#he is cracking that egg if he has to beat it with a hammer

[anaceshornyblog]

Thinking about jon asking elias if he can call her a good girl. Thinking about Jon realizing Things. Hesitantly participating a little more. Not admitting it out loud but. Thinking about Jon accepting it more. Thinks about jon gender euphoria. I love you jon jarchivist sims

- skiesandcandy

“You seem distracted,” Jon blinked his eyes darting back to Elias, who was now standing at the foot of the bed, when had he gotten so close? Jon supposed he was distracted staring at the dress hung up in Elias’s closet. The one that he claimed he had accidentally sent Jon for the fundraiser.

Jon was only half-surprised Elias had kept it. He couldn’t help shivering a bit thinking about how it had felt to wear it. With his hair styled, and a bit of makeup that Elias had done for him quite a few of the guests, and even some of his coworkers had mistaken him for a girl. He didn’t know why each time it had happened he felt a little heat in his chest.

Idly he played with the edge of the blanket glancing back at the dress his mind wandering again. When Elias had brought him home, he had called Jon pretty, and a good girl, and Jon didn’t know why but that had made that little heat in his chest blaze into something akin to joy.

Elias clicked his tongue and Jon jumped tearing his gaze away to look up at Elias.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Jon pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, maybe an experiment. It could mean nothing, maybe the party had just been fun and he was confusing that feeling. But then why had he blushed and giggled so much every time Elias called him a girl? He frowned, but what if Elias laughed at him? Sure he had called him pretty before but maybe that was just then?

“Jon,” Elias’s hand on his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts once more, his thumb rubbing against his bottom lip forcing him to release it from his teeth. Elias was so close, “What has you so distracted?”

“Can you call me a good girl again?” Jon was saying the words before he had thought to stop himself. They came out in a bit of a tumble, but understandable enough. Only now that Jon had started speaking he couldn’t seem to stop. He dropped his gaze to his lap, “It’s just at the party and after, I mean it felt really nice, and I wanted to see if it was because well. No this is stupid, I’m so-.”

He was cut off by Elias pressing him back with a hand pressed against his chest forcing him to lay back. Jon couldn’t meet Elias’s eyes scared he’d see something he didn’t want, maybe just disappointment, or worse pity. He was trembling as he could hear Elias climb over him, still looking anywhere but at his eyes.

“Oh Jon, did you like being my good pretty girl?” Jon couldn’t help glancing up at those words, his whole body shivering at those words. Instead of what he feared he only saw amusement and something like hunger in Elias’s expression as he shoved Jon’s shirt up. Exposing his disappointingly, to himself at least, though he wasn’t sure why he felt that way, flat chest.

Jon couldn’t help but whimper as Elias tugged on his nipples his face turning red. He did his best to ignore the feeling of himself getting hard, as Elias fondled him, unable to stop himself from panting.

“Look at my lovely girl she has such pretty tits,” Jon gasped his body trembling as the words made the warmth inside him flare almost coming in his pants. Jon blushed, usually he wasn’t that easy but something about this was different than usual. “A bit small but we can get them to grow I’m sure.”

Jon was pretty sure Elias was trying to kill him. He felt whatever the opposite of dissociated was, but also like he couldn’t think his brain hazy. He didn’t know whether he regretted this whole thing or hoped it never ended. That Elias called hi-her a pretty girl from now on. She yelped as she felt Elias’s free hand slide into her pants wrapping his hand around her.

“Your clits all hard isn’t it,” Elias’s words whispered in her ear along with the sudden stimulation had her coming, her hips bucking against him. She gripped his shoulders, ringing out her orgasm her face pressed into his chest. Elias laughed softly, peeling her pants off once she released him going limp, he smiled at her and Jon felt so warm. She started to push herself up but once more she was pinned back down.

“Greedy little slut aren’t you, such a good girl for me,” Jon went red squirming. She couldn’t make any coherent noises as Elias stretched her just enough so it wouldn’t hurt before sliding inside. She could only grit her teeth and hold on as Elias fucked her, each time he called her a pretty, or a good girl he couldn’t help but clench down. His hand wrapped back around her, she was so close it was all so much.

“Come for me that’s my pretty girl,” Jon whimpered and couldn’t stop from doing just that, feeling Elias fill her up as well before collapsing on top of her his body warm against her.

“Was that what you wanted lovely?” Elias shifted so Jon was now laying beside him held close. Jon hid her face against his chest but nodded ignoring the soft laugh. She braced herself waiting for the shame to rush over her. Only instead she just felt, warm and happy, and like herself for once. In a bit she’d have to get up, and probably go back to being a boy, but for now she was content to enjoy the warmth that settled inside her.

[themorbidart]

Tattoo WIP for Alexei.

They each have meanings and symbolism for himself and in the criminal world. While Russian prison tattoos went out of style around the late 80s, Alexei circled with some seriously traditional criminals who encouraged him to get quite a few just to make sure he didn’t get beat up when he was put into the clink before he turned.

Symbolic explanations below the cut:

Starting with shoulder:

Skulls represent murder, either the conviction or act. Alexei has not been convicted.

Barbed wire: time spent in jail. Alexei specifically uses it to represent the time he spent in jail past his legal age.

Burning of Soviet Hammer & Sickle symbol. Relatively self-explanatory. The background of the tattoo reveals the horizon and a sunset, symbolizing hope once the soviet union truly burns.

Cuffs: represent five or more years in prison. Alexei has served a total of 6 years.

DSS: abbreviation of latin term “Dum Spiro Spero” While I breathe, I hope. Originally, Alexei got this as an anti government sentiment, but now it refers to his hope to leave his past behind.

Pectoral tattoos:

Left pectoral: An image of an adolescent bird fleeing a nest with two cracked eggs. This represents his childhood. (Might change it to dead adults but i doubt it).

Right pectoral: Laika, the dog shot into space by the Russian government. I havent finished it yet, but when it is, there will be a banner in russian stating “Some sacrifices aren’t meant to be made.” Alexei feels very strongly that the space race was stupid and the sacrifices through it were unnecessary. (he also loves dogs)

Star on his shoulder: is a badge showing rank. This marks him as someone who is of importance and power. He was never a top rank gang member, but no one fucked with him.

Spider on his neck: spiders were meant to show their status. Since his spider is facing down his arm, it shows he is retired and has left the criminal life.

Knife on hip: idk. He’s been stabbed. (Its sexy don’t @ me)

[cyborg-franky]

Hi I saw your post earlier about the reader who has a soft voice but swears like a sailor. I was wondering if you could do that with the strawhats? Specifically Luffy, Zoro and maybe Robin. As someone who has a soft voice but could make a sailor blush I absolutely love it🥰🥰🥰

Please 🙏 and Thank you 😊

Yes! I can do that <3

Luffy

Does not phase him, he grew up used to Sabo having a very formal nobles voice and learning how to curse and swear like crazy, thanks to Ace they both learned a potty mouth.

He will blink at you when the first string of curses come out in your lovely soft tone, his eyes growing wide before he lets out such a big laugh and slaps his thighs and howls.

He loves it.

Zoro

Another person who wasn’t phased by it.

He loves how soft your voice is, how sweet your mannerisms and when you curse, hiss in pain as you dropped your sword and the heavy hilt hit your foot you holler and curse and spit some very choice words.

The smirk on his face, he’s delighted and finds it very amusing and very endearing.

Usopp

He’s listening to you humming softly as you work, walking over to where he’s sitting and you drop your tray of food because a fly has jumped into your face.

He flinches and watches as everything hits the deck and he opens his mouth to tell you everything is okay when you hiss out Mother fucking fuck.

And he promptly shuts his mouth and stares at you.

He’s very surprised and low-key wonders how long you’ve had that vocab and mildly blames people like Sanji and Zoro.

Nami

Nami expected it, honestly.

She knew that someone with such a level voice, looking and sounding as gentle and sweet as you were actually full of brimming rage under the surface.

Others didn’t believe her when she said you’d curse as bad as the rest of them.

So when you are all sitting around the table and you accidentally cut your finger on your steak knife, you are shouting and cursing and Nami looks victorious as she stands up and gestures to you.

Brook

He’s just vibing as he helps you hang up washing, he’s also being very mature and chill about having to hang up underwear.

You smile brightly when everything is done and then there's a crack of thunder and it starts to rain.

You kick over the wash basket and hiss out a string of for fuck sake this shit!

And Brook gasps.

He doesn’t mind that you did but it was still a shock and he just stares at you before you turn to him like and what?

Chopper [100% platonic]

Stock Footage baby crying sounds.

Robin

She knew behind that sweet face and soft voice you had an edge.

The smile that spreads across her face as she peers over her book at you when you hiss and yell at something.

Your angelic tones marred with Ouch, bastard! Give her life and she is 100% living.

She feels smug and powerful and gives a knowing smirk to everyone else who is there and staring in awe and horror.

She loves it, loves you.

Sanji

He loves how gentle you are, he could listen to you talking for hours.

He’ll be in the kitchen with you, basking in your delightful voice as you call out what he needs to grab from the fridge from the new recipe book you’d bought.

Sanji just sighs, his heart skipping a beat as he looks at you with hearts in his eyes.

Then you drop an egg and curse. Oh shit, fucking hell.

And there's like this sound of glass breaking in his head.

“Fucking marimo did this!” He’ll hiss and stomp off.

Franky

He’s asked for help in his workshop and you are happy to help.

Back-and-forth chatter between you.

He’s happy your here, he always enjoys it when you talk.

Not used to being around someone so soft-spoken and gentle.

You accidentally hit your hand with a hammer and shout, scream, the slew of curses from your mouth as you wave your hand.

“Alright! Fuck that shit! It’s proven that swearing lessens the pain ya know?” He says and wears right alongside you.

[johnkun]

Hi i saw the qrt thingy on twt and im shy so i'm sending it here. Like in the movies + johnkun (⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

like in the movies | johnkun

there’s an art to this that no one talks about, thinks kun. his eyes flutter closed. he could lean in to johnny’s touch—turn his face towards the hot palm that cups his cheek as he’s done a dozen times or more—but that thought, whispered from somewhere at the back of his skull in an annoyingly persistent little voice, stops him. he holds his breath, suddenly overcome with fear.

it’s a silly fear. there will be more moments to come. there will be this same moment, again and again, for at least a few more permutations if not for infinity. johnny moving in close to him with a line, a look. subtext, alive behind his eyes. the scent cocktail of sweat, cologne, hair product, and dust burning on tungsten bulbs. and this, his touch. still, kun’s pulse hammers for fear of losing it (and even that makes him fearful, as thought it could beat too hard and shatter the faberge egg of this moment). moments with johnny are a bag of tiny, perfect diamonds: countless, near-identical and yet unique, each precious beyond measure.

therein the unspoken art lies. kun has been taught how to think another person’s thoughts until his own eyes can tell their unspoken truths; how to welcome a strange heart into his own chest and sync with its beat; how to assimilate their spinal cord alongside his own until they stand in the same place, taking up the same space.

johnny inhales, barely audible, but it roars in kun’s ears like the recession of some primordial ocean’s tide. he already knows what johnny will say. 

“my life is with you, my king. my future lies with you,” says johnny. “what i feel for you surpasses fealty. it surpasses brotherhood. my king... i am wholly, fervently, ardently yours.”

kun’s heart drops into his stomach and curls up there in its acid before rising again to stick at the back of his throat, corrosive and sickly. those words are his cue to open his eyes and meet johnny’s gaze. he can't summon the courage. “and i suppose i cannot stop you?”

“it is already done,” replies johnny. “it cannot be undone.”

here, kun is supposed to smile. he swallows and forces himself to crack a joke. “so steadfast.” his voice sounds weaker than it usually does when he says this. “is this the ardour of a knight?”

johnny’s thumb touches kun’s bottom lip, feather-light and reverent. when kun finally opens his eyes, johnny’s expression robs the air from his lungs. after a lifetime of suppression, the barest hint of oxygen superheats johnny’s passion. he murmurs, “this is my ardour for you,” and kun’s skin scorches.

kun’s legs go weak, his hair stands on end, his heart stops and restarts at triple time in his chest, and just as he thinks johnny’s fire will either consume him or resurrect him like the big, red bird of legend, the squeal of a megaphone splinters the air. 

“cut. let’s reset.”

johnny’s hands drop away from kun in a heartbeat. he turns away, hand already outstretched towards the p.a. standing by with his water bottle. kun, for his part, does his best to suppress the urge to lie face-down on the floor of the sound stage and scream.

kun learned the art of screen acting from the very best. no one ever taught him what to do when he caught his character’s feelings.

or, kun and johnny are co-stars, method acting is for hacks and weirdos, and kun wonders if he can get worker’s comp for a broken heart.

⤷  send a made up fic title + a member or ship and i'll give you a short synopsis and snippet of what i'd write.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

Maybe like... Shinsou using you as a guinea pig for his quirk to see how much of your body he can actually control (mind controlling orgasms out of you surprising you both and just giving him such a power trip)? Idk-👉🏻👈🏻🥺👀♥️

•Relentless•

A/N: THIS IS.... BRRRR. I *almost* went like, full sadist Hitoshi but I didn't know if that was your thing so I kept him a little a soft. I hope you like it!! I also took some liberties with his quirk's abilities lmao.

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinsou x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Quirk use during sex, Mind control, mild mind reading, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (?), creampie, slight Sir/Kitten terminology.

Word Count: 2,220

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“Just relax, take a deep breath and let go.” Hitoshi’s deep, calming voice washes over you, soothing your buzzing nerves.

“Toshi- it feels so weird.” You sigh, trying to get used to the feeling of handing every bit of your bodily control over to your boyfriend.

“I know, it’s ok, you’re doing so well for me.” The reassurance and the praise goes right to your core, making you dizzy, making you want more.

Until tonight, in the safety of your bedroom, under the pretense of sexual experimentation. If it’s for science, it can’t be bad, right? At least, that’s how you convinced Hitoshi to get you laid up like this, panting and waiting for him to make the next move.

You lay still on your back, body bare and exposed to his lavender gaze, you watch as he stands beside you on the bed. His strong arms are crossed over his broad chest, his body clad in nothing but low hanging grey sweatpants that don’t hide an inch of his arousal.

He hasn’t taken your mind all at once like he usually does, he’s been training to make his quirk more selective to certain senses, so he can make it less obvious to his opponents when they’re under any control.

As of right now, you’re only physically void of control, leaving your mind cognisant and able to give feedback.

“I’m going to touch your mind now, Kitten, but I’ll do it slowly.” His voice has dropped slightly, less calming, more authoritative.

“Ok, I trust you.” You say as your skin grows hot with anticipation.

That’s all it takes, with your response, your mind grows cloudy. It’s the strangest feeling, almost like when you’re falling asleep and dream you’re being tossed from a boat. You feel the beginning of the jolt, but never the fall. You just hang there, helpless and reeling.

“Two taps if you can hear me.” His voice sounds like it’s being cast down a hallway, but right in your ear at the same time.

Apparently, you’ve given him your taps, because he tells you you’re a good girl, tells you that you’re listening so well.

“I’m going to touch you now.” He whispers, you watch his eyes trail down your body as he reaches out to ghost his fingers over the inside of your thigh.

You want to whine and squirm and ask him to move higher, but you’re frozen solid.

“I want you to make your thoughts as loud as you can, ok Kitten?” He instructs.

Of course, god he’s fucking brilliant. He’s probably never been able to gather any kind of feedback from anyone on the receiving end of his quirk. This is a perfect opportunity to learn exactly just how far his quirk extends. He’s powerful, you know this, and as time goes on you learn just how multifaceted his abilities are.

Could he possibly read your mind as well as control it?

“Yes Sir.” You lean into the words, feel them in your chest and cast them out to him.

His hand stills on your thigh as his body bristles.

“I felt that, It wasn’t audible, but I could feel it.” He smiles up at you, eyes lighting up with a wild glint.

“Ok, that’s a good direction. Let me try this.” He doesn’t offer you a single second to prepare for the feeling of his thumb tugging at the hood of your clit.

Normally, you let out pretty little moans for him, squeezing your thighs together before grabbing his wrist. Instead, the only thing you can feel is his finger teasing your sensitive bud.

It makes the sensation so much more concentrated. It extends down the nerves in your legs, firing up your spine as he applies more pressure.

“Talk to me, baby, let me hear you.” He’s said that to you several times in a sexual setting, but this time, it weighs in your chest, you don’t have an option, you’re sending words his way without even formulating them first.

“Lower please, more…” You feel your walls pulse when he does exactly that, hitting your clit in exactly the right spot.

Toshi knows your body, he’s worked it over countless times. He never leaves you unsatisfied, but an individual knows their own body better than anyone else, so of course it takes time for a partner to learn the sweet spots and the weak points.

This is so much more educational than just having him watch you masturbate so he can take stock of those sensitive areas, he’s literally inside your mind, listening to you, feeling it with you.

“Tell me more, tell me what you need.” He says, letting your eyes fall shut, you welcome the velvety darkness. It only allows you to lean further into the feeling of his thumb circling against you.

“Fingers… inside me… please, Toshi.”

You hear him groan, feel the bed dip, then feel the maddening sensation of two long fingers slipping into your dripping entrance.

Between the constant rubbing at your clit, the deprivation of your other senses, and now his digits crooking inside of you to rub against your spongy walls, you want to cry, thank him, egg him on. It almost hurts, it makes you ache.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You forgot for a second that he’s wired into your senses now, he must have felt the inkling of sadness.

“Let me talk, I want you to hear me.” You let the pang in your chest ring out, pushing it up and out for him.

His fingers work with diligence as you feel your throat losen, a broken cry rips from your throat immediately, your back would arch if it weren’t glued to the bed.

“Oh that’s so much better.” He sighs, your eyes are still shut, which is probably for the best. You’re sure if you could see him you would come undone immediately.

Nerves fire off in your lower belly, gathering between your hip bones as he starts to move his fingers in and out at a slow, dedicated pace.

“Fuck- harder- Toshi, please.” You gasp as your walls start to tighten.

“God, I can still feel it baby.” His voice sounds strained and unsteady, and you want nothing more than to put your hands into his hair and pull.

You almost get the words out to tell him to move his thumb up and down on your clit instead of in circles, but he beats you to it. He feels it with you, jumping right to the new motion that turns your legs to jelly. What a demon you’ve unleashed. Now Hitoshi can feel what you want, and know exactly how to give it to you.

It all builds and builds and builds, all deep and hard and perfect.

“Hold it.” He snaps, just as you’re about to crest.

And you do, and you curse him for it.

You hang there, the feeling of the beginning of an orgams floods your core, but you never clench or throb, you simply ache.

“Oh Kitten, did you want to cum?” He sneers, voice full of arrogance.

“Please, fuck- fuck- fuck, Toshi please.” You fight with everything you have to break free, to cum as hard as you know you can under his control.

“Hold. It.” God you love it when he gets mean.

“Save it for my cock.”

You do, you stay there, fingers clinging to the edge of the cliff despite the pull of gravity under you. Your hips are ripped from the bed as you’re flipped over, when did his fingers leave your cunt? Did they? You can still feel them rubbing and thrusting, is it just his quirk?

Soon he has your face planted in the pillows, ass high in the air as you feel his hands slide up the backs of your thighs. So they did leave your core. The feeling is absolutely dizzying, like there’s four hands roaming your body as his quirk continues to caress your mind and lull it into beautiful submission.

“You’re fucking soaked.” You hear him breathe out before you feel the head of his thick length press to your entrance, the feeling of his fingers fade away like dust in the wind.

“Fuuuck.” He moans from somewhere deep in his chest as he presses into you, “So that’s what that feels like.” He chuckles as he rocks his hips forward.

You lay there sniffling, eyes drilled shut, only able to whimper and take it. You can’t grapple at the sheets, thrust back onto him like you want to. It’s driving you up the damn wall.

“You have a point.” He sighs as he settles into you all the way, his thick base stretching you out, you want to cum so badly, you feel it with every inch of your burning skin.

“You’re more fun to play with when you’re allowed to respond. “ Just like that, his palm cracks across your ass. Upon impact, his control breaks, leaving you with an over-exposed feeling, and all you can do is sob into the sheets when he pulls back only to plunge into you full force.

The feeling is purely electric, he doesn’t relent in the slightest. He sets a merciless pace instantly, his tip kisses your cervix as his silk skin massages your walls. He still doesn’t let you cum, though.

“Thoshi! Please! I wanna- please I wanna cum on your cock.” You beg without shame, tossing your head to the side so you can look back at him.

The sight rips the breath from your lungs. He’s covered in a light layer of sweat, wild hair sticking to his forehead as he rips you apart with a predatory gaze. His muscles contract beautifully as he thrusts into you, hands gripping your hips like you’re trying to run away.

“Do it- Shit- you’re so fucking tight.” His eyebrows knit together as your pussy starts to contract the second he gives you permission.

It’s all so hot, your skin, your insides, your mind. Your entire body aches and trembles and tightens. You cry and shake and thank him with a broken voice. He just keeps fucking, hips jack-hammering into you as you gush around him.

“Kitten- fucking hell- keep going- cum on this cock, cum on this fucking cock.” He finishes his sentence with a soft, shattered moan. His head is thrown back as he feels it out with you, memorizing the way you shiver when he angles up slightly, the way your thighs shake when he tells you how tight you feel.

It’s all so fucking gorgeous to him.

“One more- Give me one more, Kitten.” He groans into the air, the sound fills you with adoration.

One more? You’ve been cumming for what feels like forever, does it even count as one more when you haven’t even finished the first? Then it hits you like a truck, unexpected and final as your entire body is snatched up by ropes of pleasure as they capture every limb.

It’s a new, overwhelming, blinding feeling. It rocks your entire world, it’s all vibrant sparks as euphoria ricochets through you. You barely hear Hitoshi’s whines and moans, his consecutive, desperate “oh fucks”s as he buries himself inside you before cumming into your warm, pulsing walls. His hands claw at your hips as his abs tense, completely addicted to this newfound way of knowing your body.

You both stay there, crying for each other, squeezing each other, falling apart for each other as he pours his load into you.

After several long moments of your bodies quaking and pulsing, you finally settle slightly. His grip lessens as he lets your body fall to the bed, he collapses beside you, face to face and utterly spent.

You observe his beautiful, flushed state. Pink cheeks wet with sweat, droopy eyes and puffy lips. You lean forward and kiss him dearly, he melts against you, arms looping around your waist to pull you into his warm body. You pull apart reluctantly, panting and exhausted.

“Kitten, thank you, you were perfect, it all felt so perfect.” He breathes, nudging your nose with his.

“Toshi, thank you, I’ve never cum that hard in my life.” Your laugh is the light, breathy kind that only comes from being this spent.

“Darlin’, there’s no way I’m going to let you not cum that hard after learning that you can.” His low, rumbling voice sends a chill up your spine.

You reach your hand out to smooth his violet waves back off of his damp forehead, you look at him in awe, your brilliant, capable hero.

“You’re incredible.” You mumble, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to rest.

He hushes you and pulls you into him, you settle against his chest with his arms around you.

“That’s all you.” With that, you let sleep take you, wrapped around Hitoshi as he whispers sweet praises into your ear.

You know he’s not through with you, and you’re sure as hell not through with him.

[abbynx]

La Squadra Esecuzione during prom Headcanons

So like.... A normal AU of sorts combined with High School AU so yes Genre: Romantic, headcanons, crack-ish, AU Warning: Alcohol consumption, teen drinking

Formaggio: - Goes to prom sporting a white dress shirt, orange bowtie, tanned suspenders, tanned pants and dark brown dress shoes. Also wears a gold watch and a brown fedora with a green lining - He picks you up rather late, but he knows the vibes with people during prom and usually, the time of meeting plan will usually be delayed due to unexpected disasters occuring. - Has a bouquet of cliché ass roses to give to you when you meet. As soon as he lay eyes on you, his mouth would be a crack open, eyes wide. Once you point his out, he tried to recover from this with a clear of his throat, and checks you out. "Damn bro, you look beautiful." His voice would crack if he were to continue to speak. Will forget to give you the flowers, so point this out and he will practically almost shove on your chest and will profusely apologize if he were too rough. - Will hog the buffet. If there's no buffet, he'll be intensely disappointed and the whole prom night will be ruined. But you're by his side, he's happy... Bust still he will be a little hangry >:( - He will photobomb in every picture his gang will take. So if you want a picture perfect picture to be posted on Instagram, there will be a blurry figure of this dude making kissy faces or sticking his tongue out. Join him if you want, it'll make him happy while the others will pissed at you for not getting your date a leash to stop him from messing around. - He'll egg you on to spike the punch with alcohol. If you're not willing to risk your school record, he'll do it himself and will succeed at it. Now watch the chaos unfold as students get unknowingly drunk. - This boy will be busting down the moves on the dance floor. So get your dancing shoes on, and DANCE— - When the slow dance music comes on, he'll smoothly ask you for your hand for (marriage—) a dance. So if he is extremely hyper whilst dancing to pop, hip hop or whatever lovely music the DJ was playing, he is very distinctively different. Very slow, very gentle, very soothing. Just swaying by the music as the night ends. Often times he'll let you take the lead of the dance and hes okay with that. "You know Y/N..." He breathes out, as he lets you take the lead to the waltz. "I could get use to this... Us dancing like this... Inourweddingday—" "What?" "Nothing." He smirks, before letting himself be dipped down and twirled up again. Illuso - Goes to prom wearing a white dress shirt, light grey pinstripe waist coat with a matching light grey pinstripe pants, white gloves, black dress shoes and a purple necktie with a silver tie clip. He ditched the six pigtails in favour for a high ponytail secured with a purple hair tie. - Pretty boy here will be looking extra pretty tonight! No surprise that he brought a mirror with him to touch on his appearance multiple times. You will see him spray his face with those mist sprays to touch up his appearance. - He is fashionably late due to him tending on his appearance, but he makes it up to you by bringing flowers and sweets! Once he lays eyes on you, he plays cool by smirking but omg he is squealing inside. "Good evening, Caro/a. You look ravishing." He kisses the back of your hand, whilst keeping an intense eye contact. Bro, idk how you will stay calm and composed by this— - Will photobomb pictures with Formaggio, except he poses like a model instead of making funny faces. - Will get unknowingly tipsy from the punch and flirt with you and will be extra touchy, slinging his arm around your shoulders when sitting down, and will wrap his arms around your waist. "Caro/a~ you look so damn hot in your dress/suit~" - Refuses to stand up and dance to lively music. Let Formaggio and the others egg him on and with the influence of his tipsy-ness, before he takes offense and dance like there's no tomorrow. So if you're not dancing with him, get your camera's out, Melone has his one out. - Will not stop giving you compliments, so enjoy getting bombarded with it every single time. This behaviour is being influenced by a little drop of alcohol and encouraged by

what he truly feels about you. So enjoy while it lasts. He is extra clingy, and will accompany you everywhere you go. If you manage to slip away from him, he might just cry searching for you. "Caroooo/aaaa where are youuu?" - And amidst the slow dance part, he will indulge and lead. So prepare, bro, he has prepared himself just for this moment. He gives me pompous theatre kid vibes, so expect the dance to be so grand and fairytale like that students would be staring at you two. Prosciutto - Whoooooo bro, if he looks glamorous like he normally does, it will be multiplied tonight in Prom. Like bruh chill, you're attending a high school prom, not your own wedding— So for prom he is dressed to his best, sporting a black dress shirt, navy blue waist coat, a dark navy blue double breasted coat with small, gold vine designs around the cuffs of the sleeves, navy blue pants, yellow necktie with navy blue curly vine detailing and a pair of black dress shoes. His hair is styled the same, because he looks hot with it. - He is very quick at preparation, and so he expects you to be the same. If not, he'll take the time to assist you in preparation whilst sternly lecturing you about the importance of time management. Once finished, he'll press a kiss to your cheeks and compliment how you look. "You're glowing, my love," he whispers to your ear, before standing straight and offering you an elbow. "Shall we?" - Refuses to get up and dance to lively music, because he thinks it's too peasant-like 💅✨ No amount of egging will convince him because he thinks he's too sophisticated for something like that - He snuck his own bottle of alcohol because he doesn't want to drink the punch spiked with cheap alcohol. This boy I swear. - Prosci is extremely classy, a huge gentleman, the type that will take his coat off and lend it to you if you're cold or offer you his handkerchief when you cry or whatever, will pull you a seat, etc etc. - Will only get up to dance when the music has gone slow and the lights are dimmed. He will step out of his seat, serve you a bow and offer you a hand. And with low, velvety baritone voice, he ask, "May I have the honour to dance with you?" - He leads the dance with grace and elegance enough to match with your capable pace. If you don't know how to dance, he'll take it slow and teach you the basic, let get the hang of it. He doesn't really care if you know or not, he just want you in his arms. - This is where most likely where you'd share your first kiss. Dancing the night away, chest to chest and clinging to each other whilst everything around you slowed and faded away, gazing into each others eyes until your sight suddenly darts down to his lips when he got the same feeling you wanted to share something amidst this evening to solidify your relationship with each other and take it to the next level. And so he'll gently lean, press his kiss against yours, and pulling away, only to go for it again. Pesci - Goes to prom wearing a black dress shirt, green bow tie, white coat that he left open, and some regular black shoes. He opted to dress simple unlike his overly grand older brother because of his insecurities getting to him first. - Very nervous. Like, shit bro, his hands were extremely clammy causing Pesci to be scolded by Prosciutto yet again for being nervous for no reason. - He was too damn chicken to ask you out to prom, and is now wallowing in his own misery by drowning himself drinking the funny tasting liquid Prosciutto brought with him, just watching you from afar laughing with your friends. Formaggio and Prosciutto are his biggest wingmen and are actively encouraging him to go get it, but Pesci was too damn shy. "Pesci, Pesci, Pesci," Prosciutto lectures, caressing his brother's face. "You and I both know you're good enough for Y/N. Look at them, they just stand still and miserable whilst their friends left to dance with their own partners. Are you going to allow that?" "Come on, Pesci! You can do it!" Formaggio chimes in. - And so with the egging done, Pesci sucks a

breathe and walks to your table when your friends have gone to dance the night away with their partners. He was a sweaty mess, opting to run away the last minute, when Prosciutto and Formaggio pushed him forward, which automatically got your attention. "Oh hi, Pesci!" He felt his would left his body when your attractive face turned to him with a smile. His chest hammered heavily, drowning his ears out with heavy cacophonous beats of his own heart. - So there you were, just smiling at him, confused to why he approached your table and just stared at you. You noticed the way he trembled, connected two and two together and stood from your seat and offered him your hand. "Would you like to dance with me?" "Y-yes— I would love too!" The two wingmen were disappointed Pesci didn't initiated the suave introduction, but it is what it is. - Be patient with him, he is a nervous wreck and will profusely apologize when he accidentally stepped on your toes, and his palms were constantly sweating and will stop the dance just so he can wipe your hands with his handkerchief, apologizing. - So what you're gonna do is to put your hand atop his shoulders and look him in the eyes. "Pesci, calm down. It's just me. Breathe." And with that, his nerves are a little settled, took a breathe and regained a small bit sense of being calm and let you lead the dance. - After the dance ended, bows were exchanged, you gave him a peck on the cheek. "Let's go out tomorrow, yeah? Let's meet up by the park at five thirty. I'll see you there." You smirked up at him, before escorting him back to his seat. The boy was left speechless, but the red on his face says it all. Once you're out of ear-shot, Prosciutto and Formaggio would cheer for Pesci. Melone - Wear a violet dress shirt, a dark lavender waist coat, an extremely dark shade of purple coat, a magenta cravat, black shoes, and black gloves. I headcanonned him to be wearing a violet rectangular rimmed glasses due to his bad eye sight on his right eye during his younger days, so he's going to prom with his glasses off and with contact lenses on. His hair would be up to a half ponytail fastened by a crystal rose hairpin. - He came to you your house to pick you up, straightening the cravat on his chest, ready to fluster you to no end when he came face to face with you. You're too attractive that he lost his voice for a moment. He was too nervous too check you out and be a perve about it, holy shit why are you so damn beautiful djfnfkdjcjndcjmd - He looks suave, but honestly, he is a wreck. There will be moments wherein the charming veneer he has will collapse with the form of a voice crack or a stammer, but will immediately clear his throat and rephrase what he has to say. "H-hello Y/N uUHm—" his voice cracked, forcing his hand to fly up to his mouth to clear his throat and recover his charming veneer. "Good evening, Y/N. You look divine as always, tesoro~" - Honestly, just the best fucking person to be prom date and boyfriend because he will never bore you at all! Not with his four hundred choice of topic, you are not going to get bored! And besides, who does not want to hear this nerd talk passionately about his interest, interesting facts and whatnot? Don't you dare shut him up, look at that glimmer in his eyes when he's talking, you wouldn't want to ruin that right? - He. Will. Take. Pictures. A lot of it. Not just of the two of you together, but with his friends as well because he holds them dear to his chest. He will manage to get a shot of the two of you together without Formaggio photobombing in the background. So get him to take your picture for your new profile picture in Instagram or something because his photography skills are heavenly! And he doesn't really kind taking pictures of you, in fact, he loves that he gets to have more of your photos! - Will get easily jealous. And by that, enjoy Melone practically clinging to you, tightening his grip around your hand and giving an overly sweet smile towards the person making him jealous. Good luck with that

sweetie 😘 - Yo, due to his extremely overwhelmed reaction of your beauty, he won't stay silent for a minute to compliment you. Like, at all. But he's not charming about it, no, it just subconsciously slips out whenever he's deeply staring at you with sunset eyes and just the most adorable grin ever, whilst his heart within his chest can't stay still. And within this moment, he couldn't help but to press a gentle kiss on your lips because of how deep his desire and trance was. Will apologize frantically once realization struck him that he shouldn't be doing that without your consent and will sputter apologies. So kindly shut him up and return his kiss and that will leave him into a smiling wreck. - As soon as the music changed into a slow pace, the lights dimmed and the mood changed, he nervously looks over you and holds his hand out. "Would you like to dance, tesoro?" He graciously asked with an edge of anxiety in his voice. You simply smiled and put your hand atop his and let him lead you into the dancefloor and let him lead the dance. There's nothing more heavenly than being with you, to be honest. He's in peace but at the same time, panicked because a divine deity such as yourself decided to look more into his perverted character and saw a passionate nerd residing in him. You didn't look at him with revulsion, you laughed with him, and you love him. There's nothing more he could want than feeling your warmth and love. Ghiaccio - He doesn't really like the prom at all, and will bitch just about everything, to the food, the venue, etc like chillax Elsa— so his main complaints is that he sees this as a waste of time and money, as apparently this is just any other time in school, just in the middle of the night, dressed in formal attires. And for that thing in mind, he thought that getting a date was useless. Pfft, as if he can resist you—He wasn't going to attend this dumb event when he heard some boys wanting to ask a certain h/c friend of his into a date as a prank. So Ghiaccio squared the fuck up, and asked you out in a date, rather straightforward and blunt about it, so go and accept! - Sis be unrecognisable omg, you'd have to hear him scream about etymology before recognising this nerd lmao So he's out to go to prom wearing a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, white and blue gingham patterned waist coat, red bow tie and black shoes. His hair is out of its curls, slicked back and he's wearing contact lenses and ditched his glasses. - Very confused as to why he attended for your sake, but went through with it because he can't stand seeing his friend experience that kind of pain. I mean, he can just tell you not to accept their offer, but he insists! "I'm not asking you out on a prom date because I wants to! I just doesn't want to those cazzos to take advantage of you!" He persists to insist with his furiously red, discoloured face. - Boi, stop teasing him before he turns completely red, voice at the its highest peak, and mad at you, because with your attractive looks alone he already can't control the colour of his face. If you stop, however, that doesn't mean La Squadra won't stop teasing him about it. So do him a favour, scold the others and give Ghia a break. - Warms up at the idea of prom because he realised how his friends and classmates enjoyed this... Especially you. The way you would just sit, listen to the music whilst eating, watching other students just vibe? Well admittedly he isn't warming up to it because his peers are enjoying it... But it's because the way you smile watching others enjoy this event. He is a massive tsundere but a romantic sap at heart, please help this boy— - So dancing... What you expected him to know how to dance? PFFT— NO, OVER HIS DEAD BODY— anddddddd somehow he found himself in the middle of the dancefloor, aggressively flailing his limbs around after Formaggio and Illuso called him incapable of doing so. - At the end of the night, once slow dancing was in session, he is a bit of hesitant to dance with you, as you saw him

dance earlier. He just does not know how to and other than that, he freezes up when he is within close proximity with you. But dang it Y/N, why do you look so damn envious watching your classmates dance? So Ghiaccio sucks it up, sighs and stood from his seat. "Wanna dance?" He grumbled. Oh bich, you better accept because he's only doing this once! - So he tried his best to ease up, lead the dance and just tries not to make a mistake. He's generally having a good time despite being so stiff and with his brows knitted together, I assure you he is enjoying! It's just his default appearance and he is really intensely focused on not stepping on your toes. Like the prom, he warms up to dancing because seeing you smile just makes him smile too. This would be the moment wherein he'd find beauty within your eyes in which he never looked upon before. He was always so drawn to your eyes just staring off into space, but never has he seen them up close... And they were certainly more prettier now that he is up close. Risotto - Like Ghiaccio, he doesn't see the point in going to these events. I mean, there's socializing but don't students do that every day already? He wasn't going to attend prom, seeing that he really doesn't know what to do in these events... Until you asked him out to go, so wyoom— fuck that, he's going! - Having the lack of knowledge about prom and being so indecisive regarding what he can wear, mix that with his desperation to impress you— he asks the only fashion Diva he knows of, Prosciutto over for advice or better yet, pick at the clothes in his closet for Risotto to wear. - He ended up going to prom wearing a black double waist coat and pants with silver pinstripes, red dress shirt, black and white stripped necktie, silver chains connected to his coat and pocket watch, and also black shoes. He let his hair down, combed down and parted to the side. - Mostly silent during prom, just watching other people vibe whilst drinking from the alcohol Prosciutto snuck in. He's not really comfortable participating into the party, he's more into watching them just vibe but he would appreciate it if you'd stay by his side not because he looks lonely, but you just genuinely want to stay with him and/or you're uncomfortable mingling with the crowd as well. - Will have his finger entwined with you the whole evening, complimenting you and your choice of clothing for the night. He just appreciates your company and secretly hopes to himself that you wouldn't ditch him for being so boring since he doesn't really what to do in these sorts of situations other than being a wallflower. It was selfish of him, but he knows you love him~ "Promise you wouldn't leave me?" Risotto whispers, his thumb stroking your hand for reassurance. "What? No!" - Will get easily jealous because he feels so damn self-conscious that he really doesn't know what to do in events like this! And by that, enjoy Risotto practically clinging to you, tightening his grip around your hand and giving a look towards the person making him jealous. Good luck with that sweetie 😘 - The only moment wherein he'd be getting near the crowd to mingle would be with you... He wanted you to experience something from him this night and so he decided to dance with you at the end of the night. And so when the mood was set in for a slow dance, he timidly hold his hand out for you to take, with his intense gaze boring to yours, he asks of you, "May I have the honour to dance with you?" - He'd have the biggest, most fucking loving smile when you accept as he gently takes your hand and lead you to the dance floor. There is, admittedly, a problem with the height difference but fuck that, you just wanted to dance. He just wants you to know that he's very appreciative of his nature to be unsociable and despite that, you stuck around with him instead of abandoning him to bond with your other sociable peers, and that he's the luckiest boy alive to be having such an understanding, such kind and thoughtful s/o. "Thank you... Very much, Y/N." Gelato and

Sorbet - Gelato would be dressed with a black turtle neck, dark grey coat, dark grey pants and shoes, with a silver chain hanging around his neck. His hair at its usual style. - Whilst Sorbet attended prom dressed in a white dress shirt with the sleeves folded to his elbows, brown waist coat with light brown pinstripes, with matching brown pants with the same pinstripe pattern, dark brown necktie and brown shoes. - Will lounge around like Risotto, and just vibe with the music, ya know? If you're up for some dancing with the three of them, hell ye sure, because there's nothing more enjoyable than spending with each others side! - If ever you decided not to drink, watch over Gelato with Sorbet because that boy will drink and his tolerance is whack. So not only are you on guarding duty with Gelato, but as well as the rest of La Squadra. So please, don't drink, Sorbet would very much appreciate for someone to be as sober as he is to deal with your drunken friends. "Gelato, please put the bottle down and get off the table—" Sorbet tries to lecture, whilst the aforementioned person tips over at rhe slightest with a bottle of alcohol at hand. "Y/N could tou help me over here?!" - Both of them are very chatty, surprisingly knows a lot of juicy gossips about teachers and classmates alike but they clarify that you should not repeat what you hear. So either you're out there dancing, or gossiping about everyone in school as you sat by your table. "Did you know Regina is cheating on Aaron?" Gelato whispers lowly meant for only your and Sorbet's ear. "Omg, really?" You whispered back. "I knew there was something up." Sorbet adds. - Three person waltz anyone? Hell yes. So all you need is precise movements and grace, but that's already taken care of since you three practiced in advance for this! It doesn't really matter if it were to be performed well, y'all just wanted a good time at each others company and that's that. - At the end of the night, Gelato's passed out from alcohol like the rest of La Squadra except of Pesci, you and Sorbet. So good luck loading your drunken friends into the vehicle. ~ Bonus ~ Prom King: Illuso Best dressed: Prosciutto Best dancer: Formaggio

[magickastiel]

✨ B&B’S CHRISTMAS ADVENT CALENDAR ✨

9th December - milk & cookies

I am, once again, attempting to write one story through different prompts. I really enjoyed it last time so let’s see if I can do it through December!

check out the other days | now on ao3

Summary: Just a month after defeating Chuck, Sam & Dean are faced with their first real Christmas. Eileen, Jody, Donna, Claire & Kaia descend on the Bunker for a Christmas celebration like no other. But for Dean, Castiel’s confession still weighs heavy. It might be easier to deal with if Cas was actually around to talk to but he and Jack are busy in Heaven. Surely they don’t have time to come home for Christmas…do they?

🥛🍪

Dean shuffles into the kitchen in his robe and slippers, hair stuck up and face creased.

He flicks the light on and jumps.

“I said we’d talk.”

He groans and pads over to Eileen at the table. She smiles warmly at him as he sits, like she’s not about to talk about the thing that’s been keeping him up since November.

He frowns at the table. “What’s this?”

“Perfect Christmas Eve breakfast. Milk and cookies.”

Bacon and eggs are calling to him. But he can’t resist the perfectly golden cookies or the hopeful look on Eileen’s face. So he takes one as she pours him a glass of milk.

“So.” She says, eyes glinting with delight.

“So.”

“What happened? How did he tell you? Was it romantic?”

A dungeon, Death at their heels, and the long arm of nothingness clawing its way into the room.

“No. Not romantic. It was…” He trails off. How do you explain that? "He told me so he could die. To save me. From Death."

Eileen, to her credit, barely hesitates. "Sure. Of course he did."

Is still hurts to talk about. He feels like his chest had been cracked open at the mere memory. But Eileen's open expression, and the sudden sugar high, helps a little.

"It was…quick, I guess. Billie was hammering on the door, beating down the warding. There was no way out." He takes a swig of milk, hoping it'll neutralise the stinging in his eyes. "He made a deal to get Jack back. So he used it."

Eileen nods. "Sam wondered about that. Didn't get how Cas could have called it in. He did think something happened. I think he's been too afraid to ask what."

Dean doesn't know how to feel about that. At least Sam hasn't worked it out but he's obviously intrigued enough to be thinking about it.

Eileen dunks another cookie into her glass. "What happened when he came back from the Empty?"

He almost puts his head in his hands. "Oh, man. I didn't…I kept calling Jack to get him back but it was hard and the Empty wouldn't let him go. And then he was back and I…I didn't know to say. So I just said I was happy he was back and then he was gone again. Jack needed him in Heaven. That was it."

Eileen hums, chewing her cookie thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's awkward."

"Tell me about it." Dean takes another cookie and chomps.

"But what do you wanna do?" She fixes him with an intense stare and Dean's throat goes dry. "I mean, you don't seem…it doesn't seem like it's a definite no."

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times. Eileen's got him stuck. If he denies it, he has no reason to be worrying about it this much. And if he admits it, then he admits it.

"Look, why's this all on me? He said it! So he should be saying something, right?” Dean says, trying to shrug off the exposed feeling clinging to him. “Shouldn’t he be, like, buying me flowers or somethin’? Or writing poems?”

Eileen almost snorts milk out of her nose. “Is that what you think he should do? Or what you want him to do?”

"Oh ha ha." He makes a face at her and doesn’t dwell on the prickle of uncomfortable joy at the thought of Cas giving him flowers. No, no, no absolutely not. Dean Winchester doesn’t do flowers. Especially when he’s receiving them. He’s never received flowers. He doesn’t give them very often either these days. What would it be like, he wonders, to receive flowers? Maybe he’d enjoy it. Maybe he’d like it more than giving flowers.

A chocolate chip collides with his right eyebrow.

“Dean? You there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

“Look.” Eileen places her glass down on the table and looks uncharacteristically serious. “You can’t keep avoiding this forever. I get it - I’m a big fan of not looking at things and hoping they go away. Problem is, I don’t think you want Cas to go away. So you might need to, you know, sort that out.”

Dean sighs. “That’s it? You said you had ‘excellent opinions’ and all I get is ‘sort it out’?! What a let down.”

“Hey! Just because I have excellent opinions doesn’t mean you’re ready to hear them. I know what I would do and I know what I think you should do but I’m not telling you any of that. This is something you’ve gotta get to on your own.”

Dean’s shoulders slump. “Yeah. I know - you’re right.”

“Usually am.” She grins. “But just because you’ve gotta decide for yourself, doesn’t mean you can’t talk to us about it. I’m always here and so is Jody. And so is Sam even if you don’t want him to know yet.”

Not for the first time, Dean suddenly feels a bit emotional.

Even with all the things he’s done, he’s still got people who love him. People who want to help and want him to be happy.

He feels lighter after sharing his woes with Eileen and they clink milk glasses cheerily, mocking Sam when he comes in from a run looking for a smoothie.

For now, Dean pushes the problem out of his mind. He’s good at that.

[bureowo]

love confessions | stray kids headcanons (danceracha version)

how they would confess their love for you.

genre: fluff. | word count: ~2k total. | warnings: none.

. ⋅ ˚̣-:✧masterlist✧:-˚̣⋅ .

a/n: hi i’m back with a new hc post (❀◦‿◦) i’m trying a new format w this one pls let me know how we feel abt it! i really hope you enjoy it ( • ᵕ • )♡ i’ll try to post the other parts soon!! 💗

⊹ minho ⊹

❥ there’s not a chance minho is confessing until he’s absolutely, one hundred percent sure that his feelings for you are reciprocated. it’s just not happening, sorry luv. 😔

❥ that being said, though, he would definitely still dip his toe in the water.

❥ he’d flirt with you, very subtly at first, only to test your reaction; but overtime (and if you don’t show any signs of discomfort) he’d grow more and more daring.

❥ minho’s got a keen eye, taking mental notes of every single compliment or pet name that leaves you flustered or manages to draw out a bashful giggle from within you.

❥ however ! as much as he’s constantly and shamelessly batting his eyes at you, he’s also rather ‘hot and cold’ about it.

❥ it’s not like he’s purposefully trying to keep you on your toes or anything like that, it’s just... sometimes you smile at him so brightly, or you look at him with such a gleam in you eyes..., that his heart feels like it’s being squeezed, compressed against his chest; so he needs to tone it down sometimes, just so he can catch his breath.

❥ it’s one evening when the two of you are hanging out that minho is being uncharacteristically quiet.

❥ you try to make up for his quietude, not wanting to push him if he’s not in a particularly chatty mood, yet, soon enough, you begin running out of topics to blather about.

❥ sure, he chuckles at the little remarks and facial expressions you make as you speak, but the way he’s looking at you makes the hairs all over your body stand on end; there’s just something about it you can’t quite put your finger on.

❥ so you suggest watching a movie. he agrees with a soft grin and you power on your laptop; you read out a few titles, summarizing the plot and commenting on the posters.

❥ but all you get in response is: “whichever you like, y/n.”

❥ you turn around to face minho, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “hey, is everything okay?” he seems taken aback by your question. “it’s just- i don’t know, you’re being kinda... silent” you trail off.

❥ “it’s okay if it’s just that!” you add quickly, your words almost jumbling together. “if you just don’t wanna talk- it’s alright, i just- i care about you, so... yeah...”

❥ your face feels so warm you think you could burst into flames at any given moment.

❥ minho looks down, gnawing on his lip and fingers fumbling with each other for what feels like an eternity; your stomach churns every time he sighs.

❥ eventually, he peers at you through his lashes, and you swear you catch a glimpse of a rosy blush ghosting over his cheekbones for the fraction of a second.

❥ “y/n, i-” he stalls, his hands still fidgeting restlessly on his lap. “i'm fine, i just- i love you.”

❥ all your motor functions seem to stop working at once (did he really just say that??).

❥ “what?” you gape at him, voice small and eyes doe.

❥ “i love you, y/n.” he repeats. “and i care about you too, a lot.” minho’s gaze pierces straight through yours and your heart rate raises to a hundred beats per minute.

❥ “minho-” your head is spinning so fast you don’t even know what you’re saying, but when you feel his fingers intertwining with yours, it’s like the words draw themselves out of your mouth. “i love you too.”

❥ and the way he beams at you so radiantly before leaning in to press his mouth over yours makes you feel a way you’ve never felt before.

❥ (you did end up watching a movie, although neither of you paid much attention to it, finding each other’s lips to be much more captivating.)

⊹ hyunjin ⊹

❥ poor little bub, he’d get so nervous once he actually commits himself to confessing his feelings for you, you’d end up thinking he’s purposefully avoiding you.

❥ but he just wants it to be absolutely perfect you know? like, straight out of a movie scene, so he just needs time to map out the perfect plan.

❥ and once he’s got it all figured out, it’s time to set ‘operation: steal y/n’s heart’ into motion. 👏

❥ it’s early noon on a sunday when you suddenly get a text from hyunjin – ‘it’s lovely outside today! do you wanna hang out at the park?’

❥ and, happy that he’s no longer seemingly evading you, you agree – ‘sure i’ll meet you there in ten!’

❥ but ! hyunjin wasn’t expecting you to accede so readily; still, he can’t just ask you, out of the blue, to wait half an hour before leaving, he doesn’t want you to get suspicious.

❥ so he hurriedly gathers his things, quickly double-checking that he’s got everything he needs to sweep you off your feet, before scurrying out the front door.

❥ you arrive at the park, and hyunjin’s heart begins hammering inside his chest the second he spots you amongst the people; you look so incredibly stunning as you glide through the crowd (ethereal, hyunjin thinks).

❥ you catch sight of him standing on a less populated side of the park, a blanket spread out over the grass beside him, and rush over to him, greeting him as soon as you reach him.

❥ “ooh, did you prepare all of this for me?” you ask him merrily, a playful grin on your face while you motion towards the picnic basket and multiple containers filled with various fruits.

❥ “yes” he wants to tell you; but instead he turns around, hoping you didn’t see the blush dusting over his cheeks. he sits himself on the blanket and you follow suit.

❥ for a bit, hyunjin relaxes, he even nearly forgets his true intentions, loosing himself in the way your eyes shine as you tell him what you’ve been up to and the hums you let out when you pop a particularly sweet grape into your mouth.

❥ you smile at him, tilting your head down slightly. “why are you looking at me like that?” you simper.

❥ hyunjin’s heart does a somersault all the way up to his trachea. “i just-” he clears his throat. “you make me so crazy.”

❥ he rubs his hands over his face, you cock an eyebrow, yet before you can retort he keeps going: “i’m so crazy for you, y/n, you make me forget where i am and what i’m doing. all i can do is think of you, and look at you, and love you. god, y/n, i’m so in love with you, sometimes i don’t know what to do with myself.”

❥ you feel warm despite the breeze licking your face, the butterflies inside your stomach flap their little wings so fast you just can’t help but let out a chortle at the sensation.

❥ his hand moves to encompass yours and you can’t get the words out fast enough so you lean across the soft blanket and plant your mouth over his own.

❥ his lips are soft, supple, and taste sweet, like the strawberries he’d been eating.

❥ “i love you too.” you mumble as your fingers entangle themselves in his hair.

❥ (hyunjin ended up forgetting about his original plan, and about the bouquet of flowers laying inside the picnic basket, though he did give it to you later after he walked you home; you held his hand the entire way there, and his heart beat frantically as he kissed you goodbye.)

⊹ felix ⊹

❥ it’s not that felix isn’t planning on confessing, on ultimately declaring his undying love for you with a grand, romantic display.

❥ he just kinda thought you’d know about his feelings by now? like, how could you not?? especially since he’s been acting more and more bold each time the both of you meet.

❥ he’s not shy about holding your hand whenever he feels the longing, or lingering for an extra second or two when he gets the chance to hold you.

❥ but if you’re not picking up on the very obvious seed trail he’s laying out for you, then it’s time to draw out the big guns. 😎

❥ and so, he texts you – ‘hey! wanna come over & help me bake?’ – and, of course, you agree.

❥ you arrive at his doorstep and felix greets you with a wide smile and a warm hug; the cozy feeling stays with you even after the two of you part.

❥ he ushers you into the kitchen and you don’t seem to notice how his hand remains on your shoulder as he follows behind you.

❥ all ingredients and utensils are set up and ready on the kitchen counter.

❥ “what are we making?” you question him with a smile so beautiful he actually has to stop and think about it.

❥ “uh-” he mutters, his eyes focused on you. “oh, yeah! cupcakes!”

❥ you lower your chin ever so slightly, evading his gaze for a split second (could you be... blushing?), and felix grins, pleased.

❥ the two of you start mixing the ingredients, chit-chatting as you normally would, except you could swear he’s flirting with you; he showers you in compliments for every little thing you do (“woah y/n, you’re so good at sifting the flour!”, “ooh, you cracked this egg so perfectly, y/n, look!”), his fingers encase yours every time he asks you to hand him something, and you keep catching him glancing over at your lips.

❥ your stomach rumbles, but you can’t tell if it’s from hunger or from the butterflies flapping their wings furiously inside it.

❥ you set the tray of cupcakes inside the oven before turning around and leaning over the kitchen table, gaze fixed pointedly on felix across from you; he just looks so dreamy, brows furrowed in concentration and arm flexed as he whisks the mix for the frosting, you could look at him all day.

❥ he gazes back at you and the corners of his mouth tug up into what you can only describe as a smirk.

❥ your breath catches in your throat at the very moment the mixer judders in his hand and you let out an audible gasp when frosting spritz all over the both of you.

❥ felix looks at you like a deer in the headlights, but you can’t help the giggles that bubble from within your chest.

❥ “this isn’t how i wanted this to go, but,” he scratches the back of his head (unconsciously smearing frosting all over his hair), a chuckle escaping past his lips and a toothy smile on his face. “i love you, y/n.”

❥ your digit glides over the table, scooping some of the mixture before gently tapping his nose. “i love you too.” you chirp.

❥ felix leans towards you, hand reaching out to caress your cheek; he gapes at you for a moment, completely enthralled.

❥ you get even nearer to him, your mouth opens (god, he can’t stop staring at your lips).

❥ “do you smell something burning?” you ask.

❥ “oh no, my cupcakes!”

❥ (although felix didn’t get to decorate the cupcakes with little frosting hearts, or spell ‘i ♡ u’ with the cupcakes, or even make cupcakes for that matter, he figured things worked out okay anyway; in the end, he got loads of cuddles and kisses out of it, and i love you sounded a whole lot better coming out of your mouth.)

[wild-west-wind]

Here’s that story I wrote yesterday. Posted on AO3 which I was previously unaware of, because some folks said that’d be easier for them and I live to serve.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Major Character Death

Fandom: Original Work

Additional Tags: cw blood, cw violence, it's a messy little thing, and it is probably obvious I didn't put much thought into it

Grasshopper Pie     

In the hills above the town of Grasshopper, where once monsters roams the earth, something lies beneath the ground. Not quite dead, but not quite alive. Hungry.

(A little short story I banged out in a day. I don't like it.) (Overall there's a lot I'd like to change, but this is an exercise for me in saying "That's good enough," rather than lamenting over multiple versions of the same story.)

[ Link ]

Beneath the cut is the first ~1000 words or so.

About an hour north of Billings there’s a little town framed in a hollow by rocks as bright green as avocado flesh. Twenty people live there, give or take. Once there was a glacier nearby, full of dead grasshoppers, slowly melting, quickly rotting as they fell from their icy tomb. Free, finally, but only for a moment.

They called this town Grasshopper.

A dirty black truck rolled down Grasshopper’s main street, mostly empty, lined with forgotten storefronts. A milliner only identifiable from the painted sign on the brick side wall of a slumping building. An assay office, windows broken, stood beside the very much open general store. A diner flicked off it’s lights down the way. Much to Amaya Zigor’s dismay, they closed for lunch.

In the sagebrush speckled hills above Grasshopper, a group of students set up camp. Between open sided tents and awnings lay broad pits. In the green soil lay black fragments of bones. Long dead. Unlike the grasshoppers in the long-gone glacier, these would not rot. They already had.

Amaya pulled her truck up to the dig site, and backed it up. Fresh supplies in her back seat. Enough beer to drown a horse in her cooler. She wasn’t thinking about that, she wasn’t thinking about how her ice cream was melting in her plastic grocery bag, seeping into her upholstery. She was thinking about the fossils, the rocks. She was thinking they were wrong.

In the hills above Grasshopper, Montana, there were fossils. Bones of dinosaurs, bones of small reptiles. One damaged, but more-or-less articulated wing from an Azhdarchid that Jacob, a new student in the lab, was certain can be identified to the genus Quetzalcoatlus, which would have been cause enough to justify the night’s drinking if he hadn’t been full of shit.

Amaya sat down over the edge of one of their pits. Exposed in the upheaved earth, was a narrow bank of glassy black earth. Below it bone fragments. Above it, more bone fragments. Above that, the physical boundary marking the end of the Cretaceous, and the extinction of the non-avian dinosaurs. There were two impacts here, separated by centuries at least. Probably millennia. The fossils below the older impact were jumbled. Impact assemblages, she and her labmates were certain, but even those were odd. The taphonomy was strange. Bones died jet black, but in every fragment, every hollow, grew bright blue minerals, large and irregular crystal forms with no appreciable cleavage. The running guess was the mineral chalcanthite, but it was much too hard for a fingernail to scratch. In truth, no one, not even Dr.  Lee, had the slightest idea what was going on here.

Amaya Zigor was certain that, however this dig ended, she and her lab wound either be the stars of the next Society of Vertebrate Paleontology conference (next year in sunny Brisbane), or complete laughing stocks for their outrageous publications. Either way, she would leave Montana with a PhD, and folks would know her name.

A jolt ran up Amaya’s back, and she nearly fell into the pit, as Dr. Lee rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. His round face framed by long sideburns and horn-rimmed glasses.

“Amaya,” he said smiling, “You’ve been sitting here for half an hour.”

Amaya took a deep breath, and forced out a pale imitation of a laugh, “I have a lot to think about.”

“Don’t we all!” he said, sitting beside her, a little too close, “Have you seen pit three today? Shayna has been finding some excellent crocodilian material over there. Mostly osteoderms and teeth, but enough to diagnose a species I’m sure.”

Amaya didn’t respond. Lee was overly fond of Shayna. The whole lab knew they were fucking. The fossils in the ground knew they were fucking. The only person who didn’t know was the other Dr. Lee, whose hydrogeology projects out in California kept them apart just long enough for Dr. Lee the paleontologist to engage with his favorite students for some intensive extracurriculars. It didn’t help that Shayna screamed like a banshee in bed.

“I might have you go over and assist her tomorrow. I know you’ve been hard at work over here, but I think her finds should are worthy of pulling you off this side.”

Amaya turned to face her advisor, and flatly said “Of course.” Lee heard what he wanted.

“Good, I’m glad you understand. Try to get these jacketed by tonight, will you,” he said, gesturing to the eroded limb bones in pit seven, “wouldn’t want them to break down any more than they have.”

Amaya agreed, and retrieved her tools.

Even in the early evening, the summer sun beat down hard through a cloudless sky. Heat poured off the green earth below, light glinting off the blue crystals pocking the dig site. With dental picks and a brush at her side, Amaya set to work, exposing the underside of the therapod femur exposed in pit seven. She labored past sunset, prepped and dug and cleaned as she heard her lab around the campfire, heard them crack open cans of beer, and pass around a bottle of Wild Turkey. Crickets sang on the warm clear earth. Their natural rhythm undulating, rising and falling and thrumming with some unseen energy.

The ground under Amaya’s knees seemed to grow only warmer as she cleared rock away. As the air grew cool above her, the pit was hot and wet. A foul, implacable odor hung inside.

Most folks don’t know that fossils smell. Some of rotten eggs, some like a fresh asphalt road on a hot summer day. Pit 7 didn’t smell like either. Pit 7 smelled like electricity, like an old TV the moment it turned off, as static danced about the dying light on the screen, whipping motes of dust into a frenzy.

Below the femur the blue crystals grew more common, filling not just cracks in bone, but every pore of the rock as well. With every scrape of her pick the reek of the pit grew stronger. Blue sand replacing the green dust at the pit floor, until the blue crystal stopped giving way. Amaya scratched at in, and pulled at it, and watched as her picks failed against it. She pulled herself out of the pit, and staggered, her legs asleep and electric, back to the truck, where she retrieved a diamond pick, and a hammer. Chills ran down her arms and legs, as she found the air outside the pit was icy cold, frost creeping up the edges of her windows.

[butterflies-dragons]

Sansa feeling bat wings inside her tummy ? Could that mean kids with some Targ heritage in her belly ? Sansa carrying the child of a Targ ?

Are you talking about my tags on this post Cracking / Breaking a Gigantic Egg?

It’s an old idea that is in my drafts since 2017.  Let me elaborate:

Sansa's Wedding:  

"A bride at her wedding should be more than well." His voice was not unkind. "You seemed close to tears."

"Tears of joy, ser."

"Your eyes give the lie to your tongue." Ser Garlan turned her, drew her close to his side. "My lady, I have seen how you look at my brother. Loras is valiant and handsome, and we all love him dearly . . . but your Imp will make a better husband. He is a bigger man than he seems, I think."

The music spun them apart before Sansa could think of a reply. It was Mace Tyrell opposite her, red-faced and sweaty, and then Lord Merryweather, and then Prince Tommen. "I want to be married too," said the plump little princeling, who was all of nine. "I'm taller than my uncle!"

"I know you are," said Sansa, before the partners changed again. Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey.

Sansa stiffened as his hand touched hers, but the king tightened his grip and drew her closer. "You shouldn't look so sad. My uncle is an ugly little thing, but you'll still have me."

"You're to marry Margaery!"

"A king can have other women. Whores. My father did. One of the Aegons did too. The third one, or the fourth. He had lots of whores and lots of bastards." As they whirled to the music, Joff gave her a moist kiss. "My uncle will bring you to my bed whenever I command it."

Sansa shook her head. "He won't."

"He will, or I'll have his head. That King Aegon, he had any woman he wanted, whether they were married or no."

Thankfully, it was time to change again. Her legs had turned to wood, though, and Lord Rowan, Ser Tallad, and Elinor's squire all must have thought her a very clumsy dancer. And then she was back with Ser Garlan once more, and soon, blessedly, the dance was over.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

In summary,

That time when Joffrey said to Sansa: “I will put a bastard on you just like that King Aegon". 

This is yet one more JoJo thing, JoJo is what I call all the things that make Jon and Joffrey foils. The main one being: Jon is a Prince disguised as a Bastard while Joffrey is a Bastard disguised as a Prince.

So, while Jon is all: “Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom”. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Here is Joffrey comparing himself with Aegon IV “the Unworthy”, the King that fathered numerous bastards...    

And this is the second time Joffrey is compared with ‘an Aegon’.  The first time was this:

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him.

"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

And who is the real “dragon’s heir”??? In the Show Jon’s Targaryen name was Aegon but I still hope it will be Aemon...

So every time that Joffrey is compared with ‘an Aegon’ in Sansa’s Chapters we can find allusions to Jon Snow??? Uhmmm.......... Curiouser and curiouser!  

Onto the next Sansa's chapter:

Joffrey's Wedding:

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

In summary, 

That time when Sansa felt very uncomfortable imagining Joffrey putting a bastard on her and she felt like a bat was inside her tummy.

It’s interesting that Sansa describes the idea of carrying Joffrey's bastard as though she'd swallowed a bat.

Sansa usually says that her tummy flutters when she feels uncomfortable, distressed, scared, etc, but this is the only time that she links that “fluttering” feeling with bat wings. 

One of the meanings of the verb flutter is the “beating of wings.” And George has used the image of bat wings as a symbol of dragon wings several times in the Books.

“Tell me how my child died.”

“He never lived, my princess. The women say …”

(…)

“They say the child was …”

(…)

“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood a red brick fountain whose waters smelled of brimstone, and in the center of the fountain a monstrous harpy made of hammered bronze. Twenty feet tall she reared. She had a woman’s face, with gilded hair, ivory eyes, and pointed ivory teeth. Water gushed yellow from her heavy breasts. But in place of arms she had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle, and behind she wore a scorpion’s curled and venomous tail.

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

Viserion launched himself from the ceiling, pale leather wings unfolding, spreading wide. The broken chain dangling from his neck swung wildly. His flame lit the pit, pale gold shot through with red and orange, and the stale air exploded in a cloud of hot ash and sulfur as the white wings beat and beat again.

—A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer

As you can see, dragon wings are usually described similar to bat wings or leather wings, as it also happens in this passage in reference to Sansa:

“What wife?”

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

That’s stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she’d never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

As I said before, the fascinating image of Sansa as a wolf with big leather wings makes me think of Sansa wearing a Targaryen Cloak/ Marrying a Targaryen in the future.  

And there are even more Targaryen allusions in the Joffrey’s wedding passage: 

FIRE: For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth = Eggs (dragon eggs) + Burned her mouth (dragon fire). 

BLOOD: Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat = Carrying Joffrey’s bastard / carrying Aegon’s IV bastard / carrying a dragon’s heir (the blood of the dragon). 

This two events happened in two consecutive Sansa’s Chapters from the same Book (ASOS), during two weddings, the couples that married didn’t love each other, the marriages were unconsummated, the discussion of bastards was involved, Targaryen allusions were present... there is a pattern: Weddings / Aegons / Bastards / dragon's heirs / Kings / Joffrey / Sansa / Jon / Fire & Blood... 

So maybe in Sansa's future she will wed, for love, to a real Aegon descendant, and due her fertility, during her wedding night she will conceived a baby dragon, a king; just like Cat conceived a king during her wedding night.

And that’s all.......... I never wrote properly about it until this summarized version here.

[roberttchase]

A tiny 2k fic based on @farfarawaygirl‘s post talking about wanting Matt to hallucinate/dream a future with Sylvie in the upcoming episode. Enjoy my friends! 

“Do we really need to get up?” Sylvie’s voice is soft and sleepy, and it makes Matt’s stomach flip, makes him feel warm and safe. Stretching a little, only to bring his girlfriend closer, the firefighter nods, burying his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in slowly. “Can’t we just...not show up?” 

A fond noise rises up from his throat, and the Captain laughs a little, bringing the covers up tighter around them. It’s cold and rainy outside, clouds hanging low, the sky dark. The perfect day for staying inside and not going to shift. 

“As much as I want to, you know Boden wouldn’t be happy. His PIC and his Captain not showing up? The house would burn to the ground,” he jokes. “Okay maybe not literally, since we’re all firefighters, but…” he trails off, nose scrunching up at his lame joke. Sylvie presses a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet. 

“Sometimes it’s annoying that you’re so responsible and dependable, Matt Casey,” the paramedic huffs. “But I love you for it. Everyone does,” she adds, making Matt blush, never one to accept praise and compliments well. But coming from his girlfriend, it makes him feel warm. 

They get up reluctantly, knowing that their jobs are; whether they want to admit it or not, important and can’t be frivolously pushed to the side. Their routine is seamless, something they’ve been doing for months now- Matt works on smoothies while Sylvie gets ready, then Sylvie feeds their little black cat while he goes to do the same. It’s effortless and makes him smile every time they put it into practice. As he finishes pouring Sylvie’s blueberry smoothie into her usual to go tumbler, his own mango one already sitting on the counter, the woman comes out in a soft sweater, setting her bag down near the door. 

“Otis said he has some big news he wants to share today,” she says as she presses a kiss to Matt’s cheek, taking her smoothie happily.

The words catch him off guard, enough to make him freeze, before remembering that Otis dying was just a nightmare of his. He’d woken up three nights ago sweating and frantic, tears burning behind his eyes as Sylvie had assured him Otis was fine, he was probably up playing fortnight or some other video game even at three am. 

“Oh? Knowing him it’s probably some convention coming to town he wants us all to go to,” the Captain snorts. Making his way back to the bedroom, Matt slips on his favorite henley and dark jeans, attempting to fix his hair that’s growing longer now that it’s cold. After he brushes his teeth and looks himself over, the man grabs his bag and makes his way back to his girlfriend. A sharp pain shoots through his head but it’s gone as quickly as it’s come, and Matt brushes it off. As the lemon wallpaper comes into view; the same as the one from Sylvie’s old apartment, Matt looks at her. 

“Ready?” 

The ride to the firehouse is filled with old N’SYNC and Backstreet Boys, and Matt grins the whole time as Sylvie sings completely engrossed into the music. He’s not sure how he got so lucky to get her to date him. The way she says ‘I love you’ sticks in him every time and makes him feel more confident of himself. Pulling up to the large brick building, the couple gets out with their bags slung on their shoulders, hold hands, and walk in. 

The morning starts even before briefing, alarm blaring out for all companies to help with a large fire at a hotel downtown. As they pull up, Matt notices the smoke billowing up from the top of the building, not black, but it’s on its way to it. Hopping out, Matt looks at his team; Otis, Kidd, Gallo and Mouch, then gives a wry smile. 

“Hope you're awake guys, this one looks big.” 

They meet up with squad, engine and ambo, and Matt goes to find the person in charge- a small woman who looks only slightly panicked, more shell shocked than anything. He hears a few of 51 directing people in and out of the building. 

“We’re going to need blueprints of the hotel. Any idea where the fire is?” 

From there it’s a rescue mission. Get everyone out as quickly as possible. Locate the fire and get it under control. On level thirteen, they run into an issue. 

“Chief, floor thirteen is rolling, we’re going to need backup to get everyone out,” Matt radio’s. “Might need to call in some more ambo relief,” he adds. 

“Copy that Casey. Sending in engine, and calling it in.” 

Two hours of intense heat, getting bodies out, and going through recovery, and finally everyone’s back at the house, already beat from the roughness of the call. 

“What a morning, huh?” Herrmann sighs, rubbing his face as he sits on the couch. Ritter and Gallo are working on breakfast, when Matt looks around and then blinks. 

“Scratch breakfast, I’m too hungry for eggs and bacon. How about we order pizza from Benny’s?” 

Everyone perks up, and Matt’s aware it’s due to the rarity of him suggesting something like this. He’s one to always stick to house made food, not big on ordering things in. It seems like everyone could use the pick me up though. Fishing his wallet out from one of his pockets, the blonde grabs his card and hands it to Gallo. “Order some pizza,” he smiles. 

“You got it Captain.” 

Kidd looks at him with her eyebrows raised. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’ Captain, you just seem in a good mood today is all,” the firefighter shrugs with a smile, making Mouch chuckle. 

“Casey in this good of a mood means something happened.” 

Furrowing his brow, Matt crosses his arm and lets out a huff. “I can’t just want to do something nice? It was a rough call.” 

“Leave him alone guys, he’s happy. Don’t ruin it,” Sylvie walks over from where she’s been sitting with Mackey, putting a hand on his shoulder. Another jolt of pain stabs into his temple, but barely lingers. He squeezes her arm. 

“I’m going to do paperwork, come find me when the pizza’s here?” 

“Copy that.” 

The rest of the day is, for once, blissfully easy, so far. There’s no bad calls for anyone, all mild and fairly quick. The consumption of pizza is interrupted by a small grease fire in a kitchen, but they’re all back within the hour, spirits high. 

“I don’t wanna jinx anything, but today is going pretty well,” Cruz says as he takes a bite of pizza. 

“Cruz! Shut up!” Severide calls out, rolling his eyes. Matt shakes his head. Leave it to Cruz to say it outloud. They all hold their breath, but no alarm sounds. Hallelujah. Sylvie sits next to him as they all enjoy the rest of their pizza, her hand on his knee, under the table and discreet. 

As he works on paperwork in his quarters, the paramedic walks in, sitting on his bunk. “Come sit with me, you can finish paperwork in a minute,” her voice sounds tired, just having gotten back from a run. The tone makes him look over, and he can tell instantly. It was a bad one. Moving as quickly as he can, he sits next to her, one hand cupping her cheek, thumb brushing against her soft skin. His head gives an angry throb. He ignores it. Sylvie’s upset. 

“What happened?” 

“Gunshot wound to the chest...a seven year old,” her voice is thin, wavering as tears start rolling down her cheeks. “I k-kept try to get him to wake up.” He wraps his arms around her tightly, kissing her hair. His head won’t stop throbbing now. He swallows against it. 

“Sylvie...you did all you could. I know you did,” Matt tries to reassure her, though he knows it’s probably not helping much. She looks up at him, heartbreak written all over her face. “He w-wouldnt...he was lying there motionless...I needed him to wake up Matt...I c-can’t…” 

Looking down at the petite blonde, his head feels suddenly like it’s being cracked in two. The pained gasp that leaves his lips is unstoppable, and he screws his eyes shut tightly. He can feel Sylvie shift. His body is rigid, his skull feels like someone’s hit it with a hammer. 

“Matt? What’s going on? Matt…”

He’s falling. Eyes still shut, Matt feels nausea well up inside him. The pain is all consuming. He struggles to open his eyes, and when he does, he’s in a completely different room. He’s disoriented, can’t quite get a hold of what’s real and what’s not. Is he dreaming? The pain in his head is angry and out for vengeance. The room is….is…. Matt’s mind feels like it’s grasping for straws, like words are right out of reach. His eyes move around. He feels hazy and sick. The beeping that’s coming from...somewhere, is hurting his head. His eyes shut. 

Sluggishly, he blinks again, and a man with jet black hair is in front of him. “Matt, are you with me?,” the man asks, dressed in dark red scrubs. There’s a name embroidered on his shirt but it’s fuzzy. A pretty woman with curly hair is standing next to him. Choi, April, his mind supplies. He’s in the hospital. He can’t remember why. Can’t remember anything before then night prior, sitting in Molly’s with Severide. 

Head throbbing, Matt licks his lips, nodding minutely. “Mm...y-yeah…” the word dies out. “Wh-What…” The Captain’s exhausted, and his eyes slip closed again, unable to stay open. 

“Matt, I need you to stay awake, can you open your eyes?” 

He tries, but it’s no use. It hurts. Everything hurts. 

“Matt, can you tell me your full name?” 

Struggling, the blonde opens his eyes again. “Matt...Matt Casey.” 

“Good, good. And can you tell me what hurts?” 

“Head...s’gonna explode…”

“Okay, we’ll get you medicine for that.” Choi turns to April, nodding as she walks out. “And can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?” 

It takes a moment. He remembers Severide, and then...then….a car. A man driving and he was holding on...then...pain. Excruciating pain, ringing in his ears. Getting back to the firehouse, promising he was okay. Sylvie. 

“L-Locker room with Sylvie...I was dizzy.” His words sound slow even to himself. Matt swallows and brings a shaky hand to his face. A painful tug on the back of it notifies him he’s got a line in. 

Choi nods, writing something down. “You’re doing great. We’re going to get you in for a CT scan right away, but the fact you remember somewhat is good. How’s the pain? 1 to 10?” 

“10,” Matt grits out, becoming more and more aware of the sharp pains encompassing his head. April’s at his side seconds later. 

“I’m giving you some morphine, I’m doing it slowly. You should feel it in about ten seconds okay? You’ll feel warm and fuzzy, that’s normal.” He wants to tell her he’s already fuzzy, but instead he nods. Just as she’s said, he does feel almost instantly warm, and then it’s like he’s floating. His mind drifts back to Sylvie. They were dating. They were together. But no, that’s not right. Grainger.

“Is…can...wh-where’s Sylvie..” Matt’s certain she brought him in, she was the last person he can recall seeing. 

“I think she’s out in the waiting area, breaking covid protocol,” April says with a small smile. 

“I’ll get her for you, but only for a few minutes, once we get the CT room we’re taking you,” Choi adds.

They both leave and Matt’s left to his floaty thoughts. He wants to kiss Sylvie again, wants to hold her hand and call her sweetheart. He remembers, now, her telling him he was still in love with Gabby. That’s not true. It hasn’t been for over a year, more than that really. He needs her. He doesn’t want to see her with Grainger, he wants to be the one to let her know how special and loved she is. He loves her. The curtain slides, and Matt sees Sylvie walk in. Her eyes are puffy and red, and he can see wetness clinging to her cheeks telling him she’s been crying. He doesn’t want her to cry. 

“Sylvie.” 

The paramedics face crumples, and as she gets closer she scrubs at her eyes and face. “M-Matt.” It’s choked and distraught, and Matt slowly, lazily holds out the hand closest to her. 

Sitting in the plastic chair, Sylvie brings it as close to the hospital bed as she can and grabs his hand hesitantly.  He wishes he could hug her, comfort her more than with just a hand hold. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to take him for the CT scan,” April walks back in, looking apologetic. 

“Please don’t leave,” Matt slurs, and Sylvie lets out a choked laugh. 

“I’m not going anywhere Matt Casey, I promise.” 

When he’s not in the hospital, he’s going to fight for her. Grainger be damned, Matt’s going to somehow prove to her he’s not in love with Gabby anymore, and that Sylvie isn’t a consolation prize. She does deserve to be with someone who puts her first. And that someone is going to be him.

[une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir]

Aegon VI Targaryen = Viserys

When she opened it, she found piles of the finest velvets and damasks the Free Cities could produce … and resting on top, nestled in the soft cloth, three huge eggs.  (...) Another was pale cream streaked with gold.

Hypothesis: Aegon VI Targaryen = Viserion

“The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.”

What Viserys couldn’t do? Be crowned as the Kng of the Seven Kingdoms. In the show, Aegon VI does not exist. However, Cersei was crowned as the Queen of the “Seven Kingdoms and she employs the golden company. It is likely that Cersei’s story was based on Aegon’s.

Viserys was “crowned” though... a golden crown.

"You cannot touch me, I am the dragon, the dragon, and I will be crowned!"

Khal Drogo unfastened his belt. The medallions were pure gold, massive and ornate, each one as large as a man's hand. He shouted a command. Cook slaves pulled a heavy iron stew pot from the firepit, dumped the stew onto the ground, and returned the pot to the flames. Drogo tossed in the belt and watched without expression as the medallions turned red and began to lose their shape. She could see fires dancing in the onyx of his eyes. A slave handed him a pair of thick horsehair mittens, and he pulled them on, never so much as looking at the man.

Viserys began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked and twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight between them. (...)

When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. "Crown!" he roared. "Here. A crown for Cart King!" And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother. 

The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering … yet no drop of blood was spilled.

He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.

Viserys is held down by the Dothraki preventing him from escape, while Drogo uphends the melted gold upon his head. Similarly, Cersei was held down in King’s Landing by the Dothraki preventing her from escape, while (Danerys upon) Drogon burned the castle upon her head.

Danerys usurps Viserys, despite him being the rightful king. More, she doesn’t believe Viserys is a true dragon because he was killed by fire.  It’s safe to assume she’ll justify her actions the same for Aegon. He burns with the rest, he’s no true dragon either.

Its in the House of Undying prophecies as well...

three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . .(...) Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . 

There’s the gold and there’s the corpse... but also, a bride of fire.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought.

Danerys turns King’s Landing into Aegon’s funeral pyre. Evil.

What else? All of Viserion’s mentions are listed below... and some of them fit what we saw in the show.

A Clash of Kings

“The cream-and-gold I call Viserion. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.” (ACOK ~ Danerys I)

As said, Aegon will be crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms, doing what Viserys could not. If show!Cersei took over book!Aegon’s role... this fits.

How long the city had been deserted she could not know, but the white walls, so beautiful from afar, were cracked and crumbling when seen up close. Inside was a maze of narrow crooked alleys. The buildings pressed close, their facades blank, chalky, windowless. Everything was white, as if the people who lived here had known nothing of color. They rode past heaps of sun-washed rubble where houses had fallen in, and elsewhere saw the faded scars of fire. At a place where six alleys came together, Dany passed an empty marble plinth. Dothraki had visited this place before, it would seem. Perhaps even now the missing statue stood among the other stolen gods in Vaes Dothrak. She might have ridden past it a hundred times, never knowing. On her shoulder, Viserion hissed. (ACOK ~ Danerys I)

Vaes Tolorro, the city of bones , a city sacked by Dothraki and that they think is filled with ghosts. Six alleys coming together at an empty marble plinth. A city beautiful from afar, cracked and and crumbling up close. Similarly, King’s Landing, the city of ashes, after Danerys and the Dothraki are finished sacking it. Six dragon roads coming together at the capital. A city that Danerys believes to be beatiful from afar, but she’ll reduce to ruins once she comes close. Fits.

She wondered whether Aegon's Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world. The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. (ACOK ~ Danerys I)

Not even subtle... Fits..

[Robert Baratheon] sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. "What was the manner of his death?" On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air. (ACOK ~ Danerys II)

In the show, Varys tried to poison Danerys because she’s crazy. In the books, Varys is #TeamAegon. It’s likely Varys will try to poison her on his behalf. Fits, though the motive will most likely be another.

Drogon was curled up beneath her arm, as hot as a stone that has soaked all day in the blazing sun. Rhaegal and Viserion were fighting over a scrap of meat, buffeting each other with their wings as smoke hissed from their nostrils. (ACOK ~ Danerys III)

Aegon and whoever stands in for Rhaegal (Jon), fighting over something. It’s likely they’ll fight over north / vale / riverlands. This happens while Drogon (Danerys) soaks beneath the sun (Slaver’s Bay, Volantis, you know the warm places, etc). Speculation for book only, most likely Jon and Aegon will naturally clash in TWOW / ADOS, while Danerys is terrorising beyond the narrow sea.

A STORM OF SWORDS

Rhaegal and Viserion were the size of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have out-weighed them; they were all wings and neck and tail, lighter than they looked. And so Daenerys Targaryen must rely on wood and wind and canvas to bear her home. (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

Most likely, just an introduction. Could indicate Danerys’ forces will outmatch Jon and Aegon separately though. In the show, this fit for #TeamJon.

"Well, how long does a dragon live?" She looked up as Viserion swooped low over the ship, his wings beating slowly and stirring the limp sails. (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

A dragon lives until you kill them. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly.. Fits.

So I see. Dracarys?"

All three dragons turned their heads at the sound of that word, and Viserion let loose with a blast of pale gold flame that made Ser Jorah take a hasty step backward. Dany giggled. "Be careful with that word, ser, or they're like to singe your beard off. It means 'dragonfire' in High Valyrian. I wanted to choose a command that no one was like to utter by chance."  (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

All three dragons are eager to fight. “three heads has the dragon”. The Dance of Dragons II.

"The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times," the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other. (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

Not even subtle. “three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . . (...) Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness.

Aegon and Jon, fighting over something. It’s likely they’ll fight as a north  faction versus south faction. Either against each other for the land, or against Danerys to defend each of their factions. Either way, these must be the root of their betrayals. This is speculation for book only, for TWOW / ADOS.

Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. "The ploy worked well."

The exile knight did not return her smile. "These are Illyrio's ships, Illyrio's captains, Illyrio's sailors . . . and Strong Belwas and Arstan are his men as well, not yours." (ASOS ~ Danerys I)

Viserion turning away from Danerys, once he hears her laugh and Drogon hiss. Similarly, Aegon turned away from Danerys, once Tyrion implies that Danerys wouldn’t take him seriously because she’s more powerful than him (Drogon is bigger than his siblings, he bullies them often). So Aegon takes Illyrion’s ships, captains, sailors, what have you, they are his and not hers. Illyrio is invested in Aegon, not Danerys. Much later, we have this...

I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. (...) Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, 'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I'd like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?' "

Aegon's mouth twisted in fury. "I will not come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her a kinsman, with an army."

"A small army." There, that's made him good and angry. The dwarf could not help but think of Joffrey. I have a gift for angering princes. "Queen Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you."

Aegon will not beg.... Viserys bristled. "Guard your tongue, Mormont, or I'll have it out. I am no lesser man, I am the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon does not beg." I’m not saying Aegon’s like Viserys. I’m saying Aegon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. It is his by right, not hers. Fits.

Drogon raised his head and screamed, pale smoke venting from his nostrils, and Viserion flapped at her and tried to perch on her shoulder, as he had when he was smaller. "No," Dany said, trying to shrug him off gently.

"You're too big for that now, sweetling." But the dragon coiled his white and gold tail around one arm and dug black claws into the fabric of her sleeve, clinging tightly. Helpless, she sank into Groleo's great leather chair, giggling.  (ASOS ~ Danerys II)

Viserion’s behaviour is interesting. Might suggest Aegon tries to seek an alliance later after all. Speculation.

"They have been wild while you were gone, Khaleesi," Irri told her. "Viserion clawed splinters from the door, do you see? And Drogon made to escape when the slaver men came to see them. When I grabbed his tail to hold him back, he turned and bit me." She showed Dany the marks of his teeth on her hand.

"Did any of them try to burn their way free?" That was the thing that frightened Dany the most.

"No, Khaleesi. Drogon breathed his fire, but in the empty air. The slaver men feared to come near him." (ASOS ~ Danerys II)

Viserion tried to escape again. Fits.

"Remember. To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.

"Quaithe?" Dany sprung from the bed and threw open the door. Pale yellow lantern light flooded the cabin, and Irri and Jhiqui sat up sleepily. "Khaleesi?" murmured Jhiqui, rubbing her eyes. Viserion woke and opened his jaws, and a puff of flame brightened even the darkest corners. There was no sign of a woman in a red lacquer mask. "Khaleesi, are you unwell?" asked Jhiqui.

"A dream." Dany shook her head. "I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. All of us, go back to sleep." Yet try as she might, sleep would not come again. (ASOS ~ Danerys III)

No idea.

Drogon flew almost lazily at Kraznys, black wings beating. As he gave the slaver another taste of fire, Irri and Jhiqui unchained Viserion and Rhaegal, and suddenly there were three dragons in the air. (ASOS ~ Danerys III)

A three way battle  “the dragon has three heads”. The Dance of Dragons II.

"Yunkai will have war," Dany told Whitebeard inside the pavilion. Irri and Jhiqui had covered the floor with carpets while Missandei lit a stick of incense to sweeten the dusty air. Drogon and Rhaegal were asleep atop some cushions, curled about each other, but Viserion perched on the edge of her empty bath. "Missandei, what language will these Yunkai'i speak, Valyrian?" (ASOS ~ Danerys IV)

In this chapter, Danerys threatens Yunkai, the yellow city, whose thematic are a lot of betrayals for... yes, that’s right... gold. The Wise Masters try to bribe her, Danerys steals their gold, Daario kills his boss for beauty (but he’s a sellsword, they only care about gold, and accordingly he dresses in... gold!). There are betrayals... for gold.

Drogon and Rhaegal keep together (alliance) but Viserion breaks away and goes to perch on the edge of the empty bath. Considering what the show did to “Aegon” (Cersei) and considering this, it reminds me of the King’s Landing summit where they agree to fight the Others together but then Cersei breaks faith and never shows up north. Fits, somewhat.

Something similar may happen in the books. The three dragons call a cease fire, but then Aegon shows them the middle finger and conquers King’s Landing (the empty bath) instead. Interestingly, the bath is empty, suggesting there’s nobody in power (maybe the Lannisters / Tyrells finally defeat each other and Aegon seizes the opportunity). Would fit perfectly. Aegon “betrays” for a gold, the golden crown of the Seven Kingdoms (Joff and Tommen’s crown is gold).

"Wise?" Dany sat crosslegged on a cushion, and Viserion spread his white-and-gold wings and flapped to her side. "We shall see how wise they are," she said as she scratched the dragon's scaly head behind the horns. (ASOS ~ Danerys IV)

This is all in the same “betrayal for gold” chapter, so it’s interesting. Maybe after that trolling, Aegon attempts a new alliance. After all...

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon's shoulder. "Spoken boldly," he said, "but think what you are saying."

"I have," the lad insisted. "Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros."

Aegon grows bold, just like the dragons grow bold (this word is used) when they’re chained in the pits, and refuses to be beg. A dragon does not beg.

"When all the slaves have departed, you will open your gates and allow my Unsullied to enter and search your city, to make certain none remain in bondage. If you do this, Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested. The Wise Masters will have the peace they desire, and will have proved themselves wise indeed. What say you?"

"I say, you are mad."    

"Am I?" Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan's tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. Golden marks spilled across the carpets as the envoy stumbled over the chest, shouting curses and beating at his arm until Whitebeard flung a flagon of water over him to douse the flames. "You swore I should have safe conduct!" the Yunkish envoy wailed.

The dragons go cray cray at Daniella’s “madness”. Maybe they rebel against her once she threatens to burn King’s Landing, unless Aegon surrenders. Speculation, but somewhat fits (Jon shanked her when she burned KL).

There’s something here for sure though, Danerys behaved abhorrently here with the Yunkai masters and at the show’s rendition of the dragonpit, trying the same dragon intimidating tactics and breaking safe conduct.

Daario upended the sack, and the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn spilled out upon her carpets. "My gifts to the dragon queen."

Viserion sniffed the blood leaking from Prendahl's neck, and let loose a gout of flame that took the dead man full in the face, blackening and blistering his bloodless cheeks. Drogon and Rhaegal stirred at the smell of roasted meat.

"You did this?" Dany asked queasily. (ASOS ~ Danerys IV)

Daario IS NOT a precious cinnamon roll in search for love. Danerys is stupid.

Her captains bowed and left her with her handmaids and her dragons. But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. One of the wings buffeted the sellsword in his face. The white dragon landed awkwardly with one foot on the man's head and one on his shoulder, shrieked, and flew off again. "He likes you, Ben," said Dany.

"And well he might." Brown Ben laughed. "I have me a drop of the dragon blood myself, you know." (ASOS ~ Danerys V)

Ben is a sellsword who betrays Danerys for... gold!, then reveals that he never betrayed her. Yeah right, LOOOL. As I said, Aegon might seek an alliance later, so Ben’s twice turncloak might alude to that. Would fit that scenario.

I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? "Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben's sewers? Go!"   (ASOS ~ Danerys V)  

Dance of Dragons II. Seems to suggest the Jon and Aegon take arms against Danerys once she shows her true bitch colours. Again, suggested before.

There was no sign of Viserion, but when she went to the parapet and scanned the horizon she saw pale wings in the far distance, sweeping above the river. He is hunting. They grow bolder every day. Yet it still made her anxious when they flew too far away. One day one of them may not return, she thought.    (ASOS ~ Danerys VI)

Viserion running away from Danerys. Aegon turned away from Danerys once he grew bolder (a good word to use). Fits.

A DANCE OF DRAGONS

Viserion sensed her disquiet. The white dragon lay coiled around a pear tree, his head resting on his tail. When Dany passed his eyes came open, two pools of molten gold. His horns were gold as well, and the scales that ran down his back from head to tail. "You're lazy," she told him, scratching under his jaw. His scales were hot to the touch, like armor left too long in the sun. Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift. "You should be hunting with your brothers. Have you and Drogon been fighting again?" Her dragons were growing wild of late. Rhaegal had snapped at Irri, and Viserion had set Reznak's tokar ablaze the last time the seneschal had called. I have left them too much to themselves, but where am I to find the time for them?    

Viserion's tail lashed sideways, thumping the trunk of the tree so hard that a pear came tumbling down to land at Dany's feet. His wings unfolded, and he half flew, half hopped onto the parapet. He grows, she thought as he launched himself into the sky. (...) She watched Viserion climb in widening circles until he was lost to sight beyond the muddy waters of the Skahazadhan. (ADWD ~ Danerys I)

Fits. Bye bitch. The Martells send their regards.

Dany did not want to talk about the dragons. (...) Down in the pit, Viserion had snapped one of his chains; he and Rhaegal grew more savage every day. Once the iron doors had glowed red-hot, her Unsullied told her, and no one dared to touch them for a day. (ADWD ~ Danerys IV)

The dragons craned their necks around, gazing at them with burning eyes. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat, his claws dug deep into the burnt and crumbling bricks. (ADWD ~ Danerys VIII)

Viserion running away from Danerys’ shackles, likewise Aegon turning away from Danerys’ entrapments and going his own way. Fits.

"The white one is Viserion, the green is Rhaegal. I named them for my brothers." Her voice echoed off the scorched stone walls. It sounded small—a girl's voice, not the voice of a queen and conqueror, nor the glad voice of a new-made bride.

Rhaegal roared in answer, and fire filled the pit, a spear of red and yellow. Viserion replied, his own flames gold and orange. When he flapped his wings, a cloud of grey ash filled the air. Broken chains clanked and clattered about his legs. Quentyn Martell jumped back a foot.

A crueler woman might have laughed at him, but Dany squeezed his hand and said, "They frighten me as well. There is no shame in that. My children have grown wild and angry in the dark."  (...)

They’re not fans of Danerys anymore, not even “sweet” Viserion (he’s the nicest of the three dragons). Rhaegal especially never was, since he’s been biting her hand since before he could fly. Hopefully, they have become fans of each other. Me wants some quality time between the dragon bros, complaining about their shitty father mother.

"All I know of dragons is what my brother told me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died … but no rider ever flew two dragons."

Viserion hissed again. Smoke rose between his teeth, and deep down in his throat they could see gold fire churning.

"They are … they are fearsome creatures."

No idea. Reminds me of that dumb cliff talk in the show tho. Instead of Quentyn being afraid and (later) being killed by Rhaegal, Jon was brave to pet the lizard.

I leave outside this post Barristan’s and Quentyn’s chapters, which have a lot of description. They’re basically about Viserion and Rhaegal breaking free. Of note, Viserion tries to run away from Quentyn (he just wants to be free :<) and Rhaegal kills Quentyn after he raises the leash against his brother (oooh).

[its-sixxers]

Tandreth and the Dragon

Idunn, Dragonborn, has Tandreth, Grandmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, as her captive. Taking him to Windhelm for judgement after he fails to steal from her, fate has different plans in store - and a lifelong thief makes a choice of selflessness that will change his life forever. A hero dies, and another lives.

--

Tandreth’s nose had begun to itch.

The bruise the great ox of a woman in front of him had given him was starting to fade, and with healing flesh came the itch. He wanted to scratch it desperately, but his hands were bound - and the woman in front of him held his leash. Idunn, her name was - not uncommon among Nords, and though she was a little smaller than her kinsmen she made up for it with her bullheadedness. All he’d done was try to snatch the silver amulet around her neck - and she’d taken it upon herself to drag him back to Windhelm to be prosecuted for it.

They were only just within the border of Eastmarch when she’d caught him, and three days on the road saw them making slow progress through the jarling’s hydrothermal plains. Three times he’d attempted to escape, and three times he’d been pinned to the ground with her fist raised and threatening to break his nose.

He liked his nose - it being intact was a point of pride for him, and so he resigned himself to managing a prison break from the Stormcloak’s cells.

Tandreth kicked a pebble down the path in front of them, knowing it would annoy his captor. It was all the rebellion he was able to have - bothering both his captor and her horse. The beast was a beautiful dapple-grey, beloved by its owner and loaded with saddlebags. He wondered if it was her only friend in the world, and was tempted to say so - but decided that such a cruel remark was best saved for when he needed to cut with words. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much room to talk. He hadn’t even a horse - long lived as he was, animals died quickly. Men only died slightly less quickly. Loss was something he’d spent his life trying to avoid - he’d tasted enough of it.

His gaze followed the line of rope from his bonds to Idunn’s free hand, resentment bubbling in him. It was all a giant waste of time, yet here they were - a thief, an ox, and a horse. The start of a bad joke travelling north to Windhelm, the stench of Eastmarch’s hot springs thick and pungent as overcooked eggs.

“Could you just save me the trouble and kill me here?” he finally broke the silence, resentment boiling over. “My feet hurt, and I think the stench is going to drive me mad.”

“Then you can greet Sheogorath for me.” Idunn said dismissively, his attempts to annoy her sliding off as ever. It was like throwing snowballs at a wall. “You made your choice.”

“Do you arrest everyone who gets up to a little mischief?”

“I try to uphold justice where I can. What you did was not mischief.”

“I was only trying to see if I could. I wasn’t actually going to steal your trinket. I’ve just been sitting on my laurels, you see - taking a necklace from a sleeping woman was a challenge. I’d have placed it neatly on your nightstand and left a reassured man.”

“Is your ego that fragile?”

“Yes.”

Idunn turned her head at his answer, frowning humorlessly. He hadn’t seen her smile once since their trip began - though he knew his ribbing wasn’t helping matters there. 

“You know, I’ve been purposely tied up in more compromising situations than this.” Tandreth continued, knowing this line of conversation made her uncomfortable and relishing in it. “I admire your tenacity with how tight you’ve made these bindings -” He wiggled his hands for emphasis, his wrists itching from the rope tied around them. “- but I could teach you a more elegant -”

Idunn stopped in her tracks and raised her hand, and with a thrill he thought she was going to hit him. He quickly realized it was meant to quiet him, however, as a faint noise echoed in the distance. For once he decided to follow her instruction, curiosity keeping him silent. The noise happened again - thunder, he thought, though there were no clouds in the sky. Idunn’s already pale face went a little paler as the thunder went on longer than Tandreth had ever heard in his centuries of life - and then the thunder did something thunder never did.

It changed in pitch, as if alive. As if a roar.

His captor dropped the rope she led him by and unsheathed her hunting knife from her belt. If it were anyone else the gesture would have him running, but Idunn was a Nord, and killing a bound opponent would be a black mark against their ever important honor. Fool’s honor, in his experience.

To his surprise, her knife cut through his bonds. Tandreth smiled in relief and rubbed at his wrists, but his good humor was dampened by yet another roll of roar-thunder. Idunn took the reins of her horse in hand, and he thought they were going to ride to safety - but instead she thrust them into his hands and pointed to a rocky outcropping some distance off the road. It was ringed with great standing stones, offering more than enough cover for both him and the horse, and Tandreth connected the dots before Idunn gave her instruction.

“Hide. No matter what. If I die, wait until the beast is gone.” she spoke, just as he saw a black figure rise over the mountains in the horizon. Idunn saw it too, and sharply inhaled - a fool might think the figure a bird, but at such a distance it was far too large. 

Tandreth had heard the rumors, but never had he thought he’d see with his own eyes.

A dragon.

“No, no no.” Tandreth said quickly. “You don’t fight something like that. We need to ride, find shelter- “

“It will find me.” Idunn replied just as sharply. “Hide. Trust me.”

Hiding was what he was best at, but trust was something he never gave. Still, the shadow in the sky was growing larger and he wasn’t so willing to throw his life away as she was. Tandreth sprinted to the stones, another louder roll of thunder cracking through the sky - the sound was closer yet still a mix of the natural and organic, elements interweaved. Idunn’s horse followed him without him needing to tug on the reins, likely as terrified as he was.

He glanced back to see Idunn still standing in the path. She’d drawn her warhammer and held it in both hands, staring defiantly upward at the approaching shadow in the sky like something out of the wall carvings in so many old tombs. Tandreth turned his focus back to the path in front of him, dreading what he’d see next.

He made it to the stones just as the wingbeats of the dragon became audible. The standing stones were purposely placed, he realized, for there was a weathered and ancient shrine within their borders. On an old stone altar he recognized the small statue of Akatosh, carved from pure obsidian. For a fleeting moment he smiled at the sick humor of it before the great beating of wings filled him with fear once again. He flattened himself against the stone of an arch, Idunn’s horse sheltering under it with him, and against his better judgement he peeked around its side.

The dragon was close enough that its shadow fell across the path Idunn stood on, so large it made Tandreth’s stomach flip. Its scales glinted in the sun as it circled overhead - it must have spotted Idunn, for it roared so loudly his ears rang. To his horror, it dipped downward midflight, approaching the ground at a speed far too fast for such a large creature. 

Idunn stood fast even as the beast opened its mouth, and Tandreth bit his tongue to keep from crying out as a stream of flames shot out from the back of the dragon’s throat. Liquid fire spilled forth aimed directly at Idunn - but before they made contact she shouted in a tongue he’d never heard of or known. Her voice was like a clarion bell, powerful and clear - and to his awe the flames flowed around her as if around a shield.

It was then he realized Idunn was dragonborn, and a new kind of horror settled within him.

Tandreth had known another chosen by fate, and he knew what fate did to such a person. The familiarity made him want to jump in the saddle and run, but he knew he’d long since missed his chance.

Instead, all he could do was watch Idunn and the dragon do battle. The creature was huge - judging by the tension in Idunn’s stance, it was larger than even she had seen. It kept trying to blast her with flames, but she kept up with its attempts with startling reflexes. It was a shouting match, her clear voice answering each rasping roar. Eventually the beast seemed to tire of her antics, and settled on the ground to do battle with tooth and claw. It tried to bite at her, its great jaw snapping like cracks of nearby thunder - but it earned a warhammer to the jaw each time for its trouble. Idunn swung her weapon with precision, striking the same point on the beast’s jaw each time. Tandreth realized her focus was an attempt to crack the beast’s face plating, hard and shining like steel.

Idunn’s last hit managed to crack the faceplate open, scales and dragonflesh falling to the ground. It roared and took off before she could drive her hammer into the exposed flesh beneath, and Idunn roared back in frustration. 

The next time the dragon opens its mouth a great wind echoed out with its cry, nearly knocking Tandreth from his post. Idunn stood firm - she shouted back with a blast of wind of her own, the power of her voice causing the dragon to waver in the sky. 

Tandreth understood with terrible clarity the tales of Ulfric shouting Torygg to pieces. Such power he’d never seen in his life - not even at his sister’s hands, the knowledge of Ashlands magic at her disposal.

Idunn was tiring with each shout - he could see it in her posture, how her warhammer seemed to be growing heavy in her arms. He could hear it in her voice - it was growing hoarse and weak. For a few minutes he thought, ridiculously, that she might have a chance against such a creature. Now he realized he was likely to see her die.

He looked around desperately for escape routes, a familiar panic settling in. It wasn’t fear for his own life that had him wanting to run - he’d been fearing death the past few minutes and stayed rooted to the spot. No, there was something else that filled him with greater fear than anything else, a fear that was rooted in his bones.

He didn’t want to watch her die.

His search for escape was quickly routed, however, for the dragon landed again, clearly sensing Idunn’s flagging stamina. The next time it roared, Idunn screamed in pain with it - he watched the flames break through her shouted shield at the last instant, the heat so intense he could feel it from his hiding place and staggering Idunn. The dragon followed it with a swipe of its claws, peeling open her breastplate as if it were scrib chitin. Idunn staggered back before falling to the ground, her warhammer clanking against the worn cobblestone.

It was over. Tandreth knew that if he remained hidden he had a strong chance of survival - Idunn had told him as much, had instructed him as much. At first he’d followed her instructions gladly, thinking her a fool - but she hadn’t died instantly to the dragon. She wasn’t a fool. She was dragonborn - and perhaps if it wasn’t for him distracting her and wearing her down, she would have succeeded in her battle.

If he did as she said, he knew it would result in her death. If he didn’t, it’d result in his.

Helplessness was a feeling he’d spent over a hundred years running from, and now it had settled over him in force. Tandreth’s bow was tied to the saddle, but for all of his years of experience - for those golden days he was his tribe’s star hunter, an aspiring ashkhan - against the dragon’s steel hide even his arrows would be of little use.

There was nothing he could do, and yet he did not wish to believe it. 

Help. His heart shouted as loud as Idunn did. Daedra, ancestors, someone, please -

Tandreth’s thoughts were cut off by a sudden flash of light, blinding him. The dragon roared again, and he thought it was over well and truly. But there was no snap of bone, no heat of flame, no rending of steel. When he regained his sight there was a ghostly armored figure walking away from him toward the dragon, shining silver as the moon and holding a spear blazing bright and fierce as the stars.

A spear he knew. A lump formed in his throat. He had summoned ancestor spirits out of fear before, but never one he recognized. The ghost could be one of two of his blood - and he hoped desperately it was the elder.

The dragon stood over Idunn’s prone form, its attention diverted toward the ghostly figure - and Tandreth. Its wings raised, beating as it began to take off and sending great gusts of wind with each sweep. Before it could lift into the sky, however, the ghostly figure threw its spear. It pierced the dragon’s wing, and on making contact ignited the entire limb with flame. The dragon screamed rather than roared, and fell back to the ground.

The ghost approached the fallen dragon and pulled its spear from the wing while the dragon howled on the ground, the magical flames fading and leaving a melted mess of scales and flesh in their wake. The dragon tried to snap at its new opponent, but its teeth only moved through the ghost’s ethereal form.

In spite of himself Tandreth squinted against the ghost’s shining light, trying to make out its features. It looked like an Ordinator, those guards he’d seen only in childhood and illustrations - but the armor was too old, too well-worn. Tandreth knew who the Ordinators were meant to emulate. He knew the figure before him was too slight, too small to be the patriarch of House Indoril himself. He realized with ice in his veins who the ancestral spirit was.

The Nerevarine.

Mother.

It had been sixty years since she’d last been seen, and now her ghost stood before him with her spear in hand. The woman who had killed a god. Dead.

She watched the dragon thrash and raised her spear up once more. With careful aim, she threw it at the beast’s head. The blazing spear pierced where Idunn had broken the beast’s faceplate, moving through exposed flesh and impaling it through the skull. All at once, the dragon’s roars were silenced. It collapsed to the ground in a limp heap.

His mother’s ghost pulled her spear from the creature’s skull and turned to look at him. Tandreth could not see her face under her helmet, but he didn’t need to. She lifted her free hand and placed it over her heart, a farewell he’d seen so many times. A gesture she’d made at the docks, over and over, leaving him and his sister behind while she tried to save their people. Tandreth wanted to cry out, to scream at her for leaving again, for leaving forever - but only a moment later her ghost faded.

In the sudden silence he could hear Idunn whimpering in pain, sounding the opposite of the powerful figure he’d seen shouting down a dragon. Setting his roiling emotions aside, Tandreth scrambled over to her frantic horse, doing his best to calm it so he could grab a healing potion from the saddlebags. With the potion in hand, he turned to run over to Idunn - but the sight that greeted him was extraordinary enough to stop him in his tracks. 

The dragon’s scales and flesh were turning to glowing mist, flowing down toward Idunn. He watched transfixed as the mist wrapped itself around her like a cloak, flowing into her eyes, her nostrils, her mouth. Idunn tipped her head back, gasping and shuddering as the essence flowed into her until only bones remained of the great beast. With the mist gone, Idunn collapsed fully to the ground.

It jolted Tandreth back to action, and he raced toward her. Blood was pouring out from the tear in her breastplate, and he feared she had a punctured lung from how she was wheezing. Tears of pain were streaming down her face, but she was trying her best not to whimper.

“Here.” he said, kneeling beside her. He uncorked the potion and placed his hand on the back of her head to support it - momentarily marvelling at how such a warrior had such soft hair, the auburn strands a contrast against his dark blue skin. He tipped the potion bottle to her lips with his other hand - shaking from adrenaline. All sensation was heightened, the sight he’d just witnessed sending his mind reeling. Idunn drank the healing mixture greedily, and gained a small amount of awareness. It wasn’t enough - not nearly enough - but it’d keep her from death’s door for a little while longer.

“You should have run.” she said weakly - using what little strength she had to speak. It echoed his own thoughts only minutes ago - but she was not scolding him. There was pride in her eyes beyond the pain. He hated it.

“I’ve seen too much death.” he responded quietly, so quietly he hoped she wouldn’t hear. He raised his voice. “You need a good healer. The nearest ones I know are at the temple in Windhelm.” The temple of Talos, another hero-god, another alleged dragonborn - and Tandreth fought against what felt like fate’s hand.

Idunn was pale before the blood loss, but seemed even paler in that moment. Windhelm was still days away, and he knew she feared how long the journey would take. Yet her expression turned to that same stubborn one he’d seen when he first met her, when the innkeeper questioned why she was taking a petty thief all the way to Windhelm. She nodded. Idunn tried weakly to unfasten the bindings on her torn breastplate so she could move, but Tandreth nudged her hands away and started to do it himself.

“I’m not going to steal your armor.” he reassured her, at the sight of her wide eyes. What would Raansi do, he thought, trying to remember his sister’s methods as a healer. All he could do was offer Idunn a smile, an attempt at normalcy.

It worked, and she blinked back her tears of pain while he worked the breastplate off of her. There was a great gouge taken out of her lower chest, and it was bleeding heavily - but her armor had protected her from the worst of the dragon’s wrath. If he could get her to Windhelm before infection and fever claimed her, she’d survive. Tandreth hastily untied his silk sash from his waist, binding her ribs with the colorful patterned fabric. It cost as much as her warhammer, he was certain - and he was staining it with her blood.

“You’re… a strange thief.” Idunn murmured, face ashen as she watched him work. Her green eyes were growing unfocused. Time - Akatosh’s domain - was not on their side.

He decided he hated dragons.

Tandreth looped his arm under her shoulders and helped her to her feet, struck by the weight of her as she leaned against him. Even with her injured, her warmth and solid form against him was oddly comforting - it had been too long since he’d allowed another to touch him, since he’d touched another, and he missed the feeling of safety. He needed to make haste, or her warmth would fade. “I’m a lot of things, dragonborn.” he grinned at her, joking to take the edge off his nerves. “I’ll take strange over the other things you’ve called me.”

Idunn managed a weak laugh as he helped her to her still-nervous horse - and it’s a wonderful sound to his ears, her smile softening her hard features into something quite pleasant. It took all of her energy and a boost from him to help her into the saddle, where she wavered dangerously in place. He gathered up her dropped warhammer and breastplate and quickly affixed them to the saddlebags. By the time he did so, Idunn was slumping forward in the saddle. He hastily put his foot in the stirrup and took his place behind her, taking the reins in hand. His arms were at either side of her body, keeping her steady even as consciousness faded from her. 

“Stay with me, dragonborn.” Tandreth remembered one thing from his sister’s lessons - that as long as Idunn was conscious she had a better chance to fight the punishment her body had taken. “If you die I’m taking your things.”

There was a murmur of protest from her. He tapped his heels against the horse’s flank, and the mare quickly began to move, eager to leave the dragon behind.

Tandreth glanced back at the bones, and the cracked skull his mother’s spear had penetrated. He swallowed - he wanted to leave Idunn in Windhelm with the priests and flee back for the comfort of the Rift, but the ghost he’d seen had reignited his flagging sense of duty.

His mother was dead, and his mind was fleeing from the grief approaching him like a black fog. But he couldn’t run - not when he wasn’t the only one who suffered. Not when he wasn’t the only one who needed to know what he had seen.

Tandreth’s journey would not cease at Windhelm. He couldn’t turn back after seeking help for the dragonborn however much he wished to.

For the second time, he was to head to Winterhold with grim news.

For the second time, he’d watch his sister’s heart break.

The Nerevarine was dead, and her twin children were the only souls left alive left to grieve her.

[elizaisthetruehero]

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now Chapter 1

So, I started writing another Eureka fic. Even though I have a WIP that isn't finished yet. What's probably going to happen is I'll get stuck on one and then switch to working on the other to beat procrastination. That's the plan anyway.

But here's the AO3 Link, that I posted there last night, and forgot to put here and on FF.Net. I'm doing FF.net because Eureka is an older fandom, and I think there's a couple people there who never made the switch.

Summary: Jo rushes into the Sheriff's station after 1947, and is greeted by a Zane who does not remember proposing to her that morning. But they're definitely still together. It just seems that Jo can't figure out what they hell they are, and why he's still going on dates with other women.

Zane doesn't understand why Jo's suddenly done an about face, but if it gets her to stop acting like nothing's going on between them, he can work with that. He just wishes he knew why she looked so sad when she looked at him.

Chapter 1

Jo strode into the Sheriff’s station, heart hammering against her bruised ribs, terrified of what she would find. The statue had changed. God, she hoped that was the only thing they’d changed. It would be a ridiculous change they would have made, back in 1947, but one Jo would have no problem living with.

There Zane was, sitting in her cell like he’d been that morning, casual and cool, like she hadn’t ripped his heart out and thrown it in his face. Hope bubbled up in her chest, and Jo could feel it showing in her smile. Maybe they’d be okay. She could feel the weight of the ring still in her pocket. They could still have their happy ending, walking into Café Diem, congratulations from all their friends, phone calls from their parents. Everything would be okay.

“Zane. I can't believe you're still here.”

He didn’t even look up at her, just kept thumbing through his magazine, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought after the way that I reacted,” she broke off sighing, not sure what to say about what she did that morning, or how to fix it. She’d never been good with words. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I was just thinking too much. You know, I... I do that sometimes and...”

He cut her off, disinterest in his tone, “Lupo, what the hell are you trying to say?”

“I'm trying to say, ‘Yes.’”

“Yes? Yes, you’ll what, stop hogging the covers? Seriously Jo, what’s gotten into you?” he asked as he threw down his magazine.

“What we, this morning, you,” she cut herself off, dread filling her stomach like a weight. She looked around the room and saw that while Zane was in the cell, it was empty. None of the trappings or reminders of how they met that had been there when she'd first walked in that morning, before 1947. No framed poster, no bedding on the cot, no damn Panini press, no, no Liza’s box. And… Oh.

The cell door. It was locked, likely with the key that was on her belt loop. Why the hell was Zane in a locked cell?

“This morning you kicked me out of your bed at 3 am when I asked you to stop hogging the covers. And then this afternoon you threw me in jail.” Her bed. She’d kicked him out of her bed. Not their bed anymore. They didn’t live together?

Jo sat down at her desk, no able to look Zane in the eye while she tried to process everything that had happened. "Yeah, well, you shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to sleep. You should be smarter than that," she said, forcing a smirk to her face, slipping into the familiar biting banter she and Zane had when they were fighting. Had she and Zane never gotten serious? He certainly wasn't looking at her the same way he had that morning.

“Look, Dungeon Master, when am I getting out of here?”

She played with her hands, picking the dirt out from under her nails, “I don’t know, what’d you do?”

“Nothing, you just like throwing me in jail,” she fixed her least impressed look in his direction, careful not to look in his eyes, but just above his head. If she did that, she might do something irrational and ill-befitting of a Deputy of Eureka. Like start beating prisoners. “So I unlocked a few cages, those monkeys deserved some freedom. Look, could you just let me out? I’ve got a date."

What? "Really? A date? With who?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting the blonde chick with the Ph.D. in Reproductive Biology. We're going to play doctorate," he smirked, without any of the soft and nervous affection he'd had that morning. Just the sarcastic bravado he’d had when he’d bought her lingerie to get under her skin. Did he even remember doing that anymore?

"Seriously?"

"Come on, Lupo, don't start acting like you care what I get up to or who with. We both know what's going on here, and what we’re not." No, I don’t know what we are, or why you’re sleeping with me but going out with other women. Why the hell wouldn’t I care about that!

She rushed to his cell door to unlock it, desperate to get him away from her, “Go. Get out.”

“You gonna taze me in the ass again?” and there was that grin, charming and handsome, that had caught her eye two years ago. Obsession with firearms can be a sign of an unfulfilled sexual appetite. I'm not saying that's you. But if it is, I'm at your service.She’d had to be talked out of shooting him back then. Now she wanted to shoot him, whatever blonde chick he was meeting up with, and maybe herself.

"Just get out," she snapped at him, blinking back tears that she couldn’t let fall. He walked out the door, facing her, clearly puzzled, his eyebrows drawn together in a way that she normally found cute, but right now, made her want to punch something. Anything would do.

The door shut behind Zane with a click, and Jo leaned against the cell bars, took a breath, and winced. She’d managed to clean up the blood on her face while Henry and Fargo were repairing the phones, but her ribs still needed to be taped, and the scrapes on her hands and head needed to be cleaned. She should still have an almost full tub of GD-grade bruise gel at home. Hopefully, it was still there.

Jo unlocked her door and stepped into her house, shutting the door behind her before leaning against it, letting her breath rush out of her. She took moment to close her eyes and just breathe after the chaos of the day that wasn’t even over yet. But she knew her peace couldn't last. She would have to go through her house to try to put together the pieces of the picture that made up her life, and figure out where everything went wrong.

Well, she had her minute. Time to face the music. She pushed off of the door, opened her eyes, and headed to the kitchen. She glanced around, her fingers trailing along the cool counter, taking it in. Didn’t look any different than it had when she had left that morning. Except…

She peered into the dishwasher and sighed in disappointment. Gone were Zane's plates with dried-on eggs, or his TARDIS-shaped mug, and she didn't think that was because he'd washed them already. They were probably at his old apartment, the one he'd barely spent any time at after they got together. Oh, they hadn't officially moved in together until after he'd gotten home from the Arctic, but that had been a formality, almost. Like he'd thought his question that morning had been. So let’s make it official. He’d really wanted to marry her. Spend the rest of his life with her, like she was the obvious choice.

Jo shook her head. She couldn’t think about that, the proposal that had never happened. She didn’t know how to fix the timeline, so she had to deal with this Zane in the meantime, if not forever. She really hoped she didn’t have this smarmy asshole forever.

She moved onto the living room. It looked like it had before Zane moved in, same décor, same pictures, and the same piano along the wall. The books on the shelves and her coffee table were just her books here, no physics journals or sci-fi novels or comic books. Just the thrillers and murder mysteries she liked to read on the rare occasion she had the opportunity. And, she checked the ottoman with the small storage space, some romance novels with shirtless men on the cover that she did notpull out in public. Zane had teased her the first time he’d seen her reading one, but she’d come home early one day and saw him on the couch, curled up with the blanket his mom had sent as a housewarming present, reading one. He insisted he was just being a good boyfriend, taking interest in her interests. And then he cracked a joke about the cowboy on the cover and positions. She’d been mad at him, but he made up for it.

She moved over to the stairs, heading up. At the very least, she would have to get changed and clean up, get 1947 off of her as quickly as possible. Hope that when she got out of the shower and back to town, Henry would have figured out a way to fix this.

Jo opened the door to her bedroom and stripped off her costume, heading straight for the en-suite bathroom. She showered quickly and efficiently, noting that, like most of the house, Zane's belongings were not there. She got out, wrapped the towel around herself, and headed to the sink to check the scrape on her temple. She applied GD's liquid band-aid to the cut, ignoring the sting, and went to put it away in the cabinet when she stopped, heart in her throat.

A used men's razor. She lifted it off the counter delicately, noting the short dark hairs caught between the blades. Zane's. Jo took stock of the rest of the vanity and felt a glimmer of hope that she hadn't felt since Zane spoke, back in the station.

Two toothbrushes in the holder. A can of his shaving cream. His aftershave, cap off because he could never remember to put the lid back on. She checked the shower again, and saw the bar of soap in the corner of the caddy, the kind that she never used, but, had clearly been used by someone.

Okay. Zane didn’t have any of his stuff downstairs, but he was over often enough that he had some space on her bathroom counter. Though not over enough for them to be exclusive. She really hoped she didn’t have to see him on his date. Her self-control was good, but not that good, she thought as she taped up her ribs and smoothed gel over her bruises. Those needed to fade, and quickly. The last thing she needed was someone asking what happened to her arms.

After giving the gel a minute to dry down, Jo walked back into her bedroom and got dressed, jerking open her drawers to see what was in each one. Her underwear, tank tops, T-Shirts and sweats all still in drawers. She yanked the last one open, wondering if it was empty if it was still being used for her sweaters, or…

Zane's clothes. Not all of them, his wardrobe probably had more than just a pair of jeans, two pairs of boxers, a couple of V-necks and, a crumpled-up plaid shirt. But he kept clothes here. Not enough to be living here, which the bottom floor had told her. But clean clothes for those rushed mornings when he wouldn't have time to run home before heading to work. He'd probably shown up to GD too many times wearing yesterday's clothes, thick stubble on his face.

Who had suggested it? Had she cleared it out and offered it to him? Had he brought them over in a backpack or duffle, slipping them into the drawer with a nervous grin? Were they the result of lazy weekends spent in her bed, ignoring the world outside?

She pulled her jeans on before picking up her dirty clothes and bringing them over to her hamper, and right on top of her clothes, was a pair of his boxers. Just more evidence that Zane was part of her life, but she didn’t know how she fit into his. If she went over to his apartment, would she find similar signs of her presence? Travel-size versions of her shampoo and conditioner, a change or two of clothes, maybe part of a spare uniform? Would her robe be there, or, no, she caught herself. He was fucking other women. If she got cold over there, she’d borrow one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats.

And that was if she even went over to his place. She really needed to stop dawdling and get back to town so she could talk to Carter and Henry, see what was going on, and if they could fix this. And if they couldn’t, well, she’d been a Special Forces operative and was now a Deputy in Eureka. She could adapt. Maybe she could get Zane to adapt with her. Maybe, she thought as she slipped the ring onto a chain and placed it around her neck, not willing to be without it in case Henry found a way to fix this, maybe he’d even try to put this ring on her finger again. But that wasn’t happening tonight. Because she froze.

[doopcafe]

Attack on Titan (進撃の巨人): Assault S04E07

Summary: The Marley Titans attempt a counterattack. 

Comments: Right, so we left off with the battle in the city. Zeke joins the party and Mikasa demonstrates her second-best ability (flying around shouting Eren’s name). Falco predictably emerges from the rubble, unharmed, and explains to the audience that Padme Reinar is still alive but can’t recover because he has “lost the will to live.”

Greasy-haired girl (Pieck) explains the situation: even without a bottle of shampoo, her job is to be simultaneously mounted by six able-bodied young men—uhh—I mean, even though Eren “still has fight left in him,” the Marleys control the battlefield (so no worries). Furthermore, the Recon Corps has no support, is probably low on gas and weapons, and by now the Marley army has surrounded the city, so there’s no escape. 

Let’s assess! 

In the words of a famous baseball player, “It’s hard to beat a [titan] who never gives up” (Babe Ruth was talking about Eren when he said that). Also, Levi is hanging out somewhere and no one seems to remember Armin, which is... understandable, but seems like an atomic-bomb-level oversight. Plus, where’s Hanji? Remember when she invented thunder spears in like, two weeks? She’s now had three years.

Right, so Zeke confirms what Pieck is saying: Eren is not the problem, Levi is. We then get a scene of Levi just chilling and checking out his watch. Armin then Blackwater Bay’s the, uh, Marley Bay with... his titan powers. 

Porco is understandably upset by this and charges at Eren, enraged. Mikasa is here though, but Porco must not have watched the past three seasons because he tells Mikasa to “get out of his way” as he attacks Eren. LOL, Porco, you absolute idiot. 

Right, so in historical battles, armies have used smoke, cannon fire, flags and so on to coordinate the timing of attacks, but this is AoT so we gotta CRANK IT UP. Instead, the Recon Corp uses the detonation of a nuclear weapon as their cue to attack. Levi easily topples Zeke and Pieck is blown apart by Jean and Sasha. This raises the question of why Levi was checking his watch? Does he like, have an important Zoom meeting after this, or...? I would think he could see/feel the blast from like, anywhere in the city, but whatever. I guess “Levi checks watch” makes for a nice visual. 

There’s a “nice” scene here where Jean attacks the severely wounded Cart Titan hoping to finish her off (nice with the double tapping), but Falco jumps between them. The kid begs Jean not to kill his friend, and Jean does hesitate for a moment, but then he remembers that time when he witnessed half his crew be eaten by giants that Falco’s buddies unleashed on his world and he just sends a thunder spear straight at Falco with intent. 

=)

Anyways, Hanji arrives in a blimp, which... ah, where’d she get that from? Did she make that? If so, how? If not, they stole it? How would they know how to fly it? The only hint here is that one of the three people shown does not look like the others (Hanji and Armin), suggesting maybe Paradis has formed an alliance with another nation? Just guessing. 

This is an episode of AoT where Major Exposition Hanji talks, so her dialogue is spoken as exposition to the audience: This is a rescue mission. So, despite everything they’ve been through and everything that’s happened, the plot and character motivations remain the same: they are still just rescuing Eren (damn it, Eren). 

In case this wasn’t violent enough for y’all, the episode gets f—ed up. 

Porco sees the blimp and charges it, but he forgot about Mikasa (Porco, you absolute idiot). Mikasa slices off Porco’s feet. Eren, who has since learned that the teeth and nails of Porco can break open the egg, proceeds to dismember Porco. But it’s not like a hurried “gotta get this egg open” type of dismemberment. It’s a super slow, “savor every torn ligament” type of dismemberment. Prior to this show, I didn’t know “dismemberment” came in so many fun flavors, but I've learned a lot. Thanks show.

Eren then stuffs Porco’s mouth with the egg. I liked this scene so much, I took my own screenshot for the first time! But, having not watched the previous three seasons, it takes Porco a few moments to understand what’s happening. So Eren begins to crush Porco’s head around the egg, progressively cracking it open. Having his powers thus used against his will to allow his enemy to steal one of their titans, the egg finally bursts and Eren laps it down, tossing Porco’s violated torso aside like a used tampon. 

But you know what? DO IT. Savor that blood, Eren. You’ve earned it, buddy.

Ah, roll call time? 

Beast (Zeke) -> Possibly killed by Levi, but unclear 

Cart (Pieck) -> KO’d, serious injuries 

Armor (Reinar) -> Just joined the battle 

Female (Annie) -> Cocooned

Attack, Founder, War Hammer (Eren) -> Go go Eren! Remember your mother! 

Colossus (Armin) -> Putting his new powers to use

Jaw (Falco) -> A used tampon

You know, I think I’m supposed to be feeling sorry for the Marley people, but after three seasons of watching the Paradis people live an absolute hell because of them... NOPE. Not sorry at all. 

In conclusion, Reinar has joined the battle and this “review” was way too long. I apologize.

My enjoyment: 3/5 

[syxjaewon]

part 3 ; a gun barrel

“ATTENTION! ATTENTION! WILL A ‘YANG JAEWON’ OF THE SHIP ‘SERENITY’ COME TO THE STACKHAVEN PROPRIETOR’S OFFICE? REPEAT: WILL A ‘YANG JAEWON’ OF THE SHIP ‘SERENITY’ PLEASE COME TO THE STACKHAVEN PROPRIETOR’S OFFICE. THERE IS A WOMAN NAMED ‘VERA BLACKHOUND’ WAITING FOR YOU. THANK YOU.”

everything in jaewon’s body freezes to an absolute halt as soon as the announcement is spoken over the artemisia skyplex speakers, the automated voice shouting his name and details out through the device that reaches high and low, all across the ten-mile-wide platform, in homes, in boroughs, in shops and keeps, in bars and streets, his identity spread through too many ears and minds between one second and the next. his blood zips through him as cold as space, void of his usual fire, his usual bravado, the lava in his veins stumbling into stone as heavily as his boots skidding to a stop, listening to his individuality become common knowledge, his positioning made, his anonymity shattered.

and then it hits him. her name. waiting for him. vera.

“what the fuck,” he breathes like a curse, like a question, like a betrayal, his logical mind trailing back to what he knows to be faithful reality-- a wake held in all white, that night spent in the desert, a year without her commcalls-- with what his heart hammers against his chest, trying to convince him of. is she waiting? how could she be waiting? how could she be here, of all places, some nowhere skyplex hovering over higgin’s moon, somewhere in a crowd of slaves and travellers, traders and pirates? had they burned the wrong body? had he buried the wrong ashes?

yang jaewon has done many difficult things in his life, from surviving a wasteland planet, fighting and clawing and killing his way out of a life of street thieving and alleyway hunger, to wading through bodies in a valley, in a war he believed in more than he believed in any god of any heaven, and then losing that war, losing everything, gripping tightly to a machine he could call home, a ship with a spinning engine soul. there are decisions he made in that war that will haunt him until the end of his days, ghosts that will cling to his ankles and his wrists until the last breath he exhales, but one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do is say goodbye to the woman who raised him, the woman who saved him, the woman who trusted him with the ship they both fell in love with. even now, he can still close his eyes and remember the way the stars burned down on him that night with her ashes between his knuckles, the sands of valluria yawning out around him, the sky wide and screaming overhead.

the stackhaven proprietor’s office. that’s where his answers lie.

and when jaewon propels himself into action again, he does so as a pillar of flame, a holocaust, a firestorm, his hands in fists, his stride long and cutting through the crowds like a knife, his eyes scorching all who look at him too directly as though he is the sun incarnate, shining and terrible in this miserable grey, metallic place, his coat trailing behind him like a cape on a king. he glances momentarily at the directory to find the stackhaven and then he’s off again, cleaving straight through the masses at rush-hour, uncaring of the press people make to get the hell out of his way, lest they be burned, singed just like the atmosphere that radiates off him in toxic waves.

it’s a restaurant, the stackhaven, and jaewon bursts in through the doors like a hurricane, the thuds of his boots pounding against rickety wood flooring, the weight of his fury embedding itself into everything his light touches, the man shifting into a monster, into a weapon, into a maelstrom. he knows this is a trap, this is some sort of sick joke, this is some sort of maw opening larger and larger beneath him with every enclosing step, and he knows he should be more careful, he should bring neo with him for support, for extra guns, for extra protection-- that’s why neo is part of his crew after all-- but this cannot wait, this cannot be put off, this cannot be witnessed by anyone not privy to his unfaltering devotion to vera, even if it is a mirage. it doesn’t matter. he has to see, he has to go.

the first person in his line of vision is a short, balding man, gulping at the intrusion jaewon has just made, but obviously a manager of some kind. “where is she?” jaewon asks without preamble, his tone rigid and furious.

the older man mumbles something, but points in a direction off to his left, and jaewon follows it, passing the tables and the chairs and the bar area, the rest of the staff, the kitchens, the bathrooms, until he finds a doorway at the end of a dark hall, closed off only by a curtain, a light brimming from inside. he rests a hand over his pistol hanging on his hip, peeking in first to count however many alliance paladins might be lurking inside, what sort of trap this may look like, the danger, the hazard, the risk.

but all he sees is a girl, her back to him, long dark hair reaching all the way to her waist, her face obscured, turned away from him, and even knowing that she couldn’t have possibly been vera, something inside him sinks and cracks open, melting and dropping away. he clenches his teeth and steps inside. “are you--”

the girl spins around towards him, graceful and quick like a toy top, one arm outstretched, her fingers locked on the handle and trigger of a wide-barreled blaster, the point of which is trained squarely on his chest, even from three meters away, and for a second he flashbacks to another girl with long dark hair and gun in her hand, seolhyun, about to destroy his life and his future just for loving her, just for chasing her. and he thinks, ‘yeah this seems about right.’

but then the gold plating in his irises click and spiral, the molten lava core of him focusing in on this girl, this absolute stranger in his midst, and he remembers that seolhyun never knew about vera and wouldn’t care enough to search for him now, wouldn’t have reached out to him this way. he racks his brain for a moment, trying to recognize her, trying to place her features, her eyes, her stature.

“gotcha,” she whispers into the space between them, like a victory.

“who are you?” he frowns, his brows gathering angrily. “why did you call me here?”

“it’s not obvious? from the gun?” she asks this as though it’s a real question, like she’s honestly wondering if he’d missed that portion of their sudden meeting, as though this is the first time she’s ever pulled a weapon on someone and is genuinely unsure of how large the barrel of it can seem when it’s pointed at you.

“okay, so you want to shoot me.” it’s a statement, but also a question. “why? i don’t know you.”

she nods, and there’s something off about it, something fronting about it, as though she’d gotten off track for a moment, but now things are in her control again, now things are heading in the direction she’d wanted all along. “you don’t know me. but i know you.”

“no shit.”

“i know you’re captain of a star ship and you’re a pirate,” she continues. “i know you’re between twenty-five and thirty years old, i know you fought in the unification war, and i know you visited sihnon nearly one year ago.” she pauses for effect, which he admits is a pretty good one, but there’s still an oddness about this encounter he can’t quite put his thumb on, a bizarre factor to this speech that doesn’t match the rest of their environment, a heat to her words that doesn’t reflect in her eyes. “i know your name is jaewon yang and your ship is serenity and you knew two women named lianna and vera blackhound.”

and now the crux of it, now the pinspot, the singularity in this black hole, this gravitational well, the reason he’s here in the first place, the reason he’d bothered to show up. if that announcement had only named him and his ship, nothing else, he would have split and coursed his way out of here, hopped back on serenity and floated out into the black, no backwards glances, no regrets, no folly.

but she’d used vera’s name, to guide him here, to goad him here.

he reignites, his gold eyes sharpening on this girl. “you claimed to be vera, but you’re not. what is this?”

“this,” she laces her voice with a hardness he hadn’t heard before in her tone, finally some meat, finally some steel, her arm still securely aimed at him, “is vengeance.”

a beat passes between them. he blinks at her, squinting. “for vera?”

“for lianna.”

“i don’t have anything to do with lianna.”

“stop being a dumbass!” she snaps, and it sounds petulant, schoolgirlish, cross and impatient, and jaewon figures out why this scenario isn’t fitting right, isn’t sitting correctly; because it’s false, it’s a farce. because she’s little more than a child. because she’s never held a gun before, at least not one that large, not one she’s intending to kill someone with. because she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, and he’s familiar in dealings with vagabonds and criminals enough that he knows what a life is worth and what it takes from you when you take it from someone else. and this girl, she has no idea.

“who are you?” he tries again, his words heavier this time.

“i’m lianna blackhound’s niece,” she announces, like a command, like a decree, like a net she’s casting across the whole room, as though there’s an audience here, as though it’s not just him, staring at her like she’s an idiot. “and i’m here to avenge her death.”

another silence blooms between them, only this time jaewon uses it to piece together the puzzle that’s been laid before him, the jigsaw of this strange girl and her sudden mission, which had meant nothing to him exactly five minutes ago and now has his full, undivided attention. her message now delivered, sinks in through his bones and marrow, threads through his understanding of how the universe had been set up since the beginning.

there are two eggs to crack here, two massive, iron-plated ovals to shovel into and he’s not ready for either one.

to be lianna’s niece would mean being vera’s daughter. jaewon knows this because he’d looked into vera’s family history upon her death, traced the lineage of her ariel roots through the verse, to contact lianna about her passing after the wake, after the ceremony. there had only been two daughters of the blackhound line. vera had never said a word to him about having a child, about giving up a daughter, about a family. she never spoke much at all about her life before becoming a pirate, before becoming a captain, and he had never pried into it, always assuming her a goddess, a creature born of stardust and steel, otherworldly and ethereal.

the second egg is, as always, about death.

“lianna is dead?” he should be surprised, but he isn’t.

she sneers at him then, and he catches the slight tremble in her grip, the fury making her nervous. “don’t try to play with me, i’m a registered companion, i know how lies look on a man. you were the last person to see her alive.”

he takes a step forward but he lifts his hands up for her to see. “i haven’t seen her in a year, and she was alive. i didn’t kill her.”

“the records in her office show your name as her last visitor. yang jaewon. no one else. there’s multiple warrants out for your arrest for her murder.”

his head tilts, his eyes catching and alighting in a reflection of the lamp. “multiple warrants and you’re the only one who’s managed to catch me?”

she blinks a few times at that, her mind sputtering, backpedaling, her lips pressing and quivering for a moment. “i’ve been motivated.”

“you’ve been the only one looking.” he takes another step forward, betting all his cards on this hunch, on this sinking, disgusting, repulsive hunch. the way lianna had looked that last time, those last moments between them, her face ashen-white, scared, certain that he had come to kill her, certain that death was on its way, certain that her secret had gotten her sister killed and would be the end of her as well. “still though, that’s impressive.”

“don’t compliment me!” she shouts again, probably frustrated that he’s not more frightened of her. “not when i’m holding a gun on you.”

he notices she’s not telling him to slow down as he takes another step. amatuer. “i didn’t kill lianna. but i do know why she’s dead.”

that stops her breathing, skips at her heart rate, jams the gears twisting in her mind. “what?”

he keeps his eyes locked on her, the way he would with a wild animal, a sort of careful control seeping out of him, his body measured and steady, a sort of influence, a sort of indoctrination, a leaning of his drive against hers, their wills at war, their missions in a battle, and jaewon doesn’t know this girl, but he knows himself, he knows that he wins battles and he fights dirty, and he’s not afraid. “that last meeting between us, she told me something important, something that could change everything, a story that could alter everything, that could fix everything. a secret she knew would upend the entire galaxy.”

“what?” the girl’s voice is a whisper, caught in an enchantment. “what did she tell you?”

quick as a snake, jaewon snatches the gun right out of her hands, turning away from her as she cries out, startled, his fingers making quick work to unhinge the pieces from each other, disemboweling the weapon, dismantling all it’s components in a matters of seconds.

“hey!” she screams, coming towards him, which is a mistake because he immediately rounds on her, much taller, much broader, much stronger, much angrier than she’s ever felt in so tiny a frame, his golden, sun-pierced eyes simmering down into her huge, dark irises. without her blaster, she’s reduced down into a feeble wren, her shoulders bunching up in shock and fear, making her look even younger, even thinner than she had a second ago, her body shivering and shaking under his bladed scrutiny.

in his roughest, most commanding captain’s voice, honed from years of leading a crew of villains and delinquents through space, honed from years of controlling soldiers in a war that spanned across worlds and moons and asteroid belts, he tells her, “i’m going to ask you this question exactly one last time, and you’re going to answer it. who. are. you?”

and to her credit, she raises herself, straightens herself, still shivering, straining, stressed, but strong, rooted to her stance like a tree in a storm, and lives up to the legacy her last name leaves her with. “i named myself lianna blackhound, after the aunt who raised me.”

jaewon absorbs that, checks it into his mental data collection, hating it but accepting it because looking down into her soul at this moment, barely a foot away from her, their atmospheres crushing and suffocating, he can tell she’s not lying, not about this, not about any of it. she’s here alone, she came alone, out into the black, a long way from any companion houses, to find him, to catch him, to bring him to some sort of justice, even if it was skewed and mishandled, fumbled through like a child, like someone sheltered and shaded, someone spoiled and pampered. she doesn’t have what it takes to survive out here in the grit, but she did manage to find him, even when alliance hunters have struggled to.

it means he has to be more careful, but it also means she has some kind of a knack. she must get it from her mother.

“i didn’t kill lianna,” he confesses to her seriously, now with no gun on either of them, no reason to lie or cheat. “i spoke with her and then i left.”

she’s not ready to believe him though, already shaking her head, hatred brimming in her gaze. “records have you--”

“your alliance overlords can change and fix anything to do with the records, they have unlimited control and access.”

“why would the government hurt her?”

he takes a step back from here then, allowing the intensity to lessen between them. regardless of how this conversation began, if she is who she says she is, she’s vera’s daughter. and jaewon cannot bring himself to scorch vera’s daughter. “i told you. she had a secret.” and then he turns away, making for the door, making for his exit, because this is over now, this cannot continue.

she catches him again however, her hands around his elbows, her feet slipping in front of him, fast like a fox, blocking his way. “you can’t just leave like that!”

“i can actually.”

“no! you have to tell me what it is.” he gives her a pursed, tight look, and she tries again, softer this time. “please. she was my family. if you know something, please share it.” when he still takes too long deciding or reacting at all, she switches tactics, leaning in on his frame, her hands sliding along both his biceps, as if she might hug him, as if she might press herself against him, soft and beguiling, her eyes deepening, her lips filling out, everything about the arch of her body suggestive and coy, yet still maintaining that desperate, doll-in-distress look, begging for a hero. “please?”

jaewon leans back away from her like she’s grown two heads, gold eyes wide and horrified. “yikes.”

“look,” she drops the act, “it’s hard to do prose under pressure like this.”

“don’t ever do that again.”

“i’ve come all this way to kill you and now all my plans are ruined,” her voice flattens out to a truer cadence, annoyed and exhausted and entirely out of her depth. “you’re the end of my trail. tell me something!”

he sighs, the end of all pretenses, him just a man and her just a girl, the two of them tethered to this mystery like kites in the wind, and he thinks about vera, thinks about the way she had stood atop that roof on valluria the first time he’d seen her, tall as a goddess while her ship hovered just behind her, the light streaming over her, casting her a silhouette, her eyes like stones. his mother. someone else’s mother.

he doesn’t believe in fate, but if such a thing ever did exist, isn’t this what it would look like?

“dock level 45, subsection k, row 4,” he tells her, and she blinks at him as though she hadn’t really expected him to say anything, surprised, delighted, surging with new gumption, new strength, new motivation. “that’s where you’ll find an answer.”

and then he leaves her.

                   ******

the girl named lianna devereaux blackhound follows the ramping around the bend of the skyplex, her backpack over her shoulder, her eyes bright and hunting, her steps light-footed and swift, the blood in her veins pumping eagerly. she’s not entirely sure what she’s looking for here in the shipping department of the plex, not entirely sure if she should have trusted such an unsavory, untrustworthy creature such as a pirate captain, but here she is anyway, rushing along the gradient, searching for her next clue, moving on past her failures and her triumphs and her strides thus far, willing to set them all aside as long as she gets closer to her vengeance, closer to her retribution, closer to her justice.

dock level 45, subsection k, row 4.

when she comes upon it, she almost laughs, almost cries, almost screams, her mind blank as a white page, confused and spread out, her gaze checking once, twice, three times that she got the right coordinates, that she hadn’t missed anything.

the ship that sits before her is large and ancient-looking, a firefly class heap with wings that burn and a tail that buzzes, the kind with an open engine that rotates and an ip tracker that’s detachable, perfect for smuggling and piracy and anonymity, rugged in that uniquely beautiful way that old machines can be sometimes. the side of her declares her name in burnt oranges and crumbling yellows, like a fire that’s still burning despite all the odds against it. serenity.

“there you are,” her captain greets, stepping out from the yawning cargo bay, tugging on a crate he begins loading inside.

“what is this?” she demands.

“you want to know your answers, you’d better stick around.” he glances at her once, those glowing, amber eyes like lanterns, beckoning her on further than she’s ever been before. “you coming?”