her perfectly manicured, rose pink nails glossed over in a wet layer of your cum. Miko eyed her fingers with a satisfied expression, dragging her tongue along her middle and ring fingers as her gaze pierced into yours with that same hunger that she exhibited before doing...that with you.

Before you could utter out another word, Miko quickly shoved your textbooks back into your hand, which you barely were able to balance considering your legs were spent—and snapped back, helping you slip up your underwear and zipping you pants before squeezing your shoulder as crowds of students poured out back into the outdoors of campus.

“Not a word that we were here.”

A/N: I have no words for this a/n. Only that I’m in a bad mood and this turned out shitty lmfao I absolutely despise how this fic turned out I’m sorry 😭

I sincerely apologize for the bad fic I will make up for it 🙏

[mlqueen89]

Four | Boundaries

Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you're in deep? I've dreamt about you nearly every night this week How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat

Do I Wanna Know by The Arctic Monkeys

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings/triggers: smut in overall series, mentions of parent death/absence, swearing (let me know if i missed any!)

word count: 8,274 summary: the one where ellie assembles the avengers her team and pulls back the curtain on her tech. jake switches up his approach and ellie grapples with early push back from the pilots. A/N: this chapter and the previous chapter were originally one chapter, but my magnanimous beta kindly told me to chop it in two, which left some breathing room for the wonderful opening scene, of which i’m so incredibly proud. and then i let my fingers go wild, and this chapter got split in two. basically, it’s so clear at this point that i’m gonna need more than 10 chapters to tell jake and ellie’s story properly. these kids are just the most fun, but also, the most stubborn.

this one is plot heavy. this whole chapter (technically 4 & 5) was the most exciting and fun chapter i've written for jake and ellie’s story so far, i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i've added a bunch of terms to the glossary, so feel free to head there if there’s something you’re not sure of terminology wise. i really wanted to make this authentic – ya know, as authentic as fanfiction could be. ❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ glossary of terms ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥ 

Midway Park, Lemoore, California — 2005 

The early morning October air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of fresh cut grass and rubber tires as families gathered around the makeshift track for the annual soapbox derby.  

Ellie clutched her helmet under one arm, the other hand resting on the sleek grey soapbox car she and her dad had worked on for weeks with interspersed help from one or more of his old wingmen. Its reflective paint gleamed under the sunlight, a perfect replica of his old F-14 Tomcat, right down to the call sign, now replaced with her name and RIO painted on with the steady hand of her uncle Wolfman. 

She’d excitedly run the race in her head as she tried and failed to sleep, her eyes scanning over every detail of her helmet sitting on her dresser across the room and the olive one-piece flight suit hanging behind her door in the dim glow of the moonlight seeping in through the cracks in her slatted blinds. She hadn’t even eaten her whole breakfast that morning, partly because Wolfman had cracked the egg wrong in the pan and there were shells to pick out of the scrambled eggs, but mostly because her stomach tossed. Her legs swinging impatiently under the table as she pushed her food around her plate and watched her dad read the paper and sip his coffee like he had all the time in the world.  

“Alright, Ellie, here’s the deal, kiddo,” her dad said, crouching to her level. In his aviators, Ellie could see the reflection of her wide eyes before she took a look at the lineup of cobbled together cars and the other kids crowded around the roped off track. “The under-10 category?” he waved his hand, dismissive, “that’s baby stuff. You’re better than that.”  

Ellie frowned, her small hands gripping the curved edge of her old ski helmet, scrawled with uneven, bubbly kid letters RIO. “But I am under 10. I’m eight and a half and...” Ellie paused to count on her fingers, her pink nail polish chipped and barely there, “... two days!”  

Rick tilted his head toward his wingman, Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe, who stood nearby with a clipboard and a devil-may-care smirk. “Not today, Rio. Today, you’re 10 and a half—officially. Right, Wolfman?”  

Wolfman tapped the clipboard with a pen, his mischievous grin widening. “Right-o, born two years earlier than the records say, 1994. Funny how paperwork can get all... mixed up.” His hand waved in the air, a magician performing a disappearing act, shaking an etch-a-sketch.  

Ellie’s eyes widened as her gaze shifted between the two men. “Dad, is that… allowed?”  

Her dad chuckled and ruffled her hair playfully. “Let’s just say it’s a tactical adjustment. Mid-flight maneuver. Trust me, you’re ready for the big leagues.” He crouched closer, lowering his voice. “You wanna race against kids who can barely steer, or you wanna take on the best and show them what the Nevens are made of?” Her dad tapped the patch with the wings stitched to the left side of her olive coloured jumpsuit, the last name Neven, E. embroidered there.  

Ellie’s lips twitched into a gap-toothed smile, her nerves melting under her dad’s infectious confidence, the feeling of pride blooming in her chest. “The best.”  

She reached up to touch the patch, her tiny fingers grazing the fine stitching. Ellie, her dad and Wolfman had hovered over her mom’s shoulder as Ellie’s thrift store coveralls turned flight suit passed under the thumping needle and thread of her mom’s sowing machine, each stitch pinning the embroidered patch to her uniform. She’d felt the importance of it then and now she carried it like a plate of armour. 

“That’s my girl,” her dad beamed widely before he stood again, slapping Wolfman on the back. “Alright, make it official, Wolfe. She’s in the higher category.” 

Wolfman offered a half-salute before he scribbled something on the form tacked to the clipboard and stepped up to the registration table, where a volunteer in a bright yellow shirt shuffled through forms. “We’ve got an entry for the 10-and-up category,” he said, sliding the clipboard across the table with a pop of the chewing gum in his mouth, a wry smile on his lips.  

The volunteer, a woman in her mid-forties, frowned, gathering the clipboard with a wary look at Wolfman before she redirected her green eyes to squint at the paper. “Eleanor Neven? Didn’t she race in the under-10 category last year?” The woman’s eyes passed between Wolfman and Rick and then stood slightly to peek at Ellie over the edge of the table before they returned to the form, her finger tapping at the birthdate, skeptical.  

Rick flashed a dazzling smile, the aviators reflecting the woman’s face back at her as he clicked his tongue. “Kids grow up fast, don’t they? She’s been eating her Wheaties.” For effect, he patted the top of Ellie’s head and pulled her to his side.  

“Plus, last year was a mistake. Wrong birthdate on the form. Happens all the time with military families. You know how it is—paperwork gets shuffled around, lost.” Wolfman added smoothly, leaning against the table as a line formed behind him with other families waiting to register.  

The volunteer hesitated, glancing between the two men again before she sighed, unclipping the form from the clipboard before she slid it into the appropriate pile and began gathering the numbered aprons. “Well… if the birthdate checks out—” 

“It does,” Rick said firmly, all the while his smile never wavered. “I triple-checked it myself. Wolfman here looked it over too. We were both there when she was born. She’s ten and ready to roll.”  

The volunteer’s eyes narrowed, her gaze passing from her dad then to Wolfman before she quietly handed over the documentation.  

Ellie watched the exchange for a moment before she reached up and tugged on her dad’s sleeve as Wolfman collected the stamped form and they stepped away for the next family to register. “Dad, what if they find out? Isn’t this cheating?”  

Rick crouched again, resting a hand on her shoulder as Wolfman crouched behind her, clipping the numbered bib there. “Rio, here’s the thing about flying—or racing,” he reached out to pat the edge of the soapbox plane’s greyed body, “sometimes, you gotta bend the rules a little to get to where you’re going. It’s not about cheating—it’s about knowing you’ve got what it takes, even if the rules don’t think so. Pushing against the limits a bit so we know where the edge is for next time. Tell you what, when we see Uncle Mav, we can ask him about it, huh?”  

Over her shoulder, Wolfman snorted loudly, before he coughed, clearing his throat as Rick shot him a look before he moved on to wrap a numbered arm band around Ellie’s bicep.  

Ellie’s gaze flicked to the track, where older kids were already testing their cars, their faces set with confidence. She squared her shoulders, set her jaw and nodded, though her fingers fiddled with the straps of the helmet tucked under her arm. “Okay, Dad. Let’s do it.”  

“Atta girl,” Rick said, standing and saluting her before he clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation. “Now, get ready to smoke ‘em.”  

They wheeled the soapbox to the race area, Ellie’s fingers tapping out on the outside of the helmet under her arm, her heart beating hard in her small chest. Instinctively, Ellie walked around the soapbox car, her fingers brushing the frame.  

“Always do your preflight before boarding,” her dad had been gazing at her in the rearview at the red light two intersections before the race grounds. 

“Visual 360, fuel and instrument check.” Ellie had nodded, listing off the checklist; her neck craned from the back seat to see if she could scope out any other racers headed to the track. She unbuckled her seat belt to slide closer to the center console before Wolfman threw her a look over his shoulder. 

“Seat belt in this aircraft, kid.” He tutted at her, sliding his aviators down his nose as he popped his gum, pausing on filling out the registration forms in his lap, “you think we’re rule breakers?” 

“We’re not?” 

“Rule benders,” Wolfman corrected, levelling her with a look until she slid back into her seat and buckled up with a click before he pushed his glasses back up and turned his eyes ahead, “we prefer the term rule benders.” 

Climbing into the soapbox, Ellie settled into the low seat as her dad crouched beside the car, sliding the helmet over her head and clipping the strap under her chin. Wolfman leaned forward and tapped dutifully on the top of the helmet, as her dad adjusted it, tugging at the chin strap sharply. Wolfman grinned at her, but when he spoke, it was for his wingman. “She’s ready for this, you think?”  

Ellie’s eyes found her dad’s through the clear visor as he snapped it down over her eyes, his features softened as she smiled her gap-toothed smile at him and adjust the helmet around her head. “She’s a Neven, Wolfman. She was born ready. Right kiddo?”  

“So, Tilly’s given the a-okay, then?”  

Ellie didn’t miss the look her dad threw at his WSO over his shoulder. 

Wolfman raised his hands and chuckled. “Fair enough. Let’s hope she doesn’t notice we didn’t tighten the steering bolts all the way.”  

Rick’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”  

“Relax, Hollywood. I’m kidding.” Wolfman chuckled, clapping him on the back. “Mostly.”  

Her dad groaned as the announcer called for racers to line up and he pushed her car onto the pitched ramp, the ready position. Ellie gripped the wheel as her front tires settled against the gate, the countdown echoing overhead.  

Ten.  

Nine. 

“Preflight checks complete, Lieutenant Neven?” He asked, standing at attention beside the soapbox, his voice calm and steady as the countdown reached the last eight seconds. 

Eight.  

Seven. 

“Preflight checks complete.” Ellie’s foot tapped on the break and twisted the steering wheel, leaning over to watch the tires pivot on spot. “Pattern clear?” 

Six. 

Five. 

“Pattern clear, aviator.” 

Four. 

Three. 

“Requesting clearance for take-off, sir.” 

Two. 

“Clearance granted, Lieutenant Neven.” 

One. 

“Go get ‘em, Rio,” she heard him whisper as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to his fingers and slapping them on the call sign stuck onto the front of her helmet. “Let ‘er rip, kid.”  

The gate in front of Ellie’s car dropped, her wheels moving forward and the soapbox rolling down the pitched track. Despite herself, she gave out a squeal of excitement as she gained speed, the wind picking up and whipping the strands of hair that escaped from under her helmet around her face. 

The world around her blurred, the orange, red and yellow hues of fall rushing by her in a wash of colour, thrill of the speed and the race flooding her senses. For a moment, the sound of the wind and the beating of her heart, she felt like she was flying, a small dot in an endless blue sky. Hollywood and Rio.  

On the second turn, as she broke from the pack of other racers, Ellie felt the change, the sudden increase in speed as the wheel in her hands vibrated and rumbled, wobbled and jammed, harder to steer. But then the hill grew steeper, and her soapbox car picked up more speed than she expected. Ellie’s heart jumped into her throat as she tried to remember what her dad had said about staying steady, about procedure if she came up on a problem with the steering. The third and final turn came fast—too fast—and Ellie leaned into it hard, pulling the stiff wheel as far to the right as she could muscle, but she felt when the car beneath her veered sharply, suddenly uncontrollable. When the front wheels hit a natural dip and then sudden bump in the track, Ellie felt it in her stomach. 

The next few seconds were a blur. Ellie’s grip on the steering wheel slipped, the wheel jerking to the right. Ellie felt the soapbox pitch before she left the seat inside, the sting of pavement rubbing a hole in the arm of her flight suit, hot and raw. In an instant, she felt the sharp pain shoot up her arm from her elbow as she tumbled awkwardly, the world around her spinning. 

The prickle of the hay bale stuck through the back of her clothing as the shooting pain in her arm intensified, the world stilled as she looked up at the blue sky above. Around her, she heard the hum of the wheels passing her and the eruption of cheers as the racers crossing the finish line. 

The taste like a handful of pennies in her mouth came next and when her hand went to her lips, it came back red. From where she lay on the grass, she could see the canopy of autumn leaves clinging to the branches, the blue sky filling in the rest of the mural overhead. 

Her head was spinning, and tears welled up in her eyes, leaking down the side of her eyes into her ears, as the pain in her arm intensified. She tried to sit up but whimpered, clutching her arm close to her chest. The finish line taunted her in the near distance, the checkered banner billowing lazily in the breeze. 

Suddenly, her dad was there, dropping to a knee beside her. “Ellie! Hey, hey—are you okay?” His voice was panicked, but his hands were gentle as he scooped her up into his arms, holding her close to his chest. 

Ellie sniffled, tears rolling down her cheeks despite her best attempts to hold it together, the pain in her arm and the sting of losing when she had been so close, the perfect storm that threatened to break her composure. “I-I broke it, Dad,” she managed through choked sobs, her arm cradled against her body, her breaths coming in gulps. As if an afterthought, she traced her front teeth with her tongue and hiccupped a small sob when she found a larger gap there than had been before, “and I lost a tooth.”  

Her dad’s face softened with a mix of something Ellie couldn’t quite map, his brow pulling together into a line as he brushed hair away from her face, tucked it up the lip of the helmet still stuck on her head. “Aw, kiddo, I’m so sorry. We’ll get you fixed up, okay? Let’s get you to the hospital.” 

Shifting her, he fished the car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Wolfman who, without a word, took off toward the parking lot at a clipped pace.  

Ellie could only nod weakly, burying her face in his chest, the familiar scent of his aftershave and coffee settling her, cocooning her. Even through the pain, there was a comfort in his arms, the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, thumping against her tear-stained cheek centering her like the tick of a metronome guiding her back to calm. 

As they headed to the parking lot, each bump or bounce of her dad’s gait a painful jolt to her arm, pushing a hiss from her lips, she heard him whisper softly, against the side of her helmet. “You were so brave, Rio. I’m so proud of you.” 

Ellie nodded with a sniffle as the sound of Wolfman pulling up the van closer, brakes squealing, drew her attention. “Mom’s gonna be mad.”  

“Oh, don’t worry about your mom, kid.” Ellie watched as her dad tried to laugh, but there was also a hesitation there that stopped his lips from turning up into his usually contagious, mischievous grins. “Your mom’s not gonna believe I let you get behind the wheel on the 10 and over track.” 

Ellie let out a soft, watery laugh. Tilly Neven wasn’t one to trifle with. “You’re in trouble.”  

Rick chuckled this time, the sound reverberating through her as he stepped over the curb into the parking lot and Wolfman slid open the door to the backseat, for a second, her dad held her a bit tighter. “Yeah, well… wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.” 

Ellie had never been good at public speaking. She’d never joined a debate club or been the first to volunteer her ideas if it meant a presentation.  

Once she’d received the text from Tony, confirming the tech upgrade and the program installation in the jets, she’d relaxed, but only slightly. It still meant that she had to do the part of her job she disliked the most, “the elevator pitch”. 

She’d have to face the men who would be flying her tech and say Hi, I’ve added a hunk of metal and some wires into your jets. It’s going to help, trust me. Ask them to put their trust in her, their lives in her hands. It won’t malfunction according to these computer simulations. It won’t leave you hanging in a dogfight. Pinky promise. 

She didn’t expect it to go off without a hitch. She didn’t expect them to cheer and lift her up on their shoulders. 

All she needed was a chance, a small bit of faith before they leapt. 

Ellie stood at the front of the briefing room, her hands resting lightly on the podium, her gaze scanning the faces of the four pilots clad in green flight suits seated before her. The air smelled of stale coffee and old leather, the scent of a room that had seen countless debriefings, strategy meetings, and quiet moments of reckoning.  

She had spent years developing this technology, refining it, arguing for its place, its relevance, in the future of aviation. She’d tweaked it here, twisted its usefulness there, bridged a gap when she’d been turned down at one turn and climbed through windows when doors closed in her face. Now, standing here in front of the men who would be the first to fly with it, she had to vault this hurdle too, convince them it was worth trusting with their lives. Standing here, pitching for their faith in her, was more nerve wracking than presenting in front of Admiral Simpson and Rear Admiral Stark. 

Taking a breath, Ellie steadied herself, ignored how Teak and Lover scuffled between each other in their seats, how Hangman’s eyes never left her, the feeling of his gaze, eyes focused, hot on her even when she wasn’t looking at him. Rooster sat behind him and kicked his chair with a well-aimed boot, the sudden jolt of his seat enough to knock Hangman out of his stare. 

She didn’t ask for their attention, didn’t wait for them to notice that she was ready to begin. With a click of the remote in her hand, the screen behind her flickered, displaying the blueprint layout of an F-18, its labelled components taken straight from the NATOPS handbook. “Gentlemen. I assume Captain Mitchell has already given you a brief overview of what to expect, so I won’t waste your time on introductions or small talk and formalities.”  

From the corner of her eye, Ellie could see Mav fold his arms across his chest, his eyes trained on her. He’d given her the floor immediately without preface, without introduction. 

“You’ll recognize this as the wireframe of your F-18,” Ellie continued before she clicked to the next slide. An overlay slid into place, the standing systems overlaid with a complex web of radar signals, AI pathways, and electronic warfare integrations—her tech, on full display, laid bare. If she was expecting a reaction, they didn’t give her one, just silence. 

“What you’re looking at is the next step in avionics evolution,” she pressed on, her voice steady, turning toward her audience. “A fully integrated, adaptive system that combines radar, AI-driven threat assessment, electronic warfare, and seamless data-sharing into a single interface. Instead of relying on separate, often outdated systems, this package will allow you to fight, evade, and communicate with a level of efficiency we’ve never seen before.” 

If her heart wasn’t beating in her ears, she would hear the silence that met her words. She’d recognize it as the silence that wasn’t the good kind, the kind of silence that led her to over-explain herself. But she didn’t. 

Rooster, sat forward, his forearms on the table as he studied the schematic with an unreadable expression. Lover was nodding slightly as he squinted between the screen and scribbling notes in a small flip notebook he’d pulled from the breast pocket of his flight suit. Hangman lounged in his seat, fingers laced behind his head, smirking, carefully flipping a toothpick in his mouth. And Teak—Teak sat back, arms folded over his chest, a look Ellie recognized as the tell-tale look of skepticism written across his face. 

Ellie paused, her eyes drawn down to her notes. Pause for pushback, she’d written. She didn’t have to pause for long., 

“So, what?” Teak drawled, tilting his head slightly, waving at the screen. “You want us to trust some... glorified autopilot to make our decisions for us?” 

Unflinchingly, Ellie met his gaze, actually looking at him for the first time. Teak’s jaw flexed; the sharp lines of his cheekbones and nose lending him a striking appearance. His eyes, an intriguingly particular shade of cerulean, not unlike a clear September sky, studied Ellie as she took her time to process the response. “No. I want you to have every possible advantage when you’re up there. The AI isn’t replacing you—it’s making sure you have all the information you need, exactly when you need it.” 

Ellie clicked the remote again, and the screen shifted to a simulation. Two aircraft maneuvered through a contested airspace, one operating on traditional avionics, the other using her system.  

The first fighter responded only to what its sensors could detect, reacting to threats as they appeared through visuals or radar. The second fighter’s system anticipated missile locks before they happened, evaded before the pilot even registered the danger visually, and counter-jammed enemy radar before the target was painted. “It’s all based on data, numbers. But right now, those numbers look very good,” her eyes turned to the screen and watched the simulated planes for a moment, observed as they streaked through the mock mission, data readings popping up on what looked to be a pilot Heads-Up Display. 

“This system isn’t meant to fly for you,” she continued, turning back now as the simulations continued to play on loop on the screen behind her. “But it will see threats before you do, adjust possible countermeasures dynamically, and ensure your radar stays clear even in a fully jammed environment. In short? It gives you an advantage over the enemy, helps make sure you have a better chance at coming home.” 

Hangman broke the silence next, the sound of his low whistle drawing Ellie’s attention as he leaned back in his chair, his open legged posture, relaxed as ever. “Well, damn. That’s one hell of a sales pitch.” 

Rooster, his eyes still flicked across the data readings displayed on the screen behind Ellie, his fingers tapping absently against the table. “How fast can it adapt if an enemy starts throwing curveballs? Let’s say a bogey or SAMs or laser guided missile systems.” 

Ellie clicked again, dismissing the simulation and bringing up another set of figures. All colourful charts and data sets. She’d come prepared for this line of questioning.  

“Milliseconds. It’s built on machine learning models trained on thousands of real-world engagements. The more it’s used, the smarter it gets. If someone tries to jam your frequency in one way, it recalibrates instantly. If an unknown aircraft enters your airspace, it cross-references flight patterns to find weaknesses, predict its next move before you would have to react. It shows you possibilities.” 

“So, you’re saying it levels the playing field against fifth-gen threats?” Lover was sitting up now, his pen tapping against his open notebook, his broad shoulders rolling forward as he pointed at the data set. Ellie thought she read excitement in his hazel eyes as he thumbed his nose. 

“I’m saying it not only evens the playing field, but it tilts it in your favour.” 

Silence stretched between them, charged with something between curiosity and uncertainty. 

“Sounds like a lot of fancy tech that can get hacked, fail, or—oh, I don’t know—override pilot input at the worst possible time,” Teak said flatly, Ellie could almost detect the chortle behind his words. Convincing Teak would be a challenge. 

Ellie forced herself to pivot—she had dealt with resistance before from officers ranking higher than Teak. Early on, she had learned pilots didn’t like change, especially not changes that altered the way they had trained, the way they had survived. Wolfman had told her as much the first time she’d passed the idea by him, Mav had all but told her what to expect from every level of Naval officer, so she wasn’t about to let skepticism derail the entire briefing. Skepticism was a given. 

“It has redundancy systems,” she said evenly. “If one function is compromised, the AI reallocates resources to keep the essentials running. If something catastrophic happens? Manual override is always in your hands. It’s a tool, an aid, not a replacement for skill.” 

Teak scoffed before he loudly popped his chewing gum. “Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t put my life in the hands of an algorithm.” 

Hangman chuckled, tilting his head toward Teak who sat a row behind and to his left, a lazy grin growing on his face. “Teak, buddy. You sound like my granddad bitching about GPS when it first came out. Relax, old man.” 

Rooster huffed out a quiet laugh. Lover fought a smirk. Teak’s jaw ticked as if he swallowed his words. 

Ellie let the moment settle before she spoke again.  

“Look, I know this is all new. And I know change isn’t easy to trust. But the fact is this system isn’t here to hold your hand. It’s here to keep you alive in environments where traditional systems would leave you blind, deaf, and dead in the water.” 

She let her words sink in before she continued. “I don’t expect you to trust it yet. That’s what testing is for. But I do expect you to fly with it and see for yourselves, let it speak for itself.” 

Ellie scanned the pilots before her; Teak’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing more. Rooster sat back, nodding slightly, still mulling it over. Lover shrugged, casting a quick look around the room, eager. Hangman just grinned, his eyes never leaving her. 

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, the amusement in his tone clear as he adjusted his seat in the chair, “I do love a good test drive.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes and ignored him, clicking the remote one last time to pull up the first test flight parameters. 

“Good,” she said. “Because you’re all wheels up in about 30 minutes.” 

Maverick clapped his hands together, rising from his chair. “Alright, aviators; suit up and make your way to the tarmac. Let’s see what this tech can really do.” 

The room stirred to life, chairs scraping against the floor as the pilots stood, some stretching, others already discussing the upcoming test amongst themselves. Ellie stayed put, gathering her laptop and notes, methodically shutting everything down. 

The pilots filtered out one by one. Rooster passed the podium, tapping out a quick rhythm on the edge and shooting her a small nod on his way out, and Lover muttered something about looking forward to seeing it in action as he tucked his notepad away before air drumming with his pen. Teak, however, barely spared her a glance as he brushed past, his shoulder grazing hers a bit too close for comfort. 

Ellie exhaled, letting the tension in her shoulders ease. That had gone about as well as she could’ve hoped, a little (expected) pushback, but three out of four pilots being open to try it wasn’t too bad of a ratio. She’d had worse before. 

“Nice job, Rigby.” 

She blinked, glancing up. Hangman was still there, standing a few feet away, hands on his hips, the toothpick sticking out the corner of his mouth, and that ever-present smugness dialed down to something… different.  

Ellie hesitated before she responded. “Thanks,” she said, closing her laptop. “Though I’m sure you’ll find something to critique once you’re in the air.” 

Hangman chuckled, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, sounds like you know me better than you think.” But there was something almost appreciative in his expression, something that lingered a beat too long. 

Ellie’s fingers curled around her MacBook, as something unreadable settling in her stomach. 

Then, movement near the door caught her eye, breaking her from the moment. 

Teak. 

He hadn’t left after all. He lingered just outside of the briefing room in the hall, his sharp gaze passing between her and Hangman pointedly, assessing. Ellie wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but judging by the way his expression flickered—something tight, something almost knowing—he’d seen enough to form some kind of opinion. 

Jake winked at her, clapping a hand on the edge of the podium as he stepped past her, “see you on the tarmac, Rigby.” 

Ellie forced a nod, schooling her expression as Hangman stepped out, his hand grabbing Teak’s shoulder and giving it a shake, “c’mon granddad, I’ll show you how all those buttons work.” 

Teak shook Hangman off, his lips pulled into a tight line as he lingered, just a second longer. Ellie’s eyes met his for a beat, a moment when he held it. Then, just as quickly, he was gone. 

From the control tower’s observation deck, headset on, fingers drumming against her folded arms, Ellie listened the comms chatter. 

From her vantage point, she could see the three jets taxi into position, the Californian sun sitting high in the blue, cloudless sky. It was as perfect a condition as she could have hoped for, at least the weather was cooperating. Around her, the Control Tower hummed with the activity of the staff, coordinating clearance with the ground crew and flight patterns of aircraft already in the air. 

For years she’d imagined standing here, envisioned a time in the future where she’d be watching as her tech did its thing and the numbers started rolling in. Now, actually standing here, her heart beating in her throat, she found herself overrun with the need to fidget, the chew her lip, to bite her thumbnail. 

Down on the runway, she watched as the jets roared to life, sleek bodies glinting in the afternoon light. Rooster, Teak, Lover, and Hangman. All of them sitting in cockpits wired with the most advanced avionics package ever put into a single system. If this worked—if it really worked—it would change everything. On the other hand, if it failed... well it didn’t bear thinking about, not right now at least. Ellie felt her foot tapping out on the tiled floor as her fingers dug into her arms. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Maverick’s voice crackled over the comms from somewhere in the sky, the feedback from the cockpit scratchy in her ears. “Today’s a simple test. We’re looking for a baseline. The system is going to integrate with your HUDs and onboard AI, feeding you the real-time data and making sure you have everything you need to stay alive. Your job? Fly how you normally would. My job? Try to kill you. Hard deck is 5,000 feet—let’s keep it clean, nothing fancy.” 

“Clean and ‘nothing fancy’ ain’t exactly in my wheelhouse,” Hangman drawled, his accent cutting through the frequency, his voice sounding isolated, in a tin can. Ellie resisted the shiver that rolled up her spine. Though he was hundreds of feet away, a small spot on the runway, his voice in her ears sparked something in her. 

Ellie rolled her eyes, mostly at him, but a little at herself, instead choosing to focus on the screens in front of her, hovering over the shoulders of the techs sitting in front of the radar equipment which beeped dutifully. 

Rooster’s sigh was deep as he cut in over the frequency. “Just try not to break anything before we even get started, Bagman.” 

“No promises, Rooster. No promises.” Ellie could hear the smirk in Jake’s voice. “Lover, you ready to walk your old man through this?”    “I swear to God, Hangman,” Teak shot back, quickly, his comms fizzling to life. “Keep running your mouth—” 

“Easy, easy—” Jake responded without missing a beat, the clicking of toggles being flipped dull in the background behind his voice, “no need to get feisty now, just say the word if you need me to break it down real slow for you.” 

“Knock off the chatter,” Maverick cut in. “Wheels up in thirty seconds.” 

Down on the flight line, the engines surged, afterburners flared, and one by one, the jets launched down the runway, blurs of speed that streaked into the sky like silver bullets. Ellie’s gaze shifted, watching their flight paths on the monitors in front of her, the integrated system humming to life as it started pulling in data, linking each aircraft into the seamless digital web one by one. 

“Telemetry looks good from here,” Ellie spoke into the headset, her eyes took in the data as it began streaming to the screen in front of her. “All systems online and reading normal. How’s it looking up there?” 

Rooster was the first to respond, his familiar voice filling Ellie’s ears. “HUD’s crisp. AI’s already starting to flag heat signatures and terrain. Feels intuitive.” 

Ellie could feel the prickly of excitement before she schooled it back; too soon to start celebrating. 

“Same here,” Lover added, a smooth calmness in place. “Looks good from where I’m sitting. Got anything nice to say, Teak?” 

“System seems a bit chatty. Lots of information to sort through. Feels like it’s thinking for me.” Teak’s voice came through on cue, predictably, less enthusiastic. 

Ellie bit her tongue, she’d make a note to address it later in the debrief. She’d carefully remind Teak that the whole point of the system was to boost and enhance their decision-making, not replace it. As with anything new, it wouldn’t seem natural or easy in the beginning but would benefit them in the long run. Old dogs, new tricks. 

Hangman’s voice came last. “It’s good, I’ll give you that. But let’s see how it handles when I put it through the wringer.” 

Suddenly, a spike of data jumped on Ellie’s screen. Hangman’s jet shot forward, pushing past the planned test parameters before Ellie could yell out a warning over the comms. Outside, Ellie could see his jet as he yanked into a high-G turn, rolling hard, his plane screaming through the sky at an angle that should have stalled out lesser, greener pilots. 

Alarms flared on Ellie’s screen, screamed in her ears, so loud she instinctively lifted the headset off one ear. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, already flipping through the diagnostics filling her screen, her fingers flying over keys to manually redistribute the generative thinking, fast. 

“Hangman!” Rooster barked, his voice booming over the screaming of her tech in her ear. “You trying to rip your own wings off?” 

“Relax Rooster,” even as Hangman grunted through another high-G cartwheel, strained against the force that pushed him back into the seat, Ellie could hear the playfulness in his tone, “just seeing if this fancy tech can keep up with me. So far, it’s keeping pace.” 

Barely, Ellie thought, her mind scrambling as she worked through the manual controls, pulling the recalibration coding from the back of her mind as her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest. The system was compensating as best it could, shifting power away from instruments and recalibrating to track Hangman’s sharp, unexpected turns and dives, climbs and rolls. It was working—but Ellie could already see stress indicators creeping in, the red signals flickering in the corner of her screen, the warning signs of a catastrophic failure. She hadn’t coded the parameters today for bullshit. If Hangman kept pushing, he might overload the AI’s allocation process before it had the chance to adjust and provide the baseline she was looking for. 

Her tech picked up Maverick on her screen as he joined in. 

Maverick’s jet came in fast from above, dropping out of the sheltered glare of the sun like a streaking missile. Ellie could see the system flag Mav on Hangman’s HUD in an instant, feeding Hangman a collision path before Mav entered weapons range. 

“Bogey incoming,” Ellie heard the AI voice warn in Hangman’s ear, on her end, she could see the system scanning, populating his HUD with information on the unknown aircraft. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Hangman muttered. “Breaking left. You got eyes on him Rooster?” 

He rolled hard to evade, dipping lower into the valley, barreling toward the 5,000-foot Hard Deck, forcing the system to compensate for rapid altitude changes, environmental shifts, and G-force strain all at once. 

Bitching Betty dinged through the cockpit, through Ellie’s headset. Altitude. Altitude. Pull up. Pull up. 

Ellie’s pulse ticked up as the warnings started going off again. 

“Break right, Hangman.” Rooster was in through the comms now, “I’ll get tone if you’re out of the way.” 

“Hangman, ease off,” Ellie cut through on the comms, her voice carefully controlled and calm but firm. She tried her best to keep the panic out of her tone, “You’re overloading the processing core. The AI needs time to redistribute resources, give it half a second to think and do what it’s there to do.”  

“Sounds like a ‘me’ problem.” Hangman was into another roll, breaking right as Rooster’s jet streaked in to assist and Hangman tumbled into another evasive maneuver, Mav hot on his tail. 

“It will be when you lose your radar feed,” Ellie shot back, around her the Control Tower Operators calmly diverted aircraft around the training area. “If you don’t—” 

The screen flickered on Ellie’s end, the system’s red flashing code stuttering, reflecting the same blip on Hangman’s HUD on the top corner of her display. 

A half-second glitch. 

A data delay. 

Not long enough to crash the system—but long enough to be dangerous if this were a live, life or death dogfight. 

In her ear, Hangman cursed under his breath as Mav capitalized on the momentary hiccup, his jet screaming in with impossible speed, locking a missile tone before Hangman could fully react, adjust. 

“That’s tone. Fox Two!” Mav’s voice cut through the comms, calm, collected. 

A simulated missile strike. If this had been real, Hangman would be punching out right now. 

The comms fell silent for a beat before Maverick’s voice came through, even and unreadable. “That’s a splash.” 

Ellie let out a slow breath as the system regulated, the red indicators disappearing from her screen as the system isolated the issue and rerouted, recalibrated. The system had held. Barely—pushed into the red, hanging on by what seemed to be a simple line of code. 

Hangman, to his credit, was quiet for a moment. 

“Well,” Jake began, the huff of exertion from the laundry list of evasive maneuvers and the strain of the resulting G-force on his body, “guess I found the breaking point.” 

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, the tips of her fingers turning white, closing her eyes to breathe out a noisy, measured breath. 

“You found it immediately,” Rooster at least had the decency to sound as exasperated as Ellie felt. 

Lover hummed in agreement. “Kinda impressive, Hangman, honestly. You always go around breaking your most expensive toys?” 

Ellie exhaled sharply, evacuating all the air from her lungs before she breathed it in anew. Patience.  She’d need to practice patience or take a vow of silence to keep herself in check. “Hangman, get back into formation. The rest of you, continue the test as planned. And for the love of fucking god, stick to the parameters this time.” 

“Copy that,” Rooster said. 

“Got it, Boss Lady,” Lover added, his voice light. 

Teak, gruff as ever, just muttered, “Knew this was a bad idea.” 

Hangman sighed, pulling his jet back in line. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now.” 

Ellie didn’t believe that for a second. 

Ellie pushed open the control tower door with more force than necessary, so hard it swung back against the outer side of the building with a heavy slam as she stepped onto the sunbaked tarmac at a clipped pace. Her boots hit the pavement hard as she strode across the flight line, headset hanging loosely around her neck, her pulse still elevated from the way Hangman had handled the test. 

She’d expected the first test flights to be bumpy. What she hadn’t been expecting was that the bumps might come from Hangman. After his tone in the briefing, Ellie had expected pushback from Teak, had been waiting for him to act out, but Jake? This was just him being a cocky son of a bitch, and she wasn’t about to let it slide. She couldn’t. 

The rest of the test had gone according to plan, but the baseline readings had been skewed because of Hangman’s hadn’t followed instruction. Today had essentially been a wash for anything except for redline readings. 

As she approached the line of jets, she threw her hand up to shield her eyes against the dipping sun, catching the last pilot climbing out of his jet—Rooster. He caught sight of her immediately, his pace shifting, angling himself in her path before she could storm clear across to the hangar and into the locker room and rip into Hangman in front of everyone. 

“Cool it, Rigsy,” Rooster murmured, hands up in a peacekeeping gesture as he tracked backward while Ellie pushed forward. Against his 6’1 frame, Ellie looked small, and the wall of his body blocked her trajectory. “You look like you’re on the warpath.” 

In the reflection of the aviators over his eyes, Ellie could see herself, eyes narrowed. “Move, Bradshaw.” 

Rooster didn’t budge, shifting as Ellie tried to step around him when she realized he wasn’t going to clear the path. “Not until you take a breath, or maybe seven.” 

Ellie let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, trust me, I’ll breathe just fine once I’ve had a word with Seresin.” 

Rooster exhaled through his nose, arms folding across his chest as Ellie stopped abruptly. There was no way he was moving. Fleetingly, Ellie wondered if being stubborn was a requirement for flight school. “Yeah? And what exactly are you planning to say? Because from here, it looks like you’re about to walk in there and lose it in front of the entire locker room.” 

Ellie clenched her jaw. “He went off-script, overloaded the system immediately. Forced it into a failure point before I could even establish a baseline. That’s not testing limits—that’s recklessness. You have to establish the baseline before you—” 

Rooster shook his head. “That’s how he flies. You knew that.” 

“That’s how an asshole flies,” she shot back, a flare of anger, not unlike the flickering lick of a solar flare, rising inside of her. 

Rooster’s lips twitched, almost as if he might laugh, but in a moment, he was composed again, not taking the bait. His hands were on his hips now, helmet tucked neatly under an arm. “Look, I get it. Maybe better than anyone. He’s frustrating. He’s cocky. But he’s also one of the best pilots in the Navy, and trust me, you want him pushing this thing to its breaking point. Better him than someone out there getting shot at when the stakes are high.” 

Ellie’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, the muscles of her jaw working to bite back the words she really wanted to say. It took her a moment, carefully choosing her words before she spoke again. “That’s not what this was about. He didn’t do that for the sake of the test. He did it to prove he could break it. That’s all he cares about—looking good, coming out on top. He doesn’t give a damn about the work that went into this.” 

Rooster studied her for a long moment, his eyebrow quirked high. “That’s a lot of assuming for someone who works with provable theories and data sets for a living.” His jaw ticked as if he was clenching and unclenching. “You don’t know him.” 

“And he doesn’t know me,” Ellie shot back. She wanted to say that Jake didn’t know what it was like for her, he didn’t know how many pieces of her life and her time and her blood, sweat and tears had gone into every fiber of this tech. She wanted to say that he didn’t know why she was doing this. Instead, she shifted her weight and tightened the fold of her arms across her body. She could be stubborn too—it practically ran in her DNA. 

Rooster sighed, shifting his weight. “I guess you’d better get used to being pissed off then, because he’s not going anywhere.” 

Ellie pressed her lips together, her frustration still simmering, but Rooster wasn’t done. “Look,” he said, more measured this time, “I told you before—Hangman will follow if you make it clear who’s in charge. But he’s got to respect you first. And right now? You’re just reacting to him. He pushes; you push back. Wash, rinse, repeat until you both die. He thrives on that. I tried it that way. It doesn’t work.” 

Ellie narrowed her eyes, studying Rooster for a moment, before she rolled her eyes and threw her hands up. “And what exactly do you suggest? That I just let him run the show?” 

Rooster shook his head. “No. I’m saying he’s testing you just as much as he’s testing the system. You want to keep him in check? Show him you can handle him.” 

Ellie’s fingers twitched at her sides. She hated that he had a point, hated even more that Hangman would probably enjoy knowing just how much he was getting under her skin. It took a measured breath and a focused thought with intent to push down the anger into her toes. “How do you suggest I do that?” 

Rooster shifted his weight, as if he were trying to pull something out of his hat. “Maybe start by coming out tonight?”  

Ellie huffed, the sun starting to heat the back of her neck uncomfortably. She didn’t shoot it down right away and so, likely sensing an in, he continued. 

“Hard Deck. Might help your case if the guys see you as something other than what they’re pegging you for now.”

Ellie arched a brow, she didn’t want to engage Rooster right now, she hated that her anger was ebbing away, if only slightly. She hated that there were politics she had to play into to get her tech where it needed to be. “Oh? And what exactly are they pegging me for now?” 

At that, Rooster smiled. Ellie knew Rooster knew her well enough by now to see that her anger was dissolving. “A mysterious, tech-obsessed hard-ass who spends too much time in her office and not enough time pretending to be human. Also, someone trying to make their lives harder.”    Ellie huffed a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. “Great. Love that for me. Is it terminal, doctor?” 

“Not entirely, it’s fixable at this stage,” Rooster teased as she watched his shoulders relax. “Couple rounds at the Hard Deck, let ‘em see you’re not a soulless drone, and suddenly you’re one of us. I’ve seen you with Nic, I know you can be fun, or at least fun-adjacent.” 

She gave him a skeptical look, choosing to ignore the comment about her being fun. “I don’t think drinking beer with you guys is going to make Hangman and Teak be any less of pains in my ass.”    “No, but it might make Teak less of a pain in my ass if he stops thinking you’re some uptight, out-of-touch scientist trying to change the way he flies,” Rooster pointed out. “Might be worth it.”    Ellie exhaled, considering. “What about Hangman?” 

“You mean the way he flies or the way he’s been trying to flirt you into submission since he laid eyes on you?” 

Ellie felt her stomach dip and she took a careful, measured swallow. “Both.” 

“Not sure that’s curable.” Rooster hissed, perfect bedside manner for delivering a terminal prognosis. 

Ellie huffed and set her hands on her hips. She wasn’t the type to care what pilots thought of her—she built tech to save their lives, not to win their approval. But Rooster had a point. If she wanted them to trust her system, they had to trust her first.  “Alright,” she said finally, pushing back from her desk. “One drink. But if any of them start talking about ‘mansplainy’ shit, I’m out.”  Rooster nodded, the grin on his face. “Fair deal.”    Rooster waited for a beat, stepped back and waited another, as if he were testing to see if Ellie might sprint past him on her way to the locker room anyway. When she didn’t move, he offered her a small wave and turned, stalking down the tarmac and peeling parts of his flight gear off as he did so.  

As his figure shrunk, Ellie sighed and rubbed her temples.  Great. Now she had to go pretend to be human. 

a/n: i mean, does ellie even have a mom/dad with wolfman and mav stepping in? not me cackling as i imagine wolfman in an apron making scrambled eggs, terribly. anyone wanna crack that with fanart? haha

if you love this series, reblog, comment, like! chapter 5, the technical ending of this chapter will be up tomorrow!

tags:  @hookslove1592 @mrsevans90 @avengersfan25 @jbennsquared @dempy

@obsessed-fan-alert @djs8891 @lunatygerqueen @khouse712 @alipap3

@yuckosworld @marvelouslyme96 @luckyladycreator2 @lovelylndskies @cardi-bre91

@whatislovevavy @qutequeersstuff @tgmreader @writergirl28 @literal-tv-menace

@queenslandlover-93 @fantasyfootballchampion @marrianena

taglist if you want to be added/removed!

[skyfallscotland]

So the other day I went on a bit of a deep dive and used the wayback machine to find some of my old fanfic (may you never see it) but I was reading through my old comments (as you do) on my most popular fic from back then, that I started when I was twelve, and my god I have to share this with you guys 😭😂

We have come a LONG way and I think I maybe just blanked a lot of this out to keep myself going, because if current me was copping this, she’d be out, no more fic.

Consider this my official apology for forever saying fandom is so much worse than it used to be…It’s only mostly worse 🤣🫶🏼 that bright period in there was obviously the decade after this one.

Shall we stroll down memory lane together?

(trigger warning: homophobia)

Now, I’m not claiming my work was amazing (again, I was TWELVE) it was honestly terrible. Cringe as hell. But it also clearly had some fans because I got a lot of decent comments too (hundreds on a 19k word HP fic that I abandoned after a few years, that then did not survive the second great ffnet purge), and a lot of those comments after I was like “GUYS I’M TRYING HERE I’M ONLY TWELVE!” etc were like “wait, you’re what now?!” So that’s kinda nice 😌

But the point is, we all start from somewhere. I’ve been doing this ‘gig’ a while, no one is good overnight, at ANYTHING. I don’t even think I’m that good at it now. If you’re predisposed to writing, it still takes practice! And apparently the guts to weather…this.

Welcome to the 2000’s ✨

• look, i don't care if you've lost your inspiration... just ramble until you do

LOL

• could you upload quicker? i want more of the story faster!

😂 there was a little too much honesty going around

• Did you have to stop, I just started reading this story today and I already have fallen in love with it. I don't like it when authors stop the story half way through.

Me either!!! But you know, I had to go to school so 🤷🏼‍♀️

• I hate you. I just want you to know that. Not finish! Blec!

BLEC!!

It’s starting to make sense to me why I have a serious anxiety about not having a few chapters written ahead of time, my therapist would say that’s buried trauma ✨

• why why whyyyyy! Why must you stop on a cliffhanger!

just call me rebecca

• WELL, one thing for sure, your chapter ALL so freaking short!

Lmao this one didn’t age well 😌

• It's pretty pathetic that YOU'RE one of those TYPICAL cliche, boring authors that go with the knowitall and gold-digging WHORES then say Luna, who's under used and under-appreciated!

I made Hermione and Ginny friends of Harry. Like they are in the book 🙃 this person also commented on every single chapter in this style, hating everything—I know because no one used anon. Hiding your homophobia? Apparently Not trés chic!

• You'r an awful pweson who'll burn in hell.

I made Harry gay.

• Why is Harry such a girl?

Again, he’s not, he’s just gay. I think he also went shopping and bought some jeans (hp 2000’s fic shopping montage, whaddup?! ✌🏼)

• cant rembet why i click on there but there not GAY Harry is 100% not fag

How sure are you, though? He had some real great tension with Diary Tom Riddle, if we’re being fair. Also, it was clearly marked. I took up some of that valuable 20 character summary space TO mark it but the homophobes kept coming 🥲

• I like slash, but it has to be well written, and it’s completly unrealistic and wrong for harry to be a bottom.

There…was no sex involved. He went shopping for some pants. He found another male attractive. I’m?? Also not sure how you inferred that he would be a dominant partner anyway because even with Ginny you know damn well she’s on top 😌

• disgusting! you ruined such a good story.

Pretty sure this was also about ✨the gay✨

• Look, I'm not trying to flame, but after all this time of waiting, why are there so little words?

I was busy with seventh grade algebra hun!! Also, I was drafting by hand on paper and uploading from the FAMILY DESKTOP COMPUTER. I had to zero out every time someone walked past, hello???

• this story was kind of creepy and i know for a fact that animals leave the losing animal in the ground to claim their teritory.

I…actually have no idea what this was about and also whether it’s true 😂

• Please update as soon as possible

I just picture this person with a deadpan expression, typing with their pointer fingers.

• There's a lot of stuff that's unexplained here, add a little more detail and the story would be a lot better.

ok VALID babe, valid, lots of this same sentiment and I TOOK that advice, like if I got this as a twelve year old to my (online) face, I’m positive your fav millionaire authors can handle it if they happen to see it floating by in the netosphere!

In saying all that, there were some really funny comments too. People were generally a lot more creative when leaving comments back then (aside from the general rudeness 20-30% of them exhibited lmao).

• please dont leave me hanging..i look pathetic when i hanging...trust me on this one...visualize a wet cat stuck on a towl rack

Help, I’m whEEZING 😂

•I have no words to describe how I feel about you right now. That isn't even a cliff hanger you obliterated the cliff and tossed us into an abyss of unknown danger!

Some things don’t change I guess, sorry bout it 🤷🏼‍♀️

• (football caoch voice) move move move! u have readers on u go go go!

🤣 it really do be feeling like that

• You sure you're 13? You seem more like a demented 18 yearold to me. 

Thank you *bows*

Final considerations: Why could no one spell or punctuate? Glad we’re past that era 😮‍💨

But no seriously I think this is why people who were around for the 90s, 00’s and 10’s are so critical of fandom today, because we weathered THIS and ended up with something really great, and now it seems that’s being threatened more and more.

So whenever you see pushback against “today’s fandom” it’s coming from a place of “dear god, we’ve been in the trenches and we do NOT want to go back” 🫶🏼

My dear current readers, I love you endlessly for not being these people, good lord.

[b0oker18]

You know, I got out of work this afternoon and I read @randomfoggytiger post about this travesty of an episode. I immediately opened Word and began to type up my thoughts on this episode, my thoughts on the revival and why I dislike it so much, etc. But alas it just kept coming out as word salad. I struggle to get the words I am thinking onto paper (or screen in this case) so instead I think I’ll just leave this brilliant quote here: 

"You can't get the truth. You can't. There's a larger truth, though: that you can't harness the forces of the cosmos, but you may find somebody else. You may find another human.". - Frank Spotnitz 

Ok, ok I’ll say a few things cuz why not but you dont have to read them if you dont want to ;)

Chris Carter lost the plot. He lost the real truth that all of us may hope to know someday. It's what Mulder and Scully found, it's what Frank realized, it's what we shippers knew this whole time. 

This is going to sound harsh but I have to say it. The Revival Mulder and Scully are two characters that I don't want anything to do with. They have taken so many steps backwards that it feels like we are watching a Mulder and Scully from a different universe. Sure, there are some nice moments here and there. The hand holding in Babylon is cute (if you watch it on mute), the scene in the church in nothing lasts forever is great (if only that conversation happened like 15 years ago). For me though, those scenes don't mean much if I have to suffer through the rest of the shlock that we see in almost every other scene.

I don't really know what the REAL Mulder and Scully are doing right now. Hopefully Mulder is out and about helping people discover the unknown. Hopefully Scully is healing the sick and discovering the relationship between God and Science. Hopefully the two come home at night and discuss their day and find their own truths in each other because that is the only truth they can ever hope to know. 

So as far as I'm concerned the last time I ever saw the REAL Mulder and Scully is on that cute little boat in the middle of the ocean. I know some will disagree, but it's just how I see it. It's an ending I can get behind for two characters I care for deeply. For me it is THE Truth. 

For no reason in particular, here is a random GIF I found on Tumblr that has no relationship to anything at all :)

React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (My Struggle III), Part IX

it is time, once again, to lose my mind.

I am curious though, before I dive in: which Struggle is the worst for you, Dear Reader? The first, which destroyed the mytharc and gave us a breakup without any reason (which had to be, partially, course-corrected later?) The second, which was filler and nonsensical and gave us a cliffhanger with possibly no payoff? The third (which... I'm pretty sure has Morse Code brain signals)? Or the infamous fourth? If you had to take a step back and assess the total damage... what would be the most heinous?

**Note**: Losing my mind for fun. No hate towards anyone, only intense frustration over choices made.

Now, let's rip into this. >:DDDD

MY STRUGGLE III

WE'RE GETTING CSM VOICEOVER.

REALLY.

So. My Struggle I was Mulder's and My Struggle II was Scully's (according to CC) and had voiceovers accordingly... so... this is CSM's.... Soooooooooooooooooooo.

2x-ing this.

Trump getting sworn in, Putin, all these "oh, no, think of the children" clips, ugh.

CSM. You're not a hero just because you don't have a yellow wig. CC, CSM is not a villainous antihero just because you give him a monologue.

And let me be clear: CC does think CSM is the villain. However, he can't resist toying with the idea of Spender's internalized pity-party... but... okay, I'm gonna be honest: he's not exhibiting the skills to do it. Whether that's because he never had them (doubtful) or because he let those writing muscles atrophy with lazy shock value (likely), the fact remains: this isn't going to be good.

How do I know? Because the previous parts weren't good. And I may not know higher math, but I do know enough to know 1 +1 not only constitutes 2 but also establishes a pattern.

Here's a lazy screenshot for CC's lazy analysis:

CSM talks about his sons (which I reject)... and I don't care.

Also, Monsieur Spender sounds awful Canadian now. WBD not keeping track of his vowels again.

(Wait, how'd this get off 2x speed? Back to it.)

"I only hope to show my sons and their sons that I was right."

(**Note from the future**: On first glance, this refers to William as Mulder's son; on second glance... it refers to William's hypothetical sons, I guess. Uuuuuuuugh.)

You know what? I'm angry again that the Revival focused so little on William/Jackson. Then again, they didn't focus on Mulder/Scully, didn't focus on the breakup, didn't focus on Mulder's depression... didn't really focus on anything singularly, huh?

I hate this so much. Faking the moon landing. Acting as the Deep State behind presidents. It's all so... so....

Poser.

It's all stupid and fake and nothing makes sense. Instead of keeping to his guns and rejecting Morgan and Wong's retelling in Musings of a CSM, CC has doubled back and doubled down on it. And honestly, for what? I'll tell you what: because he's ripped away the alien mytharc, we are left with nothing but government conspiracy. And because stupidity begets more stupidity, he then has to build up the Shadow Government's power to believably-- he hopes-- pull off the Conspiracy's reach on the massive scale that is now needed to justify erasing the aliens' involvement in the timeline.

Look how 'poser' this "government agent's" face is. Sums it up.

Scully actually fell over in the office and had a dream.

...Because that's not a complete waste of a previous episode at all.

Now. If this had been set up or alluded to in MSII-- say, Scully's going about her hospital work and hearing voices here or there from reality bleeding into her vision, sure, fine, okay. Or if we're given a sense that it's a vision (with all the fancy camera work they used, the crew could absolutely have implemented a special effect right before the dream kicks in) that Scully, in her altered reality, keeps denying or brushing off-- that'd be a different story. That didn't happen.

37:15 left. These episodes crawl.

I'm gonna say it: I'm not impressed with Duchovny's acting in the scene when he and the EMTs find Scully unconscious. There are glimpses where I think "hey, that's a reaction" before the camera SHAKESHAKESHAKEs or cuts... and I just wonder: who was on set telling him, The Monotone, to tone it down?

Then again. Then again, he could be acting his tail off IF THE SCENE WOULDN'T KEEP CUTTING OFF EVERY 1/3 SECOND.

"I don't want to hear from you. I want to talk to Scully."

How... how did Mulder get less mature with age? Less intelligently verbose? More verbose in general? What happened to the silences in The X-Files where we sat with the characters to get a sense of their emotions? Where has sense gone?

Mulder is supposed to be older, less likely to take anything or put up with anything. And yet, he's also gotten louder, more demanding, and less wise. The writers have given Mulder authority but also, for some bizarre reason, dwindled his assessment skills; they've stripped his former ability to emote in times of crisis (more than he did in normal or even happier times in his life); and they've made him less gentle and downright petulant. It's a pattern I noticed in IWTB that I'd hoped would smooth over here... and yet.

What's the difference between former petulant Mulder and modern petulant Mulder? For one, his newfound aggression does not come with an updated sense of perspective, street smarts, or intelligence. We're to assume he's led by the nose into gay bar closets or stumped by illogical Were-monster rambles or etc. while also putting together pieces that don't connect (even in the writing itself) because he's so clever, he's Spooky Mulder, look how much he's grown?

Yet, he hasn't. Even DD mentioned, once, that the writing (and Mulder's characterization) hadn't updated. So the maturity we see on-screen-- the glimpses, the glances, the gazes, the self-control-- were gravitas touches he brought to the role. ...And that's it. He stands there, he comforts Scully, he shuts up when she talks about William after her mother's death....

I want to ask you this: what does Mulder achieve in the Revival? Honestly? A lot of the cases just happen to him and Scully. A lot of the familial drama ends with him turned upside down and confused, befuddled and left behind. At least Scully-- for all of the fandom's (righteous) fury-- was an active agent. She had the least screen time and accomplished the most: bringing contacts to Mulder, debating Mulder out of crazier ideas, encouraging Mulder back to the files (Were-monster), getting visions from the future and her son, insisting they find William, apologizing to William's "dead" body, making a connection with William at the gas station, saving Mulder whenever he gets kidnapped, etc.

What about those moments where Mulder saves people without Scully by his side? ...Did he? Or did the monsters get vanquished by another person?

By and large, what did the series accomplish? Really? Mulder achieves nothing-- not even to get the Truth between he and Scully (we're left with them grappling the loss of their son-- that she disowns in MSIV-- and being told she's pregnant AGAIN)-- and Scully achieves a little more (coming to terms with why she ran away, seeing her son, disowning him so she can live the rest of her life in peace... yeahhhhhhh...) but ultimately nothing.... The end.

As much as we wish it accomplished something, as much as others love what it brought to the table, what arc did Mulder and Scully go on? What growth did they achieve, measurably, that wasn't messily rewritten in the last minute then butchered the very next episode? What path forward did they open that wasn't thrust upon them? What darkness did they beat back, what truths did they discover or decide to walk away from? Nothing was done with agency-- none of the Revival had a shred of the exploration the Pilot did, let alone the mini arcs in Season 1, the season-long arcs in each subsequent season, even the grand and sweeping narrative sweet spot of Fight the Future. You either salvage what you love from it, or you begrudgingly admit it exists. (Or, like me, you live in delusion that it doesn't.)

And hot take: Scully doesn't lose agency in the Revival-- she chooses to leave, chooses to join Mulder on the work, chooses to ignite Mulder's fire in the MOTWs, chooses to pursue William or leave Jackson alone, chooses to save the world through her science, chooses to get back in bed with Mulder, chooses when she wants to move back home. Her past actions were stripped of agency (En Ami rewrites), yes, but not her present. MULDER, HOWEVER, DOES. Mulder is yanked around and tossed about by the newest conspiracy, but seems to "happen" into each new revelation. Whereas in the old show he tracked down leads, interrogated, and put the pieces together in time to help others, or mitigate the Consortium's damage, here those traits are fleeting (at best) and come second to him shooting from the hip emotionally-- flying off the handle and driving down the road rather than making a plan, figuring out the facts, facing the danger with his head on straight.

In the original series, Mulder and Scully would keep each other grounded-- i.e. he pulling her back to earth in the Pilot, she keeping him honest in E.B.E. Here? They both become emotional wrecks unless directly in the line of fire: then they are detached sages spouting impossible-to-connect dots as facts. And at least Scully is the ultimate voice of "Yes" or "No"-- Mulder is just an agent of the plot.

...That felt good to get off my chest.

36:19 minutes in.

SKINNER, SKINNER reads Morse Code from Scully's brain... and Mulder immediately dismisses it.

Which... YES, THANK YOU. But unfortunately, that's the wrong move; and also... would Mulder in this strange Earth 2 ever reject a possible theory, even if the premise is wildly loony tunes? No.

Mulder: "I'm going to stay here [this is what she needs]."

Skinner: "Mulder?"

Mulder immediately follows him outside.

Just... the comedy writes itself.

WHY IS MULDER SO HOSTILE TOWARDS SKINNER. There is no reason for him to be this hostile, not unless Skinner is physically dragging him away from Scully. Even if, as we're left to infer, he's afraid Scully might be dying, that doesn't mean he'd be suspicious all-of-a-sudden of Skinner, or all people. The man who kept his basement together(ish) and helped both agents back on the files.

Mulder tells Skinner he can go look for answers because Scully needs her partner. Yep, I dig it.

Also: CC must have really gotten backlash for separating Mulder and Scully in the last episode.

33:46 left.

MORE MONOLOGUES, WHY.

Wait... wait, wait, wait. Why does Mulder think his actions have led to Scully's anomalous brain activity? ...Does he suspect it has to do with her former brain cancer, her abductions, her...?

WHERE'S THE SCENE THAT EXPLORES THOSE FEARS? DO WE JUST GET IT IN A RUSHED MONOLOGUE? WITHOUT ANY BUILDUP??????

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh....

...

......

.......

So. Scully wakes up. Tells Mulder to find... the Smoking Man. And not William.

Even though her vision would show her CSM won't care to help them.

And that her DNA and William's can save people.

Despite all that... she wants her partner to find the man who always makes nefarious, dangerous deals... and plans to let said partner die before helping out mankind.

Genius.

Also, Scully sends Mulder away-- GET IT, GUYS, IT'S NOT CC KEEPING THEM APART, SCULLY WANTS THIS, TOO.

Also also: watching this on 2x shows how stilted, awkward, and non-human this interaction is. Ping pong plot points. Gillian's eyes and David's softer mannerisms are the only things that humanize this exchange. Frustrating.

"You're dying, Mulder." ...He's not dying YET, he has to be infected with the Spartan virus first.

I will say: Gillian seems pretty Scully here-- but that's a low bar because she's always been able to pull off Scully-in-the-midst-of-an-emotional-crisis. The voice, unfortunately, remains; but at least in MSII and III she's toned it down.

WHY DOES MULDER KEEP DOUBTING SCULLY (and Skinner)??? AFTER EVERYTHING??????? Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Get it, guys, he's the new depressed Mulder who doubts his place in everything... but that wasn't who he was in My Struggle I, NOW WAS HE.

JEFFREY SPENDER's back. Jeffrey. REALLY.

Guess we're here now with no explanation.

Guess Spender knew where William was this whole time?

WHY DO ASSASSINS KEEP TRYING TO KILL THE PEOPLE THEY'VE COME TO INTERROGATE, WHYYYYYYYYYYYY.

THE DOCTOR JUST COSIGNS THAT SCULLY HAD VISIONS. REALLY. REALLY??

Mulder's now on board because the doctor had patients who were part of experiments... and now Scully's saying she's "not part of any experiments" DESPITE HER ARC IN THE ORIGINAL SHOW BEING CAUGHT UP IN HAVING BEEN AN EXPERIMENT.

These idiots on Earth 2 aren't my Mulder and Scully.

29:04 left....

Scully was going to leave because she didn't want to face what she's been through THAT SHE'S ALREADY FACED BEFORE and only then does Mulder hop on the investigation....

Y'know, usually I'm mad because Revival Mulder leaps to conclusions that are insubstantial... and now CC's making me mad over the exact opposite. A talent, truly, for never letting the viewers win.

Can this end now. Jeffrey calls Mulder-- HOW DID HE, never mind-- and Mulder doesn't even shrug or blink? And CSM's already tapped Mulder's phone?? And Mulder, PARANOID POST-COLONIZATION DEPRESSED AND TECH-PHOBIC MULDER didn't even notice???? Or did CSM tap Jeffrey's phone????

(**Note from the future**: That was actually Syndicate Man 2 doing the tracing... so, NOT CSM's goons that were chasing Jeffrey; and NOT CSM's goons that chase Mulder's car.... No, this does not make sense-- have fun watching my brain melt live as I try to figure everything out.)

"They'll be coming for me." CSM says, getting another smoke (remember all the smokes My Struggle II wasted time on here?)

Cut, pause.

"Mulder will be coming for me." Thanks, Captain Obvious.

"If he finds me, he'll kill me." UGH, no he won't. We already saw he'll just lay over and die in MSII. Also, that's just not in Mulder's character-- he hasn't killed CSM how many times?

"We're not to be found."

...None of these statements hang together. If you're ever wondering if something does, just imagine a character facing a wall talking to nobody: does his question/answer/soliloquy/monologue make sense devoid of context? And if you imagine the wall engaging back, does the exchange between them make logical sense?

Why did someone direct David Duchovny to monologue in short, snappy, quick tones? Y'know, in a very-not-Mulder way? In a "new, snappy, updated dialogue to fit our new, snappy car chases and modern camera angles" way?

This has turned into Speed Racer. Fun movie, but not the X-Files.

Also: WHY are the assassins showing their hand when they want to interrogate Jeffrey Spender, who Mulder is leading them towards?

Jeffrey calls Mulder.

CSM listens in the entire time.

...So, CSM's guys would know where Mulder's going.

...So, CSM's guys could beat him wherever he's going.

...So, CSM's guys could have traced Jeffrey's call and located Jeff.

...So, CSM's guys could have followed Mulder discreetly.

...So, CSM's guys don't even need to follow Mulder, at all, unless Jeffrey passed along a coded message... which Mulder wouldn't inherently know what that message means because his context to Jeffrey is the same (perhaps less than) than CSM's knowledge of his son's history and movements.

So... none of this makes sense. Again.

Is Reyes trying to talk CSM down or just saying words at him so we can hear CSM talk some more?

I'm skipping the car scenes, btw. I don't care. You made a lover of the faulty Speed Racer movie bored.

The assassins continue to be idiots. How did Mulder just... sneak an entire car around a wall without the men behind noticing (even if one got in a car wreck)?

JEFFREY dropped by Scully's hospital. So, Mulder's not going to Jeffrey, he's going to.... Draw the men off of Jeffrey so Jeff can speak to Scully? Or? Is he going to meet CSM, or?

If he's going to meet CSM...

The above list still applies... and more.

I'm. I'm.

The doctor didn't even notice that a strange man was talking to Scully in her room? Spender literally could not have left the room before the doctor and nurse came in.

UGH.

Prediction: ARE THEY GOING TO MAKE ME WATCH ANOTHER CSM V. MULDER SCENE?

Of course, all these CSM and Monica scenes won't stop her from being evil, of course not.

"Dismissed as Fake News" oh no, OHHHHHHH NO, you can't try to be sneaky you weasley little egotist.

I've broken down CC's attempt to subvert the subversion and integrate modern day politics (disastrously) into the Revival, post here. His method was cheap and lazy while trying to prop itself up as the "decoder" of the modern conspiracy mind while also reminding us, the audience, that the writers (read: Carter) can see the humanity in unexpected places.

NOW-- probably because he'd gotten so much push-back-- CC's taken all that back and said the opposite message: that the truth will be dismissed as "fake news" because that's the world we live in. MEANWHILE, he propped up those "fake news" websites in the previous Struggle because he wanted to prove how magnanimous and "love conquers all" his vision is-- and that the government is the big bad and the crazies, while off, are doing their best to expose it. NOW that Trump got inaugurated, Carter's message was now opposite to mainstream political sentiment and I'll BET he pivoted because he got caught in a raging war that pointed fingers at him.

In short: Carter was trying to promote "love and unity against the big bad government"-- which, fine, write that message well and do it justice-- but immediately pivoted to "the big bad government exists but REALLY it's not the Democrats or Republicans because the crazies call them the Deep State while we, the Syndicate, are the REAL Deep State and the crazies won't figure it out because they'll brand the truth with 'fake news'."

...Do you see how slimy that is? CC backed away from the heat when he could have stuck to his vision and fleshed it out properly. Instead, he buckled under pressure and flipped on a dime to a completely opposite narrative perspective. AND HE DID BOTH SO BADLY that it's infuriating whether we watch him sloppily justify Tad O'Malley or anti-Trumpian government rhetoric. It's....

Word of the day: Poser.

I don't care about your monologue, CSM.

I don't care about your monologue, Mulder.

WAIT.

Mulder was going to CSM's this whole time, not to meet up with Jeffrey.

Because the writing was so unclear (because it's SO BAD), we were led to believe he was meeting up with Jeffy boy.

But because the writing was, again, unclear, we're then given whiplash when he keeps driving to CSM's....

So... CSM's guys were trying to kill Mulder, got it.

That's still bad and dumb and stupid and reckless.

JUST WAIT FOR HIM ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD SOMEWHERE WITH A REALLY SICK RIFLE AND SNIPE HIM AS HE DRIVES BY.

OR HAVE CSM CALL A MILITIA TO GUARD HIM SO WHEN MULDER SHOWS UP THE LATTER'S PLUGGED FULL OF HOLES.

Does NO ONE think???????

For a SPLIT second there, Mulder sounded out-of-control when Scully called, as if his emotions were spilling into insecurity and fear and tears. For a SPLIT second, Mulder being pushed into old patterns that would explain his depression-- helplessness-- surfaced.

AND THEN IT WAS GONE.

Also, it wouldn't have made sense because that's not how he acted in My Struggle I or My Struggle II when situations became out of his control, but oh WELL.

Scully collapsed again. Great.

I don't care about Monica trying to talk CSM down-ish.

STOP WITH THE MONOLOGUES.

Wait. WAIT. WAIT.

OKAY, HOLD UP.

Scully collapsed the first time: Skinner couldn't drag Mulder away, Scully couldn't send him away.

Doctor confirms she believes the visions are real, Mulder leaves.

To kill CSM?

So he follows Scully's vision directives to Spartanburg.

...BUT DOESN'T BELIEVE IN HER VISIONS.

OR BELIEVES THEM BUT DOESN'T WANT HER INVOLVED??

And when she collapses AGAIN, OVER THE PHONE, LIKE DUANE BARRY BUT IN REAL TIME, he--

Likely calls Skinner and just keeps driving to a place she dreamed up that he does or doesn't believe in to kill or not kill a man that may or may not even be alive.

What sense does this make?

None.

"I was running on only adrenaline and Scully's premonitions." SO YOU DO BELIEVE HER BUT KEEP TRYING TO TALK HER DOWN BUT KEEP DRIVING BUT WON'T RETURN TO HER NOW THAT SHE'S COLLAPSED AGAIN.

If My Struggle I thoroughly butchered Scully, then My Struggle III thoroughly butchers Mulder. This is just as bad as MSI. (MSII is somehow a distant second to both, wow.)

It's confirmed CSM is "in love" with Scully. Yeah, we been knew, thanks for rechewing that cud, Monica Reyes (read: CC.)

So, CSM IS at another location.

This is not clever, by the way, because CSM and Monica both tremble over Mulder finding them, which means they were worried he was coming to their location, which MEANS that the actors were directed to act a certain way JUST to keep the "surprise" in tact.

Stupid.

Skinner just walks down to the office. DID MULDER TELL HIM SCULLY COLLAPSED AND SKINNER JUST TOOK HIS SWEET TIME, OR DID MULDER NOT TELL ANYONE AND KEPT DRIVING???????

(Also, she's gone to find William?)

Monica has a gun to Skinner's head. Always thought that was in MSiV.

Reyes is delusional, by the way, because she's doing all this dirty work (and potentially plotting Mulder and Skinner's murders) to protect Scully. That's... just....

CSM just hops into Skinner's car like no big deal.

Kill him right now Skinner. Monica's not armed. And even if she is, you've killed Krycek before-- this would be, per your OWN personality, a fitting end. There is no excuse after this.

Scully's driving while having a seizure. No wonder Mulder doesn't fully trust a word she says right now.

Goofy, predictable car crash. So she, too, accomplished nothing. Fantastic.

New bad guy I don't care about who worked in the Syndicate is here with info, yaddayaddayadda.

Skinner does NOT kill CSM. Great.

Global warming made the aliens disinterested. Sure, Jan.

Mulder has to kill CSM or he'll never see his son again. ...stupid.

12:37 left.

We already knew the CSM was megalomaniacal, but this new dude's series of events is so old news it's pathetic. Also, the Consortium already ostracized and cut CSM out, multiple times, when he kept them in the dark or did something Idiot Carl-adjacent (post here.)

Seeds are being planted that Mulder will distrust Skinner (who is being sent to find William) but that doesn't explain WHY HE WAS ALREADY HOSTILE TOWARDS HIM IN THE BEGINNING OF THE EPISODE!!!!!!!!!!!

11:51 left.

CSM tries to say he played god with alien life forms to prevent a virus he knew would come... and YET that doesn't add up because his own flashbacks (which might be canonically false, who cares) in Musings shows him and Deep Throat carrying out the world-wide mandate to kill all alien life forms they find. Not to mention the entire globe trying to find a cure for THE ALIEN VIRUS THAT WOULD BE USED IN COLONIZATION.

Spartan virus: alien in origin but from our planet, get real. The writers copied their own alien virus homework.

11:20 to go.

They're doubling down on the faked moon landing. At least Cassandra Spender got a stupid cameo as a 1950s-in-the-60s housewife stereotype. Probably exactly how CSM saw her. Also, mind-numbingly, embarrassingly stupid to pretend CSM faked the moon landing WHEN JIMMY CARTER SENT A MESSAGE FOR THE ALIENS INTO SPACE AND CSM'S CRONIES KEPT AN EYE OUT FOR ANY SIGNAL THAT MIGHT RETURN (Little Green Men.) NONE OF IT ADDS UP.

Can I skip? Please, can I skip through?

A secret space program... via these new Syndicate cronies... to save the chosen elites....? You know, I'll bet Carter will rebrand this moment into a 20/20, third-eye-opened, saw-the-future dig at Elon Musk someday. Watch out for it.

Syndicate dude: "No one can save us."

Mulder: "I'm someone who can save us."

...Sssssssssomething feels off here, but at least Mulder FINALLY called out the liars and hypocrites two seconds ago. Small wins?

Agents Miller and Einstein JUST HAPPENED to be there when Scully got in a car accident, and Scully just HAPPENED to still be wearing her hospital bracelet so she could be brought RIGHT BACK to the same hospital.

This.

Episode.

Achieved.

Nothing.

It's worse than My Struggle II because that episode, at the very least, attempted to set up something. At least Scully was accomplishing something, at least Mulder was going in one direction with one goal. At least Scully figured everything out and was doing her best to save the world.

Now? Both are idiotic losers who drive while suffering from seizures and don't listen to then disregard then believe without any connective tissue. And Mulder now might distrust Skinner but he already did for no reason, so literally nothing was accomplished.

I'm....

7:57 left.

Mulder now knows Scully's hospitalized-- via the most unprofessional phone call from the same doctor earlier ("Just wanted to let you know she's here"??)-- and will now probably believe Scully is just suffering from a compound issue that is making her behave irrationally.

Oh, great. NO ONE is watching Scully and someone just brushes past Miller and Einstein and now Scully's gonna be killed in her room.

Look, before it even happens, let's break this down:

Miller and Scully and Einstein and MULDER can't even sense when someone's being suspicious (Babylon and here, for example.)

Assassins just walk in and start killing people in hospitals, despite Scully being hooked up to monitors and likely given an even more watchful eye given her medical regression.

Mulder is going to kill this man with a medical tool instead of, I don't know, INTERROGATING HIM FOR ANSWERS.

WHY DOES EVERYONE BEGIN BY TRYING TO KILL SOMEONE THEY NEED TO ESCORT OR GET INFORMATION FROM.

This is edgy, middle-school boy's first rough draft. You know this boy was soooooooo popular during lunch time.

...Isn't this the guy from the second Syndicate groupies' room? So, WAIT.

Either that was a CSM goon (who took his sweet time killing Scully????? and was doing this on CSM's ORDERS????)--

Y'know, CSM who WANTED TO SAVE SCULLY

BUT DECIDED TO KILL HER, I GUESS, IF SHE WAS GOING TO FIND WILLIAM FIRST????????????????--

Or: this is Second Syndicate cronies' goon

Who drove ahead to beat Mulder here but only BARELY??

And who wasn't stopped because of the monitors or other security personnel

BUT BECAUSE MULDER, who was how many miles behind him, MADE IT THERE IN TIME TO SAVE HER.

I'M SO TAPPED OUT I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. Scully, exchange places with me, please:

I will say:

I can see how Mulder would be in this position, ironically. NO, he would not kill a man like he did, but he would absolutely inflict permanent injury.

He's been pushed to the brink this entire episode; and if that had been done more naturally, more realistically, then it, perhaps, could have even justified this death.

BUT IT DIDN'T, because that would be hard.

Because Mulder doesn't have a bloodthirsty, reactionary nature even when high on adrenaline, even when pushed to his lowest point (One Breath, Pusher, Talitha Cumi, Kitsunegari, etc.)

Lastly, NONE OF THIS MADE SENSE LOGISTICALLY; and therefore it makes even less sense personally.

Mulder's pouting ('pouting'... wow, I'm really disconnected) in the hallway while he muses that there isn't just ONE conspiracy but TWO... WHO WOULD HAVE EVER KNOWN, WHAT A MYSTERY.

The fans got a thigh squeeze in a Chris Carter episode. The sky must be falling.

Scully says the Smoking Man didn't send the assassin because the Smoking Man won't harm her. ...Then the man was a lone psychotic or acting on the orders of the other Syndicate team. Which STILL doesn't make sense.

THE PLAYBACK FROZE AND I'M ON LOW BATTERY WITH FIVE MINUTES LEFT, WHY.

"The Smoking Man won't harm me."

"How do you know that?"

"He's held my life in his hands."

WUT.

Scully, he did something to you in En Ami; and even if your fertility was already healed in Amor Fati, you STILL tampered with you medically and claimed William as a miracle via his hands.

I am Mulder:

I will say: that was the most in-character beat between them I've seen in this show, other than the dark wizard exchange (maybe) and one other time or two--

WAIT.

So, the goons following Mulder in his car weren't CSM's??? They were the Second Syndicate man's goons???

Second Syndicate Man sent goons to collect Mulder.

Those goons try to KILL Mulder.

Has this show learned nothing concerning assassins using brute, maim-able force on someone they just want to escort elsewhere?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

"My visions are from William."

Mulder is given two seconds to react before the plot moves them forward.

"He's guiding me," insists Scully, "and you." (She said it differently, but I refuse to rewind and get the correct quotes.)

That's be something nifty to dig into--

"They're looking for him," says Mulder.

--THAT WE WON'T DIG INTO, I GUESS.

William already knows they need him to end the world...?

"They won't find him," says Scully. ...WON'T THEY, NOW.

HOLD UP.

William learned these things... how? From reading CSM's mind...?

And downloaded that info into Scully's brain.

Scully knows he won't be found and believes he is guiding her and Mulder.

...And then he's found and doesn't form a connection with her and doesn't even know WHY he's connected to her and goes on the run because he doesn't trust anyone.

And yes: CC and Morgan would have had to work on both scripts together and didn't BOTHER to iron out this important detail.

UGH.

"But he will find us."

"So we just... wait? Do nothing?"

THAT'S ALL, FOLKS, TUNE INTO SEASON 50 FOR WILLIAM'S BRIEF APPEARANCE, *cue closing ditty*.

You contradict yourselves FOUR EPISODES LATER.

"We do our work," shrugs Scully.

How. CONVENIENT. for the writers.

"The truth still lies in the X-Files, Mulder."

I'm about to go off.

No. The truth is a concept you cannot get. It is a LIE. The real truth was the love between you two. The real truth was the closure you both had in the original show-- coming into your own, finding your sister, making peace with your inner lives. Becoming whole people. The truth was that you could overcome Fate, conquer all through teamwork-- that no one gets there alone. That together you can forge a new and better future. That you could hold a miracle in your hands and that he be the every day, ordinary kind-- the kind neither of you had for a long, long time. The truth was each other, and the life you could build embracing that truth together.

INSTEAD, the writers still have them chasing lies on the files while sitting around miserably waiting for their son for an end game that might or might not happen, depending on Chris Carter's mood.

THAT is not the truth. THAT is not even the truth Carter originally meant. THAT is a lie that has sold itself as the ultimate lure so they and we and he can forever and ever amble down this road and into nothingness.

The truth is, Mulder and Scully are seekers and searchers and investigators-- and would be, forever. The truth is, they should be wiser now to know that "the Truth" with a capital 'T' is a lie and that their search must have reasonable and healthy personal boundaries and expectations. Instead, they treat it as an inevitability they have to sacrifice themselves for and never gain anything from. Instead, they muck about doing more "will-they-won't-they"s and dragging their feet on their cases and repeating idiotic rookie mistakes and forgetting the wisdom of experience and doubting their allies and not trusting the truths in themselves and each other. Instead, the truth has become "what current ideology can I capitalize on to keep this franchise afloat?" Instead, the truth of "Mulder and Scully will always be searching" has been mired with the lie of "the X-Files was always meant to be this way."

Get wrekt, writers. Get wrekt, show. Get wrekt what little expectations I still had.

Mulder immediately starts picking a fight with Skinner (who just arrived); and Skinner makes himself look so unnecessarily guilty by not saying, " I didn't get your call because I was looking for Scully. Her phone was on the ground in the basement and she was nowhere to be seen."

INSTEAD, he says, "Leave it alone."

I'm. Sooooooooooooooooooooooo. Done.

Mulder smells smoke on Skinner and Skinner won't answer so he shoves him-- not unlike an alpha chimp shoving the other alpha outside the monkey circle-- AND SKINNER LOOKS AROUND AND SHOVES MULDER BACK??????????????

WHYYYYYYYYYYYY??????????? TO MAKE MULDER KEEP HIS DISTANCE BECAUSE HE'S COMPROMISED AGAIN (which he isn't, as we learn in Kitten)???????????????????

Shut UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP.

At least in the flashback Skinner keeps calling CSM out on his self-delusions-- "Scully will take me"/"No, she won't-- not without Mulder"; "Either kill Mulder or her son"/"So this is just vengeance."

ALSO: not to be that nit picky fan that the writers hate, Skinner already faced this quandary in Deadalive and SHOULD REALIZE that the options presented are no longer binary. He can refuse to kill Mulder AND William; and work with his agents to keep their trust and take down the CSM.

Or, y'know, HE COULD SHOOT THE CSM RIGHT HERE AND NOW.

How is this episode still going?

OH, thanks, we're planting the En Ami suggestions here. THAT'S WONDERFUL.

Also, not to be that fan again, but just sharing a son with someone did not make you, CSM, particularly loyal to them (*ahem* abandoning Cassandra Spender, *ahem*.)

We're doing the "Who's the father?" again? And Skinner just... bought it? And is being all poopy towards Mulder so Mulder'll hate him and not look into it? And Mulder's buying it, hook line and sinker, despite seeing through Skinner's lies and bravado decades earlier?

SKINNER, of all people, IS BUYING WHAT THE CSM IS SELLING, WITH NO PROOF.

How did you philes stand to watch this episode?

Oh, look, William. I don't care.

CONCLUSION

This episode really was a creative exercise in responsive pivoting due to unhappy backlash, huh?

Last-second thought: I guess Mulder owns a muscle car now.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[sysig]

New toys ✨ (Patreon)

[keeps-ache]

once again i am on the playlist lol

[tunedtostatic]

[Additional Image Description: On a grey background, there are five small black line art illustrations lined up across the center. The first is a sword with a hooked blade pointing upwards, the second is a hand with magic curling up out of it, the center is a castle with wavy lines extending from it into a dark sky, the third is a beaker with steam curling up from it, and the last is a shortsword pointing downwards. The sword has a few dark red shading lines. In the lower right corner of the fanmix cover is the title, "heart of my own," in dark red medieval calligraphy font. End Additional Image Description.]

HEART OF MY OWN - A FANMIX FOR CASSANDRA DE ROLO IN THE TIME OF THE BRIARWOODS

Overgrown - machineheart // Edge of the World - Within Temptation // Ashes and Rust - Wynnie Stone // Take Me Home - The Paper Kites, Nadia Reid // Nobody (Live) - The Crane Wives // The Tangled Tree - Josienne Clarke and Ben Walker // Heart Of My Own - Basia Bulat // Don't She Run - I Draw Slow // Murder City - Abigail Lapell // Until the Fire - Ladytron // Control - Halsey // Lament - Mount Moriah // Catch the Light - Haroula Rose

Fanmix on YouTube

Fanmix on Spotify

[lesbiangiratina]

Invested in a display case for my ggx tcg box cuz testament is on 1 side of it therefor it is a testament object so i want to put it with my testament stuff. But i dont want it to like fucking turn to dust. The reload boxes i have are on their own idgaf (as much) (i will still store them somewhere safe) (eventually)

[spurbleu]

neighbor!simon x reader. longer read.

your neighbor is a homebody. sort of.

he’s either never home or always home. you aren’t sure what he does, but whatever it is leaves his flat vacant for months at a time, not so much as a mouse breath breaching the thin popcorn walls that separate your rooms.

and when he is in the complex, you’d never know it. a shut in, the only give away is the muffled news channel that burrows through your moldings, or smithed footfall at ungodly hours.

the first time you caught him moving in while off to work. big bloke- and when you waved to him he stared, before lumbering into his complex. given, he was holding a large cardboard box, so you weren’t expecting him to return the greeting. but a hello would’ve been nice.

it was 4 months until you got a good look at him.

you were awake at a time you shouldn’t have been for a reason you had long forgotten. you do remember thinking you might as well do your laundry.

when you went down to the mat, there he was.

tracker fed shoulders taking up half the space, and on an inhale they took two thirds. clothes looked as though they had been dyed in pen ink and left to dry in hail. mud boots, thick legs, and the silhouette of a cauliflower ear against the fabric of his balaclava.

he glared at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. an anomaly, disturbed his routine. steel face, stone eyes, swear you’d seen the same look in your history books on the shields of greek soldiers.

it all scared you shitless, so you turned on your heel and didn’t go back until the morning. you make it a point to hustle past his door after that.

but you tend to take more than you can handle. swaddling your groceries as you wobble up the stairs, just barely there before your foot catches on the last step. produce among some of the other fragile items scattered across the tiles, and you curse under your breath.

you wouldn’t characterize yourself as a klutz, but it scrambling to collect your groceries feet from your door isn’t helping your case. the paper bags struggle against your grip, and it feels like you’re just biding your time until they all rip apart.

“you need help.”

its said more like an observation than it is a question. you turn slowly, and a goliath stands 6 feet and something over you. he sports a medical mask and a ballcap, which reveals new features- sun bleached skin that peels from the bridge of his nose to between his brows, which are thick and blonde. the left is cut in half by scar tissue and spite. if you squint you see freckles.

the night he scared you, you remembered his eyes as pitch. crow feather. under your bed.

you now see they’re the deepest shade of brown.

“i- no its fine i..” your arms do a dance with the bags, trying to keep them steady.

he grabs them both from you, and suddenly they still. its like handing squealing pigs to a farmer. built for holding them. it makes you feel weird that you like it.

“unlock the door.”

you do as you’re told and find your keys in your back pocket. fumble at the lock before opening the door and standing to the side to let him in. he nods.

sets your groceries down before gently tipping the brim of his cap. he doesn’t say anything before leaving.

and this started the strangest routine.

every week you’d get groceries, he’d be there.

the first time he was on the second flight of stairs. when you questioned how he knew you’d been shopping, he rolled his shoulders and scoffed.

“your huffin n puffin gave you away.”

he was there for four more trips. each time, you had gotten more words out of him. found out he had the driest sense of humor and a plethora of knock-knock jokes that you painfully laughed at.

he even kept up with the occasional flirt.

“yknow, you could start charging for your manual labor.”

“you rich?” he returned.

you laughed. “far from it. but this is a service, and you haven’t started making demands so…”

he stopped and stared at your back before you turned around. “so what?”

“i have to assume you just like me.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his cheek twitched under his eyes. although it was hidden by the mask, you had made him smile.

“don’t get your hopes up.”

all of it was enough for you to get comfortable. and then he wasn’t there.

the absence was strange enough to make your pace stutter when you reached the second floor, but you recovered and trekked to your room.

not without glancing at his door, though.

he must be back at work. surely he isn’t…well. he couldn’t have moved out without telling you. you aren’t close but maybe you are?

you thought so hard about it for so long that you placed your ear to the wall separating your flats.

after a few moments, you heard nothing. not even a mouse breath.

you felt foolish for being so relieved. and you kept feeling foolish for hoping he’d be there with every errand, and disappointed when he wasn’t.

it was 4 more groceries trips before you saw him again.

waiting at the entrance of the complex, crossed arms and black attire stood out like a sore thumb in the winter blight that bit at your nose with snow and temperatures below freezing. you picked up the pace.

when you got to the cement steps, you sorely regretted your decision to jog. not because it winded you, or it amplified the struggle you had with your bags, but because of the smug smile you could see crinkling the bastards cheeks under his mask.

“you missed me.”

you handed him a bag. “i missed your arms. carry that.”

you could hear the grin from behind you.

“whatever you say, sweet’eart.”

[chastiefoul]

jjk men coming home and finding you crying

ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji fluff and comfort

gojo satoru

you wiped your eyes quickly as you heard the door opened. you took a deep breath, making sure your voice didn’t come as shaky as you said, “welcome home, toru.” with a big grin and the usual paper bag filled with sweets on his right hand he planted a kiss on your head. “i’m home baby.”

you were just about to let out a sigh of relief when satoru suddenly knelt in front of you who’s on the couch, blindfold off as his blue eyes stared as if seeing right through you. “what’s wrong?” he said softly, his knuckles brushing over your cheek with such a careful gesture. “what do you mean?” you tilted your head, cringing inside at the bad feign. “you can’t fool my six eyes, baby. also what kind of boyfriend i’ll be if i can’t even notice when my girl is sad?”

you tried to form a sentence to say as an excuse but the kisses he peppered across your face wasn’t really helping. you chuckled as you whine softly, “toruu.” the white-haired man cupped your face, a gorgeous smile on his face. “my favorite sound, baby,” he said, kissing your lips. “tell me? pleaseeee.” you laughed once more at his emphasis at the last word. “it’s really nothing, toru.”

“i love listening to nothing. we even have some sweets here as snacks,” he said, opening the paper bag excitedly. “i think you just want an excuse to eat it at 8 pm,” you raised an eyebrow, as he grinned. “nonsense, baby. now c’mere, let me hold you while you tell your story.” he put you between his legs, your back resting on his broad chest comfortably. you sighed out of wonderment, thinking how you could be so lucky, being this loved by the man.

“here, pick whatever. this one is my favorite,” he rummaged through the bag that’s on your lap. you looked at him with fondness as his face leaned in beside you to see better. “yeah? you’ll give me your favorite?”

“there’s nothing in the world that you can’t get, baby.” he kissed the side of your face. “now start from the very beginning.”

geto suguru

“if you thought you were doing a great job hiding those tears i have some news for you sweet girl,” geto’s voice was gentle on your ear as he wipe the wet residue underneath your eyes with the inner sleeve of his robe. “i wasn’t really hiding it,” you frowned, somehow not liking the fact that he noticed your little moment of weakness. “yeah? so you were just rubbing your eyes all rough like that for no reason?” he gave you a little smile.

yeah, it was a battle you had lost from start.

he put his arms around you, rubbing your back in a soothing pattern. “what’s wrong baby, everything okay?” you melted right into his touch, resting your head on his chest right on the calming beating of his heart. “yeah, it’s not really a big deal,” you mumbled, your low spirit was really affecting him more than he would ever let you know. his hand kept moving as he once again kissed the side of your head, a low chuckled escaped him. “you’re cute when you think you have a choice on telling me what had upset you.”

you laughed softly at his playfulness, knowing full well to you’ll end up telling your boyfriend everything. “you’re right. but can i tell you later?” you asked, wanting just this peaceful moment to last just a little longer as you held him tight.

“’course baby, got all the time in the world for you.”

nanami kento

nanami already knew that something was off when the house felt a little quiet as he arrived. and then he found you hunched over as you stood behind the kitchen counter. “honey?” you wiped your eyes with what you thought was the speed of sound but it was clear to both of you that you had been crying. “hi ken, how was work?” you replied with a small voice, a smile nanami didn’t particularly like plastered on your face; only because it seemed forced.

“oh no, we’re not breezing past it. come here my love.” and his embrace enveloped you like a dream, all warm and perfect. he stroke your hair ever so softly as he whispered sweet nothings. when you calmed down a little he sneaked a hand under your jaw, rubbing his thumb on your cheek gently, a gesture with amount of love you could only guess. “what’s wrong, hm?” he questioned you, his eyes shone with adoration; there’s only you in that moment.

“i’m okay, ken. more importantly aren’t you tired from work?” there’s a deep crease between the blond’s man eyebrows he heard you say this, as if that was the most offensive thing he had ever heard from you. “’more importantly?’ there could be nothing that’s more important than you, dear,” he said, knowing that concern was from a good place, like he was worrying over you, of course you would fuss over him who just came home from work.

“still…” you hesitated, but he kissed it out of you quickly. “want me to prepare you a bath, love? you know i can get the perfect temperature for you,” he whispered, coaxing you. and he was right, even sometimes he would get it right more often than you. before you could even mumble out another excuse he continued. “and while you do that i’ll prepare dinner, okay? i’m sure there’re still some ingredients left to make that nice meal you like.”

“no, i couldn’t possibly let you do all the work ken-“

“love, i’m here. you can relax, okay? you always do so much for me, let me do this for you,” he reassured you, cupping your face as he trailed your cheeks with soft kisses. you’re still not convinced, as he smiled over your great concern. “do this for me, please?” he tried once more and there’s no way you could refuse that. you nodded, feeling another wave of tears coming out of gratitude for your boyfriend., “thank you ken, i love you so much.”

“i love you too. and when you’re ready to talk, i’m here okay? always.”

toji fushiguro

he lifted you up, your leg instinctively wrapped themselves around his waist as he grabbed both of your thighs to support you. you tighten the hold of your arms around his neck, resting your head on your shoulder, nuzzling closer to his neck; not wanting him to see your post-crying face.

he sat you on the kitchen counter, putting both of his hands on the hard surface, on either side of your body practically refraining you to run away. “what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asked you who’s currently staring at the fingers on your lap as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. he kissed your shoulder blade, intentionally lingering a little long to hopefully calm your nerves. “nothing, i guess,” you answered nonchalantly, like detaching yourself. “you’re shit at lying babe, you know that right? look at the frown that you’re wearing right now, it’s almost touching the floor,” he said as he kissed your neck next. “mean,” you meant to frown, and you realized you were already doing that for the past hour. fine, maybe he had a point, so what?

“nah, what’s mean is when my girl won’t even tell me what made her upset,” he said, tilting his head confidently, his big hand on your waist as he rubbed your side. the look on his face was enough to make you relent. “fine… you’ll force it out of me sooner or later anyways,” you mumbled as he smiled, knowing that you needed a little push is all to sound your worries. “atta girl.”

“tell me all ‘bout it yeah? don’t leave out a single detail. then maybe if you’re up for it, i can show you that i got many ways to cheer you up,”

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀COCKWARMING ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino, x gn reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. unprotected sex. edging. office sex. public sex. sub/power sub reader. no mentions of specific anatomy. vox is in an online meeting for work. touch starved lucifer. val blowing his smoke on you for fun. non proofread because it's six in the fuckin morning and I have not slept a wink. #summary : in which they keep themselves buried deep inside of you while being busied by other stuff. #note : save me, I've been writing nothing but hazbin smut lately. i should really start working on other shows.. alastor's a bit shorter than the others, can't really think of a solid idea for him and I wanted to get this out as soon as possible

ʚ LUCIFER .

lucifer whines when you force him to focus on his unfinished work once again. he has been going back and forth from attempting to thrust into you, but you always found a way to press him down in his place firmly. he had some unfinished work that he left sitting in his office for almost a week now, and it irritated you. that's when you offered to cockwarm him while he worked, get him to finally get his hands on those unfinished works.

being absolutely touch starved, lucifer agreed without hesitation unaware of how miserable and impatient this will make him. his hand remain on his working desk, occasionally scribbling some words and a signature on the paper filled with printed words. he does his best to resist the urge to finally thrust into you, worried that you'd leave him unsatisfied if he doesn't do as he's told.

but there's a limit to how much he can contain himself, especially when he has you sitting on his lap with his cock stuffing you to the brim, when you'd tease him so often by clenching around him or moving your hips ever so slightly. lucifer whines every time, the hand that's placed on your hip squeezing on your flesh desperately.

"can i please.. just finish this up later?" his voice muffled from nuzzling his face into your shoulder, eyes closed shut to focus on the warmth engulfing his throbbing member. you let out a small chuckle, baring your teeth into his neck to draw out those pretty moans of his; his cock leaks pathetically inside of you.

"no can do, luci. you're not going to get whatever you want until you finish up." you pull away and tilt your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss onto his jaw while giving a quick glance at the papers sprawled across his desk. he's only halfway done with them. "you're doing pretty well, no? you're halfway done."

lucifer groans, annoyed as he picks up the pen from the desk again while reading through the papers. this time, you decide to tease him a little more instead of staying still. you connect your lips with his exposed neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as your hips slowly grind against his. you hear his breath hitch, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping you.

your name spills out from his lips breathlessly, following with a whimper that you love so much. you carry on with your actions, dark marks gradually bloom all over his skin like breathtaking flowers. lucifer shifts to lay his forehead on your shoulder, shuddering from pleasure; you tug on his soft hair, firm enough to lift his head up from your shoulder.

"stay focused, luci. remember what's waiting for you to finish your work."

ʚ ALASTOR .

"oh, what a twist!" alastor exclaims with his eyes glued to the book he's reading, chuckling like you're not clenching down on his cock out of desperation. your eyes are teary as you turn to peek at the page he's on, frustration brewing in your chest. upon noticing your reaction, alastor laughs while moving his hand to cup your face, leaning in with a grin. "don't you agree, my dear?"

you groan, parting your lips further enough to drop his thumb into your mouth, biting down on it. alastor mutters a small "fiesty" before buckling up his hips, watching your eyes widen from the sudden pleasure that shoots up your veins. his arm tightens around your waist to stop you from squirming around excessively.

"put.. the fuckin' book down, a-alastor.." your nails dig into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, the back of your other hand hovering over your mouth with a frown on your face. alastor smiles in response, holding the book between the both of you now that there's a gap.

"why, it has only gotten interesting! patience is key, darling."

"it has been almost a whole fucking hour, alast-" your words get cut off by yet another harsh thrust of his hips, an uncontrollable moan slipping off your tongue. a low, barely audible grunt could be heard coming from alastor because of how you're squeezing around him like your life depends on it.

slowly, he places the book down, pushing two digits into your mouth as his sharp nails graze past your gums. your tongue swirls around them, gaze fixated on his that seems to be mocking your desperation. you grind your hips, wanting to feel more of that sensitive spot in you being stimulated by his tip brushing against it. alastor grunts every time you tighten around him, the feeling making his skin jump and his eyes close shut from the pleasure he receives.

you reach for the book to toss it aside, not allowing him any chance to get it back and return to what he was previously putting you through. he laughs at the action before getting cut off by yet another groan, a frown slowly finds its way to spread across his face despite the grin that remains on his lips.

"the book shall wait after all."

ʚ VOX .

the sound of vox's workers and colleagues echoes through his workplace, the source of it coming from the laptop that sits in front of him. he's holding an urgent meeting with them to discuss some things about work, yet you're here obediently sitting on him, cockwarming him. your arms hug his neck tightly, hands grabbing tightly onto his shirt while listening to him speak to the people in call.

you bite down every moan that builds in your throat, not allowing any sound to be heard by anyone but your partner. times when vox isn't discussing important matters, he leans into your ear to whisper praises, thrusting into you, and stops so suddenly when you're close to release.

he grins as you whine at the sudden loss of friction, skin flushed while feeling him draw lazy circles on your hips with his thumbs. he starts speaking again just when you're about to voice your frustration, drawing out a grumble from you. you stay there unattended, glancing at the part where the two of you connect; you're craving release, and you're done waiting.

with a steady pace, you move your own hips while holding onto his shoulders for support. vox's head snaps toward your direction, teeth gritting as he bites back the groans that threaten to leave his lips. he tries to hold you down, but his body betrays him and allows you to carry on with your movements. his head tilts back to lean against the headrest of his chair, the words that his workers speak gradually shifting to a blur in his mind.

"fuck, w-wait," his breath grows heavy, barely managing to keep his eyes open as you fuck yourself on his cock. you're supposed to be cockwarming him, not riding him. he has allowed you to the point of no return, how is he going to carry on with the meeting now? you grab him and connect your lips with his, drinking in his groans like how he does to your moans.

ignoring the calls of his name from the meeting, he pulls you closer by the waist as you grind yourself on him. it wasn't until he started getting annoyed by the meeting that he broke away from the kiss, strings of saliva still connecting your lips while his hand reached out to shut the laptop down. the room falls to a sudden silence, the only sounds that remain are your heavy breathing.

"you're gonna fuck up my company if this carries on," vox snickers before crashing his lips with yours again, hands holding onto your hips to thrust into you without anything holding him back this time.

ʚ VALENTINO .

you still can't process the fact that you're in valentino's studio with his cock buried deep inside of you while people walked around to work on set. valentino takes puffs from the cigarette he holds between his fingers, often ordering and even yelling at people as they rush to obey his commands.

nobody pays any mind to the both of you; in fact, they see it as something normal. after all, they're working for a porn producer, what is there not to be normal? you keep your face stuffed in the fluff of his coat, hands gripping tightly onto his outfit while still trying to adjust to how good he stretches you apart. everyone has just started working, and the set is still being prepared for a new film.

"you're tighter than usual my love, are you that excited to be around everyone?" he teases with a mocking tone, puffing out a wisp of pink smoke onto your flushed face. you lightly shake your head with a whine, the smoke that you inhale causing your vision to spin immediately. humming, valentino lifts your body up with the help of his lower pair of arms before roughly slamming you back down onto his cock. "I doubt that. you've always loved being fucking in public, no? look at you,"

you gasp, body tensing as a moan escapes your throat. you immediately bite down on your lower lip, eyes screwing shut while simultaneously having your body trembling under his hold. you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself, yet the idea alone excites you in an odd way that you never knew it would. noting your reaction, valentino continues repeating the action before stopping promptly, feeding himself with your choked back moans.

"keep looking pretty like that while i work, i'll have a reward waiting for you." you mewl at his words, giving him a weak nod while tugging onto his shirt. he takes another long drag from his cigarette before letting his gaze fall onto the prepared set displayed in front of him, eyes scanning for the stars of the show in the room.

he would moan softly into your ear whenever you clenched around him, teasing you with his mere voice and carrying on with his work. you don't complain, though, considering how you'll be fucked into a moaning mess once he's done with work.

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