#hopefully i explained myself well enough‚ if not feel free to ask me to elaborate more!

[minglana]

question! i think the kingdom of aragon and catalunya/catalan countries were together histrically, right? let's say (hopefully in the near future lol) spain dies and the catalan countries became a country, would aragon be included, or be independent alltogether? i must say i've never seen an independent/nationalist movement for aragon, but perhaps it's bc i've never interacted with aragonese ppl

yes, historically, the kingdoms of aragon, majorca, and valencia, and the principality of catalonia made up the crown of aragon in what is currently the spanish state, with the kingdoms of corsica, naples, and sicily also making up the kingdom for a good chunk of its existence.

the thing is that many aragonese people feel iffy with the terms catalan countries, because it includes the aragonese parts of la franja that speak catalan (and "takes them away" from aragon). i do think its a good term for catalan speakers to feel unity, because we do need it, but i dont believe it would work out as a political entity. if independence of any kind is (hopefully) ever achieved, it would be catalunya on one part, and aragon on another, ideally with a sort of union between us (and the valencian country, balearic islands, etc), because god knows we fucking need it. i also have to clear up that many of the reasons that aragonese people dont like the term "catalan countries" is because, you guessed it, anti-catalanism! so in order for a more widespread nationalist movement in aragon, i think many people would have to get over that first, because many times people compare any type of independentists to catalan ones, as if it was a bad thing.

im not surprised you havent encountered the aragonese independence movement, its quite a small movement, and even within aragon it isnt extremely welcomed, people have given in to the main culture in the spanish state, i guess. the main independentist parties i can think of off the top of my head is puyalón de cuchas (which is, btw a terrible translation from aragonese meaning "leftist uprising" or "leftist rise". when it literally translates to "uphill of the left hand") and purna. for one of the sort of fathers of the modern aragonese independentist movement, there is gaspar torrente, who founded estado aragonés in 1933. the modern party estau aragonés takes its name from there.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents. 

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?" 

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach. 

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple." 

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience." 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?" 

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level." 

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully. 

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all. 

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised. 

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious. 

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised. 

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted. 

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look. 

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled. 

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you." 

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…" 

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!" 

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No." 

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue. 

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck. 

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock. 

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit. 

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled. 

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment. 

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit. 

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second. 

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-" 

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner." 

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine." 

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow. 

"Is someone a little sensitive there?" 

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?" 

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight. 

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock. 

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful. 

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing. 

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go. 

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was. 

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down. 

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off. 

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious. 

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around. 

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards. 

Jack swallowed roughly, confused. 

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth. 

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this-- 

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair. 

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that." 

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!" 

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning." 

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing. 

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again. 

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

[yumgrapejuice]

Hello there! I recently found your fic A is for accidental dimensional travel on ao3 and would first like to say good job! I am thoroughly enjoying the story so far. As an amateur writer, I wanted to ask if you have any writing tips?

First, I’m really happy to hear you’re enjoying it, thank you!! And second, of course!!!:D That’s very flattering haha, and it’s something I can talk about for hours, though I’ll try to keep it condensed:’D I’m an amateur writer myself, of course, but, hey, I think every writer has something valuable to offer in terms of advice, and I have been pretty obsessed over the topic for years I guess lol.

I will say, though, that writing is like any other skill, and certain advice fits certain levels (I’ve had someone come to me about writing tips who didn’t have a grasp on the most basic concepts, so I told them different things from what I’d tell someone who’s actually been writing for a while). I don’t know what level you’re at, anon, so I’ll try to keep it to tips that I personally use whenever I’m writing, just a few quick things:D However!! You can always directly dm me and I’d be more than happy to offer more personalized/specific advice if that’s something you’d like:))

(I’d also like to mention that, to me, fanfiction writing is different from original writing. In fanfics, I usually go with the first draft of any chapter and I focus more on the Fun stuff, whereas with original stuff I’d have multiple drafts and be more careful. I just don’t have the time nor the need to perfect my fics if I like them enough as is, and I don't expect anyone else to perfect them, either. But, hey, that’s just me)

(Also, also, don’t look at me for grammar lmao sorry)

Putting the rest under the cut!:D

Dialogue is my favorite part of writing, so I’d like to share a few things I keep in mind whenever I’m constructing it.

First, unless a character is monologuing, I try to keep each person’s lines to no more than 3-4 sentences at a time. That way the dialogue flows more naturally and feels like people are actually talking.

Second, people are rarely graceful with their words, especially if they’re flustered for any reason. Cutting off sentences is a good way to show that, but don’t overdo it, either. That goes for stuttering, too. A couple of cuts or stutters is more than enough. I tend to break this "rule" when someone is really struggling, but that's only on special occasions.

Third, not every line needs a dialogue tag!! You need to evaluate what���s actually important. If you’re using a dialogue tag, you’re drawing attention to it. Why? Is it unclear who’s speaking? Are they performing some action that adds to/reinforces/conflicts with what’s being said? Is it funny? If there isn’t a good reason, you can just leave it without a tag. (Also, dialogue without tags flows much quicker, so that’s something to keep in mind. That's good for a quippy exchange.)

Fourth, I try to always progress some aspect of the story with every line. Usually, that can be plot progression or character progression. They can chatter about their day, the weather, work, sure, but it needs to progress something. Maybe it’s used to showcase the tense/awkward atmosphere. Maybe they learn information that’ll be useful later. Maybe it’s a way to show personality. Just, have it have a purpose.

And last, ‘said’ is not dead. Our eyes when reading barely register the word, so if you don’t wanna draw attention to how something is being said, use… ‘said’ lol.

A few more general things:

I don’t switch POVs often, but when I do, I try to make each POV have its distinct voice, which is something you hear a lot about in writing classes and such. People far more advanced than me can explain it much better, but the way I go about it is similar to dialogue. Different people use different phrases, some go on long tangents, some introspect a lot, some would rather die than think for a second about what they’re feeling (doesn’t mean you shouldn’t describe their emotional responses; just that some may draw more attention to them and linger longer). Switching between more formal styles to looser and rambly is also an easy and quick way to distinguish different narrators.

If you focus a lot on a certain detail, that detail needs to be important. Listen, I didn't spend multiple paragraphs on Dream fawning over an ender chest for that to be trivial in the future lol. The more attention you draw to something, you more weight you put on it. I really recommend that you bring it back eventually.

What’s the worst that can happen? Make it happen, and make it worse lol.

Your readers aren’t stupid, don’t spoon-feed them information. They’re smart cookies, leave some clues and they’ll figure it out. Hopefully. Use your judgement lol. But that goes for descriptions, too. Help them paint the scene, don’t actually paint it for them. Use different senses to describe something, such as smell, touch, sound. Once again, draw attention only to what’s actually important. (I’ve really enjoyed the way descriptions were done in Path of Golden Green)

If you want a line to have a lot of weight, put it in a separate paragraph. That’s probably obvious, but good to have it in mind haha.

Decide what atmosphere you want your story to have. If you’re going for a lighter one, don’t focus too much on serious, dark things. Likewise, tragedies and comedy don’t mix well unless it’s a tragicomedy lol, but that’s a whole other thing. I usually like going for a nice middle, sometimes leaning more towards light stuff. It’s why in A is for Accidental I didn’t dwell too much on the possible effects the prison could have had on mh!Dream because I wanted to keep that storyline relatively light (at least, compared to dsmp!Dream’s storyline lol). Possible trauma just. wasn’t the point here lmao. I just slap on a “eh, not his first rodeo” and I’m done haha. Not everything needs to be heavy angst and not everything needs to be all funny and fluffy. Find what balance you wanna have. Basically, it’s usually not a good idea to betray your readers lol.

This is more of a pet peeve but I really dislike head-hopping lol. It's basically when one paragraph is from one character's POV, the next one is from another's. I guess there's the third-person omniscient POV where that can fly, I suppose, but I'm more of a third-person limited kind of person lol. If that's the POV you're going with, decide on your POV character and stick to it (until the change in POV, at least), pretty please <3

This is very unorganized but each aspect of writing has so much that could be said about it that I thought I should stop here lol. If there’s anything specific you’d like me to talk about or to elaborate on something, please, feel free to ask; again, I’d be more than happy to ramble more about writing lol. I could go on forever, honestly:’D

[winryofresembool]

Caleo fic: It’s all about the name

Chapter 5

Summary: Calypso is a barista at a coffee shop and one day she gets a customer who refuses to give her his real name. At first he seems really annoying but eventually Calypso finds out not all is what it looks like on the surface. (Coffee shop AU!)

a/n: OK, I lied about this being the final chapter (no one is surprised). I decided it'd be better to split the final part into two because it was getting pretty long and I didn't want to rush it, so here we go. At least we'll get some answers in this chapter :'D The 'epilogue' will be posted soon, hopefully tomorrow already or on Tuesday the latest so stay tuned for that!

Hope you guys enjoy, and please let me know what you think!!

Words: 2,7k+

Genre: fluff, humor

Warnings: none

previous chapters / AO3

...

For a couple of months the Bad Boy Supreme showed up at the coffee shop pretty much every day. Sometimes he stayed a bit longer - those days weren’t that busy at the garage so Jo was fine with him staying – and sometimes he just dropped by to say a quick hi to Calypso, but he still always came. That’s why, when he suddenly didn’t appear anymore, Calypso got really worried. Had something happened to him? Had she done something wrong? Those questions and more went through her head.

On the first day that he was away, Calypso kept glancing at the clock every couple of minutes, and back to the door, but she didn’t see the familiar curly hair anywhere. When a full hour had gone since the guy’s regular break time, Calypso was visibly restless and pacing back and forth behind the counter. It got to a point where Reyna had to pull her to the backroom to talk to her.

“Are you really that wound up over that guy? Wow, Calypso, I knew you liked him but… this is getting kind of out of hands. I’m sure there’s some perfectly understandable reason why he isn’t coming today; he is probably just too busy or has caught a cold or something else completely normal.”

“But… what if it’s something I did?” Calypso asked with frustration, pulling the end of her braid.

“You haven’t done anything wrong; I saw him smile as wide as you can possibly imagine when he left yesterday. So, please calm down,” Reyna tried to reassure her.

Calypso moped at her. “Easier said than done. But about that earlier: who has said anything about me liking him? I’m just worrying about him… like you’d worry about a friend?”

“Goodness, Cal, you should see your face every time he appears. I can see you trying to keep a poker face but your eyes say ‘bésame ahora’,” Reyna teased.

Calypso did have a pretty good idea of what that sentence meant even though she didn’t know a lot of Spanish (although she was more motivated to learn now that she knew the Bad Boy Supreme was a Spanish speaker as well). She felt her face heat at Reyna’s implications but still wasn’t ready to admit that her coworker may have been right.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying now,” she claimed but Reyna didn’t buy it.

“You definitely do,” she stated. “You’re not that amazing an actress, you know. Your voice got squeaky and I could compare the color of your face to tomatoes.”

“Whatever.” Calypso rolled her eyes. “Can we please go back to work now? I don’t want to keep the people waiting.”

“You know just as well as me that it’s quiet at this time of the day,” Reyna reminded her. “But sure, we can go back as long as you’ll stop pacing around like crazy.”

“I will,” Calypso promised. “I don’t owe anything to that guy anymore and he doesn’t owe anything to me either so he doesn’t have to come here if he doesn’t want to.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Reyna.

“He still hasn’t told you his name?” Reyna asked with surprise, having noticed Calypso calling him ‘that guy’. “That’s so weird. I thought he’s just into you as you’re into him.”

“Well, we’re just playing this game…” Calypso started hesitantly. “Ugh, forget about it. I could easily ask his coworkers or something but I don’t want to pry. He’ll slip it eventually.”

“Okay, I’ll just call him Bad Boy Supreme then,” Reyna shrugged before going back to her work.

…

Days passed. The first few days Calypso tried to calm herself down by telling herself that her mystery guy really was just busy and he’d surely come back soon enough. But once a couple of weeks had gone since his last appearance, she became restless again. This time Reyna and the others decided that it was better to just let her be that way until it passed because there really wasn’t much they could say to comfort her. As a result, Calypso seemed more effective in her work but mistakes also happened more often and she had to apologize to her customers at least twice as often as she had previously. The manager luckily brushed it off as a ‘learning process’.

Eventually that phase ended, though. After a few months had gone by, Calypso started to get convinced that the Bad Boy Supreme was not coming back. She was now calm again but at the break time she still kept glancing at the door sadly, hoping to see the familiar figure. She hadn’t realized how much she really had been looking forward to his visits until they abruptly ended and she wished she had gotten a chance to tell him that before he disappeared. But maybe it was better this way; maybe she had been the more interested one, just like in all of her previous relationships.

On one busy afternoon, Calypso wasn’t thinking about the mystery guy a lot anymore. Sure, she had briefly noted that it was the usual break time again, but she was no longer expecting to see him and was focused on serving the customers that were currently present. That’s why, when the bells above the door rang again and in came a new customer, she didn’t pay a lot of attention to him at first. She just nodded and said a quick hi before finally raising her gaze from her work to see who had arrived. Her mouth involuntarily opened into the shape of ‘O’ when she finally registered who it was. There was no mistaking that curly hair and the mischievous, yet warm, almost chocolate colored eyes.

“Oh my gods, it’s you!” She finally managed to squeak after gulping a couple of times so she could get some voice out of her mouth. Her face melted into the widest smile she was capable of and she had to contain herself so she wouldn’t jump over the desk to hug him. “I didn’t… I wasn’t expecting…” She cleared her throat and said with a lower, fake angry voice: “I mean, you’re really late, mister.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but still seemingly happy to see her. “Sorry ‘bout that, Sunshine, a lot of weird things happened recently and I just couldn’t come here even though I wanted to.”

“Well, you’re going to have to explain to me what exactly happened,” Calypso demanded. She couldn’t keep her face angry for long, though. “But before that, what do you want to drink? A double espresso?”

“You know well it was a one time occasion and I didn’t even get that drink!” The guy reminded her. “I’d like your freshly made orange soda today, though. It reminds me of Sunshine.”

“Okay, coming up,” Calypso nodded, wondering if the air conditioning didn’t work that day because she was suddenly feeling rather warm.

“Not gonna ask my name today, are you?” the guy asked with amusement while watching her do her work.

“No. I don’t need to,” Calypso said mysteriously without raising her eyes from the cup.

“Oh?” he asked curiously but she didn’t elaborate so he moved to the other counter to wait.

Calypso took her time with the soda and the guy seemed to wonder if she did that on purpose, until finally she stepped forward and gave him the plastic cup with his ‘name’ on it.

“Alright, Bad Boy Supreme, here you go!”

The guy’s thoughtful frown melted into a huge smile immediately. “Did… I just hear right??” he asked and checked the cup. “Did you just say the magic word?”

“I did, but don’t you dare to make a big number out of it!” she warned, but the twinkle in her eye was enough to tell that she wasn’t being serious.

“No worries, no worries, I won’t,” the Bad Boy Supreme reassured her, raising his free hand up. “But what made you change your mind? I thought you refused to say it?”

“I don’t want to tell,” Calypso said reluctantly.

“C’mon, just do it.”

Calypso didn’t answer for a while, pretending to be more interested in swiping the table. When the guy didn’t show any signs of giving up, though, she finally spoke. “The truth is that I promised to myself that if you’d show up again, I would finally give in. Well, I did it. You won. Go ahead and laugh.”

“No, I won’t. That’s kinda sweet of you.” There was a short pause. “Well, I promised to tell you my real name, so here it comes: I’m Leo. Leo Valdez,” the Bad Boy Supreme said sheepishly and looked a bit embarrassed for some reason.

“Leo,” Calypso tasted the name on her tongue. “I think I like it. It does suit you better than Bad Boy Supreme.”

Leo took a swig from his cup to get something to do with his hands. “Eh heh. Listen. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier. It was pretty stupid of me… I didn’t intend to keep that game going that long because I actually wanted you to learn to know me better. And I wanted to learn to know you better.”

Surprising even herself, Calypso said: “Don’t worry about it. If I really would have tried, I’m sure I would have found out somehow, for example going to your boss and asking her. I… had kind of fun trying to guess it. I wasn’t too far off with that Leon, right?”

“That’s true,” Leo grinned. “I was kind of trying to bluff when I started talking about Ed instead so you wouldn’t notice my reaction to that name.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that!” Calypso exclaimed. “I should have gotten the hint.”

“Well, you know now and that’s what matters, right?” Leo asked.

“Yeah. Um, and about that thing you said earlier…” Calypso blamed the air conditioner for feeling even warmer than a moment before. “I’d like to learn to know you better as well. Although thinking about it, you’ve probably told me more than you even realize already. About Emmie, Jo, Georgina, your friends, family, Festus… But hey, you promised to tell me why you were gone so long, so come on, let’s go sit there so you can fill me in.”

Calypso’s workmates knew better than to say no to her when she suggested having a break so she could talk with Leo, and they went to sit at an empty table opposite to each other.

“So, what happened?” Calypso asked once they were seated.

“Well… remember how we one time talked about our future dreams?” Leo asked, to which Calypso nodded. “After that talk I started doing some maths in my head - yeah, laugh ahead, but I can actually count surprisingly well - and discussed the topic also with Jo and Emmie and they said they’d be more than happy to help me give me a chance to continue studying. Practically, it means they’re willing to give me more flexible work hours and they promised that I can continue staying at their house until I want to or have enough money to move to a place of my own. We have some mechanics come and go and many of them stay there for long periods of time so it’s no problem for them. Anyway, after that I learned that the next entrance exam for the mechanical engineering program would be held in about a month so I needed to start studying right away. That’s a big reason why I didn’t have time to come here, but it was worth it, because guess what…” He pulled a big envelope from his bag. “I just got this today. And it says…” he did some drum rolls on the table with his fingers. “I got in!”

“That’s amazing!” Calypso exclaimed and couldn’t hold herself still anymore, instead getting up from her chair to hug him. “I’m very happy for you!”

“Of course it means I’ll have less time to come here in the future but we’ll make it work, right?” Leo said a bit uncertainly once they separated, blushing hard.

“What do you mean with ‘we’?” Calypso asked, not wanting to give herself false hope.

Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… I… that… of course I still wanna keep seeing you! Why do you think I came to this coffee shop every day for several months even though I don’t even drink coffee?” “You… came because of me? I mean, I thought…”

“For such a smart seeming girl you really are dense,” Leo noted. “Of course I came because I liked you. You made quite the first impression already on the day we met.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything, then?” Calypso wanted to know.

“Because at first I thought you were way out of my league and probably hated me and then you told me you had recently broken up with someone and… yeah. Multiple reasons. And then the college thing happened and my friend Jason got into an accident and… Sorry, I guess I didn’t mention that yet,” Leo finished when he noticed Calypso’s expression.

“Wait, what? Your friend got into an accident? Is he OK?” Calypso asked with concern.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be OK. He had luck on his side because that car accident could have ended a whole lot differently but he’s now recovering in the hospital. The doctors expect him to make a full recovery. But we were definitely quite worried about him for a while.”

“I’m sorry… But I’m happy he’s getting better.” Calypso said, resting her hand on Leo’s for a moment as a gesture of comfort.

“Yeah… It’s a relief…” Leo nodded absentmindedly.

“You sounded like you wanted to tell something else as well.” Calypso remarked after a while.

Leo seemed to snap out of his thoughts. “Well, you’re not wrong… Did I ever tell you that I’ve never met my real dad? Well, I have now. Turns out he’s working at the same college I applied for, I saw him on the day of my entrance exam. A huge technology nerd, it seems. No, I’m not planning to stay in touch with him in my free time – the dude abandoned me and my mother before even legally admitting he’s my father – but… I dunno. It is still kind of interesting to see what kind of person he is.”

“Wow, sounds like you’ve really had a lot going since we last met. But it is good to hear things are starting to work out… and who knows, maybe your father turns out to be a decent guy. Wouldn’t that be great?” Calypso asked.

“I guess…” he shrugged. “But right now I’m more interested in other things.”

“Such as…?” Calypso inquired.

“You really missed me that much that you were even ready to call me Bad Boy Supreme if I showed up again?” Leo teased.

“Oh gods, I was wondering when the jerk would appear again…” Calypso said with partially faked annoyance.

“You still like me, though,” Leo stated.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

A moment of silence.

“Leo Valdez, will you go out with me?” Calypso blurted before she could regret it.

“Yes… I mean… YES?!” He stared at her with wide eyes and she couldn’t help but giggle at his expression.

“Alright, glad to know where we stand.”

Leo was quiet for a while. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you just asked me out…” he looked at the distance with a dreamy expression on his face. “I was hoping but…”

“Well, you don’t have to hope anymore, silly. I really did it.” Calypso smiled at him encouragingly.

“I… I…” Leo was still too flustered to say much else.

“I guess that means ‘I’m looking forward to it’?” Calypso interpreted before glancing at the queue of customers by the counter. ��Looks like I should go back to work but I can text you afterwards.”

“Alright…”

The couple exchanged their phone numbers, but before Calypso handed Leo’s phone back, she surprised him once more by giving him a kiss on the cheek. Once she was already long gone, Leo still remained on his seat, his fingers touching the spot where her lips had been.

[veilder]

What are some of your favorite tropes?

Oh my goodness, what a good question. Considering my writing is pretty much nothing but a walking trope factory anyway, I had to give this a good think to try and narrow it down. So here’s the ones that most immediately came to mind. XD

1. Enemies (to Friends) to Lovers: Man. Anyone who knows me knows that I adore this trope so much. There is something so automatically thrilling about a ship that starts off so contentious but then learns to see each other for who they really are. I love the emphasis on forgiveness and understanding this trope brings with it, of that there’s no doubt. But I also so love the absolutely compelling drama inherent at it's core, too. The rivalry, the battles (both physical or otherwise), the questioning of beliefs, the inevitable being forced to work together towards a common goal-- It’s all brilliant and it makes me so invested every time! Love this one.

2. Fix-it Fics: God. Fix-its. Anyone who’s ever been in a fandom that ended unsatisfactorily or had a favorite character who died will understand this one. And lucky me, I’ve been in a lot of fandoms where this is the case, omg. Sometimes fix-it fics were all that kept me invested. Seeing other fans like myself in such deep denial--scrounging around for whatever justifications we could find to make things better, changing canon, making AUs, inventing elaborate scenarios taken from canon scraps, etc.--it was enough to get me through the heartbreak. There was a sense of solidarity you could find in a fix-it fic, that steadfast desire that something you loved would live on and live better. They satisfied such a primordial need for me and I absolutely have to include them on this list.

3. Found Family: Bless this trope with everything in my soul. It really means the damn world to me. I absolutely adore the idea of any number of disparate people who are forced together by circumstance, who go through life-changing hardships together, who learn to love and trust each other implicitly. Of mentors becoming parental figures. Of soldiers who’s allegiance becomes to each other. Of criminals who’ve never trusted anyone discovering what it’s like to truly be a team. These people, they don’t have to be bound by blood to be family. And that is something I cherish deeply.

4. Asshole with a Hearth of Gold: Again, anyone who knows me is probably aware that I really gravitate towards characters like this. More often than not, my faves tend towards the jaded, the overly-sarcastic, the belligerent assholes who likes to pick fights. The ones with the tragic backstories that they hide away with their rough edges. I am a complete sucker for characters like this who have a hidden soft side that they've buried deep, usually because of some trauma. Characters you really have to earn the trust of to get them to open up. Ones who will potentially grow kinder and more sympathetic as part of an arc. They’re almost always my favorites in everything I love. Couldn’t leave them off this list, lol.

5. Happy Endings: Especially when it comes to angst fics or h/c, I really, really need a happy ending going in. This is the most integral thing for me. And yes, I've seen the essays. And yes, I've heard the arguments. And no, I don't care if you can enjoy a real angst-fest. But I don’t care about the emotions of hurt/no comfort. And I don’t care about the catharsis of id fics. And I don’t care if a mcd is integral to the plot. This is 100% a hard and solid rule for me that I will not deviate on. I need to know things will be okay. Not perfect, not idealistic, not even particularly fluffy or anything like that. But... better. I need a character to end up better than how we found them. It’s very important to me and my sanity, lol.

Anyway, I think I’ll leave it at that, lol. Those were the first five I thought of and I think the most important to me. Hopefully, I managed to explain them all well enough to at least get the gist of why I love them all, lol. And I realize these are all pretty general. Feel free to ask me about any of them or to delve into more specific ones in the comments, though! Or even make your own five favorite tropes response to this! I’d love to hear what everyone else loves! :D Thanks again for the ask @timebird84! This was fun to do! ^_^

[luvdsc]

You’re my favorite writer on here (if not my favorite of all time because I absolutely adore your writing style) and I really admire your dedication to making longer fics because I know they can take a lot of concentration and time and effort. As someone who has over 20 wips and no motivation to see any of them through to the end, I was wondering if you had any tips for sticking with ideas and seeing them all the way through? Even if not, I just wanted to let you know that all the time, effort, and care you put into your writing (top tier writing by the way) is highly appreciated! Have a nice day/night/etc. and stay well 🤍♥️

hey, honey bee! 🐝✨ first off, thank you so so much 😭😭😭💝 oh my gosh, I’m beyond touched that I’m your favorite writer on here??? (And maybe of all time???? am I dreaming omg thank you for liking my writing style too 🥺💕) jdkdkdkdk you’re really much too kind to me omg thank you for showering me in all these wonderful compliments, sweetpea 😭💗💗💗honestly, lovebug, if I could write short fics, I would.... I have so many ideas but not enough time to write them all, but whenever I write something, I’m like “this feels too rushed, I need another scene here and there and over there” and then it just snowballs into this massive fic 💀💀 Bzhsjdjdjdnd omg 20 wips !!!! for me, this is what I’ve been doing:

focus on 1 wip at a time — I only write one story at a time and try not to start another fic when I’m not done with my current one. I suggest that you try to focus on one of your 20 wips, so that your full attention is on it and you’re not bouncing from one idea to the next. It’s hard to immerse yourself into one “fic universe” (idk how to explain it, sorry!) if you’re going back and forth between so many fics. And once you get the ball rolling, it becomes easier to write the wip to completion!

if you’re stuck on one wip, write a short second wip to completion — when I was writing sweeter than honey, I got tired of it like halfway through, so I took a break and wrote a small fic (hyuck’s not clickbait fic) in between. likewise, with pussy blocked, I wrote august in between as my mini creative break. I made sure to completely finish that second wip though and deliberately chose an idea that would be short and concise, so that it would be quick to finish and provide the short creative break I needed from my lengthier fic. don’t start another est 30k wc idea in the middle of writing an equally lengthy idea.

if you have an idea, think over it — I get a lot of ideas, but I quickly get bored of them after a few hours. So what I like to do is think about it for a week or so, and after a week, if I’m still interested in the idea, I write it. You can also test it out first by writing a little drabble / one scene of your idea, and if you’re still interested after that, then continue with it and stick with it until it’s complete.

have a daily writing goal — I don’t do this for all my fics, but this is something I did for sweeter than honey. I made myself write one scene per day, and that was how I knocked out 20k wc in two weeks! if I didn’t do this, I probably would’ve dragged out the completion of that fic longer tbh lol

aaa hopefully, this is helpful for you, lovebug! I also have some general writing tips linked in my about / navi page as well 💓 ultimately, I force myself to only write one fic at a time, and that’s what works for me. Also, if those 20 wips become too overwhelming, just archive them all and start fresh with one idea and focus with that until it’s complete! ✨ you are the absolute loveliest ray of sunshine, thank you so so sooo much for appreciating my fics and hard work, honey bee 🥺🥺💗 if you have any other questions or want me to elaborate on anything, please feel free to send in another ask! I hope you have a wonderful day/night as well, and stay safe, angel !!!! 🌷🌷

[astxlphe-fics]

let me live (let me die)

In which Noé wanders off and meets someone new. Meanwhile, Astolfo faces Jean Ténèbre

Chapter 4/?

< Chapter 3 || Chapter 5 >

Content warning : mentioned character death, violence

Of course, Noé wanders off — he wouldn’t be Noé Archiviste if he doesn't wander off. He’s curious and restless, and no matter how long he tries, he just can’t stand there and wait.

So, when he’s kicked out of the room, Noé starts wandering off.

This Antonio doesn’t seem willing to just give out the information they need, so maybe Noé can find it himself. In the past few years, he learned that sometimes, the best way to get information is to avoid asking, but sneak around and find out by yourself.

Better apologize later than ask for permission and being told “no”.

Murr in tow, he goes to explore.

He, somehow, manages to find the archives they passed a few minutes earlier. It’s quiet, and he takes the opportunity to look quickly through the shelves, hoping to find something on the vampire they are looking for.

There are records about him, but nothing recent enough. All he finds are reports upon reports, spanning decades , of a former Chevalier gone rogue with his brother, a thief and conman with a taste for blood, human and vampire alike, who was last seen 6 months ago near the coast, though the operation targeting him failed due to “outside intervention”.

“This is what Antonio referred to earlier, right?” he asks Murr, who sends him flat look, and Noé's eyebrows knit themselves together in worry. The file with the details is missing, along with several others, leaving several empty spots on the shelf, so he can’t be sure, but this is definitely something Astolfo would do.

“Anyone here?” someone calls out from deeper into the archives. Noé winces. He didn’t think anyone would be here, but now that someone is calling out to him, he realizes that archives should have an archivist.

He puts the files back where they belong and, accidentally knocking a chair down on the way, sneaks out of the room, turns at the nearest corner and finds himself into another.

This one seems to be the guardroom. It’s empty and, not for the first time, he wonders where all the chasseurs have gone. They are, though, several pieces of spare equipment in the closet, some which are small enough to fit in his pockets. He takes several, just in case.

He breathes in deeply. Everything is okay, he hasn’t been—

A yelp catches him by surprise.

— caught.

He turns on his heels, hands raised. “Wait, I—”

Another order given in Italian, which he is sure means “ don’t move”, or at least something along those lines.

He stares at the young woman in front of him, her skin a warm brown and dark hair shaved short, a file tucked under her elbow. She stares back at him, black eyes narrowed, then she swiftly slips something out of the sleeve of her white coat and points it at him, still speaking to him in Italian.

Something about not moving, again.

“I’m not an intruder— I mean, yes I am, but I came with Astolfo and I— uh — got lost?”

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, lowering the blade — a scalpel, Noé notices. “Astolfo? Astolfo Granatum?” When he nods, she lowers her makeshift weapon. She raises her free hand to about ear level, and changes language to French. “Are you sure?”

Is he sure he is with Astolfo? What kind of question is that? “He’s about this tall,” he says, hand raising up just a little under his shoulder. “With pink hair?”

“God, I can’t believe Astolfo is back.” She nods, tense, and her weapon disappears back in her sleeve. Then, she shakes her head from side to side. “Although I’m terribly sorry for the rudeness, if I had known...” She shakes her head again, pinching her lips. “In my defense, I’ve never seen you here before, and who would except him to bring a friend —”

“We’re not,” Noé corrects and when she glances at him with a raised eyebrow, he explains: “We’re not friends, I don’t even like him, we are simply travelling together for a while. He’s meeting with someone called Antonio.” He smiles at her, reassuring. “So, don’t worry about the rudeness, mademoiselle. I wasn’t very polite myself, intruding into your headquarters with no warning. I’m sorry.”

“He’s meeting with Antonio?” she repeats, all offense forgotten, her lips pulling down into a concerned frown. “This can’t go well. They haven’t been getting along, lately.”

“It wasn’t going well when I was kicked out.” Noé sighs. “He told me they were friends, but it doesn’t look like it.”

“They used to be close, but not anymore, not since—” She grimaces, and her shoulders slump. “Astolfo has changed a lot since he went to Paris, in good and bad, and when he came back a few months ago—” She trails off, and goes quiet.

“What happened when he came back?” Noé asks. The woman doesn’t seem willing to elaborate, and she looks at him again with renewed suspicions.

“Why do you want to know?”

“We’re working together.” It doesn’t sound like enough of an explanation. “He’s looking for the Chevalier Ténèbre, and I want to help.”

Hearing those words, she makes a face. “Oh no. I—” She grabs the files she keeps under her elbow. “Since they’ll be moving out against him soon, I’ve been studying those to prepare for the next round of injuries. I’m Isabella, by the way, I’m the doctor here.” She draws out her hand, and Noé shakes it, hesitant. As if she senses his unease, she goes on: “Don’t worry, I'm a regular doctor, I don't do experiments.” Her eyes take on a determined gleam. “I think you will understand better if I show you.”

Taking the file as she hands it out to him, he flips it open. It’s a report, stamped with a bright red “archives copy”, and the medical report attached has Astolfo’s name on it – a word is scratched out with black marker where his first name should be, an “Astolfo” written by hand in a big, looping handwriting just above it. It’s probably the files missing from the archives’ shelves, and Noé can’t believe his luck.

It’s curiosity that pushes him to look through it. Another page confirms his suspicions with heavy injuries and near death and descriptions of bloody wounds and torn flesh and an infection.

“That idiot ,” he mutters, the worry quickly shifting to frustration, and Isabella hums in agreement.

“He really is. It didn’t look pretty. I’m— I’m the one who took care of him, it took days before he was well enough to get out of bed and he left before I discharged him.” She glares hard at the words printed on the papers. “I hadn’t seen him in at least six years. Can you imagine? Your friend leaves for over six years, doesn’t even send a letter, and then – when they brought him in, I thought he was dead ." Her voice breaks slightly on the last word. "I had never seen Antonio look so scared, either.”

Of course, Astolfo didn’t tell him. He has no obligation to do so, Noé knows, but he can’t help but feel the slightest resentment and frustration at the memories of Astolfo’s claims of being able to handle himself when there is definite proof that he can’t .

But no, he’s Astolfo Granatum and doesn’t need anyone for anything. He is just going to keep walking straight to his death until he actually dies.

“Antonio?” he asks. “I didn’t think he would be so worried for Astolfo.”

“Are you kidding me?” She snorts. “Don’t let his attitude make you think Antonio doesn’t care; he seems to believe that the harsher he is, the further away from here and the Chevalier Astolfo will stay. It doesn't work, obviously." No, it doesn't look like it does, it just seems to make Astolfo more persistent. "Additionally, he has just been so angry since Marco died.” She pauses, looking at him quizzically. “Have you heard about Marco?”

“I’ve met him a few times.” He didn’t know him well, but he seemed kind, at least kind enough to somewhat temperate the explosive Astolfo.

She frowns. “Wait, how long have you known Astolfo?” Her question about Marco, Noé figures, lets her appraise how close he is to Astolfo, but his answer isn't what she expected, so she must have assumed they met in the past six months. Noé admitting to knowing Marco though, gives her a different time scale and more questions about their potential relationship.

“Three years.” When her eyebrows raise in disbelief, he elaborates, running a hand through his hair and smiling sheepishly. “We hated each other at first. We still don’t get along, but I think we’re past the attempted murders and limb cutting phase.” He wiggles the fingers of his left hand, and the joints click and clack with the movement.

“The what now?” she groans. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s always strange to hear about what he got up to in France.”

A door slams shut in the distance, cutting him off before he can answer, and he skims through the rest of the file, trying to find anything useful on the Chevalier before he regroups with Astolfo.

“You said they were going to move out again soon?” he asks, trying to get them back on track.

Isabella nods. “Uhm — yes— it’s supposed to be tonight. In a few hours. Hopefully, Antonio will get Astolfo out of the city before it starts.” She looks up to Noé with severe eyes. “You two need to leave.”

She’s the second person who isn’t so happy to see Astolfo back, but it’s the gravity of her tone that makes it click. “He is in Florence, isn’t he?”

The Chevalier Ténèbre has last been seen in this very city. In Florence. All the chasseurs on duty are patrolling the area before he makes more victims here, which explains the headquarters’ persistent silence.

He is way closer than they thought.

Noé needs to find Astolfo, and fast.

He grabs both of Isabella’s hands in his own. “I’m very sorry, but I need to go now. Thank you so much for your help!”

“You’re going to help him, right?” He nods, so she continues: “He won’t listen to us, but maybe you will: I know he says he’ll be okay, but he can’t fight the Chevalier on his own.” She looks straight at him with gravity. “He will die.”

“He won’t. Not on my watch. I promise!”

And she bites her lower lips, unsure. “I hope you’re right. Do you need help finding your way back to Antonio’s office?”

Noé stops right at the door, hesitant, and Isabella laughs. “Come on, I’ll guide you.”

“Thank you!” He turns to Murr. “Let’s go.”

The cat looks up at him in exasperation.

“Sorry,” Noé tells him with an apologetic smile, though he can feel the worry building up inside him. “But we need to find Astolfo, before he runs into the Chevalier Ténèbre on his own.”

Knowing Astolfo, he could very well stumble upon him by accident.

“It won’t go well if he faces him alone.”

This seems to decide Murr, who sniffs disdainfully and starts walking.

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

Without Louisette, or more generally speaking, a spear, and the enhancement drug the chasseurs usually have, Astolfo can’t fight as well as he used too. He’s always been smaller than the average boy, both in terms of height and weight. He made up of for it, back then, by choosing a long-range weapon and relying on speed, dexterity and high mobility. With it, he could make his size an advantage, even though it also allowed his enemies to throw him around with more ease if they grabbed him.

The spear allowed him to hit his target while staying away. Now, all he has is his own natural speed and a short weapon which requires him to get in his enemy’s arm reach.

The dagger rips through the Chevalier’s clothes and nicks at his skin, but the vampire grabs him by the collar, pulling him off his feet, and throws him away. His back hits a wall with a thud and, as he falls, he sees stars, the pain spreading through his body in short waves.

He pushes himself back on his feet and picks his weapon. He grins, the rush of the fight coming back to him, warming him up. His focus is solely on Jean Ténèbre, and the humans running away, the chasseurs he is sure are on their way, Noé Archiviste’s departure — all of this is nothing but background noise. None of it matters .

Jean Ténèbre here stands in front of him and this time, nothing will stop Astolfo from taking his life.

Adjusting his grip on his weapon, he lunges, intentionally leaving his side open. The Chevalier takes the bait and Astolfo dodges, slipping under his arm and aiming his ribs. The vampire stumbles when Astolfo’s blade lodges itself right between two of them and he swings his arm, elbow hitting the side of his head.

Astolfo manages to roll away, once again out of range. He breathes hard already, but he can’t stop smiling, face flushed, his weapon bloodied.

“I failed to end you once,” he tells him, laughter bubbling at the back of his throat. “I will not fail again tonight.”

He remembers that night very clearly — every detail of it etched in his mind forever. The night this vampire and his companions slaughtered his family and laughed.

Just as Astolfo prepares to attack again, something catches on his leg, making him tumble down on his knee. He pulls, hard, but his foot is rooted on ground, something dark swirling around his ankle. He tries to pull it off, but it’s immaterial.

“You don’t learn, do you?” The Chevalier’s eyes seem to glower in the darkness, pupils shifting to strange, eerie spirals.

He cannot touch it and no matter how much he tries; it paralyses his ankle. He stands again, trying to force his leg to move, to wrench it off the ground, but it only spreads, keeping him from bending his knee until he’s immobilized all the way up his waist.

Around the Chevalier, shadows twirl and swell, growing more solid, more textured under his power.

All vampires have the ability to alter the very nature of this world, the formula. Some of them learn how to control this power, and some of them specialize. The Chevalier Ténèbre, staying true to his name, decided on darkness .

It wraps around him, taking a hold of his arm, squeezing his wrist until it cuts the skin and makes him drop his weapon. The dagger clatters uselessly on the ground.

“You come to me, in the middle of the night, when I am at my strongest, and you can barely put up a decent fight.” He sighs, sounding disappointed, standing just in front of him. He pats his cheek with a barely there smile that Astolfo wants to rip off his face with his bare hands. “To think my beloved brother lost to that. ”

The touch would make Astolfo shiver if he could move at all and he grits his teeth. He hasn’t changed at all. He is still, without the chasseurs, a weak and helpless child.

Once again, he realizes, Antonio was right. He keeps overestimating himself, trying to make himself believe that he’s still strong enough to take the Chevalier like he took his brother years ago.

Move , he tells himself as the Chevalier’s shadow creep up. Move , as he tries to push it aside. If he doesn't, Astolfo will be hacked to pieces by disgustingly solid shadows, and he can’t even move . Like six months ago, and like when he was eleven and pinned down by those same shadows as fangs dug into his skin.

The thought is what finally kicks him into action.

Astolfo snaps his head, catching, between his teeth, the fragile skin between the Chevalier’s thumb and index finger, and bites down. His teeth sink in. Blood pours out, staining his lips and chin.

The Chevalier yelps, his focus shifts, and his control snaps. Astolfo pushes him back, throwing his balance off. He dives to the ground to grab his weapon and drives it down into the vampire’s foot, before putting distance between them.

His chest rises and falls with his heartbeat, fast and uneven, and he wipes his face with his sleeve, spitting out the blood on the ground.

Then, snarling, the Chevalier comes for him again, faster, and Astolfo won’t have time to move out of the way — but before anything can happen something grabs him around the waist, pulling him off his feet and out of the way.

“Are you alright?”

And he finds himself carried like a sack of potatoes over Noé Archiviste’s shoulder as he turns several street corners, until they lose sight of the Chevalier.

“What—”

“I learned the Chevalier Ténèbre was here so I came looking for you. But you found him without my help, it seems.”

“I—” Astolfo lets out a strangled sound of surprise, before he truly realizes what position he is in and kicks his feet in the air. “Let me down!”

“Oh, right.” He puts him back on his feet. “There.”

Now back on the ground, Astolfo regains his bearings and huffs. “What took you so long?” he demands as if he hasn’t been scared out of his mind, in a difficult position just a minute ago. “Did you wander off again?”

“What do you mean, again ?” the Archiviste protests. “I even brought something that could be useful.”

He rummages through his pockets and takes out several pouches, which Astolfo easily recognizes. “Are those chasseurs belt pouches?”

“I found them in the guardroom in the headquarters. I figured you could find some use for it, since you don’t have access to those anymore.” He looks back over his shoulder, making sure the Chevalier Ténèbre isn’t catching up yet. “You can’t fight him on your own, Astolfo. At least not without some extra weapons.”

The "you’re a regular human now" hangs between them, unsaid.

“Look—”

“Mademoiselle Isabella showed me what he did to you last time.”

There is something in his tone and in his eyes looking too much like a mixture of fear and worry that make Astolfo want to give up arguing.

It's not like he’s up for an argument anyway. He’s tired, from the last year’s search, from his previous encounters with the Chevalier, from the argument with Antonio, and from the fight, so he just takes the pouches without a word. He doesn’t ask how he even knows Isa, and opens them. They all contain Aegis flash grenades, brand new and polished, warm under his fingers.

All in all, they have four of those.

“This is what you disappeared for?”

“Well, it wasn’t what I was looking for but—” He rubs the back of his head. “Sometimes you take what you have on hands.” He points at the cat still sitting across his shoulders. “Murr helped too.”

“I—” he gulps. “I was under the impression you—”

I thought you left for good .

“You thought what?” the vampire asks, confused.

“Nothing.” He looks away, face pink in embarrassment, recalling his rather childish outburst.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, and focuses back on the equipment Noé brought back. He picks one of the grenades, weighting it in his palm. “This will be useful. The Chevalier Ténèbre can control shadows,” he explains.

“We will be able to counter it with those, then.”

Astolfo blinks, taken aback. He always imagined himself facing the Chevalier alone, fighting alone until who or whatever is in front of him kills him. “We?”

"Yes, we." Noé takes off his coat and hat, which he neatly places on a windowsill, before he sets Murr next to them. His sharp fangs glint in the moonlight as he grins, flexing his fingers, and Astolfo is suddenly reminded that, under his sweet exterior, the vampire is as much as a fighter as any chasseur. “I’m your shield now. You can count on me.”

[cynical-amphisbaenia]

yes hello amygda i've been lurking here for quite some time and it's lovely but honestly i don't feel like saying the usual wOw YoUr BlOg Is 100% GuD and i AdOrE iT stuff. i mean your blog actually is and i do but it almost feels obligatory when every single ClasspectMe ask does that. and le oops, i spilled it - it'd be nice to hear your ideas about my Mythological Role! i've been searching for the right one for some time now. i trust your knowledge, though.

anyway personality is the first thing i want to describe. and the hardest one as well. you see, a common thing in my life is that i can't remember anything. like literally i remember less than 1% of everything that happened to me, ever. it's easier to describe what i was feeling than what actually happened. it's a genetic thing iirc because my mom has that too, but that's beside the point. i'm quite a talkative person and i tend to do the thing i did like a sentence before a lot. i used to be described as "impulsive and agressive" but that isn't true anymore, i can contain myself. that's probably the thing that led to my emotions being kind of, uh, separate from my mind. by that i mean i actually know i felt something a little bit after the fact, i just, i dunno, ignore it so hard i don't even acknowledge the feeling. that led to me joking about "selling my soul to a demon" as an explanation and the joke is still running

i kind of roleplay an arrogant piece of shit? not as a Knight-type persona but like for fun and not actually annoying anyone too much, and basically everyone knows i do. no self-worth problems though

surprisingly i don't have any problems typical for people my age and my family isn't a bunch of assholes, which has both led me to living a life in "easy mode" and to me being spoiled enough not to give a shit about basically anything. it's not a depressed thing: there are little to none things that motivate me besides "i have to" and "i'll literally die if i won't", and even the ones that exist don't seem to have any relation to one another. i'd say i'm an ambivert, but that would imply that i get energy from both being alone and from being with people, and i don't get it at all. i'd also say i'm a pessimist, but honestly i'm just an optimist that tries really hard to be pessimistic and it really shows sometimes, like when i tell my friends some edgy sarcastic shit and then help someone for no reason or give a stranger a chocolate bar or something. i do that a lot for my actual friends though and i actually have no problem making friendos and opening up to anyone

i use mutedHypocrisy as my chumhandle-ish nickname because 1. i don't really judge anyone out loud? i have are a lot of bUdDiEs with DEBATABLE opinions but i just don't discuss it almost ever, keeping to myself. not really a reason for this. and 2. because of my extremely unique memory i usually dont havr or don't remember any opinions of my own except for some really important ones, which had led me to saying two opposite takes on the same thing to a single person, them going "what the fuck", and that happened more than a single time.

on to symbols. well, the tarot cards mark me as The Star and my fate as a fate of The Fool. which is shown by me being, well, talented enough and having a lot of freedom but not enough ambition to really use it, making me basically useless. also the star thing? its number is 17 and the one before is 16, which is the Tower, which is a fucking cataclysm, and the thing is me being a few hours away from being born under "the tower" is also reflected in the situation in which i was born. i won't elaborate though cuz thats personal shit.

i guess fate kind of likes playing with me? in a friendly way. like i'm always in the best circumstances possible BUT i get trolled by luck along the way. like that friend who pranks you a lot but is actually a nice person and is fun to be around, the world around me feels, as i already said, "easy mode". a lot of people have it worse. i feel bad because i've got everything one could ever want but zero motivation and ambition to do things. and it's not even a "willpower" problem, because that thing helps me do A LOT and is the only reason i'm still functional.

i seem to have an affinity for the things i hate, even though this sounds stupid as fuck. i may despise something completely but i'll be like the meme about a guy who says "disgusting" and keeps looking anyway.

i perceive things as a play, making myself a fourth-wall-breaker type of character. i don't think i take it too seriously but that's kinda fun. i think it started when i noticed that my life and the projects i participate in have some patterns that don't change at all. it's not a thing about some situations always being the same, it's some specific things -- the beginnings and endings of ppl's relationships in the friend group, their roles there and my relationships with the people on em, for example. that's some conspiracy theorist shit right there though.

i don't think i can describe my arcs? i don't remember them. like i mean i was literally babied throughout my whole life, even if not in a way i hate or in an overbearing/limiting way. i had some anger issues and despised rules, but that's a teenager thing mostly -- i respect them now for the most part.

if there's anything important i forgot please tell me!!! can't describe my own ass right if i don't remember 95% of my life. love your work anyway.

Well, as much as it's appreciated, it's definitely not obligatory! And I hope no one feels that it is. Now, there's a few possible options. The main things to consider are Rogue or Mage of Heart and Heir or Maid of Mind, though you may also want to consider Void or Breath as the aspects.

You lack Heart in various ways, though not completely. You still try to take on various opinions or roles. This could be due to being a Rogue of Heart. Rogues tend to lack their aspects, and the taking on of opinions/roles could be stealing Heart. You do seem to focus on things like emotions and relationships, and especially your lack of motivation. Mages can also lack their aspect, but this tends to cause them to suffer - you don’t appear to focus on suffering too much, so it’s not as likely as Rogue. However, if you feel that you attempt to experience Heart to learn about it rather than simply just taking it on, then you might want to consider it. 

Alternatively, you could be an Heir of Mind - this is less likely as you only seem to have focus on the roles and adaptability of Mind while you focus on many more parts of Heart. However, if you were so caught up in those things like an Heir could be, it might explain why you ignore those things and lack parts of Heart as well. A Maid is also likely to get caught up serving only particular parts of their aspect - again, this is less likely than Heir as you seem to change Mind rather than create it, but you might feel differently on this. 

To decide between the Heart or Mind would depend on how you define things like your roleplay - does it feel like an exploration and taking (or experiencing) of Heart or does it feel like a changing/creating of roles which would suit Mind?

You could also consider Void if it feels like the circumstances of your life causes you to live in confusion and if it feels like your lack of memory is the main focus rather than it causing you to miss parts of Heart. Reading what you gave me it doesn’t seem to be the case, but you could decide otherwise. In a similar way, Breath could be an option if you feel disconnected from things, especially as you do focus a bit on freedom. For both of these aspects you could consider Heir, Maid or Mage as an option, especially as with Breath you’re clearly not connected to parts of it like motivation.

Hopefully this helps! Sorry it’s a lot of options, so feel free to ask me anything to help you narrow it down. ^^

[lilacmoon83]

A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 33: Deja Vu

When they arrived at the Boston airport, it wasn't lost on any of them that they had never actually been on a plane. In their traveling around the country, it had always been by car and flying had always been too expensive for them. Fortunately, Emma knew the basics, having read up on what was needed in case she needed to fly as a bail bonds person. She guided them all through the process of security and they were soon on the plane.

"I know it's hard...but we'll find him," David whispered to her, as he kissed her hand.

"I love you for saying that, but Portland is a big place," she feared.

"It is...but I reached out to a couple of my contacts that I met; the one that trained me in the business. She says she'll help. She's already putting out feelers," Emma said, as she sat in the window seat of their three person row.

"That's amazing…" David said. She nodded.

"Her name is Cleo Fox...I trust her," she said. Snow gave her a tearful gaze.

"Thanks sweetheart…" she replied.

"I dug up an old picture of him as a kid and gave it to her. She's putting it out to her sources," Emma confirmed.

"Our daughter is amazing," David whispered to his wife and kissed her head. She smiled back at him.

"I know…" she agreed, as she rested her head against his shoulder and impatiently endured the journey to Portland.

~*~

Flashback

Maleficent's castle burned like an unending inferno and the wailing from her dragon form echoed throughout the land, as her egg lay trapped inside. Maleficent contemplated scorching the entire earth in her agony, but instead, she crumbled to her human form, devastated and defeated. Her child was gone and her allies that had helped free her now faced losing their own against the evil Cora. She could only hope that their child did not face the same fate that hers just did.

~*~

"Excuse me...but you'll let me through now. I'm expected by the Queen," the woman said harshly. Half her hair was black and half white, only adding to her eccentric appearance of a glittering black gown and elaborate fur coat.

"It's all right guards...you can let her through. She is supposed to have something for me," Cora said.

"You owe me a new coat! This one is ruined," the woman complained. Cora waved her hand and repaired the damage done to the fur coat.

"Now Cruella...I assume you have what I asked for," Cora cooed. Cruella smirked.

"One good thing about my powers is that I was able to send some dumb beast in after it for me. Then...I used the spell you gave me to miniaturize it," Cruella said, as she handed the egg over, which had been miniaturized.

"Keep it...because that is my secret weapon," Cora replied.

"What are you talking about?" Cruella asked.

"My curse will be perfect, but I still need a backup plan in case things go awry. That's where the egg comes in," Cora replied.

"You mean to control Maleficent," Cruella deduced.

"Exactly. Now, tuck the egg away and prepare for the curse," Cora instructed. Cruella smirked and walked out with a smirk on her face.

"Sorry Cora...but I've just decided that I have a different plan," Cruella murmured to herself.

~*~

Tamara pulled her car into the warehouse at Feinberg Industries and put it in park.

"It's about time you got here!" Cruella snapped, as she stood beside a table with a bottle of gin and a cigarette in her hand.

"The Feds have already seized all my worthless husband's assets in New York and the rest of the country. This is the last property they haven't seized, but that won't last long," she complained.

"Relax," Tamara said, as she pulled Pinocchio out of the car and led him to her by the hand.

"That's not what I asked for," Cruella complained.

"I know...but a magical child is what he wants," Tamara said, as the Dragon emerged from the shadows.

"So good to see that your cancer has been...miraculously cured since we last met, Miss Tamara," he said. She scoffed.

"Cut the crap...we both know that I never had cancer. I just needed your little potion. I sent it off to the Home Office for analysis and you know what they found?" she asked. The Dragon smirked.

"Enlighten me," he said.

"Nothing...they found no known substances in this world," she replied. He smirked.

"Well, that is not surprising since my cures are not of this world," he admitted.

"So I've learned...and I'm sure your Home Office has big plans for Storybrooke. Or they did...before they went dark," the Dragon said. Tamara's gaze narrowed.

"How do you know that?" she demanded to know. He smirked.

"I know a great many things...including who is behind your cause and why they no longer exist," he claimed, shocking her to the core.

~*~

Snow and David held hands, as they got out of the rental car and followed their daughter toward their destination.

"It had to be the old neighborhood," Snow mentioned, as they walked through the familiar streets.

"Sorry Mom...but her office happens to be around where we used to live," Emma replied.

"You okay?" David asked. She nodded.

"Yes…I was just happy to leave this part of our lives behind. Finding Storybrooke was like finally finding home...because we found you," she mentioned. He smiled.

"We won't be here long. This woman hopefully can help us find August and then we're going straight back home. You never have to think about this place again," David assured her, as they passed a diner and she spared a glance at it and he didn't miss her shudder.

"Is this it? Is this the one of the diner's you worked at?" he asked.

"Unfortunately…" she replied.

"I'm sorry Mom...maybe bringing you guys with me to this part of town wasn't the best idea," Emma apologized.

"No honey...it's not your fault. Just bad memories, but I'll do anything to find my son," Snow said. Geppetto opened his mouth to correct her, but a glance from Belle told him to wisely shut it.

"You're wise to stay quiet this time. Even I, as the Dark One, rarely got in the cross hairs of a mother trying to find her child. I myself did unspeakable things for my child. Even Snow White has her limits and you would be wise not to cross her again," Rumple advised, as Emma stopped in front of the diner upon approaching a woman.

"Emma...it's good to see you," the woman said.

"You too Cleo...do you have any leads?" Emma asked.

"Uh…I didn't, but my new partner said he has something. He should be here any minute," she replied.

"New partner?" Emma inquired, but she soon found out who it was, as he approached.

"Mary Margaret?" the man asked.

"Crap…" Emma grimaced under her breath. David felt her shiver beside him and then clutch his arm tightly.

"Wow...you look incredible still. It's been a long time...and you look the same," the man said.

"I'm sorry...who the hell are you?" David asked, as he put his hand out.

"Barry Burns, Private Investigator," he said, but David refused to shake his hand and he awkwardly pulled it back.

"And you are?" he asked.

"David Nolan...her husband," he bit out, as Emma pulled Cleo aside.

"New partner? What the hell?" Emma hissed.

"I'm sorry Emma...but he's good at what he does," Cleo apologized.

"He's a creep! He used to sexually harass my mother!" Emma cried.

"And I'm sorry for that Emma, but I thought you wanted to find this kid you're looking for," she said. Emma sighed deeply.

"Fine...but if my...my mom's husband ends up killing him after he tells us where August is...then you'll look the other way," Emma replied in haste.

"Wow...husband, that's surprising. All she ever did was turn me down, but that never stopped me from trying," he said, as he kept looking at her.

"Damn...still can't believe how good you look," he added and probably would have continued his objectification, but David grabbed him by the collar at that point.

"You're going to stop talking to her and you're going to stop looking at her," he growled, as the guy flailed his arms.

"Whoa...okay buddy, geez…" he complained, as David shoved him away.

"Do you have that lead or not?" Emma snapped coldly.

"Uh yeah...I have a source that says this woman," he said, as he held Tamara's photo up.

"That she was spotted driving into Feinberg Industries warehouse downtown," he said.

"How did you find her so fast?" Emma asked skeptically.

"I'm that good," he boasted.

"No...he got really lucky. Feinberg just got indicted by the FBI in New York. All his assets are in the process of being frozen. This is probably one of the last and only a matter of time before the Feds raid that place. That's why it's on our source's radar," Cleo explained.

"Then we have to go...we have to find August," Snow said, as she avoided looking at the creep that her husband was still glaring daggers at.

"We better go then. It's only a few blocks from here and it's best to approach on foot," he said, as they started walking, but David held back and they followed at the rear.

"Snow…" he whispered.

"I'm okay…" she said unconvincingly.

"If he hurt you...he's a dead man," David said.

"He...he didn't get that far, though I'm sure he would have loved to. But by the time we moved to Portland, Auggie was a teenager," she said, as she put a hand to her mouth.

"He came to the diner every day after school, just to make sure he would be there to go home with me. He knew...he knew how vulnerable I was to some of the patrons at the diner," she confessed, as she cried against his chest, even as they walked.

"We're going to get him back, Snow," he promised.

"He...hated Barry, but I begged him to not confront him. Barry knew that and he would get to cop a feel, knowing that I wouldn't stop him, because it meant a large enough tip so we could eat that night," she sniffed.

"I'm going to kill him," David growled.

"Only after he leads us to August," she corrected. He smirked and kissed her hair.

"Okay...he'll lead us to August and then I'll kill him," he agreed. And she did not protest that.

~*~

Tamara stared at him in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"They have gone dark, have they not? You have not received any communication for the last day or so, am I correct?" the Dragon questioned.

"That doesn't mean they no longer exist," she said, as she took out a walky-talky device from her bag, but she noticed that it appeared not to be working anymore. She opened up the battery port and sand poured out. Cruella laughed.

"Oh dahling...you've been had," she said in amusement, earning her a glare from the other woman.

"What the hell is this?" Tamara asked.

"Your Home Office was none other than Peter Pan himself," the Dragon revealed.

"Neverland...they said it was real, but I wasn't sure," Tamara confessed.

"Oh it is very real...it's the mother load of magic, but that comes at a price for Pan," the Dragon said.

"But the Home Office wants to destroy magic! Why would they come from a place with magic," Tamara protested.

"Oh dahling...no one wants to destroy magic. That's silly. Magic gets you everything you want," Cruella said.

"She is correct...you were simply a pawn. You were a tool to obtain what Pan needed...a magical child. But it is a good thing his time ran out, because you have the wrong child," the Dragon said.

"No...they said bring a magical child. I saw magic used on him to transform him from an adult into a child. I saw it with my own eyes," Tamara protested. The Dragon chuckled.

"But he is not a magical child. Only one born of true love is magical. But the child that Pan really wanted was one born of two powerful, magical bloodlines. One of light and true love, maternal grandparents. Parents of the Savior," he said.

"Snow White and Prince Charming…" he announced.

"And the other, the bloodlines of the Dark One. Paternal grandfather and his child, who found love with the Savior," he continued. Tamara sighed.

"Then I took him for nothing...it was the baby I needed. That would have been impossible to get!" Tamara said.

"Good thing for you that Pan is no longer a problem. His time ran out with having that child to sacrifice for his youth. But all is not lost. I can take this one...he will be quite useful to me," the Dragon said.

"Fine...whatever, but you promised me a way to destroy Storybrooke," Tamara said, looking at Cruella.

"Oh dahling...that depends on what you brought me. I need something good," Cruella said, as the other woman handed her a bag full of the things she stole from Cora's vault.

"Ohhh...very nice," Cruella said, as she looked through the items.

"Then you'll give me something to use to destroy magic?" Tamara asked. Cruella cackled.

"Sorry dahling...but I have no idea how to destroy magic and none of this works in a place without magic. However, they will work in Storybrooke...so that's where I'll be going. The Feds will never find me there," she said.

"You're double crossing me!?" Tamara exclaimed.

"Well…I am Cruella De Vil, after all," she reminded her.

"Come on, young one. We have a plane to catch," the Dragon said.

"The hell you do…" Tamara growled, as she pulled a gun on them and took them hostage.

"Your cause does not exist and destroying magic is not within our capabilities," the Dragon warned.

"It can if I just blow up that whole town, so that's what we'll do," Tamara said.

"The hell you will," Emma said, as she and David held their guns on her. She smirked and pointed hers at them.

"Are you really willing to risk a game of whose a faster shot than the other?" Tamara challenged.

"We've got two guns on your one. Are you?" Emma challenged back.

"Hello dahling...it's been a long time…" Cruella purred, as she looked at David.

"Cruella...how the hell are you here?" he asked. She looked him up and down like he was something to eat.

"I have my ways…" she said.

"Cruella? Seriously?" she asked her mother.

"Unfortunately," Snow replied.

"Well…I have somewhere to be. I hear Storybrooke is lovely this time of year," she said.

"If you think you'll still have an ally in Cora when you enter town, you'd be mistaken. Cora is dead," Snow warned.

"Yeah...and Regina won't hesitate to put you down, much like you've done to various animals in the past to satiate your obsession with fur," Rumple added.

"Well…I can't say that I have missed you, Dark One," she retorted with a smirk.

"Besides…Regina will be too busy trying to keep Maleficent from burning the town down," she claimed.

"Maleficent is free of any control...she won't help you," David said. Cruella smirked.

"Oh…I have so missed you the most, dahling. But you're wrong...because with this," Cruella said, as she held up what looked like a snow globe.

"With this...she'll do whatever I want," Cruella said.

"And what is that?" Emma asked.

"It can't be…" Snow gasped.

"Oh yes...it's her egg. I had it fished out of the fire and Cora sealed it away for safekeeping. It was meant to be her backup plan, but I had other plans," Cruella said.

"Well, you're not going anywhere," Snow said, as she bravely stepped forward.

"Stop!" Tamara warned, as she pointed her gun at Snow. That was all David needed and he rushed her, quickly knocking her to the ground. The gun flew out of her hand and Emma ran to confiscate it.

"Cuff her and leave her. By the time she gets free, we'll be home," Rumple said, as David put her in cuffs and left her there on the ground. Snow and Marco both knelt down in front of Pinocchio and the little boy wrenched away from the Dragon. But to Marco's shock and surprise, he ran to Snow and she hugged him tightly, as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"My boy…" he uttered.

"Don't…" Tink chided.

"I had a dream...that you were my Mom," he confessed, surprising Snow.

"I am and that must be confusing right now. But I promise everything will make sense soon," she promised. David smiled and kissed her tenderly, before winking at the little boy.

"Hand over the egg," Emma said, as she held the gun on her.

"Oh poo…" Cruella complained, as she did so.

"Oh well...good thing I have that account in the Cayman Islands full of money that I squirreled away from my lousy husband," Cruella said, as she made her way toward the exit.

"Last chance dahling...the fun we could have if we ran away together," she purred to the Prince.

"Hard pass," he replied in disgust. She sighed.

"Alas...at least I have my fantasies. Cheers dahling…" Cruella said, as she made her way out.

"What the hell is going on here!?" Barry demanded to know.

"Just stay out of it," David snapped.

"Yeah...Cleo, thanks for all your help, but we need to go," Emma said.

"None of you are going anywhere," Barry refuted, as he pulled his own gun and pointed it at them.

"Barry...what are you doing?" Cleo demanded to know.

"I've been hired to find a missing detective...and I think all of you know where he is," Barry said, as he showed them a photo and walked closer to them.

"He was last seen heading to a town called Storybrooke, Maine. And then...he just went dark," he continued, as he looked at Snow.

"What can you tell me about that?" he asked.

"Nothing...we have no idea what you're talking about," David snapped quickly, as he put himself between his wife and this man.

"I think you're lying...so this is what we're going to do. She is going to come with me to this Storybrooke, while the Feds lock the rest of you up," he said.

"That's not happening," David growled. Barry smirked and put the barrel of the gun to David's head.

"No...no...please. I'll go...I'll go…" Snow cried. Barry smirked and grabbed her arm.

"Please...just let me say goodbye," she pleaded. He relented and she turned to her husband.

"Snow…" he whispered, as their eyes met.

"I love you," she said and he could tell by her look that she had a plan.

"I'll find you," he promised.

"I know," she replied, as they shared a passionate kiss and as expected, Barry pulled her away by the arm. She faked a stumble and elbowed him in the gut. It knocked the wind out of him, allowing David the opening to tackle him. The gun flew out of his hand and Snow grabbed it, as David overpowered the older man and got him into a headlock. He applied pressure and Barry passed out. Just for good measure and satisfaction, he gave him a punch to the face to ensure he'd feel it when he woke up. Snow sighed in relief and he pulled her into his arms.

"Let's go home," Emma said, as she joined her parents and hugged them.

"I second that," Rumple agreed.

"Thanks again...but we really have to go," Emma told Cleo.

"Wait Emma…" she called, as the blonde turned back.

"I don't know what's going on here and I sense it's way above my head, but I know this guy. He won't let up," Cleo said, as she briefly glanced at Snow.

"If he knows about wherever it is that you're going back to and thinks there's a case and even a possible payday...then you need to do something to protect yourselves," Cleo warned. Emma nodded, as they made their way out.

"She's right...any ideas?" David asked.

"During the curse, Cora had a barrier around the town. Only with a magical object could you gain access," Rumple explained.

"He's right...that's how I got in with Greg and Detective Bishop. Cora sent us an enchanted map," Tink confirmed.

"And we got in, because of Emma and the author's pen," Snow agreed.

"With the curse broken...the barrier is gone and the town is open for anyone to find," Rumple said.

"Do you have another barrier spell, Rumple?" Belle asked.

"One can be created. I'll need Regina's help and ingredients from Cora's vault. However, I believe we should go a step further," he replied.

"What do you mean?" Emma asked.

"It will take a powerful spell, but we need to create a barrier and cut off Storybrooke from all the realms. It's the only way we will ever know peace," Rumple replied.

"Then that's what we should do. Can it be done?" Snow asked.

"Yes...but we need to hurry back. Our sleazy private investigator back there won't be unconscious for long," Rumple said.

"Let's get back to the airport and get the hell out of this city then," David agreed, as they made their way back to the rental cars.

[rainingincale]

I just saw your tags on the "harry was oppressed" post. Might elaborate on that when you are not tired? How Zayn was oppressed? His relationship to ot4. Other celebrities? I love your thoughts!

*cracks knuckles* buckle your seat belts folks we’re in for a wild ride here lmao.

also for context *here* is the post this anon is referring to

I think to start off i should just make a little disclaimer, everything i am going to discuss will be based in my biases probably seeing as I am also a brown British Pakistani person who is Muslim. Zayn has been someone that especially when i was younger I looked up to and was very essential in my journey of learning to love and accept myself and my culture tbh. It’s cheesy as hell but it’s true and i think this is important to know before I go into this more because like I said i am definitely biased towards him. Another thing is that I’m just going to be discussing my personal opinions and also my memory is not very good so i will probably miss out a lot of other things that happened/could be discussed. please dont take this as anything more than just. my opinion.

A thing that really opened my eyes to racism and especially the racism in the 1d fandom was the day that zayn left. I dont think thats what the post above was about btw and ill go into that but i kind of just want to talk about this. The day he left was. a severe mess. Not only because it was obviously upsetting but because of all the bs that people were spouting about a situation that absolutely no one had any context on. the statement that was released on facebook gave us nothing. literally just stated that zayn was leaving the band and the accusations and hatred people were directing towards zayn when we didnt know what actually fucking happened (and still dont might i add) was disgusting. people accusing him of being selfish and how they hated him and why he had to ruin everything. Accusing him of using mental illness as an excuse and lying about it and so much more. i had unfollow more than half of the people i followed that day. it really opened my eyes to the fact that these were all thoughts and opinions people had underneath it all and zayn was fine as long as he was part of 1d and giving people what they wanted. which was essentially being the token in the group and once he wasnt providing that anymore? people turned and people turned fast.

i think its also important to point out the flip side of it and that was zayn stans saying that 1d were nothing without 1d etc. i want to talk about why this was different from ot4 stans hating zayn. of course it wasnt nice to see or hear EVERYONE arguing with each other. i hated it so much. but i think what people failed to realise was that when it comes to situations like this you need to look deeper and think about all the nuances of the situation. zayn stans being happy about zayn leaving the band and saying 1d was going to die i did not agree with. anyone who knew me then and knows me now knows that i am a 1d stan regardless (preferably ot5 but i supported 1d until the end even as a 4some) BUT these opinions were rooted in his mistreatment in the band and the racism he was having to face as a result of being in the band etc etc i apologise for not being a person who can better describe and explain this situation but hopefully you are getting the picture. when fans were hating on zayn. with no context with nothing. that was based on racism. point blank. the amount of tweets FROM 1D FANS talking about how he was leaving to join isis and how upset fans were gonna be vulnerable and join etc etc all this deplorable bs. and he had to deal with comments like that throughout his whole time with one direction and i imagine even now. 

Another thing id like to talk about is who zayn stans at least from my point of view usually were. For me i remember when i first got into the fandom i actively made the decision that i didnt want zayn to be my favourite because i didnt want to be a stereotype and this was a point in my life when i still tried to shun and push my culture down because i was ashamed of it. it was only as i slowly saw that zayn was considered as cool and hot and everyone else liked him that i kind of understood that maybe. being brown was alright and it was something cool and that maybe i was cool. it sounds fucked up and honestly i dont even know if i want to be admitting this so adamantly but argh if it helps someone understand then maybe its worth it. (mortifying ordeal of being known eh?) anyways i noticed as i engaged more in fandom and looked for more diversity, more fans like me, majority of non white fans were also... zayn stans. and honestly it makes sense because we all tended to flock towards the closest diversity we could find it seems. im not saying that there werent white zayn stans and that the other boys didnt have non white stans but i just wanted to point out this trend. so when you also take this into account and the fact that on the day zayn left it was majorly... white stans who were criticizing zayn it puts it in perspective for you. majority of fans who still like and support zayn are also not white.

there is a lot more to do with fans but hopefully thats enough of an insight and you can understand the kind of vibes that were present during 1ds prime and what not only zayn had to go through but also as a result the racism we ended up having to deal with as well tbh.

now!!!... something i dont really like talking about lol so this will probably be short but the other boys. so as far as i can remember liams always been kind to zayn since hes left (no surprise there <3 also please correct me if im wrong), niall was kind of indifferent/didnt say anything really, and then there was louis and harry *awkward smile*. hahaha. from my memory i remember when asked about what the most difficult thing was about zayn leaving harry said ‘the paperwork’ which was *awkward smile* and he also kicked that monkey mask/pinata? i cant remember with naughty boys face on it and honestly im sure theres more but his overall reaction to zayn leaving was kind of not caring and maybe being slightly nasty which :) with louis there was the massive twitter fight which literally tears my soul in half so lets not go into that haha and honestly other things where it maybe seemed like he was upset with zayn leaving as well. honestly i am a bit in two minds about these reactions because at the end of the day we dont know what occurred behind the scenes and we probably never will as much as we can speculate or whatever. not to mention that this 10th anniversary it seems maybe everyones on good terms which, who knows really im going to try be optimistic. i think whats important to note about heir reactions is that we dont know anything about their situations but the problem was really how fans reacted tbh (btw i forgot to mention earlier this is about basically everything except for harry and the nb thing. that is inexcusable). the boys reactions were understandable but the problem is that fans of course vicariously are influenced by the boy they stan so when one of them acted a certain way of course that ended up reflecting in fandom and resulted in more racism etc. 

another thing with zayn was that there were many files leaked with like promo or whatever basically describing what kind of role the boys would take on/ their image etc. and of course all the other boys got things like bubbly/funny/charming etc and zayns descriptors? moody, mysterious, dark horse etc etc like from the inception of 1d zayn has been victim to racist stereotypes being pushed on him. and i think this is where harry comes in because of course the image pushed onto him was also extremely harmful and i definitely dont think we should not talk about that but often you'll see that... thats all that is talked about because people are uncomfortable admitting racism and talking about it. 

When i mentioned other celebrities my point was basically just that while ive only talked about zayn in one direction this... is so present among any and every fandom. 5sos, Little Mix, Fifth Harmony... any fandom you can think of, i promise you it is there. racism in fandom is a real thing and a big problem and honestly this is why i always say representation is so important. and when i say that i mean everywhere!!! because if I didnt seek out non white fans to follow then maybe i would’ve had a completely different perspective on all of this.

The thing is also that a lot of this is just stuff that we’ve been able to get our hands on and also fan analysis and theories etc. there is probably so much more to talk bout or go into or stuff we’ll never even know about. I’ve kind of had to make peace with the fact that with celebrities you just really don’t actually know anything about them.

I think i’ll end this here if there’s any more questions you have about anything feel free to ask! and again this is all just my opinion  but hopefully i’ve been able to help answer you <3 have a nice day and i hope youre hydrated!!!

[elfrootaddict]

HERALD OF ANDRASTE - Chapter 3/4

DESCRIPTION: El'lana’s entire world is turned upside down when she, a proud Dalish elf, is bestowed the title “Herald of Andraste”.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 3

Lana cannot deny that she was slightly annoyed by the interruption. When she sketches, her mind wanders to far off places and thinks about pleasant memories or hopeful visions of her future. It is the best way to distract herself from her usual thoughts which are normally filled with countless worries and pessimism. 

However, after hearing one of Solas’s journeys in the Fade, she finds herself completely captivated and has to know more. 

It is common knowledge in Thedas, that magic and the Fade are intrinsically linked. Knowledge of the Fade amongst the Dalish has been understandably specific, and only suited to the needs of keeping one's clan safe. Throughout the ages, such precious knowledge has been passed on from Keeper to Keeper, and unfortunately for Lana there would almost never be any new insight into the mysteries of the Fade. 

And now, for the first time in her life, someone else can tell her more about the Fade than the Keeper, and Lana decides to seize the opportunity to learn as much as she can. 

Although she does not want to come across completely self-serving, despite her noble pursuit of more knowledge, Lana decides a bit of give-and-take between them is the polite thing to do before she asks him an abundance of questions about the Fade. 

“Before you go Solas, I was hoping, if it was no trouble of course, to tell me more about yourself? Where-”

“Why?” interrupts Solas skeptically with a sudden and unexpected shift in demeanor.

“Um... why not?”

“Privacy? Caution? Concern about the direction of this Inquisition once our work is done?”

Visibly uncomfortable by his indifferent response, Lana averts her gaze and turns away, “Ir abelas. I didn’t mean…,” and turns to look at him once more. “I wasn’t asking as someone whose part of the Inquisition. You don’t have to tell me anything. Ar dirth’ma.”

Feeling utterly embarrassed by the awkward tension between them, Lana’s cheeks flush with a soft hue of red as she quickly gathers her things to leave. This was not how she expected things would go by asking what she assumed to be a simple, innocent question.

Things really are different here than back home. Creators, I just want to go home.

Feeling guilty for his unnecessary impertinence, Solas relaxes his shoulders and releases a loud, audible sigh of regret, “No, I am sorry...with so much fear in the air...”

With her belongings collected and held tightly in her arms, Lana stands while still refusing to meet his gaze. Solas promptly stands as well and to Lana’s surprise, he continues to pursue with his feeble attempt at an apology.  

“Shall we go for a walk? We will feel far less of the cold if we’re moving instead of sitting idly.”

Lana pauses before turning around with a weak smile and murmurs, “Sure, that sounds like a good idea.” and Solas smiles softly in return, and gestures for Lana to walk ahead of him. 

Once reaching a lengthy distance between them, Lana turns around and watches Solas, with his staff in hand, catch up with her.

Only once Solas is at her side, does Lana begin to notice how tall he actually is. He may not be as tall as Lhoris, but he is still tall enough that she needs to turn her head up to meet his gaze.

Lana and Solas begin their descent down the steps towards Haven’s tavern and Solas eventually breaks the silence, “So, what would you know of me, da’len?”

Still feeling anxious by his cold response only moments before, Lana cautiously and hesitantly asks, “I was wondering… are you from the city? Only because I was told only city elves don’t have a vallaslin.”

“No.”

“But, if you’re not a city elf...”

“Not all elves are resigned to being either ‘city’ or ‘Dalish’. I, for one, have always preferred to keep to myself.”

“So, does that mean you’ve always been alone?”

Solas elaborates with a gentle smile, “Not at all. I have built lasting friendships. Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of Purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

Lana begins to feel a little more at ease due to Solas’s happier conduct and attempts to make eye contact, “I didn’t realise that there are Spirits that go by those names. Why haven’t I heard of them before?”

“They rarely seek this world,” answers Solas grimly. “When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter,” Solas and Lana pass Varric’s tent and take a sharp left down a small flight of steps. “Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted into Pride and Desire.”

Shocked, Lana stops halfway down the steps and softly cries out, “So you’re saying... you became friends with Pride and Desire demons?”

Solas also stops and drops his head as he releases a loud, audible sigh before slowly turning around, “They were not demons... for me.”

Lana stares blankly at Solas as she tries not to jump to any immediate assumptions. Even though she knows very little, to almost nothing about Solas, he does not appear to be someone who is either naive or blissfully ignorant. In fact, he seems to have something of a quiet confidence. His strides always seem purposeful and with intent. Therefore, it they were not demons for him as he so claims, then as strange as it seem, the Spirits really were just as he says - ones of Wisdom and Purpose.

However, based on Lana’s bemused expression, Solas realises he clearly needs to explain, “The Fade reflects the mind of the living. If you expect a Spirit of Wisdom to be a Pride demon, it will adapt,” and gestures for them to continue walking onwards. “And if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the Spirit? They can be fast friends.”

“I honestly had no idea that some demons are actually... twisted, innocent Spirits. That’s… that’s actually quite sad,”

“Yes, it is.”

Looking up at Solas respectfully, “And you say that you managed to become friends with some of them? Without them even turning into demons? That really is incredible, Solas.”

Having reached the end of the stairs, they take another left and pass a merchant selling weapons and armour, “Oh! Oh! You are the Herald of Andraste!”

“Please, I’m not-”

“Why, it is an honour! Are you in need of anything? Please let me know what I can get for you?”

Lana manages to stop herself from correcting the man and chooses to humbly smile instead, “No, but thank you. I’m just passing by. You have a good evening, messere.” and offers a subtle nod of respect.

The merchant freezes and awkwardly bows nervously as Lana and Solas continue with their slow stroll through Haven. 

Once out of ear shot, Lana looks to Solas just as puzzled as the merchant, “Did I say something wrong?”

Lana’s naivety causes Solas to release a soft chuckle, “You addressed him with too much honour. You are the Herald of Andraste, after all. To him, the beloved Andraste sent you back from the Fade to save the people of Haven. He should be addressing you with ‘messere’, not the other way around.”

“But he’s still a human and I’m an elf. And I wish they would stop calling me the ‘Herald of Andraste’. I’m no herald of anything, least of all Andraste!”

“It matters not. The people of Haven will believe what they must. Posturing is necessary.”

Lana looks up at Solas with a deep set frown, “I won’t be deceitful.”

“I understand. However, you are a sign of hope to them, no matter your objections or beliefs.”

Lana ponders on Solas’s words for a moment before whispering, “It’s just… I’m Dalish, Solas. Dalish! How can I claim to be the Herald of their Andraste when my very vallaslin represents Mythal? I don’t see how-”

“Again, people will choose to believe, and even blissfully ignore, what they must. You cannot control this. What you can control however, are your actions,” Solas stops walking to regard Lana sternly. “How far are you willing to exert your power over their ignorance? Do you seek even more power? Glory perhaps? Maybe revenge for your people?”

Lana takes a step back and cries out, “I want none of those things! As I said before, I just want to help fix this mess so that I can go home!”

“And whilst I believe your intentions to be true, albeit naive, it is far easier said than done,” Solas takes a few steps ahead of Lana and stares at the Breach in the sky. “I have seen far too many tyrants and traitors in my travels, who always start with good intentions, only to be poisoned by their lust for more power. Constantly lying to themselves that their hearts have not changed, and that their goals are still pure.”

Angered by the insinuations, Lana lunges herself in front of Solas, “Are you saying that I will become a tyrant? Or a traitor?”

Unmoved by her outburst, Solas holds onto his staff with both hands as he peers down at Lana calmly, “No. What I am saying is that only time will tell. Hopefully, you have enough integrity that you may never be remembered as such,” and removes his gaze from Lana. “Although, history does have a way of repeating itself.”

Lana also averts her gaze and looks down at the mark on her hand. Although her face appears seemingly neutral, her eyes give away her internal struggles over her overwhelming responsibility.

Solas notices Lana’s silence and releases a quiet sigh, “I’m sorry. I only meant to advise. I was too forward with my questions.”

“No that’s okay,” murmurs Lana as she tucks her hand back under arm and looks up towards the Breach. “What you said is true. It’s just... I can’t believe this is happening. I may be First to my clan but this is something else entirely.”

“Yes, it is.”

As Lana continues to stare at the Breach circling above her, she slowly begins to lose herself in her mind, and almost forgets that Solas is still standing behind her.

Eventually, Lana snaps herself out of her ominous thoughts and turns back around to face Solas, “Ir abelas. What were you going to say before? Before the merchant?’

Solas brings his staff back to his side and begins walking once again, “We were talking about Spirits.”

Lana turns and walks alongside him, “Oh yes, of course. I still find it incredible that you managed to become friends with Spirits, Solas. It’s completely unheard of.”

“Anyone who can dream has the potential. Few ever try. My friends comforted me in my grief and shared in my joy. Yet because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that Spirits are not truly people. Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?”   

Lana releases a loud and unexpected cheerful laugh, “Creators, that chest chair!” and continues laughing for a moment more. “And you have a good point. I really like the way you look at the world, Solas. I never thought of it like that before.”

Finding Lana’s laugh infectious, Solas releases a quiet, cheerful chuckle of his own, “I try…” and looks down at Lana with a slight grin. “And that isn’t quite an answer.”

“WelI, I’d love to meet one of these Spirits some day,” retorts Lana innocently as she regards Solas with her wide and welcoming lavender eyes. “Hopefully, we can try to make some new friends?”

Solas finds her cheerful manner infectious, considering the situation, and his smile widens. He actually cannot remember the last time he heard somebody laugh so easily and with so much joy. It was a sound he was not used to hearing, but it was a sound he found his heart ache for.

But, remembering who she is and especially who he is, Solas suppresses his emotions, clears his throat and stumbles out a dispassionate response, “That should be… well.”

Assuming his reaction to be only shyness, Lana playfully nudges him and laughs, “That isn’t quite an answer, either.”

They reach a fork at the end of the road where one path leads out of Haven and another to an unused trebuchet. They immediately notice a well placed boulder, low and wide enough for them both to sit on. Solas gestures for Lana to find her place first and he follows suit, holding onto his staff with both hands as he sits down next to her.

Resting her fur, parchments, ink and quill on her lap, Lana tucks some hair behind her right ear and turns to Solas, “Earlier, I remember you saying you travelled to many different places in the Fade?”

Solas smiles and admires the horizon, watching the setting sun fill the sky with its bright orange and pink hues. 

Solas begins to tell her about Ostagar, where the Hero of Ferelden and grey warden Alistair lit the signal fire only to have Loghain betray them and their King. As Solas looks out towards the horizon, Lana can see the passion glistening in his eyes as he every so often releases a subtle smile and cheerful head nods.

For a man who claims he would rather keep to himself and not engage with others, it takes surprisingly little effort for Lana to have him to open up and share his journeys so readily. It is almost as if she is the first person to ask him about them at all. 

Why wouldn’t people wish to know him? Or does he prevent them from doing so? 

Deciding it could be neither or it could be both, either way Lana can sense there is a lot hiding behind his silent, controlled exterior. 

Just like her father, Lana is highly sensitive and can usually, quite accurately, pick up on people’s subtle body languages. It isn’t so much as a literal observation as it is more a feeling. Just as one can sense another presence in a room; where you feel it deep in your bones, with your senses heighten, as you become keenly aware that you are not alone. 

For Lana, this level of sensitivity is both a blessing and a curse. Just as she can sense the nuances in people, she is also highly susceptible to being hurt by it. It doesn’t take a lot for her to feel emotionally overwhelmed and this is usually why being alone usually brings her such comfort or she would prefer to be around people that she’s completely herself with, and who truly know her.

Moved by another one of Solas’s journeys, Lana finds herself truly envious over his experiences and wishes she knew what he did. And that’s when it suddenly clicks. 

Lana almost leaps onto Solas with her eyes wide with exhilaration, “Solas! Enasal! Surely your travels took you to an ancient ruin of our people? Can you tell me anything about the ancient elvhen? Please, you must know something!”

Solas leans back displeased, “I thought you would be more interested in sharing your opinions of elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?”

Lana also leans away in response and answers proudly, “The Dalish are the best hope for preserving the culture of our people,” and relaxing her stance, Lana cries out again with desperation. “Therefore I implore you, please tell me what you know. We can even find somewhere else to sit so that I can write it all down. Maybe the tavern, where it’s warmer?” and lifts up her parchments with a cheeky smile. “I already have what I need right here.”

Solas releases a loud, audible sigh and walks several paces away from Lana. As he surveys the sunset, he squares his shoulders while holding onto his staff with both hands and snaps, “Our people. You use that phrase so casually. It should mean more…” and pauses for a moment before murmuring. “But the Dalish have forgotten that. Amongst other things.”

Disturbed and shocked by Solas’s crassness towards her people, Lana struggles to verbalise her immediate thoughts and only manages a meek response, “I’m sorry?”

Solas, clearly irritated, turns on his heel to face her and barks, “While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade,” and spins back towards the sunset. “I have seen things they have not.”

Wholly offended by Solas’s tactless accusations, and also tired of his uneven mood, Lana feels her infamous temper bubbling beneath the surface. The longer Solas stares out towards the horizon in silence, the faster her heart begins to beat. 

Feeling like a kettle hanging above the fire, with the lid jumping and rattling as it reaches its capacity to hold the heat within, Lana clutches tightly onto the fur lying on her lap as she cries out, “The Dalish are trying to restore elven history! If you know something Solas, share it!”

Solas whips his head back around, “Would your clan listen to what I had learned in my studies? My travels? Or would they mock the flat-ear and his stories, and go back to their ruins?”

Lana gasps in anger as she shoots up, causing her belongings to fall on the ground and leaps towards him with fury burning in her eyes. Leaving only a few inches between them. Solas manages to hold his composure, but is internally floored by the extent of her outburst. Up until now, she gave no absolutely no indication that she is capable of such rage. 

What a serious miscalculation on his part. 

Solas immediately sees the error of his ways and regrets accusing Lana, and her clan, for crimes they did not even commit against him. It was unworthy of him and he knows better than to let his pride speak for him. Solas wants to immediately rectify the situation but realises it is too late. Nothing he does now will suffice.

“How dare you! Why do you hold such hostility towards the Dalish? What could my people possibly have done to you that they deserve such hatred?” Solas tries to interject but Lana continues shouting over him. “I may not know what the clans in Ferelden are like, but I do know that my Keeper would never turn away someone like you! You can’t paint us all with the same brush!”

Lana removes herself from Solas and begins to pace from side to side as she continues to reiterate her anger. “She’va dhal, lethallin! Why don’t you consider yourself elvhen? One of the People?” and with her hands stretched out in desperation. “Ma halani! Lasa ghilan!”

Lana’s face is twisted by the angst in her heart as she stares at Solas with her large, lavender eyes flicking with fury and frustration, while Solas continues to appear seemingly unmoved and calm.

Their pride, inflated. Her rage, unrestrained. And his regret, infinite. 

Realising that she is getting nothing but a cold response from Solas, Lana releases a loud huff, and spins around to gather her things from the ground as she cannot stand to be in this damn Fereldan cold any longer, and especially with such impertinent company.

Once she has her things firmly in her grasp, she turns back and peers heavily into Solas’s calm, dusty blue eyes, “Keep your secrets, then. Ma banal las halanshir var vhen... harellan.” and using her shoulder, she shoves Solas out of her way as she storms off in the direction from which they came.

Solas turns around and watches Lana push on as she heads towards her cabin lying directly ahead in the far distance. 

And as she brushes past the people, they turn around in shock towards Solas, and very quickly begin to gossip amongst themselves. 

It turns out, Varric was wrong. She can bite.

Elvish to English Translation:

“Ir abelas” = I’m sorry

“Ar dirth’ma” = I understand

“Enasal” = (emotion) Joyful relief

“She’va dhal!” = I’m struggling to believe what I’m seeing or hearing!

“Ma halani! Lasa ghilan!” = You could help us! You could guide us!

“Ma banal las halanshir var vhen, harellan” = You do nothing to further our people, traitor.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

READ ON AO3

Halla & Wolf Series

[perspective-series]

Switched Perspective (12)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Mentions of Past Trauma, Revenge, and Mention of Deceit

(Check the reblog for the links to the previous chapters and the prequel!)

This is a sequel to A Third Perspective! Read that first or you will be confused!

Prepare yourselves guys...

 Smirking, Virgil poked Logan’s side. “Logan, wake up.” He said.

 Logan let out a groan, startled by the pressure to his side. He sat up slightly, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses before taking in his surroundings. Looking up at Virgil and realizing this hadn’t all been some elaborate dream, Logan turned an ashen gray. “...oh.”

 “Yeah, ‘oh’ is right. And guess what?” Virgil leaned in real close. “It’s just the two of us now.”

 Logan tried to back away but was stopped when he collided with Virgil’s curled fingers forming a wall. Why were they alone? Where had Thomas gone? Why had he ever listened to that idiot Roman? He should have told Patton when he still had the chance.

 “They’ll come back for me,” Logan said, although even he wasn’t so sure. Had everyone agreed this was for the best? Was it a group decision to sacrifice him to Virgil?

 Virgil hummed. “Maybe, but by then it’ll have been too late.” Virgil changed his grip so he was now holding Logan in a fist. “You’ll already be broken. Just like I was.” He moved the beaker closer and dropped Logan inside, watching him through the glass.

 “This look familiar to you?”

 Logan tumbled against the smooth glass, hitting his head in the fall on the wall hard enough to certainly leave a bump. He groaned, putting a hand to his head as he stood up. Looking at Virgil through the glass distorted the view, making Virgil appear even more ghastly and threatening than before.

 “Yes.” Logan was hesitant, but he knew he couldn’t get away without giving Virgil answers.

 “Hmm, thought so. How about this.” Virgil picked up the notebook and held it up, waving it in Logan’s line of sight. “Hope you don’t mind, but I sorta destroyed everything in it.” Virgil opened up the journal, revealing the ripped pages. He shrugged and kicked the paper at his feet for good measure.

 “That’s fair,” Logan admitted. Though he hated seeing one of his beloved notebooks torn to shreds, he did have to destroy the borrower evidence kept inside anyways. Hopefully, it had at least been therapeutic for Virgil to be the one to do it.

 Virgil glared at him, having hoped for a better reaction. He huffed and took a seat at the desk. He grabbed the gloves and made a show of putting them on, before grabbing a pencil and opening the notebook in front of him. “...I wonder how tall you are?” Virgil asked out loud, pretending to look deep in thought as he looked Logan over.

 “Oh, but would you look at that, you’re moving way too much to be able to get an accurate reading,” Virgil said, despite the fact Logan was completely still. He reached his hand in, and in similar fashion to what Logan had done to him, pressed him up against the glass. “There we go.” He went ahead and wrote down the number.

 Logan let out a slight groan, his head injury pressing up against the glass in an uncomfortable fashion. “...how tall am I?” Logan had the guts to say, curious about if his borrower height differed from Virgil’s.

 “Huh, you’re actually my height. Or, er, my borrower height.” Virgil said before he blinked and glared at Logan. “Wait a second, no!” He took his hand away, letting Logan fall to the bottom of the glass again.

 “You’re supposed to be scared. Not asking me questions.” Virgil growled out. Why did Logan have to be so frustrating?

 “Oh, I am scared.” Logan clarified, brushing off his clothing. And he was, but Logan knew this was mostly instinctual fear and thus could be suppressed. Also, the glass barrier between them made Logan feel a bit bolder. “But I also know you’re not going to hurt me. Of course, that’s assuming your own word can be trusted.”

 “No, no, no.” Virgil shook his head. “You’re supposed to be panicking and shaking and-and crying just like I was!” This wasn’t working, his idea wasn’t working. Fine, new plan. 

 Virgil stood up so he was towering over Logan. He took off the gloves before reaching in and grabbing Logan in a fist, taking him out and holding him close to his face. “Fine. Then let’s talk, hmm? Because I just got a very interesting call from a certain someone just before you got here.”

 “Wait, what?” Logan was now nervous, not sure what was going on. At least when Virgil was doing his little bit of repeating Logan’s own actions, Logan could predict what would happen next. The uncertainty was a mystery Logan didn’t wish to explore.

 “Yeah. Professor Dee. You know, the one you were going to show me off to? Well, he called about wanting his cage back...and the occupants inside.” Virgil glared and tightened his grip a little more, not enough to hurt him though. “He told me you had discussed it before.” Virgil shook his head.

 “Looks like I was right about you after all.”

 “L-Let me explain myself!” Logan spoke up frantically, feeling the grip slowly tightening around him. “It was when we were searching for my phone. The dean began to threaten me and asked for me to give him both in exchange for knowledge about the phone’s whereabouts.”

 “But-!” Logan rapidly finished his explanation. “I only agreed to his deal because he asked for the cage and its current occupants. You and Patton were safely in Roman’s care at the time, so all I promised was an empty cage. Which I was planning on returning, regardless.”

 “And why should I believe you?” Virgil asked, throwing his free hand up for emphasis. He then pointed it at Logan. “You already planned on doing it once before, I can’t imagine it would be too hard to convince you to do it again.” He thought back to another thing Dee had said. “Especially if it counted towards your masters program, which you seem to care a lot about.” Anything to do with school, it seemed Logan cared a lot about.

 “Virgil, you know how I acted,” Logan argued. “You are the one individual who saw me at my worst. I was calloused and calculating and cruel. My sole motivation in life was to impress Professor Dee and get myself into that masters program. That presentation was my best chance, and all I had to do was give you up. Certainly, if I was going to turn you in that was the optimal time to do it. So why didn’t I do it then?”

 “I don’t know! Maybe you actually did have a change of heart there for a while, maybe not. Either way, how do I know that Dee didn’t convince you to just do it? You were adamant on keeping us after all, of putting us in this cage.” He motioned towards the cage. “Maybe Dee said you’d be able to keep Patton if you turned me in! Because clearly, you liked him much better than me, what with how Patton is way too friendly for his own good and you could take advantage of that.”

 “I wasn’t trying to take advantage of Patton!” Logan insisted. “I was trying to positively bond with both of you, but given my behavior upon our first meeting, it’s no surprise my efforts failed there. But regardless of my failures, I had-have- no intention of turning either of you into that insane failure of a scholar.”

 Virgil grit his teeth. “Fine, let's say I believe you. That doesn’t negate the fact you still wanted to keep us, even as Roman agreed to let us go. You simply agreed because you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop Roman, but if it wasn’t for him both Patton and I would be sitting in that cage.”

 “For your own good!” Logan blurted out, before realizing that Virgil would not see it the same way.

 Virgil’s eyes twitched. “For our...own good.” Virgil stared at Logan. “And what could you possibly mean by that?” Virgil growled, his anger quickly becoming out of control.

 “W-Well…” Logan whimpered slightly, leaning as far back as Virgil’s fist allowed. “You kept hurting yourself trying to escape, and I thought...if there was someplace you could stay without being able to harm yourself…” Logan trailed off; even he noticed how weak his argument sounded.

 “Harming myself-? Wait.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You mean when I was running against the beaker, right? Well, newsflash nerd, but I wouldn’t be trying to harm myself if I hadn’t been trying to escape.” Virgil sighed.

 “You really think keeping me trapped would have fixed that? No.” Virgil sneered, bringing Logan closer. “Any other reasons you think it would have been ‘good’ for us?”

 “S-Shelter?” Logan cringed, trying to offer up all his reasons so that maybe Virgil would take pity on him. Of course, both knew that was highly unlikely. “Food? Water? Higher standard of living? Warmth? Protection?”

 Virgil leaned back, narrowing his eyes. “...Are you saying we can’t take care of ourselves? That we’re completely helpless when it comes to surviving? Besides, even if we were, what right do you have to make that decision for us? Huh?”

 “I-I know that now!” Logan backpedaled. “It’s a common human error, assuming a lesser species is incapable of sustaining itself. I had no right to try and interfere with the delicate borrower ecosystem.”

 “No, you didn’t.” Virgil was getting tired of this. He couldn’t tell for sure whether Logan was saying was the truth or not. For all Virgil knew, everything he said could be a lie, a way to save himself from Virgil. Virgil stood up, Logan still in hand.

 He silently made his way to the door, opening it and heading up the stairs, past the fifth floor and still going.

 “Uh, V-Virgil?” Logan asked quietly, trying to duck down. He was worried by Virgil’s behavior. Usually, Virgil was so focused on keeping borrowers a secret, yet now he carried Logan out into the stairwell without a care in the world. Logan’s concern only grew when he noticed them pass Roman’s floor. There was only one thing above the 5th floor: the roof.

 Virgil had been to the roof many times as a borrower. It was peaceful, especially at night and it allowed him a quiet space to think. Virgil looked up, the stars were out and looking down below, there didn’t seem to be anyone out and about. It was just Virgil and Logan outside tonight.

 Perfect.

 Logan shivered, a cold breeze blowing over his head. The altitude made the air especially freezing on his tiny frame.

 “Virgil, why are we up here?” Logan asked, hating the look on Virgil’s face and the fact the human wasn’t answering his questions.

 Virgil didn’t answer, instead going over to the edge of the building. He did smirk at the fear in Logan’s voice though. His other plan hadn’t worked, hadn’t caused as much fear as he had hoped. Nowhere close to what he had felt. So...maybe this would.

 He reached the hand holding Logan out, past the edge of the building.

 A drop of five stories if Virgil were to let go.

[just-come-baek]

Jewels 2 | final

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Themes: some angst with a sprinkle of fluff | adventure!au | archaeologist!reader | dodger!Jungkook

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: nothing greater than what happened in the first part

Summary: Nobody said it’s going to be easy, but when Jeon Jungkook, the handsome troublemaker, tags along on my adventure, my simple trip morphs into a life-threatening mission. I was to find an ancient necklace and gain fame in the archeology field, but thanks to Jungkook’s mischeif, we attracted lots of unnecessary attention and plenty of enemies.

A/N I don’t know if tumblr links work again, but if you want to read the first part, you just have to do that through my masterlist

I was royally screwed, and it was all Jungkook’s fault.

Though I was caught, and later on tied up, I just sat there, thinking of getting my revenge. I was aware it was pointless since it was apparent that the smugglers would either rape me and sell me off, or rape me and kill me afterward, but I just couldn’t help myself.

If only I could have a moment with Jungkook alone, if only I could put my hands on him, damn, I’d shred him into pieces. He had lied to me – multiple times, he had put my life in danger – also multiple times, and on top of that, that son of a bitch had stolen the necklace out of my backpack, stripping me of my secret weapon against these men.

They had brought me to their campsite sometime in the evening; now it was the middle of the night. I was freezing, the robe around my wrists was scratching my skin, and I was thirsty as hell. Too bad, the smugglers gave no shit about my needs. Once in a while, one of them would come to check up on me, but it wasn’t because they cared. They would glance at me, (read: eye-fuck me), say something in their language (probably life threats), and then leave.

I was their captive, and I hated every second of it, and frankly, making up ways of getting my revenge on Jungkook was the only thing that kept me away from going crazy. If I ever made it alive, Jungkook would wish to be dead.

Sometime before the dawn, I dozed off.

At least, I tried to doze off because as soon as I closed my eyes, feeling the embrace of sleep, one of the smugglers poured a bucket of ice-cold water on me, jolting me awake.

“What the fuck?” I yelled at him, but he just turned around and left without a word. “So gentlemanly of you,” I muttered, being overly irritable so early in the morning. Judging by my attitude and willingness to crack jokes, I must’ve been getting better.

A bit annoyed, I tried to wriggle. Unfortunately, my attempts to free myself were fruitless. I only scratched my skin some more.

I felt like a damsel in distress, and it didn’t sit right with me; especially when my knight in the shining armor was a lying motherfucker who had actually put me in this situation. Instead of helping me out, he had only attracted more trouble, and as soon as he had got a chance, he had run off with my necklace hidden in his pocket.

This whole situation was hysterical. I should’ve listened to my guts. There had always been a mischievous gleam in Jungkook’s eyes; why the fuck had I ignored it all the time?

My train of thought was interrupted by another smuggler. Unlike all the others, he was taller, and generally better groomed. He couldn’t be good news.

With his eyes fixated on me, he dragged a chair across the ground, placing it in front of me. His intense stare gave me chills, but I tried to play it cool; he attempted to intimidate me, but I had nothing to lose, so I decided not to give him that satisfaction.

The man said something in a rough voice, and though he sounded kinda sexy, it didn’t help me at all with comprehension. It seemed similar to French, but I don’t speak it, so I had absolutely no clue what he wanted to tell me.

A little annoyed with me, he stood up, grabbed my chin, and made me face him. Slowly, he was losing his patience, but no matter what, I wouldn’t magically start understanding him. At this point, I could only speculate what he meant, and though I wasn’t sure he probably said something along, “don’t get used to such luxuries, doll face. My men and I are going to fuck you senseless, and then we’re gonna sell you off as soon as we reach land.”

It was just a random guess, though.

When for the tenth time he didn’t get any reply from me, he also left.

The entire day no one stopped by to check up on me. I hadn’t eaten since the energy bar the day before, and now, my stomach was growling loudly. Too bad they wouldn’t understand my complaints regarding their poor hospitality.

It was my second day without food and water and sleep, and I could swear I was starting to have sound hallucinations. It was impossible, but my deprived mind was assured that the bushes around the campsite buzzed a faint “psst” at me.

The smugglers had better give me some food or else they’re going to sell a lunatic, and I was doubtful that they would get a large amount of money for someone in my state of mind.

I was on the verge of fainting at this point, but once again, I thought I saw something in the bushes. First, it hissed at me, and now, something moved.

Oh my God, it wasn’t a snake, was it?

Judging by the commotion it was making, it was a god damn big snake. Moreover, this time around, I didn’t have anybody to hide behind. I was tied to a fucking pole, completely defenseless. Even if I tried calling for help, these smugglers wouldn’t understand me.

Was it an anaconda? A Cobra? A boa?

When to come to think about it, I’d rather have the smugglers kill me. One clear shot to my head and it’s over. Who knew what symptoms I would get after the snake’s venom?

“Psst,” once again, I heard it, and it was enough for me to lose it. I started to wriggle like a lunatic, scratching my wrists until I felt the blood slowly oozing out of my fresh wound, the robe now digging into my flesh.

Cautiously, it left the bushes. Then it hit me. The creature wasn’t zigzagging across the ground as a snake would; it was a man trying to sneak into the campsite. After a few steps, I could see it was none other but my knight in shining armor – Jeon Jungkook.

What the hell was he doing here? Did he realize that leaving me was the greatest mistake that he has ever done? Questionable. If he came back, it had to mean that he had some serious trouble with getting out of the island.

“Shh…” Jungkook whispered when he approached me. “Everything is going to be alright,” he added, but I didn’t believe him. It was beyond evident that his intentions of rescuing me weren’t pure. Somehow, it must’ve been to his advantage to help me out.

“Jungkook, watch out,” I screamed, but before Jungkook managed to react, one of the smugglers, the bigger and the best groomed, hit Jungkook’s head with a stick, knocking him unconscious. It was just perfect; my only potential savior was just as screwed as I was.

The smugglers tied Jungkook to a chair and put him in front of me so I could torture myself with his beautiful yet treacherous features.

At first, I recollected the good memories with him; I had fewer of those in my mind, after all. Ignoring all the bad things he had done, it was quite pleasant to think about our time spent in Casablanca. Unfortunately, as soon as we had left it, everything went downhill.

Jungkook was lucky that he was unconscious because if looks could kill, he would have been staked, buried, dug up, and then staked again for good measure.

Jungkook was really lucky that I was tied up because if I could lay my hands on him, he would have wished the smugglers had killed him before me.

In the middle of the night, Jungkook stirred awake. Hopefully, with a terrible headache.

“Hello, Jungkook, what brings you here?” I asked bitterly, genuinely interested in the motives behind his unexpected visit in the smugglers’ campsite. After what he had done to me, it seemed rather odd that he came here because he wanted to rescue a damsel in distress.

“I came here because we were supposed to meet by the chopper, yet you never showed up,” Jungkook explained, but I only snorted, knowing he was bullshitting me right now.

“Try again.”

“But it’s the truth,” he stated, but it was a blatant lie.

“Cut the crap, Jungkook. I know you’ve stolen the necklace from me,” I accused him, and Jungkook remained silent, not even trying to defend himself. “Let me ask you again, why the hell have you come back?”

“OK, fine, I stole the necklace,” Jungkook admitted, and I was quite shocked to hear Jungkook say something true for a change. “But you have to believe me that I came back to get you because I care. At first, I thought I would be fine, but as soon as I reached the chopper, I felt terrible. Now I know that I shouldn’t have betrayed you like that.”

I was speechless, but not because I was touched by his confession. I literally didn’t have anything I wanted to tell him. Maybe he realized his faults, but for me, it was too late. I didn’t need to hear the justification for his actions; I had already made my mind. He had let me down a few times too many, and no apology would make up for it.

“So what was your plan?” I asked, changing the topic. We didn’t have time before the smugglers would leave the island, and I didn’t want to waste it on talking about his feelings. “If you planned getting caught and dying alongside me then I have to congratulate you. Well done, Jungkook,” I added in a mocking tone.

“Have you always been such a bitch?”

“Yeah, if you want me to be nicer, maybe you shouldn’t have double-crossed me.”

“I’ve already apologized for that; what else do you want me to do?” Jungkook said, but I had no recollection of him ever apologizing for anything.

“I have a few ideas actually, but I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna like them.”

“Can you just stop being a bitch for a moment so I can explain my plan to you?” Jungkook asked me angrily, and I just shrugged, waiting for him to elaborate about his plan. “So, I have the necklace in my side pocket,” he started, tilting his head, pointing at his cargo pants. “I thought you could do the trick again and charm them as you did in the cave. When I tried it, it didn’t work,” Jungkook explained, and now, I knew the real reason behind his return.

Of course, he couldn’t use the necklace! Only women could use it to enchant men, so that’s why he came back to get me. He needed me to use it, and get us out of the island. Thankfully, I hadn’t believed in his single word, otherwise, I would’ve thought he could be selfless.

“Do you think you can get closer, so I can take the necklace?” I asked straightforwardly, keeping my emotions (read: animosity) in check. Right now, our relations were strictly business-like; we had a common goal, so we had to put all our differences on hold.

“I have to try, it’s the only chance we have,” Jungkook said before he tried to move toward me. It was very clumsy and loud, but the smugglers seemed to decide to ignore all sounds regarding their captives.

“Why do you think the necklace didn’t work on you back then in the cave?” I wondered out loud since it still bugged me. “Are you sure you’re completely a man?”

“I think I have proven you how manly I am back in Casablanca. Or have you forgotten how you writhed below me?” Jungkook answered cockily, being already half-way to me.

“What? It’s the only explanation I could come up with.”

“Then it’s a wrong explanation,” Jungkook quickly replied, offended by my attempts of hurting his masculinity. “As soon as we get out of here, I can prove you wrong once again,” he added, but at this very moment, I was repulsed by the concept of fucking him. He might’ve had the good looks, but given the circumstances, jumping into his bed was the last thing I’d do. Jungkook was disgusting.

“I think I’ll pass, thank you,” I said, trying to smack his repulsive smirk off of his face. “Do you think you can be a little faster? They can come here anytime,” I urged him, but my words didn’t make him move any faster.

Who knew when the smugglers would come to eye-fuck me again or check if Jungkook regained his consciousness?

“Can you reach it?” Jungkook asked me when he positioned himself behind me. The rope bored deeper in my wounded skin when I tried to reach into his pocket.

“It hurts like hell,” I spoke, biting on my bottom lip, trying to stop myself from crying out in pain. “Can’t you get a little closer?”

“I’ll try,” Jungkook whispered, as he tried to give me better access. “How about now?”

“I almost got it,” I said, stretching my arm as much as I could. “I got it.” With a broad smile, I squeezed my hand around the necklace. I’d never let it go again. If someone wanted to have it, they would have to take it out of my cold hands.

“Now we have to wait for the smugglers to come here,” Jungkook concluded, acting like his typical self. Apparently, he was still resistant to whatever curse the necklace had been hexed with. “Now when they are your little puppets we can leave the island safely.”

“Sure,” I replied, although a few evil ideas ran through my head. With the necklace in my possession, I could control other men.

Before I could let out a chortle, one smuggler came to check on us, and instead of panicking that Jungkook and I were plotting something, he looked at me with heart eyes.

The necklace was working.

“Untie me,” I commanded, and the man obediently fulfilled my request. “Finally,” I added, massaging my sore wrists. I had to have my wounds cleaned, but after a quick examination, I was sure I was going to survive.

“Didn’t you forget about something, sweetheart?” Jungkook asked, hurrying me up.

“Oh, right, how could I forget about you,” I spoke casually, smiling at him. “Slap his face for me, will you?” I ordered, and the man once again did what I told him to do. I watched Jungkook get slapped, and although it was petty of me, it was also extremely satisfying.

“Why would you do that?” Jungkook groaned when his cheek started to sting.

“Slap him again, but harder this time around, okay?”

“Don’t –“ Jungkook wanted to object, but his words were stopped by another powerful swing of the smuggler’s hand. “I came here to save you, and that’s how you’re paying me back?”

“If you didn’t steal the necklace, I wouldn’t need your saving,” I retorted, but Jungkook only snorted. “Bring me something to eat, please,” I ordered the smuggler, and he, with a bright smile on his face, walked away, happy that I chose him out of the others.

“How can you be so cruel?”

“I’m only getting started,” I jested, but Jungkook didn’t seem to be amused. Apparently, he didn’t have a sense of humor when tied to a chair. “But trust me; your fate would be much worse if you weren’t resistant to the necklace.”

“I thought we were a team…”

“We were,” I started, “until you double-crossed me.”

“Is it too late to start over?” Jungkook asked with a sheepish smile, but I ignored him, looking for the man who was supposed to bring me food.

Whatever Jungkook and I had, it was over. He didn’t seem to give up, though, and if he wanted me to talk to him, I had to eat something first.

It was strange to walk amongst drug smugglers, especially when they made me feel as if I were their queen bee. They stared at me with admiration, willing to bend over backward to fulfill all of my wishes. The attention they were giving me was slightly uncomfortable, but after what I had gone through, I deserved some luxuries.

“This way, miss,” the man said, showing me a way to the table which was packed with different types of food. “Bon appetite,” he added before he walked away, letting me enjoy my meal in solitude.

Though I didn’t particularly like eating alone, I found this meal quite enjoyable.

I ate until I was full (read: until I was on the verge of vomiting).

“Gather all men around,” I commanded, and within two minutes all men assembled around me, two of the smugglers even brought Jungkook. “Oh, you’ve brought my captive.”

“I’m not your captive, princess,” Jungkook retorted, but he didn’t speak again when he got slapped for the third time. “I deserved the other slaps, but this one was uncalled for.”

“I want you to pack your things. We’re leaving the island instantly. The drugs are staying here. Is everything clear?” I commanded, and the men quickly ran away in separate ways, getting ready to leave the island.

“You’re ridiculously sexy when you boss them around,” Jungkook commented, somewhat turned on by my behavior. “I like strong women.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll leave you here,” I threatened, and Jungkook immediately stopped talking.

Before the sunrise, everything was set. All the men boarded the plane, while Jungkook and I stayed behind to chat. Though I wasn’t planning to leave him here, I could scare him a little bit. He wouldn’t hesitate to leave me here if he were in my shoes.

“So… what now?” Jungkook asked, now seriously concerned about his well-being.

“Don’t worry; I’ll take you to Ziguinchor. Later on, you gotta cater for yourself,” I explained as I cut the ropes, releasing him. Silently, Jungkook followed me into the plane.

Shortly after, we took off.

“I think I know why the necklace doesn’t work on me,” Jungkook started when our flight was slowly coming to an end. Within thirty minutes, we were to land in Ziguinchor.

“At this point, I don’t really care,” I answered, depriving him of his last chance of messing with my mind. Jungkook knew how to talk, how to wrap women around his finger. He had done it with me once, but now, I was smarter, and I wasn’t going to repeat my mistake.

I just couldn’t let him fool me twice.

“Please, don’t be like that.”

“Fuck you, Jeon. You stole the necklace and let these men hold me captive. It doesn’t matter why you came back. Just shut up, we’re gonna land soon,” I interjected him before he angered me even more. I couldn’t care less about his motivations. For what I cared, he could be pregnant with my baby, and I still wouldn’t like to have anything in common with him.

Shortly after my outburst, the plane landed. I had never been good with farewells, but this time, I honestly didn’t care what Jungkook might’ve thought about me. All I wanted was to get him out of my sight.

“You will come back on the island to destroy all of the drugs, and when you return, you’re going to live a normal life,” I ordered these men, and they, like they always had, nodded their heads with utter love.

“Goodbye, Jungkook,” I added before I, with my head high, walked away.

Although Jungkook tried to follow me, I ignored him. After a few moments of absolutely no reaction given by me, he finally gave up.

  ***

  The journey back to my home was much smoother with the necklace. If I faced any problems, I just had to find a man within my sight range, and he would do whatever he was told to. On the way, one man had given me a ride to the airport, and another gave me his ticket.

Travelling has never been simpler.

Once I reached my modest apartment, I fell on my bed, ready to have the nap of the century. I was exhausted and jet-lagged, and I almost slept for over twenty hours.

After my return, everything seemed dull and monotonous. And though, it didn’t bother me right after I had come back, after a few weeks it began to bug me. The routine was slowly getting to me, and with each passing day, it was more and more challenging to deal with.

I was safe in the confines of my small apartment. I was successful in the archeology field. I even went on a date with my co-worker, Hoseok, whom I had been a serious crash before my expedition. At the very first glance, my life seemed perfect, but when I thought about it, it was dull and disappointing, and above all, it lacked excitement.

I showed my discovery to one of the professors who had used to teach me. Later on, he arranged a meeting with the custodian of the National Museum. Modestly speaking, the custodian was ecstatic to hear about the necklace.

Within a few days, I got a call from him.

They wanted to have an exhibition, my necklace being the main exhibit.

I agreed in no-time.

Moreover, he provided me with a skilled crew to get back on that island and get all the other exhibits for my very first exhibition.

At first, I was hesitant, but I agreed. I was desperate to feel the excitement again, and although it was fun, it wasn’t nearly as exciting as my previous expedition.

Two months later, the exhibition had its premiere. The necklace was inside a glass cabinet in the center of the room, surrounded by Aminata and Yaya’s skeletons, pictures of simulations of their faces, and plenty of writings which we had found written on the tomb’s walls.

Because it was my discovery, I was asked to give the opening speech, and though it wasn’t as scary as being held captive, I was anxious as fuck. I was having the peak of my life; only a fool wouldn’t be a little bit stressed in that kind of moment.

Having had two glasses of champagne, I successfully delivered my speech. People listened attentively to my story about the research and my solo expedition, people laughed when I cracked a joke, and most importantly, they clapped when I finished.

It was the most important night of my life, and it was a complete blast.

Two reporters even proposed me exclusive interviews.

“I am proud of you,” my professor congratulated me as soon as he found me in the crowd. “I saw your passion on my lectures, it’s no surprise to me that you did all of that by yourself,” he added, and I felt a pang in my chest.

Although Jungkook had helped me a few times, I couldn’t involve him in my report. Or anything else that he had put me through. It was unfair for me to take all the credit for the discovery, but I didn’t have any other choice. If I had confessed to all our faults, we both would’ve been screwed. Stealing somebody’s chopper, getting shot down into the ocean, being held captive by the drug smugglers, and the list went on.

“Soon the entire country will be talking about your discovery. You better get used to the attention you’re getting now because it will not go away easily,” the professor added, and I chuckled. Whenever I held the necklace, I struggled with plenty of unwanted attention; I was going to be just fine. At least they admired me because of my success, and not because of some curse.

“I didn’t think it would,” I added, and we both chuckled. “It’s not that bad, actually.”

“Maybe, but it’s different in the long-run. You’re a celebrity now,” the professor spoke, and I tried not to laugh. Me? A celebrity? No, Jimmy Fallon hasn’t contacted me yet.

Seeking for the right words to say, I looked around the crowd. It was odd; I thought I saw him. No, it was impossible. I had exclusively told him to leave me alone. Jungkook wouldn’t show up on this event, he could've figured out how significant this evening was to me. He wouldn’t ruin this for me.

“Excuse me after a moment,” I excused myself before I walked away, looking for the familiar brown hair, broad shoulders, and his bunny teeth.

No, he wasn’t here; I must’ve been imaging things.

I was running among people, trying to spot him, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. My mind must’ve been playing tricks with me. Jungkook was probably on the other half of the world, seducing and tricking other women.

The moment when I was ready to accept that Jungkook was only a hallucination caused by excessive stress I was experiencing during the evening, I saw him. Jungkook was standing backward to me, studying the necklace inside the glass cabinet.

Knowing him, he was probably trying to come up with a plan of how to steal it again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, and Jungkook turned around, taking my breath away. He looked marvelous in a suit and tie. Moreover, when his gaze met mine, I felt hot out of a sudden. It seemed as if I missed him.

What wasn’t correct; he was a lying asshole after all.

“You did it,” Jungkook said in genuine admiration. It was strange; after all, he had done, right now, he seemed to be proud. He was impressed with my achievement, even after I had taken all the credit for the discovery. “I am happy you succeeded.”

“Thank you,” I answered, completely confused due to his presence here and his unusual behavior. It was so unlike him to talk to me without any lewd innuendos. “What are you doing here, Jungkook? Haven’t I made myself clear?”

Jungkook smiled shyly; he was acting coy – that was new.

“You’ve made yourself crystal clear, but I just couldn’t let you leave without listening to my proper explanation,” he started softly, and I cocked up my eyebrow. It wasn’t unpleasant to see him. Actually, it was pretty nice. However, when I heard the melody of his voice, I was lost. Until now, I hadn’t realized how much I missed not only the adrenaline rushing through my veins, but also him.

“Is there anything left to explain?”

“I know why the necklace has never worked on me,” Jungkook started, and I crossed my arms across my chest, waiting for him to elaborate. I had thought about it many nights, but I had never come with a proper answer.

“And why is that?”

“When you hold the necklace, it turns all men within your sight range to change into mindless zombies who are so in love with you that they want to anything to make you happy,” Jungkook said, and I didn’t interject him; he was right after all. “It has never worked on me, or it has worked all the time because I was already in love with you.”

Maybe it was rude of me to snort, but it was what I did. Jungkook? In love with me? Puh-lease, it made absolutely no sense.

“You can’t expect me to believe in your confession,” I stated, hesitant to hear his voice again. I was a strong woman, and I didn’t need him to make my life complete. Unfortunately, as much as I was ashamed to admit that, I wanted him to make my life complete.

With Jungkook, I had felt the rush of adrenaline. Whenever he had been around, I had left excitement wash through me.

It was silly, but I actually missed the way he had made me feel.

“But it’s true,” Jungkook fought, ready to deliver me a thorough explanation. “I missed you like hell. Every day I wondered what you’re up to. I hoped you’re happy. It was incredibly stupid of me to steal that necklace, but I learned my lesson.”

Jungkook explained, and I wanted to slap myself for letting his words move me.

“I love you, woman.”

“Do you think love can fix everything?”

“It can’t, but it’s hell good of a start,” Jungkook admitted boldly, reminding me of his cocky side. God, I really missed this side of him. “There wasn’t a day when I didn’t regret what I did. I can’t get back in time to make different decisions, but I can stay by your side, support you in every part of your life, and try to prove that my heart is in the right place.”

“When have you got so sappy?” I asked with a witty smirk, and Jungkook smiled widely, knowing that I started to give in. “I barely recognize you. You’re dressed like a decent human being in that suit and tie, and now, your personality. You’ve done a 180, haven’t you?”

“It seemed appropriate to dress like that,” Jungkook answered, looking down at his attire. “And if my speech wouldn’t sweep you off your feet, my looks were supposed to be a back-up plan to make you droll over my sexy body. What do you think about it? Is it working?”

“You’re an asshole you know that, right?”

“I am an asshole in love. You can’t blame me for trying,” Jungkook retorted, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Though I didn’t want to show my inner emotions, a broad smile crept onto my face. “What do you say? Do you want to leave this super boring party, and do something more fun?”

“It’s not boring,” I corrected him, now slightly offended by his sharp words. It was an event dedicated to my discovery; it was awesome.

“I know it’s all about you, but you have to agree that it’s boring as fuck.” Jungkook defended his point of view, and after seeing this through his perspective, I had to agree. The average age of the guests was fifty and more, and nothing exciting was happening. People just talked about history and/or art and sipped champagne.

This party was a bummer.

“What do you propose?”

“Normally, I’d take you to your house and fuck you all night long as we did before, but now, I know I have to prove myself to you, so what do you think about getting a drink with me? And tomorrow, I can take you on a proper date.”

“Ok, but as soon as I get bored, I’m leaving.”

“Don’t worry, love. It’s never boring with me.”

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Bodyguard III: Avengers Assemble (Chapter 3) (B. Urie x Reader)

You stood cross-armed in the helicarrier lab, looking on with intense curiosity as Doctor Banner worked on the sceptre that Brendon and Steve had recovered from Loki.

“Anything?” you asked hopefully, taking one small step forward.

Bruce shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he leaned down to get a closer look at the alien object. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The electromagnetic wave readings are off the charts.”

“Hmph,” you chewed on your lip softly as you tentatively reached out for the weapon, your fingers hovering only millimetres above it.

There was a strange energy surrounding it – one that felt familiar – and it was almost as if it were daring you to explore it. But you knew better; it was still a dangerous alien object, after all, used to cause a ton of destruction – so you retracted your hand.

Blowing a raspberry, you treaded over to the desk and leaned back against it. “Well, at least we-“

Your eyes caught sight of someone entering the lab, striding purposefully toward you, and you sighed agitatedly.

“Save it,” you said firmly, already knowing where this was headed.

“You’re a crazy person,” Brendon noted, coming to a sharp halt right in front of you.

You feigned confusion, looking up. “By whose definition?”

“Mine,” he hissed, “Do you have any idea how badly that situation could’ve gone?”

Pushing yourself off of the desk, you matched Brendon’s stance and frowned slightly; Bruce tossed occasional weary glances at the two of you.

“The situation was going badly,” you corrected, then cocked an eyebrow, “then I showed up and fixed it. You’re welcome.”

Stepping around the agent, you started walking away from him. He gripped your arm to stop you, turning around so that you were both facing each other again.

“What if Loki had been down there?” he persisted, frowning much harder than you had, “We still don’t know what he wants, (Y/N), and-“

You ripped yourself from his grasp, standing your ground. “Clearly this hasn’t penetrated your thick skull yet, so lemme say it again – I. Can. Handle. Myself. Loki is not a threat to me.”

On the other side of the lab window, dozens of S.H.I.E.L.D police escorted a handcuffed Loki. You and Brendon simultaneously turned to look at him; as did Bruce, who stopped working on the Chitauri sceptre and raised his head.

As he passed, the god of mischief eyed you and Bruce, nodding and smiling as he walked. You felt a strange sensation spread over you, and you shook your head lightly in an effort to refocus yourself. Bruce rubbed his head, creasing his brow.

Brendon looked at you, clenched his jaw and with a small shake of his head, headed out of the lab.

 Detention section, S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier.

Now free from his cuffs, Loki stood contained in a large glass cell held by hydraulic rigs. Fury walked up to the control panel of the cell.

“In case it’s unclear,” he called out, “you try to escape, you so much as scratch that glass…”

The Director pressed a button that opened up a hatch underneath the cell. Loki peered down as much as he could from inside the glass. Without seeing, the sounds of gusting wind itself would be enough to make a man tremble with worry. Not a god, though; Loki remained unbothered.

“…thirty thousand feet, straight down in a steel trap. You get how that works?!” Fury closed the hatch, pointing at Loki, “Ant,” then pointing at the button which would drop the trap, “Boot.”

Loki smirked, standing smug despite his circumstances. “It’s an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me.”

“Built for something a lot stronger than you,” Fury nodded.

“Oh, I’ve heard.” Loki looked into the camera.

In the briefing room, the rest of you watched over the monitor. Everyone was watching intently, but none more so than you and Bruce.

“The mindless beast, makes play he’s still a man,” Loki continued, looking to Fury, “How desperate are you, that you call upon such lost creatures to defend you?”

Fury widened his eyes. “How desperate am I? You threaten my world with war. You steal a force you can’t hope to control.” The Director walked as he spoke, right up to the glass. “You talk about peace and you kill ‘cause it’s fun. You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did.”

“Ooh,” Loki teased, squinting his eyes, “It burns you to have come so close. To have the Tesseract, to have power, unlimited power. And for what? A warm light for all mankind to share, and then to be reminded what real power is.”

With a soft scoff and a smile, Fury turned and started to walk away. “Well, you let me know if Real Power wants a magazine or something.”

He walked off, leaving Loki in the glass cell. The god looked back at the camera, smirking.

 Briefing room.

Steve watched until the monitor went black. Thor, who didn’t even look, just listened, stood there, torn apart. The rest of you just stood in stunned silence. After a long moment…

“He really grows on you, doesn’t he?” Bruce spoke sarcastically.

“Loki’s gonna drag this out,” Steve said, “So, Thor, what’s his play?”

Thor finally came to, speaking over his shoulder as he answered the captain. “He has an army called the Chitauri. They’re not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the earth. In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.”

Genuinely stunned by the thought, Steve spoke again. “An army? From outer space?”

Putting two and two together, Bruce voiced his thoughts. “So he’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

The name caught Thor’s attention. “Selvig?”

“He’s an astrophysicist,” Bruce elaborated.

“He’s a friend,” you explained Thor’s reaction to Bruce.

Natasha spoke next, setting herself down on an empty chair. “Loki has him under some kind of spell, along with two of ours,” she said solemnly.

“I wanna know why Loki let us take him,” Brendon spoke on his concerns, the most bothered by the god’s presence, “He’s not leading an army from here.”

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki,” Bruce shook his head, “That guy’s brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him.”

Offended by the doctor’s words, Thor glared at him threateningly. “Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he’s my brother.”

“He killed eighty people in two days,” Natasha informed.

“He’s adopted.”

Thinking back to the issue at hand, Bruce posed a question. “Iridium. What did they need the Iridium for?”

“It’s a stabilizing agent,” Tony answered as he walked in with Coulson; he turned to the agent, speaking a couple sentences in a hushed voice before turning his attention back to the rest of you, “Means the portal won’t collapse on itself, like it did at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Approaching Thor, the genius lowered his gaze slightly and gently tapped the back of his hand against the god’s bulging arm. “No hard feeling, Point Break. You’ve got a mean swing.” Bringing the subject back to the Iridium, he continued explaining, “Also, it means the portal can open as wide and stay open as long as Loki wants.”

Tony looked to the S.H.I.E.L.D crew working on computers below and called out to them. “Uh, raise the mid-mast, ship the top sails. That man is playing Galaga! Thought we wouldn’t notice. But we did.”

Covering his eye, he looked around. “How does Fury do this?”

“He turns,” Maria answered.

“Sounds exhausting. The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source.” Tony looked around the monitors and placed a button-sized hacking implant under Fury’s station, without anyone noticing, “A high energy density, something to kick start the cube.”

Maria scoffed. “When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?”

“Last night.” Tony gave the slimmest of smirks. “The packet, Selvig’s notes, the Extraction Theory papers. Am I the only one who did the reading?”

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?” Brendon queried, his mind racing as he tried to think of possible options.

“He’s got to heat the cube to a hundred twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier,” Bruce explained.

“Unless,” Tony contradicted, “Selvig has figured out how to stabilise the quantum tunnelling effect.”

“Well, if he could do that, he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.”

Tony looked absolutely thrilled as he held out both hands and gestured to Bruce. “Finally, someone who speaks English.”

Tony and Bruce shook hands. A glimmer in their eyes shone as the mutual respect for each other showed.

“It’s good to meet you, Doctor Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

Bruce looked down. “Thanks.”

The Director walked in, then. “Doctor Banner is only here to track the cube,” he said to Tony, “I was hoping you might join him.”

“Let’s start with that stick of his,” Steve called out, “It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a Hydra weapon.”

“I don’t know about that,” you breathed out, arching one brow, “But it is powered by the cube. I could feel it.”

Fury nodded. “And I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn three of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

“Moneys?” Thor looked around, puzzled, “I do not understand.”

“I do!” Steve piped excitedly, “I understood that reference.”

Brendon and Tony rolled their eyes, while the captain looked proud of himself.

Averting his attention back to his new friend, Tony spoke to Bruce. “Shall we play, doctor?” he gestured in the direction of the lab.

As Bruce and Tony walked out, the Galaga player turned ever so discreetly, watching as the rest of your group dispersed, and went back to playing.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

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[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 3 -- So Far, So Close

Rating: Explicit (this chapter has smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: The Reapers are finally here, and Miranda would do anything to help Shepard, but she has far more personal things to worry about.

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The moment Arcturus Station blows up, Miranda knows about it. She has contacts spread throughout the galaxy, near every relay--in case someone, or in this case something shows up to threaten those she loves. Miranda calculates how long it’ll take the Reapers to reach Earth, and Elysium, where Oriana’s family is hiding. Not long. Always Miranda has stayed calm even in the worst circumstances--even when she was certain she was walking into a suicide mission. Any moment she dared to doubt herself, she only proved her father right. But now Miranda feels nearly powerless to protect her loved ones.

What can she do against a thousand-foot-tall god? What can anyone do? Miranda is used to human targets, or at least, smaller targets. How does one fool a reaper? How does one foil their destruction? It’s selfish. It’s not what Artemis or Oriana would want, but Miranda focuses her limited resources on keeping them safe. She sabotages Cerberus shuttles heading toward Mars. While Miranda can’t take care of all of them, she can stop a few. Hopefully it’s enough. Artemis has been through worse, Miranda. Get a hold of yourself.

Her fingers rattle her coffee mug when she tries to take a drink. The cup slips from her hand and falls to the floor, but nothing spills out. Apparently, she forgot to refill it the last time she took a drink. How long has it been since she slept? Since she ate?  Miranda’s kitchen stands empty, save for a box of protein bars. Munching on one, she sends in orders to move Ori and her parents to a new home. It’s a risk, but so is leaving them one system closer to the invasion.

Hours later, and the Normandy leaves Mars safe and sound--though Miranda discovers a med evac request on enroute to the Citadel. Her heart throbs in her chest as she skims the request for names, and sags with relief when she sees Ashley Williams name there instead of Artemis Shepard. Nausea fills her stomach as she looks over Doctor Chawkwa’s preliminary report. She just saw Ashley a few months ago. Ashley was alive, and... mostly well. Likely just as stressed over Shepard’s trial as Miranda was. And now she has a concussion, internal bleeding, and likely more. Despite their past, despite Ashley’s past with Shepard, Miranda can’t help but feel a loss. Artemis must be reeling. Miranda finds herself debating the morality of hacking into Artemis’s omni-tool to check her vital signs.

Ori would have a fit.

I need you to trust me. Trust that I’m just as capable as you of taking care of myself. Trust that I can protect myself. I’m 19 years old for crying out loud!

Oh, to be that young and brave. Miranda envies her all the time, despite being largely responsible for her normal life. But her sister is right. She needs to trust them both. Artemis can take care of herself. So can Oriana.

But it wouldn’t hurt to check up on her sister.

Miranda sips a fresh cup of coffee and logs into the security feeds of her sister’s home. Or, at least, she tries to. The screens are all black, and when she checks the logs, she finds an error message. Taking a deep breath, she contacts an old associate that she had moved in across the hall. Cal always responded within five minutes--Miranda had timed him. She waits 10 minutes before she allows herself to panic.

It’s probably nothing.

Ten minutes pass and nothing is exactly the response Miranda receives. She calls again. And again, without waiting. Miranda calls her other contact, and nothing. She checks the school Ori attends, and damn them--they don’t keep attendance records. Taking a shuttle to the Citadel, Miranda checks the security logs for the classes Ori should have been in the past few days. Nothing. The university Ori attends stretches nearly over an entire city. There isn’t time for Miranda to search it on her own.

Shepard would help. But Shepard has her own problems to deal with. An ex in critical condition in the hospital, a war to fight--there’s even reports that Shepard has more favors to do before she can get Turian support. As much as Shepard would want to help--she won’t be able to jaunt across the galaxy--and she likely would try. Miranda can’t ask her to sacrifice the war effort.

But Miranda can pay her a visit. If she can hardly focus because of their time apart, how must Artemis feel? While Miranda could say she’s visiting Shepard because she knows it’ll boost her morale--she must admit it’s for more...selfish reasons. As the shuttle lands, Miranda’s mind and body thrum as if her lover sits in the seat next to her. To hold Artemis close, wind her fingers through her silken hair, inspect every mark the war and Cerberus drones have left behind--

Her mind spins so quickly that when Miranda does finally spot her, walking through the docking security, she almost doesn’t recognize her. The Artemis in Miranda’s mind is happy, full of vigor, a self-satisfied smirk on her face not unlike the one she wears when she invites Miranda to bed. This Artemis has dark bags under her eyes like she hasn’t slept since Earth, and skin that hasn’t seen the sun in weeks.

“Miranda?” Artemis says her name softly from behind her, making Miranda jump inside her skin. She had just sent that message an hour ago. Hardly enough time for Shepard to make it here, unless this was her first stop. Her voice is thick and her eyes sluggish as she looks Miranda over like she’s stuck in the same recurring dream.

“Shepard!” Coyness has always been Miranda’s default with romantic partners, but then before, she’d never seen the same person twice. She must sound like a lovesick puppy right about now. “It’s so good to finally see you.” Miranda steps closer, close enough to touch.

Artemis steps back, rubbing her shoulder. “You too, Miranda.”

Not the reunion she dreamed of, but Miranda will take whatever she’s offered. She starts walking down the corridor, Artemis picking up speed to walk with her. They never hold hands but their fingers brush against each other as they talk.

“Glad to see they let you out.” Miranda passes it off like a joke.

“Had to. Who else would fight their goddamn war?”

They talk about Earth, and Artemis’s eyes go distant as she recalls all the lives she saw snuffed out. Artemis shakes the fog out of her brain, glancing back at her. “What about you? Why are you here?” She looks worried.

Miranda stops in an alcove away from the security cameras’ prying eyes. “I know what I’m doing, Shepard.” Sure, the Citadel seems like one of the worst places a former Cerberus operative should linger, but Miranda has made a career of hiding in plain sight. Not to mention Kai Leng and his ilk will have a harder time taking her out here, and she won’t go quietly. The Illusive Man would never let them heighten security here. Too many wasted opportunities.

Artemis’s eyes widen, realizing how she must sound. “I know. Sorry. I... I just have a lot on my plate.”

“When don’t you?” Miranda dares to reach over and squeeze her hand, and goosebumps race up Artemis’s arms. “I know you have a plan.”

Squeezing her hands, Shepard nods, but she doesn’t elaborate much. Is she keeping it from her on purpose? Have they really been apart that long?

“Am I part of your plan?”

Artemis squeezes her hand fiercely. “Always!”

Miranda presses a finger against her lips. “Shh. You don’t want the whole docking bay hearing us, do you?”

Artemis eyes her like a desert traveler who’s just discovered an oasis. Her words crack as they fall from her mouth. “I want you in my life, Miranda.” She kisses Miranda’s finger as if to illustrate her point, squeezing her wrist with her other hand for good measure.

“You sure?” Miranda leans closer, slipping her free hand around Shepard’s waist. “This is your chance to back out.” She doesn’t hold on, meaning every one of her words, as much as she doesn’t want to. She won’t grip onto people like her father did.

Pulling her against her chest, Artemis answers her with a kiss. Their lips crash against one another, their hands tangled in each other’s hair. Who cares about being discreet? There’s a war on, and who knows if Miranda will ever see Artemis again. It pains her to think about it--she even holds Shepard a little tighter at the thought--but she must be realistic. Accept all possibilities, no matter how much they hurt. Pressing Shepard against the glass wall, she trails her hands down her body, feeling for when she flinches. And yes, she does more than once, but more often her breath catches in her throat, and she tightens her grip. Just when Miranda’s about to lose her carefully held control, Artemis parts for air.

“Don’t be stranger, Miranda.” Artemis tells her with a grin, her lips bruised, and her breath ragged.

“I don’t want to be, Shepard. Believe me, I want to stay close.” She steps back. “It’s my sister. Something’s happened.” Usually Miranda’s so eloquent--something drilled into her by her father, but now she stumbles over her words as she explains. “I just know my father’s involved.”

“What do you need me to do?” She asks without hesitation, reaching her hand as if to whisk her away from all this.

Miranda can so easily imagine Shepard charging into Oriana’s home--her campus, even, gun in hand-finger on the trigger. As much as Miranda wants her to help--she knows Artemis isn’t one for cloak and dagger--she’ll only complicate things. And she has enough to deal with already. “I’ll be fine.”

Artemis looks unconvinced. “Okay.” She holds her arm, as if punched. “I understand.”

Miranda reaches over, squeezing Artemis’s hands together. “I was tempted to break in and see you.”

Quirking her head, Artemis scrutinizes her expression. “Wait. You didn’t.”

Unable to help her grin, Miranda replies. “Define ‘do.’”

Artemis shakes her head. “There’s no way you would’ve made it through security.” Then her voice drops low. “You’re a wanted woman, Miranda.”

Miranda lets a hand wander past Artemis’s lower back, never quite squeezing, but enough to feel that unbearably toned arse of hers. Mm. Maybe not as toned as it used to be. “I’m well, aware.”

Her breath quickens as her lips part. “When--?”

She can still feel the Vancouver rain soaking her skin. Miranda leans her forehead against hers, almost whispering. “The day they put you in cuffs.” And now every centimeter of space between them is too much--not even in a sexual way. It’s just been so long--Miranda needs to feel her Artemis close against her so she doesn’t get pulled from her orbit.

“Jesus. You have a death wish.” Her eyes slip closed as Miranda brushes her nose against hers.

“Mm. Death isn’t what I want right now.” Artemis’s skin warms against Miranda’s fingertips.

“Miranda,” she sputters, “Out here? Really? Aren’t we a little exposed?”

“The Citadel’s actually one of the safest places. For now.”

“I’m still not sure meeting out here where everyone can see is a good idea.” Her lips are still dark from when Miranda ravaged them, even as she looks away.

Miranda draws her attention back with her finger hooked under her chin. “Is it me you’re worried about?” She lets her voice drop low. “Or are you worried about getting caught with your pants down?”

Artemis flushes a helpless smile. “Maybe a bit of both. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Follow me.”

“Always.”

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 They wind up in an office closed for remodeling, donning utility uniform costumes from some forgotten holiday. Once they’re inside a room away from the dust, Miranda pushes Artemis down into a rolling chair, kicking it back until it bumps against the desk. “God, that uniform looks awful on you.”

“Mm. That sounds like a problem.” Artemis looks up at her with the dim lights dancing in her eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I can think of a few things.” Miranda straddles her lap, guiding Artemis’s fingers to each button on her jumper. She undoes them meticulously, one by one, letting her knuckles drag down the curves of Miranda’s chest, her lips parted ever so slightly. When Artemis’s breath quickens, Miranda feels it against her skin, and her lover grins as she notices the goosebumps dotting her breasts.

As she reaches the button sitting above Miranda’s crotch, Artemis digs her knuckles extra hard until her breath catches. She licks her own lips, slipping her hands around to the back of Miranda’s head, pulling her into a kiss. “I’ve missed you so much, Miranda,” she whispers into her lips after they’ve broken for air.

“I’ve missed you, too.” It surprises her to say it, but it’s true. Miranda undoes her carefully pinned bun, weaving her hands into her silken chocolate tresses.

“You could’ve had anyone. Anyone.” Artemis looks up at her with wonder as she unhooks her bra. “Why wait for me?”

“You’re different.” Maybe she says it too quickly, swallowing as Artemis retraces the skin laid bare. Why? She knows Miranda’s body’s immune to the ravages of space and time. Nothing has changed.

Ah. There it is. Under Artemis’s fierce Amazon exterior lies her true feelings--eyes that dart and fingers that tremble. Her mouth moves, but no words spill out, but Miranda can see it written all over her face. “Am I?”

Miranda kisses her nose. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever known.” Her lips graze her left cheek. “You have the whole galaxy resting on your shoulders.” Her right ear. “And yet you put everything on hold to show me how much you missed me.” Her right neck, drinking in her moan. Ah yes. Artemis is sensitive there. “And you gave me a chance when you had every reason to hate me.”

Artemis’s eyes don’t open when she answers. “I never hated you.” Another moan slips out when Miranda’s teeth graze her skin. “I hated Cerberus.” Her voice comes out jagged.

“I worked for Cerberus.” Miranda debates where to go from here. She could scoot Artemis to the edge of the chair, and really take her time with her, but time is not a luxury they have. Not in a construction zone with fake uniforms.

“So did I.”

Miranda answers her with a kiss, slowly grinding her pelvis against hers. Maybe it’s a little cliché or maybe she’s watched too many porn vids while Artemis was in prison, but she can’t help her curiosity. It feels nicer than either of them would expect. “Mm.”

“Y-yeah.” Artemis replies, exploring her mouth with her tongue as they pick up speed. Miranda feels a moan slip out of her mouth as her girlfriend pulls her closer and tighter. She manages to drown her moans into her shoulder until they both still.

Stretching her arms, Miranda gulps when Artemis pulls her back. “I’m not done with you yet,” she murmurs into Miranda’s ears, brushing her lips there until she shivers and swallows. Artemis trails one set of fingers down between Miranda’s breasts, while the other cups her ass, squeezing when she starts to squirm. “You’re--” she almost says beautiful, Miranda can see it on her lips, but she knows better--knows that’s a loaded word with her, even during sex. Her eyes widen when she can’t find a better word, and her mouth twists and turns without a sound falling out.

“Shh.” Miranda captures her mouth with her own, letting their touch speak for them. Mirroring Artemis’s fingers with her own, she finds her so exquisitely wet it makes her mouth water.

“Miranda, I--” she can’t finish her sentence, not like this, not when Miranda’s fingers are dancing across her clit. “Fuck,” she says helplessly, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth falling open. A moan punctuates her sentence as her hips lift them both above the seat of the chair.

Putting her feet on the floor for balance, Miranda holds Artemis in place with her hand on the back of the chair. “I love it when you’re like this.” Her finger slips inside her cunt like melted butter, and Artemis’s head tips back. Warmth rushes over Miranda as she feels Artemis pulsing around her fingers.

Her chair rolls back and forth to the rhythm of her hips. Her eyes open just enough. “I love you too.”

Miranda’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Still breathlessly in bliss, it takes Artemis a moment to register the shock on her girlfriend’s face. She licks her lips. “Too soon?” Artemis tries to smile sheepishly, but her eyebrows furrow with worry.

It’s then Miranda remembers where her fingers are. “You love me?”

Artemis shudders as she pulls out. “Nn. Y-yeah.” She sobers quickly, sitting up. “Miranda, I….”

Bloody hell, Miranda. You’re ruining everything. “Sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say. It’s not what she wants to say.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Artemis says abruptly. She stares pointedly at the lone freckle on her right shoulder. Her father always hated that freckle. Said it was skin damage. Her skin wasn’t supposed to get damaged. Perhaps that’s why he replaced her with Ori.

“I’m not very good at this.” Miranda mumbles. She’s shaking. Why is she shaking?

Artemis coughs. “Liar. You are amazing at sex. Your pillow talk, though.” She smirks, though her eyes still search her face.

“Har, har.” Miranda does the only thing that makes sense in this moment--pinning Artemis back into the chair with a searing kiss. “It’s not you.”

“Miranda…”

“I mean it. And I want to mean it when I say it.” Another kiss aimed at her throat. “Not just return the words to make someone feel better.”

“I get it.” She doesn’t. But that doesn’t stop her from reciprocating Miranda’s touch. Artemis bites her neck to catch her attention, and Miranda can’t help her ragged gasp.

Her free hand just barely grazes the inside of Miranda’s thigh, never quite touching where she wants. “Arti--”

This time Artemis’s grin is real. “Mm?” She hums into her skin, rubbing deeper into her skin, but never touching her center.

“Goddamnit, Artemis.”

“Shh. Let me take care of you for once.” Artemis finally reaches Miranda’s clit, circling and rubbing with a featherlight touch. This time, Miranda has no reply, clinging to Artemis as her body shudders in ecstasy. The room around them vanishes--she can’t even feel the rub of her uniform anymore. It’s just her and Artemis--the salt of their sweat, and the sound of their heavy breathing mixed with the slick of her fingertips against her skin. For once, she can forget the war, and her worries, and maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.

Telling Artemis she loves her is a whole different story. “Thank you,” Miranda whispers breathlessly.

“Any time.” Artemis licks her fingers cheekily, stretching once Miranda pulls off her.

“I don’t want to leave.” Miranda buttons up her utility uniform, though she can’t take her eyes off her, so she keeps missing a hole, or three.

“Me either.” Artemis ignores her suit for now, focusing on putting up her hair. Her lips are still bruised from when Miranda kissed her last. “You sure we can’t stay a little longer?” The skin around her throat still flushes with heat.

“It’s not wise for me to stay in one place too long.”

Her skin cools as she sobers. “The Illusive Man. Is he after you?”

Miranda nods, telling her about her run-in with Kai Leng. Artemis’s brows furrow as she listens.

“Sounds final.” She traces her finger down Miranda’s cheek, looking for any signs of distress, scars, or bruises. Miranda’s stupidly perfect body hides it all. Just like it did when her father--

“It nearly was.” She can’t allow herself to think about him right now. She can’t break down now, especially not in front of Artemis. “He doesn’t take rejection well.”

Artemis snorts, gingerly poking her skin in what’s likely a bruise from Mars. “No, he doesn’t.” She glances back at Miranda, narrowing her eyes. “How are you sure it’s not him going after Oriana?”

“I won’t know anything until I track down some leads.”

“Here?”

“Hey. I’m owed a few favors.”

Artemis matches her grin, only to groan when her omni-tool chimes at her. She sighs as she pulls back. “I gotta get going. Be careful, okay?”

Miranda leans forward, pecking her cheek. “No promises.”

Taking a few steps towards the elevator, Shepard murmurs. “EDI says next time you want to tap into the Normandy’s systems, just ask nicely.”

[totallyrhettro]

Ravenvale, Chapter 3

Word Count: 2407 Rating: This chapter: G; overall story: explicit Warnings: None at this time Summary: On their way home from another case, Agent Seaborne and Agent Roach find themselves in the strange, fog-covered town of Ravenvale. Notes: Seaborne and Roach AU where, years after the events seen in the YouTube series, they manage to become FBI agents.

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Back in town, Roach found his lifelong friend at the Texaco station. Doug (at least, he assumed it was Doug) was just unhooking the tan rental car from the tow truck and Seaborne was staring at it, arms crossed, like he wanted to punch it in the face. If only it had a face to punch. Apparently the car needed more than a quick jump. 

Trotting up with a bit of a cheerful step, Roach approached his partner before tapping him on the arm. 

“What the scoop?” he asked when Seaborne turned around. His blue eyes were weary and his face hung low with stress. Maybe after they got back to North Carolina they could ask the higher ups for some vacation time. They certainly deserved it.

“No idea,” Seaborne huffed. “Jumping it did absolutely nothing.” He let out a quiet sigh, letting his arms fall as Doug came over to talk to them. 

“Don’t worry,” the mechanic began, a kind smile on his greasy face. “Darrell will see what’s wrong. Darrell can fix anything.”

“It’s not whether he can or not that worries me,” Seaborne said, trying to be polite. His patience was clearly wearing thin. He checked his watch. “Our flight leaves in a few hours and I don’t even know how long it will take to get to the airport.” Unphased by the agent’s undertone of frustration, Doug kept smiling as he walked back towards the gas station store.

“Darrel can fix it,” he repeated, cheerfully. Seaborne clutched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

“I hate this town,” he muttered.

“It’s not all bad,” Roach offered. When his partner turned a less than friendly gaze his way, the blond quickly elaborated. “I did a little exploring while you were gone, and you won’t believe what I saw.”

“No, I probably won’t.” Not waiting for hear Roach’s story, Seaborne brushed passed him, following after Doug. He wanted to make sure that these strange brothers were getting to work on the car right away. He didn’t have time for any nonsense; he was already getting a headache. Following behind, Roach held his tongue. He so desperately wanted to tell his friend about the winged woman in the fog, but now wasn’t the time. He knew well enough that Seaborne wouldn’t want to hear any of it right now. Maybe later. Hopefully soon.

Inside, Seaborne spoke with Darrell again. The man was still grumpy and still looking through his magazine, but with very few words he assured the agents that he would look at the car presently.

“Any reason you can’t look at it now?” Seaborne asked, a hint of anger in his calm tone. Darrell paid no mind to the tone or the taller man’s urgency. He turned a page before answering in the same voice as before.

“On break,” he stated, and that was that. It did no good to explain how Seaborne and Roach needed to get to Vegas to make their flight. Still holding in the rage that was quickly building inside him, Seaborne finally stormed out of the station, Roach following behind him like a puppy.

“Why don’t we get lunch?” he offered, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe there’s a Denny’s or something?  Come on.” He tapped Seaborne on the arm nonchalantly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved, and I think we both need some Joe. Whaddaya say?” A cup of coffee did sound divine right now, and the caffeine would most definitely help. With a nod, Seaborne agreed and the two of them headed down the road to see what restaurants this odd town had, if any. 

~

The fog was as thick as ever, but luckily Roach had seen a small restaurant down the road on his previous journey through the small town. It was called ‘Ludere’ and it looked like a family-owned, ‘mom and pop’ kinda place. A quaint little establishment, it had a very welcoming vibe, with planters out front and striped awnings over the windows. The inside was lined with mauve booths, littered with tables and there wasn’t a single patron in sight. At this point the agents were almost getting used to there not being anyone around, still chalking it up to the fog. Surely no one wanted to go out in to the fog if they didn’t have to.

They two men passed the sign that read ‘seat yourself’ and found a nice big booth by the front windows. It gave them a wonderful view of the white fog still rolling by in the distance. Plus the light from outside provided more light than the dim overhead lamps that hung over their heads. It seemed like an okay place, if a bit cheap. Plastic tablecloths, paper napkins, and packets of condiments on the table didn’t fill Seaborne with any confidence about the quality of the food, and he hadn’t even seen the menu yet.

“Is anybody even working here today?” he grumbled. As if on cue, a woman in a red and white striped dress that barely reached her legs approached their table. She held up a notepad and pencil, smiling kindly if a bit blankly.

“Hiya there, my name’s Cindy.” She gave a wink to the agents. “What can I do ya for?” Roach hesitated, confused that they hadn’t been giving a menu yet.

“Cup of coffee,” he almost begged. “Please.” The woman scribbled onto her notepad.

“And for you, Sugar?” she asked Roach. The man struggled for a moment, trying to think about breakfasts he’d had in the past and ordered from places like this.

“Uh, can I get some eggs?”

“Sure. How would you like them cooked?”

“Scrambled, and um, some bacon… and pancakes, and some orange juice?” The waitress scribbled down some more.

“Anything else?”

“And a blueberry muffin!” Seaborne rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He was used to his partner eating enough for three. It was a wonder the tall man was able to stay so thin. Once Cindy was gone, he got to his feet.

“I need to piss. Try not to eat the table while I’m gone.” Roach ignored the crassness of Seaborne’s language and tried to keep things light. He Looked up at his friend with a big grin.

“No promises,” he said. His smile only faltered once his partner was out of sight. Then, he slumped in his chair, taking off his classes to clean them. Seaborne was never really as chipper as Roach, though it would be hard for anyone to do that, but today his mood was even more sour than usual. Roach certainly couldn’t blame him; things were going from bad to worse and he was probably still tired from last night’s long drive. A bit of caffeine would definitely help, but what he needed was a nice nap. Maybe after they ate, if the mechanics still had a lot of work to do on the car, the two of them could find something fun to do. Although, in this podunk town it didn’t look like there was much to do in the way of fun. 

Cindy came back with their drinks quickly, setting them down with practiced flair and grace. Roach thanked her immediately and she gave him a coy wink in return. This gave him paused; not because he legitimately believed she was flirting with him. He knew well enough the tricks of the waitress trade in getting better tips. No, it was more than that. Something about her face, the way she moved and winked… Roach was certain he had seen her around before, but how could that be? He’d never been in this city before. Yesterday was the first time even in this state. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling. 

Before she could saunter away again, he spoke up to get her attention.

“Hey, uh, have we met… before?” Cindy kept smiling, but tilted her head trying to think.

“I don’t think so, sweetie.” She shifted her weight to one hip, jutting it out and resting a delicate hand on top. “I think I would remember a handsome lad as yourself.”

“You ever make it out so far as the east coast?”

“Can’t say I have, sugar. I’ve lived in this town my whole life. Never really was one for travel’n.” Roach shrugged and let it drop. He had more pressing interests to ask about. 

“Let me ask you something else.” With a brief glance towards the bathroom, he leaned in close. “You seen anything… strange around here, recently? Maybe strange things in the fog?”

“I try not to go into the fog, if I can help it,” she admitted. “It’s not safe. Why? Did you see something?”

“I think I might have. I was out walking just down the road when I saw her: a fairy woman.” Intrigued, Cindy sat down across from him, in Seaborne’s empty seat. 

“Fairy? Well that is a sight, for sure. I’ve heard tales of tiny people in the fog from time to time, but I’ve never seen ‘em myself.”

“What have you heard?”

“Not much. I really never paid the stories any mind, but my uncle insists their true. He’ll tell anyone who’ll listen all about ‘em. He loves to talk about the little woman who dance in the fog.” Roach’s eyes lit up at the news. He couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe if he could get Seaborne to talk to this young lady’s uncle he could prove that what he had seen was real.

“Where can I find him?”

In the bathroom, Seaborne found at least some relief from his stress at a urinal. He didn't realize how badly he’d had to go until he was standing there, letting out what felt like a gallon of pee. It felt so good to be free of that burden he made a low moaning noise as he felt his bladder empty. Luckily there wasn’t anyone to hear, and he wouldn't have really cared if there had been. This was the first time in hours that something had actually gone right, and it was only a working toilet. The bar was set quite low.

As he washed his hands, he took notice of the bathroom’s decor, noting the severe lack of it. Not that he was expecting much, but there wasn’t even a mirror. The room had a few urinals, two stalls and a couple of sinks. Other than that and the soap dispenser, the room held nothing else. Seaborne grumbled as he wiped the excess water onto his pants, but he wasn’t exactly surprised. This whole town felt like it subsisted on the bare minimum, offering only what someone needed and nothing more. If this was the way the locals lived all the time, it was no wonder they weren’t out and about. They probably found life better in their own homes.

Heading back to the table, Seaborne finally cracked a smile as his eyes laid upon the plain, white cup at his seat. The dark liquid inside holding the promise of delicious flavor and refreshing warmth. Even if the coffee wasn’t that good, it was a welcome cup and a dearly needed beverage. Maybe with a little caffeine Seaborne could feel a bit more like his usual self. Sitting down he glanced at Roach, feeling a twinge of guilt for his own crappy behavior. It wasn’t Roach’s fault they were stuck here in this place, and he didn’t deserve the harsh tone from his friend. Taking his first sip, Seaborne promised to try to make things work, and lighten up a little, if only for his partner’s sake.

The coffee wasn’t half bad either.

“Oooh yes,” he sighed, leaning back. “This is what I needed.” Closing his eyes he thought he could feel the caffeine flooding into his brain. As the liquid went down into his stomach, it was as if it was pouring over his mind, waking it up, filling the tight corners and bringing him to life. “I am never going a morning without this ever again. Ever.” Seeing his friend visibly more cheerful, Roach’s smile returned with vigor.

“Glad to see your feeling better,” he noted. “Mind if I tell that story now?” Not opening his eyes, Seaborne mulled it over a few seconds, getting in the right mindset. He could guess with almost 100% certainty what Roach was going to say.

‘Either he saw the town locals up to no good, a creature in the fog, or men in black.’ To Roach he just said, “Yeah, go ahead.”

“It wasn’t that far down the road,” Roach began, trying to contain his excitement. “It was like a, uh… like a fairy. I could barely see it through the fog…”

‘Called it,’ Seaborne smirked to himself.

“It was short, like a kid but it had wings, clearish ones, like gossamer. She was dancing in the mist.”

“Did you say hi?”

“I didn’t get close enough to make contact,” Roach bemoaned. “She was only there for a few seconds then she disappeared. Now-” he lifted a finger and pointed it at Seaborne- “I know what you’re going to say. My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. This time. I’m sure of it; I know what I saw.”

“A fairy. In the fog.”

“Yeah. Dancing.” Seaborne paused, taking another sip of coffee.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Roach scrunched his face, confused.

“Alright.”

“Wait, that’s it?” He held out his hands and Seaborne just shrugged. “Don’t you want to-”

“No, I don’t,” Seaborne interrupted, finally opening his eyes. “I don’t. Whatever it is, I don’t. I just want to sit here, drink my coffee, then get the fixed car from the mechanics and leave. I don’t want to investigate something that will tie us up any longer.” He set down the cup and looked over at his companion with a kind but tired expression. “I want to go home, Roach. I want to get on that stupid plane, and go home. Please.” Roach sighed, looking out the window at the fog, thick as ever. He wanted to argue, but this trip had done a number on them both. There wasn’t a single thing he could say that would change Seaborne’s mind, so he just stayed silent. For now. 

He knew it in his bones: there was definitely something else going on. 

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