#if I can’t rule the present…… then I’ll RULE THE PAST!!!

[kaydear]

say what you will about lightspeed rescue being quote unquote bad but you gotta admit that power rangers lore whiplash has never reached the peak of lightspeed rescue’s first episode

“We, a shady black tie high tech agency run by the (?) government (?) need to protect the American coastal city of Mariner Bay from some powerful evil demons who want to destroy it because it’s built on their ancient evil palace. Also last time they were kicking around they were sealed up in an Egyptian tomb by, now stay with me here, ‘a powerful warlock.’ To do this we have selected 1) a firefighter with curtain bangs 2) our boss’s daughter 3) a rock climbing lesbian 4) a Yeehaw stunt pilot and 5) literally just some dude who works at Seaworld.”

[callsigns-haze]

You knew? Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader! Callsign Ace

Chapter Summary: In a clever setup orchestrated by Hangman and Phoenix, Rooster and Ace, two colleagues with a tense relationship, unknowingly begin exchanging flirtatious emails under anonymous identities. As they bond over shared work frustrations, they eventually realize they’ve been emailing each other all along. The discovery leads to frustration and anger, particularly from Ace, who feels betrayed by Hangman’s manipulation. The revelation complicates their already strained relationship.

Warning: This story includes themes of manipulation and workplace tension, leading to conflicts and personal revelations.

The sun beat down on NAS North Island as jets roared across the sky, the rhythmic hum of engines echoing throughout the base. Inside the hangar, pilots and crew members moved with practiced ease, their chatter blending with the distant sound of drills.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw sat on a bench in the locker room, his flight suit unzipped to his waist. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his tousled hair, his thoughts far from the noise around him. Lately, a gnawing sense of loneliness had settled in, one he couldn't quite shake.

Just as he was lost in thought, the door swung open with a bang. Natasha "Phoenix" Trace rushed in, her boots skidding slightly on the polished floor. There was a determined look in her eyes, one Rooster knew all too well—she was on a mission.

"Rooster, got a minute?" she asked, barely giving him time to respond before thrusting a crumpled piece of paper into his hand.

He frowned, unfolding the note to reveal an email address scrawled in neat handwriting. Confusion crossed his face as he looked up at Phoenix. "What's this?"

"An email address," Phoenix replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I know you can be slow sometimes, but I didn’t think I’d have to explain that part."

Rooster rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. "I can see that. But whose?"

Phoenix crossed her arms, her expression turning serious. "Listen, I’ve seen you moping around here, and frankly, it’s pathetic. You're my best friend, and I hate seeing you like this. So, I talked to a friend of mine—a good one—and got her email for you. The only rule is, you can’t ask her name. And she won’t ask for yours either."

Rooster blinked, taken aback. "You’re setting me up? Since when did you become a matchmaker?"

"Since you started acting like a lovesick puppy," Phoenix shot back, her tone teasing but her eyes sincere. "Look, just email her. No expectations, no pressure. Just talk. See where it goes."

Rooster glanced down at the email again, something about the mystery of it intriguing him. He’d never done anything like this before, and maybe that was exactly why he should give it a try.

"Alright," he finally said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "I’ll do it. But if this turns out to be some weird prank, I’m coming after you."

Phoenix laughed, the tension easing between them. "Trust me, Rooster. You might actually thank me for this one. Just don’t try to figure out who she is. Let it happen."

As Rooster watched her leave, he felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity. Maybe this was what he needed after all—a chance to connect with someone new, without the weight of the past hanging over him.

Across the base, in another part of the hangar, Y/N Y/L/N, known by her call sign "Ace," was finishing up a maintenance check on her jet. She wiped the sweat from her brow, satisfied with the day's work, when Jake "Hangman" Seresin approached her, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Ace," he called out, waving a folded piece of paper in the air as he jogged over.

She raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. "What’s with the look, Seresin?"

He handed her the paper with a flourish, like he was presenting her with a winning lottery ticket. "Just a little something I thought you might appreciate. It’s an email address."

Ace unfolded the paper, eyeing the email address written there. "Whose is it?"

"That’s the fun part," Hangman replied, leaning against the jet with a smirk. "I know you’ve been keeping to yourself lately, and I figured you could use a distraction. So, I talked to a buddy of mine and got you this. The only rule is, you can’t ask him who he is, and he can’t ask about you. Just email him. See what happens."

Ace looked at the email address again, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Hangman said, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. "No games, no strings. Just an honest chance to connect with someone. What do you say?"

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket. "Alright, I’ll give it a shot. But if this is your idea of a joke, Seresin, I’m not going to be happy."

Hangman laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Scout’s honour, Ace. I think you’ll like this one."

As he walked away, Ace couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. The anonymity of it, the chance to talk to someone without the usual baggage—it was intriguing. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of surprise she needed.

---

The day was winding down as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the base. The roar of jet engines had softened, leaving a quieter hum in the air.

Ace, tired but satisfied with the day’s work, was making her way out of the hangar. She was eager to get home, her mind already turning over what she might say in that first email to the mysterious address Hangman had given her.

As she rounded a corner, focused more on her thoughts than on where she was going, she collided hard with someone coming the other way. The impact jolted her back to reality, and she instinctively gripped her helmet tighter to avoid dropping it.

"Watch where you’re going!" she snapped, the words flying out before she even registered who she’d bumped into.

Rooster, equally caught off guard, scowled as he steadied himself. "Maybe you should try not walking around with your head in the clouds," he shot back, his tone sharp.

Ace narrowed her eyes at him, irritation bubbling up immediately. Rooster was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. Their relationship had always been rocky—too much ego and too many unresolved tensions.

"You’re one to talk," she muttered, brushing past him. "I’m surprised you didn’t trip over your own ego on the way here."

Rooster rolled his eyes, not willing to let it slide. "Yeah, well, at least I don’t need to be constantly reminded which way is up."

They glared at each other for a moment longer before Ace turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Rooster behind with a bitter taste in his mouth. As she walked away, she could feel the tension still crackling in the air, but she refused to let it ruin her evening.

From across the hangar, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin watched the interaction unfold, exchanging worried glances. They had been casually chatting when they noticed their two targets—Ace and Rooster—heading straight for each other. Now, as they observed the icy exchange, Phoenix let out a sigh.

"Well, that went about as well as a mid-air collision," she murmured, shaking her head.

Hangman chuckled nervously, though his usual confidence was tinged with doubt. "Yeah, I’m starting to think this might have been a bad idea. They can barely be in the same room without biting each other’s heads off."

Phoenix crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe… or maybe this is exactly what they need. You know how it is—sometimes the people who push each other’s buttons the most are the ones who end up surprising you."

Hangman shrugged, though he still looked uncertain. "I hope you’re right, because if this backfires, we’re both going to hear about it for the rest of our lives."

Phoenix smirked, her confidence returning. "Trust me, Hangman. We’ve seen stranger things happen around here."

-

Ace slid into the driver’s seat of her car, tossing her helmet onto the passenger seat with a frustrated huff. The encounter with Rooster still lingered in her mind, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her. Not tonight.

She pulled out the crumpled piece of paper with the email address, staring at it for a moment before finally unlocking her phone. With a deep breath, she opened a new message and began typing, her fingers moving more quickly as she decided what to say.

Hey there, she started, keeping it simple. I’m not sure how this whole thing is supposed to work, but I guess we’re both in the same boat. So, here’s to whatever comes next.

She hesitated for a moment, then hit send before she could second-guess herself. Leaning back in her seat, she let out a slow breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nerves.

-

Back at his apartment, Rooster had just kicked off his boots and was settling in when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw a new email notification.

Curious, he opened it and read the message, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The casual tone, the uncertainty—it was refreshing. Whoever this person was, they weren’t overthinking it, and he liked that.

Hey yourself, he typed back, his mood lightening as he responded. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

He hit send, feeling a flicker of excitement. There was something fun about the anonymity of it all—no names, no faces, just two people connecting through words.

As he leaned back, waiting to see if they’d reply, he had no idea that the person on the other end was the very same pilot he’d just butted heads with. And for now, maybe that was for the best.

-

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace sat on her couch, feet tucked underneath her as she scrolled through her emails. The mystery contact had quickly become the highlight of her evening, a welcome distraction from the routine of her day. She opened his latest email with a sense of anticipation.

Hey yourself, it began. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

She couldn’t help but smile. There was something refreshing about this—no expectations, no judgments, just a conversation. She quickly typed a response.

Well, I guess we’re both in uncharted territory here. So, let’s start simple—how was your day?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster kicked back on his couch, his phone in hand. The quiet of his apartment felt more bearable with the company of his mystery emailer. When her reply came through, he read it with a growing interest.

Pretty standard—flew a few maneuvers, avoided crashing into anyone, and had a less-than-pleasant encounter with someone who seems to think they own the sky. You?

He chuckled to himself before typing back.

Sounds like a typical day in our line of work. As for me, I spent most of my day fixing things up and trying not to lose my patience with a certain someone who seems to thrive on pushing my buttons.

ACE’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Ace read his email and felt a spark of curiosity. The way he talked about his day sounded oddly familiar, like they might have more in common than she’d initially thought. She responded with a hint of playfulness.

Fixing things up? Sounds like we might work in the same field. My day involved some pretty similar frustrations—mostly with equipment, though a few people came close. What’s the most interesting part of your job?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Rooster raised an eyebrow as he read her reply. Was it possible they worked in the same industry? The thought intrigued him, but he decided to keep it vague.

The most interesting part? Probably the high-stakes situations. There’s nothing quite like the rush you get when everything’s on the line. What about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Ace’s curiosity deepened. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they might be closer in their professional lives than either of them realized. She replied with a smile.

I’d have to agree with that. There’s something addictive about the adrenaline, the way you have to think on your feet. It’s not for everyone, but it definitely keeps things interesting. Ever have a moment where you thought, ‘This is it, this is why I do this’?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Rooster felt a connection growing with this mystery person. The way she described the job, the adrenaline—it all resonated with him.

Definitely. There’ve been a few moments where it all comes together, and you remember why you signed up in the first place. It’s those moments that make the tough days worth it. Sounds like you know exactly what I mean.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace smiled at the screen. There was an undeniable connection between them, something that went beyond the surface.

I do. It’s the reason we keep coming back, isn’t it? The rush, the challenge. So, what’s your favorite part of the day—when you’re up there, or when you’re down here figuring it all out?

She hit send, the thrill of the conversation growing with each exchange.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her email, feeling that same thrill. It was like they were dancing around the details, both aware they were probably in the same line of work, but neither willing to say too much.

Honestly? It’s a bit of both. I love the freedom and the rush of being up there, but there’s something satisfying about the process of figuring things out down here too. You?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s heart raced as she typed her response, the anonymity of their conversation adding to the excitement.

Same here. There’s a balance to it that I love. The thrill of being in the thick of it, and the quiet satisfaction of making sure everything runs smoothly when it’s all over. I guess you could say it’s a perfect mix of chaos and control.

She sent the message, feeling more connected to this stranger than she had to anyone in a long time.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her reply, a grin spreading across his face. There was no denying it now—they were definitely in the same field. He wondered if they’d ever crossed paths without even knowing it.

Couldn’t have said it better myself. There’s something about that mix that’s just right. Maybe one day we’ll get the chance to compare notes in person—who knows?

He sent the email, his curiosity about her growing with every word.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Ace’s pulse quickened as she read his last message. The thought of meeting him, of finding out who he was, sent a thrill through her.

Maybe we will. It’s a small world, after all. In the meantime, I’m enjoying getting to know you through these little windows into each other’s lives. Who knew this would turn out to be so fun?

She sent the message, already eager to see what he’d say next.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Rooster leaned back, thinking about how surreal this all was. There was something almost magical about connecting with someone this way, without even knowing their name.

I have to admit, I’m enjoying it too. There’s something about the mystery that makes it all the more interesting. Who knows where this might lead?

He sent the message, his mind racing with possibilities. The night had turned out far better than he could have imagined.

---

The sun had barely risen over the base, casting a soft, golden light across the tarmac. Jets stood in neat rows, their sleek forms gleaming under the morning sun. The day was just beginning, but already there was a sense of energy in the air—a mix of anticipation and routine that every pilot knew well.

Ace arrived at the hangar, her steps quick and determined. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially not after the strange, unexpected thrill of the email exchange last night. She had stayed up far too late, caught up in the banter with her mystery contact, and now she was paying for it. Her mind was still partially back in that conversation, trying to piece together who the person on the other end might be.

But her focus snapped back to the present the moment she saw him.

Bradshaw was already there, leaning casually against one of the jets with that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. He was chatting with a couple of other pilots, his easy laughter carrying across the hangar. As soon as he noticed her, the smirk widened.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Rooster called out, his voice dripping with mock surprise.

Ace rolled her eyes, her irritation flaring instantly. "Some of us don’t need to parade around like peacocks just to get attention, Rooster."

He pushed off from the jet and strolled toward her, his hands in his pockets. "Oh, I don’t know, Ace. A little flair never hurt anyone. But I guess subtlety isn’t really your style, is it?"

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "You wouldn’t know subtlety if it flew up and hit you in the face."

Rooster chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Maybe not, but at least I don’t go around with a permanent chip on my shoulder. Lighten up, Ace. Not everything has to be a competition."

She stepped closer, refusing to back down. "When you’re around, everything is a competition. Or maybe you just don’t like losing."

Rooster’s eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You think I’m losing? That’s cute. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night."

Ace’s jaw clenched, her irritation now fully transformed into a burning anger. "You know what, Rooster? One of these days, that ego of yours is going to get you in trouble."

He shrugged, unbothered by her words. "Maybe. But at least I won’t be the one who’s bitter and alone because I’m too stubborn to let anything slide."

Before Ace could fire back, the sound of a nearby jet engine roared to life, signalling that it was time to get to work. She shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and heading toward her plane. Rooster watched her go, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

The pilots gathered in the briefing room, a large, sterile space lined with chairs facing a wall of screens. The air was thick with the usual blend of tension and focus that accompanied every pre-flight briefing. Ace took a seat near the front, determined to focus on the mission and ignore Rooster, who had taken a seat a few rows behind her.

Phoenix stood at the front, leading the briefing with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She outlined the day’s manoeuvres and objectives, her voice calm and authoritative. But even as she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice the occasional, heated glances exchanged between Ace and Rooster.

It didn’t take long for the tension to bubble over.

Phoenix was in the middle of explaining a particularly complex manoeuverer when Rooster leaned back in his chair and spoke up, his tone casual but clearly intended to provoke.

"Some of us might need a refresher on this one. Don’t want anyone getting lost up there."

Ace stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. "If you’re worried about keeping up, Rooster, maybe you should take notes."

A few of the other pilots exchanged glances, sensing the tension and doing their best to stay out of it. Phoenix sighed internally, knowing that once Ace and Rooster started, it was almost impossible to get them to stop.

"Alright, knock it off, you two," Phoenix said, her tone firm. "We’re here to work as a team, not to see who can throw the best insults. Save it for after the mission."

Ace bit back a retort, forcing herself to focus on the briefing instead of the urge to wipe that smug look off Rooster’s face. Rooster, for his part, simply leaned back and smirked, satisfied that he had gotten under her skin once again.

The day’s exercises were intense, a series of high-speed manoeuvres designed to push the pilots to their limits. Ace was in her element, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she focused on every turn, every dive. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t completely block out the presence of Rooster’s jet nearby.

Every time she checked her radar or adjusted her position, there he was—always close, always just a little too close. It felt like he was deliberately shadowing her, testing her, trying to outmanoeuvre her at every opportunity.

"Stay in your lane, Rooster," Ace muttered under her breath, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

But it was clear from his manoeuvres that he was trying to show her up. Every roll, every dive was executed with precision, as if he was daring her to do better.

Ace grit her teeth and pushed her jet harder, determined not to let him get the upper hand. She mirrored his moves, staying right on his tail as they looped and rolled through the sky. The rivalry between them burned hotter with each passing moment, the tension building until it was almost unbearable.

But no matter how hard she pushed, Rooster was right there, matching her move for move. The frustration built up inside her until she could hardly see straight, her focus narrowing to just one thing: beating him.

When the exercises finally ended and the jets returned to base, Ace felt a wave of both relief and exhaustion. She landed her jet with a bit more force than necessary, her frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.

Back on the ground, the pilots gathered in the hangar to debrief and cool down. Ace was in the middle of checking her jet when Rooster walked by, a smug grin on his face.

"Looks like you were struggling a bit up there," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Ace straightened up, fixing him with a cold stare. "I wasn’t struggling. But it’s cute that you think so."

Rooster shrugged, clearly unfazed. "If you say so. Maybe next time you’ll actually keep up."

Ace stepped closer, her frustration boiling over. "I don’t need to keep up with you, Rooster. If anything, you’re the one who’s slowing me down."

His grin widened, as if her anger was just what he’d been hoping for. "Slowing you down? Maybe you’re just not as fast as you think."

The two stood toe to toe, the tension between them crackling in the air. It was always like this—one little comment, one tiny spark, and they were at each other’s throats. Neither was willing to back down, and it was only a matter of time before one of them said something they couldn’t take back.

But before it could escalate any further, Phoenix walked over, her expression exasperated.

"Will you two knock it off already?" she said, stepping between them. "We’ve got enough to deal with today without you two bickering like school kids."

Ace took a deep breath, forcing herself to step back. Rooster, too, backed off, though the smug look never left his face.

"Fine," Ace muttered, turning her attention back to her jet. "Just stay out of my way."

Rooster gave a mock salute, his smirk still in place. "Whatever you say, Ace."

As he walked away, Ace’s frustration simmered, but she forced herself to focus on her work. She didn’t have time to let Rooster get under her skin—not when there was so much at stake.

But no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, the tension between them was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to flare up at a moment’s notice.

The day had been long, and by the time Ace returned to her quarters, she was exhausted. Her body was sore, her mind was racing, and all she wanted to do was collapse into bed. But as she sat on the edge of her bed, her phone buzzed with a new email notification.

She picked it up, her mood lightening slightly as she saw it was from her mystery contact. The memory of their flirtatious exchange the night before brought a small smile to her lips, a welcome distraction from the frustrations of the day.

Hey there, the email read. How was your day?

She sighed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she considered how to respond. Part of her wanted to vent about Rooster, about how infuriating he was, but she held back. She didn’t want to taint this connection with the negativity that seemed to follow her

---

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster was sprawled out on his couch, his guitar resting on his lap as he strummed absentmindedly. The buzz of his phone drew him out of his musings. He saw the email from his mystery contact and smiled, eager for a distraction from his day.

Hey there! My day was pretty intense. Spent most of it dealing with some annoying issues at work and got into a few heated exchanges. How about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his response and couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed like they were both having a tough day. She typed back, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

Intense is definitely the word for it. I had a rough day with some tricky equipment and a certain pilot who seems to think he’s invincible. But enough about me—what’s your idea of a perfect way to unwind after a day like that?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s smile widened as he read her email. Her mention of a troublesome pilot made him wonder if they might be talking about the same person, but he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he focused on her question.

Ah, a perfect way to unwind? I’d say a good jam session or maybe just kicking back with a favourite movie. Something that takes my mind off the chaos of the day. What about you? Any special routines to shake off the stress?

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace considered his response while taking a sip from her cup of tea. His laid-back approach to winding down was something she could relate to. She quickly typed her reply.

Sounds pretty good. For me, it’s usually a mix of hitting the gym or getting lost in a good book. Sometimes, a good meal with friends can do wonders too. It’s nice to have a little routine to fall back on after a hectic day.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster liked the idea of winding down with friends—it was a nice contrast to the solitary nature of his typical evenings. He began typing his response with a relaxed grin.

Sounds like you’ve got a pretty solid routine. I’ve got to say, a good meal with friends sounds like something I could use more of. Maybe I should work on that. Anyway, what kind of books are you into? I’m always looking for recommendations.

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace’s interest was piqued by his question. She enjoyed talking about books and was happy to share her favorites.

I’m a bit of a mix—I love thrillers and mysteries, but I also have a soft spot for classic literature. Recently, I’ve been diving into some historical fiction. How about you? What’s your go-to genre?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster read her email with interest. Her love for thrillers and classic literature was something he could relate to, though his tastes leaned a little differently.

I’m a fan of thrillers myself, though I’ve been known to get into sci-fi and fantasy from time to time. It’s always nice to escape into a different world for a while. Historical fiction sounds intriguing, though. I might need to check that out.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace felt a genuine connection through their exchange. She was enjoying this conversation more than she’d expected. She responded with a hint of her playful side.

Sci-fi and fantasy, huh? That’s a pretty interesting mix. You might have to convince me that they’re worth diving into. And if you ever need a book recommendation, just let me know. I might have a few hidden gems up my sleeve.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he read her playful offer. He liked the idea of her recommending books—it felt like a little inside joke between them.

I’ll definitely take you up on that. And I’m always up for a good book challenge. Just don’t be too surprised if I end up recommending a few sci-fi classics in return. It’s all part of the fun, right?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s smile grew as she read his response. The playful banter was exactly what she needed after a long day. She decided to keep the momentum going.

Challenge accepted. I’m ready for your recommendations anytime. And who knows, maybe we’ll end up with a shared list of must-reads by the end of this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s grin widened. He liked the idea of a book exchange and was intrigued by the way their conversation was flowing. He typed his last message of the night.

Looking forward to it. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, especially after a day like today. Here’s to new books and unexpected connections. Talk soon?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace finished her tea and read his message with satisfaction. She felt a genuine connection growing and was looking forward to continuing the conversation.

Definitely. Here’s to more chats and less stress. I’ll be here.

She sent the email and closed her laptop, feeling a sense of calm settle over her. The mystery contact was turning out to be a much-needed bright spot in her hectic life.

---

The hangar was alive with the usual pre-flight activity. Rooster was inspecting his jet, but his attention kept drifting towards Ace, who was absorbed in her tablet. Her brows were furrowed, and she seemed completely engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Rooster, never one to miss an opportunity, strolled over with a casual swagger, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey, Ace,” he called out, his tone light but laced with teasing. “Looks like you’re pretty absorbed over there. Texting someone special, are we?”

Ace glanced up, her expression a mix of irritation and surprise. “What’s it to you, Rooster?”

Rooster leaned in a little closer, clearly enjoying the moment. “Just curious. I saw you typing away like your life depends on it. You’ve got to be talking to someone pretty important, right? A special someone, maybe?”

Ace’s eyes narrowed as she tried to hide the screen of her tablet. “It’s none of your business. Can’t you just focus on your own stuff?”

Rooster’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so secretive. I’m just wondering if you’re setting up a hot date or maybe just chatting with a certain someone who’s been on your mind.”

Ace’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Seriously, Rooster? Not everything’s a joke. I’m just dealing with some work stuff.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying riling her up. “Work stuff, huh? If it’s work, why’re you so secretive? You can tell me. I promise I won’t judge. Or is it that you’re afraid I might find out it’s someone...well, let’s say, more interesting?”

Ace’s frustration peaked. She shoved her tablet into her bag and took a step toward Rooster, her voice low but fierce. “You’ve been on my case all morning. If you don’t back off, I swear—”

Rooster chuckled, stepping back slightly. “Whoa, calm down there. I’m just making conversation. Didn’t realize you’d be so touchy about it. Guess it’s a sensitive topic.”

Before Ace could respond, Phoenix and the other squad members noticed the growing tension. Phoenix stepped in, her expression serious. “Alright, enough. If you two can’t handle a little teasing without it escalating, I’m going to have to step in.”

Hangman and Coyote, catching the edge in Phoenix’s tone, moved closer. Coyote placed a hand on Ace’s shoulder, gently pulling her back. “Hey, Ace, take a breath. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Hangman approached Rooster, his expression one of mixed amusement and exasperation. “Rooster, you’re really pushing it today. Maybe give it a rest, huh?”

Ace, still seething, shook her head. “I’m done with this. I just want to get through the day without dealing with his nonsense.”

Rooster, now more subdued but still smirking, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Fanboy and Bob, who had been watching from a distance, approached to help defuse the situation. Fanboy clapped Rooster on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s focus on the mission.”

Bob nodded in agreement, glancing at Ace with concern. “Everyone needs to stay cool. We’ve got enough on our plates without adding personal drama to the mix.”

As the squad began to gather for the briefing, the tension between Ace and Rooster lingered, but they both knew they had to refocus. Phoenix took a deep breath, addressing the group. “Let’s all get it together. We’ve got a briefing coming up, and we need to be professional.”

Ace and Rooster, now separated by the intervention of their teammates, walked toward the briefing room, the earlier animosity still simmering but temporarily set aside. The squad’s intervention had helped to de-escalate the situation, but the morning’s drama left a mark on everyone’s mood as they prepared for the day’s mission.

---

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace slumped onto her couch, exhausted from the day’s events. Her laptop was open, and she continued her email conversation with her anonymous contact, hoping to unwind a bit. She began typing with a mix of curiosity and irritation about the ongoing mystery.

Hey,

Today was a disaster. Had a big argument with a colleague who really knows how to get under my skin. Not the best day for me. But this email exchange has been a good distraction, I guess.

How about you? How’s your day going? Anything to share?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster read her email with a smirk. He was enjoying the light-hearted banter but was curious to see if he could draw out more information. He typed back, subtly hinting at the similarities in their work environments.

Hey,

Sounds like we’ve both had our share of drama. My day wasn’t any better—had some heated exchanges with colleagues. It’s like we’re living in the same soap opera.

I’m starting to think our work situations might be more similar than we realized. Anyway, got any funny or surprising stories from your day?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his email with increasing suspicion. His description of his day seemed all too familiar. Deciding to push further, she typed her response, trying to get more clues about who he might be.

Hey,

It’s funny—your day sounds almost too familiar. I’m starting to wonder if we might be talking about the same environment. If you’re in a high-pressure job with lots of drama, I might have a pretty good guess about who you are.

Any hints?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster saw her email and felt a spark of recognition. He decided to give a direct clue to see if it would lead to an answer.

Hey,

Alright, here’s a hint: I work in a place where tensions are high and everyone’s on edge. Sounds like you might be in a similar boat. Does that help?

I’m curious—any idea who I might be?

INT. ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his clue and felt a sharp pang of realization. Her frustration from the day mixed with the sudden clarity about her correspondent’s identity. She quickly typed her response, her irritation clear in her words.

You’ve got to be kidding me. With your “high-pressure” job description, it’s pretty obvious that you’re Rooster. I should have known, I can’t believe I’ve been having these conversations with you, of all people.

This is ridiculous. And to think I was actually enjoying this exchange. I’m so done with this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s eyes widened in shock as he read Ace’s email. The realization hit him hard, and his amusement turned into frustration. He quickly typed a reply, his tone reflecting his annoyance.

Seriously? I had a feeling, but this is just perfect. So it turns out I’ve been emailing with Ace. I should have known you’d be the one on the other end. What a surprise.

I can’t believe you were getting so worked up over these emails. Great, just great. I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about now. Or maybe not.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace’s frustration flared as she read Rooster’s reply. She cursed under her breath, the realization that Rooster was behind the emails making her even more upset. She slammed her laptop shut, her annoyance with both Rooster and Hangman boiling over.

“Damn it, Rooster. And damn Hangman for setting this up!” she fumed. “This whole thing was a setup from the start.”

She paced the room, trying to calm herself. The surprise and anger of discovering her mystery contact was Rooster left her seething. The day had been a mess, and the email revelation only added fuel to the fire.

Please comment, like and reblog!

[coralinnii]

Hi! I saw that you were opening your requests for the next day or so to celebrate getting 2.7k followers! First off, I wanna say congratulations, and may you have a good day/night (almost wrote 'not' lol)!

Anyways, I read your rules, and wondered if I could get a fic with Leona, Vil, Malleus, and Lilia being in a relationship with a Venti! Reader? Essentially, Venti is a Genshin Impact character who plays the lyre, controls the wind, and has a playful personality.

‧₊˚✧ As Free as the Wind ‧₊˚✧

↳ Twst guys with a Venti!reader 

feat: Leona ❋ Vil ❋ Malleus ❋ Lilia  genre: humor, mild fluff note: no pronouns were used with the reader, Venti!reader is of legal age to drink, no spoilers regarding the Genshin Impact storyline, minor spoilers for TWST Book 7

Thank you reading my rules, always appreciate the extra effort people make! I deeply apologize for how late I am with this, but I hope you enjoy the post. Hopefully I captured Venti's personality well enough >_<'

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Ooff, did he first thought you were a pain in his tail. 

Loud, cheeky, no fear of disturbing anyone for entertainment or favors… at least Ruggie has the decency to be useful. 

He scoffed when you smile and act as if he can’t sense a dangerous well of power within you, the playful persona you present may fool a common man but not Leona.  

He’ll play your game though. There’s no benefit to him to pry into your secrets. He finds this side of you, the one that would play a soft ballad for him for some booze money, much easier to deal with. 

This is a strange relationship, but Leona can respect someone strong and most of all, doesn't tell him what to do. You believe in free will and freedom above else, which Leona appreciates. 

“The concept of one king ruling over all... I can’t say I’m too interested in a land like that.” 

Leona laughed at your boldness. With you, there’s no sense about stuffy responsibilities and obligations. 

There are sweet days where you and Leona would spend the day in the greenhouse, Leona sleeping soundly as you play your lyre while humming your new poems, the wind carrying your melodic voice. 

“Huh, do you have a song for me? Hah, what do you want from me this time? Fine, I’ll let you play.”

Vil immediately clocked something powerful about you, your nonchalant persona is good, but you cannot fool a seasoned actor like him. 

No matter, though. Vil has no interest in delving into someone’s past like that. Vil assumes that if you must act so easy-going yet private about yourself, then he won’t pry into such things. One must have reasons, he supposed. 

However, Vil cannot let go of your pension for the “occasional” drink or two. Vil doesn’t care that you are older than your appearance suggest, alcohol impacts your body and health as you age so he rather you limit that little habit of yours. 

“Come now, Vil. Another bottle wouldn’t hurt~” 

“Hmmph, you don’t have to worry much about yourself when you’re drunk but I most certainly do, especially when you come to me reeking of wine.”

But you always managed to quell his anger by singing ballads and poems about your wonderful beloved Vil. That always lifts the Housewarden’s mood and you end up with a mere reprimanding. Hehe.

Vil will not, however, forgive you so easily if you get too mischievous with him. The beautiful man can respect your talent with wind and currents, but he doesn’t appreciate the gust you would conjure up if it messes up Vil’s appearance too much. 

“Don’t even think about running away from me. I know you were behind the sudden rush of wind, my mischievous one. Acting cute or sweet words is not going to work this time.”

However youthful you may appear, Malleus can sense an old soul within you which feels familiar and powerful. 

Malleus is often surprised by you, for your playful and bold nature while handling the wild winds as skillfully as you hold the lyre. You bear similarities to a certain someone that he can’t help but respect you and hold you to a higher regard than any typical being. 

Malleus doesn’t hate that easygoing personality of yours. On the contrary, he enjoys that spontaneous side of yours as you suggest the strangest of ideas to a powerful figure such as him. 

“Let's go jumping in puddles and see who can make the biggest splash!“

You are a sociable being, making friends so easily that it baffles the young fae. A few cute words from you and it was suddenly so easy to lower one’s guard around you. 

However, when you’re alone and don’t realize his presence, Malleus catches that gleam of loneliness in your eyes as you gaze from your tall resting spot. A look that Malleus feels a kinship with you in that regard.

”You would like to take a stroll with me tonight? Oh, a race in the sky, you say? Very well, but don't be conceited enough to believe I’m so easily bested.”

Dear Sevens, why would you ever let these two chaotic gremlins be in the same vicinity? Do you know no mercy for others?  

The two of you would hit it off so well, it’s almost concerning. Lilia finds you a delight to be around, almost a kindred spirit even. 

“So, you also took care of a dragon long ago.” 

“Yeap, but he sorta became a nation-wide threat when I decided to leave and go off on my own.” 

“Ah yes, those things do tend to happen.” 

(if you can’t tell who’s saying what, that really speaks to how similar a coincidence that was)

Jamming sessions ALL. THE. TIME. The campus has not known a single moment of rest as you display your musical talents in the courtyard while Lilia encourages you all the way, occasionally playing along with an instrument of his own.

Lilia is fascinated by your lyrical retellings of your world and would love to visit this kingdom that values freedom among all else, and of this dandelion wine you speak so lovingly about.

As a man with his own… history, Lilia isn’t the type to ask too much about you if he sees you dodging the question. He can recognize that familiar look of longing and loss, so Lilia doesn’t press further and instead indulge with you in one more glass of bittersweet wine. 

“What tales do you have to regale for tonight? I’m always captivated by these grand adventures of yours, it’s almost tempting for this old soul of mine, hehe.”

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Failed proposal

Azriel x f!Reader

Masterlist.

Summary; Azriel finally gathers the courage to propose, but what happens when the ring gets mixed with the earrings Cassian got for Nesta?

I was inspired by the movie "something from Tiffany's"

Warnings; a bit of angst and swearing. Mentions of violence.

Winter solstice was coming and everyone was rushing around trying to find the perfect gift for their loved ones. You, Feyre, and Nesta had already shopped for gifts and hid them around the house so the males wouldn’t find them. They were way too impatient and you knew that the moment they would spot a present they would open it to see what it is. Even your mate Azriel who seemed strict and a sucker for rules would cave. 

You and Azriel met 50 years ago and the bond snapped instantly, you spent the next years going out on dates and taking things slow and about 20 years ago you moved in the house of wind and accepted the bond. You didn’t have a ceremony so you recently discussed about getting married, he seemed nervous and wrapped the conversation quite abruptly making you wonder if he really wanted this. You couldn’t understand what was holding him back, you had accepted the bond so getting married was actually something meant to happen. Your insecurities resurfaced and the jealousy consumed you as you thought about the time he spent with Elain in order to help her adjust, but after overhearing that he had a big plan for this winter solstice, you decided to wait until then to confront him. The girls were all convinced that he will give you the ring you yearned for and you couldn’t hide your excitement.

Azriel 

“I don’t know Rhys… none of the rings feels right” Azriel said as they walked around in the store.  

“What about this one?” Rhys exclaimed and held a ring in Azriel’s face. The shadowsinger took a step back and examined the ring, it was indeed a beautiful gold ring with a blue marquise cut stone the same shade as his siphons. Azriel took the ring from Rhysand’s hand and moved it to the light, it was just as shiny as your eyes, he thought and smiled. 

“Okay I’ll take this” he informed the salesman and followed him to the register. After the ring was packed he took the bag and hurried off hoping to get home before you so he could hide it.

He entered the library and removed one stone from the wall leaving the present inside and placing the stone back into place. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t notice the same bag that Cassian had hidden there too.

Winter solstice.

Azriel’s behavior was completely odd the past days and this morning he jumped off the bed like you burned him. You were really confused but also excited because these were telltale signs of an upcoming proposal -or at least that’s what the girls had been telling you.

The night came rather quickly and you all gathered in the main room of the house of wind with all the presents. 

Feyre gave Rhysand a painting of Nyx and him flying around, then she gave Cassian a book about war strategies. For Nesta she had bought a book series and for Elain some gardening supplies. Then she moved to Azriel for whom she got a new dagger, and finally you… you opened the velvet box and gasped, she got you the necklace you had been checking out for months. You hugged her and then it was Rhysand’s turn, he bought Feyre an art gallery and jewellery and weapons for the rest of you. 

Azriel’s turn came, and he gave Feyre a sketchbook, then gave Rhysand a new pair of Illyrian leathers, and a new sword to Cassian. He had bought Nesta a book and then he moved to Elain, you almost growled when she gasped and held a bracelet with a pink rose charm. Then it was your turn, he looked nervous as he grabbed the last bag and gave it to you. 

At the same time Cassian pushed a similar bag in Nesta’s hands whispering “I can’t wait anymore open it please” 

You opened the bag and saw a small velvet box, your heart stopped and you glanced at Azriel. It’s happening. You thought and opened the box with a huge smile on your face.

“Oh Az… uhm thank you” your smile fluttered.

He furrowed his eyebrows and asked “what?” 

“I love them” you smiled and showed him the box, a pair of earrings was inside and he frowned. 

Nesta squealed and jumped on her feet 

“Yes yes yes a million times yes” she screamed and hugged a very confused Cassian. 

Your eyes watered as you stared at them.

Cassian gulped as he saw the ring. He was sweating but seeing Nesta’s reaction he smiled and placed it on her finger. You couldn’t take it anymore so you congratulated them and excused yourself. Azriel was speechless… he glared at Cassian and hurried off to find you. 

You were in your shared room, sitting on the bed and crying. Azriel felt a pang in his chest but he couldn’t tell you, he didn’t want to do this without the ring. Rage filled him and he thought about all the ways he would beat Cassian. 

“What’s wrong angel?” He asked and sat next to you. 

“Do you even love me anymore?” You asked him, your voice breaking. 

“Of course, more than anything… where is this coming from?” 

You just shrugged and laid back. You didn’t mind that he didn’t propose as much as the fact that he gave Elain something that reminded of her while he gave to you a pair of simple earrings…and he knew that you didn’t even wear earrings. 

He opened his mouth to speak again but quickly shut it as you turned your back on him and tried to sleep. 

Azriel was confused because he didn’t feel any disappointment down the bond, just jealousy. He thought about it and then it hit him…he gave Elain -with whom you had a problem- a thoughtful gift while he gave you something that you didn’t even use. He felt even worse and with a groan he fell back and stared at the ceiling.

The morning came and you woke up alone in bed…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Rhysand exclaimed.

“Because I don’t want to ruin this too.” Azriel sighed. “I met her a few days before you were trapped under the mountain so our first years as mates were not easy, then she moved to the house of wind where everyone was mourning you and we didn’t even have a ceremony for accepting the bond, she just brought a piece of apple pie in our room and offered it to me…. The next days I was busy helping Mor, Cassian and Amren rule Velaris and  we didn’t even celebrate our bond. I can’t let anything destroy the proposal too.” 

Cassian walked into Rhysand’s office and Azriel immediately pounced on him.

“You fucking idiot” -punch

“Why didn’t you say something?” -punch 

“You fucking stole my ring” -punch 

“You stole my moment" -punch, punch 

The warlord was accepting the punishment knowing that he messed up, only when the high lord pulled Azriel back he dared to speak. 

“I’m so sorry brother… I was shocked I didn’t know what to do…and Nesta was so excited… I couldn’t find it in my heart to destroy the moment” he avoided Azriel’s gaze, the shame consuming him. 

“I. Want. My. Ring. Back.” The shadowsinger growled, pausing between each word. 

“Okay…” Cassian mumbled and left. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were sitting in your room staring out the window… you wondered if Elain came here sooner would Azriel still want you to accept the mating bond? You doubted that and pain filled your heart. 

A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts and Nesta walked in.

“Heyyyy, I was wondering if you would like to come with me to the store where Cassian got me the ring, I want to ask them how to maintain it clean” she said and stretched her hand out staring at the ring.

“Sure” you shrugged and got up. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Feyre came and winnowed the three of you to the store, you walked in gaping at all the jewels there… the store was really expensive. 

“Hello, I recently got engaged and I wanted to ask how to clean this” Nesta asked the salesman and showed him the ring.

“Ooh yeah, you must be y/n” he smiled, you glanced up but he wasn’t looking at you, he was talking to Nesta. 

“The shadowsinger was so excited when he found this ring, he kept saying how shiny it was  just like your eyes” he continued and Nesta gulped. You were staring wide-eyed, your jaw almost touched the floor but thankfully Feyre pushed it back in place. 

“Azriel bought this?” Feyre asked. 

“Yes my lady, your husband was here too, he was helping the shadowsinger choose.” 

“What about Cassian?” Nesta asked and the salesman gave her a questioning look. 

“The warlord, the general of the armies… the brute with the red siphons” she explained and you and Feyre snorted at the last remark. 

“Oh yes. He was here first he got a beautiful set of earrings” 

And then it hit you, somehow the two idiots mixed their presents. Nesta growled and turned around marching out.

“Thank you” Feyre smiled and pulled you out.

 Nesta was pacing…

“Y/n I’m so sorry” she said when she saw you. 

“It’s okay Ness” you smiled.

“Why didn’t the idiot say something? Oh he is sleeping outside today” she growled.

“I think he just didn’t want to ruin the moment, you were really excited” your voice was soft as you spoke.

“Yeah but we ruined your moment” she pushed 

“It’s okay I’m used to it” you shrugged with a sad smile. 

She gave you the ring.

“I think this belongs to you” 

You placed it on your finger and stared.

“The stone is the same color as Azriel’s siphons” Feyre noted.

“Yeah I was confused about that too” Nesta shrugged. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dinner was served and you and the girls walked inside the dining room taking your usual seats. Azriel glanced at you with a worried look and Cassian whispered something to Nesta… she shook her head and smirked.

The room buzzed with conversation and everything felt normal again, you reached for the wine bottle in front of Azriel, the ring on display. Azriel was taking a sip from his wine and the moment his eyes fell on the ring he choked, spraying the wine all over the table making everyone stop and look at you. 

You giggled while Nesta and Feyre smiled.

“Where… how…when?” Azriel was blurting out questions. 

“We went to the shop today and the salesman called Nesta by my name so we figured” you shrugged and smiled. 

Cassian’s eyes widened and he pushed his chair back, he glanced at Nesta and with a quick “oh shit” he jumped up and ran away, Nesta following suit.

Azriel smiled softly and took your hand in his own, pressing a small kiss on the back of your palm. 

“I didn’t want this to happen like this…. We deserve one good moment” he whispered.

“Being in the dining room with all our family is a pretty good moment…” you smiled “and maybe we can lock Cassian in a cell on our wedding day” 

Azriel burst into laughter and pulled you in his arms. 

“I promise to give you the most amazing wedding day” he smiled and kissed you. 

Requests are open!

[trickphotography2]

i'd love a little blurb about jake as a dad

Alright, slight spoilers for D-Day, but this is what popped into my head. ---------------------------------------------------

Bus duty.

When he signed up to be in the military, the last thing Jake Seresin had expected was to be assigned bus monitor duty. Unfortunately, he had to deal with the weekly duty twice a school year to make sure his kids could ride the bus to school every day. 

His ears still rang from the time he forgot to sign up, and the bus monitor turned his kid away. Thankfully, Sloane had come up just in time, marched them back to the principal’s office, and called her mama. You had driven right to the school, and he’d been dragged into the bedroom as soon as he got home and was given an earful. It was the first and last time he forgot to sign up for his mandatory time.

Standing at the front of the bus, Jake nodded at each child who boarded and flashed him their DoDES bus pass. Thankfully, besides a couple of loud fifth graders, there hadn’t been any issues on his route so far. Which was good because he’d forgotten his coffee at home, up and out of the house earlier than normal to get to the bus depot, and didn’t have the patience to deal with more.

The bus turned into the enlisted base housing, slowly filling up. When they finally headed toward the officer housing, Jake looked out the windows and counted the stops. They drove past his house, and he spotted your car still in the driveway.

A mob of kids stood at the corner, but he spotted you immediately. It wasn’t every day that you walked the kids to the bus stop - Sloane had demanded that stop once she hit third grade and moved from the primary to intermediate school, and none of her friends’ parents did it - but there you were today. With his travel coffee thermos in hand. 

As soon as the doors opened, Jake walked down the few steps. Kids held up their bus passes, and he quickly glanced at them and nodded, eyes darting to where you were smirking. 

“Hi, Daddy,” Sloane sighed before trying to trudge past him. Like her mama, she wasn’t a morning person, and getting her out of bed in time for school was always a hassle. Hooking his finger in her backpack strap, Jake tugged her backward.

“Bus pass.” 

“What?”

“Bus pass, young lady.” 

“Daddy,” she whined. “C’mon.”

“You know the rules. Gotta show your bus pass before getting on the bus. Now come on, you’re holding up the line.” Scowling, Sloane slipped off one of her backpack straps and rummaged in a pocket for the plastic Hello Kitty wallet she had just had to have the last time they’d gone to the 100 yen store. 

“You’re making enemies this morning,’” you said quietly, handing your husband the coffee thermos. “She’s already annoyed that I walked down here. Said I’m treating her like a baby again.” 

“I’m glad you did,” Jake chuckled. Taking the coffee, he gently peeled back the straps of the wrap you wore and peered down at the baby. “How’s my little one doin’ this morning?” 

But your answer was interrupted by Sloane poking her father in the arm. “Here,” she snapped, holding the yellow laminated bus pass out to him. Jake glanced at it and nodded.

“Get in.” 

“You better go, or everyone’ll be late,” you cautioned. Jake nodded and quickly pecked your lips before taking the coffee thermos. 

“I’ll see you after work.” 

“Don’t forget that it’s soccer and swim practice tonight. And we still need to get a birthday present for this weekend,” you said as the bus doors started to close. Jake nodded and winked, climbing those few steps as the bus pulled away from the curb. 

Walking the aisle, Jake watched as you pressed a kiss to the baby’s head before turning and walking back up the hill to the house. Turning his attention back to the kids, he spotted Sloane sitting toward the middle of the bus with her best friend. She looked up when he neared, cheeks burning red when he grinned at her.

“Morning, Sloaney-baloney.”

“Daaaaad,” she hissed. “Stop.”

“What? Can’t say good morning?” The annoyed look she pinned him with was pure you and Jake couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to you later, Sloane-girl.” 

“He’s such a dork,” he heard as he continued down the aisle. 

The childish taunt only made Jake chuckle. If his daughter thought he was a dork and comfortable enough to tell her friend within his earshot, he knew he was doing something right. 

There were days he worried about turning into his parents, but when those voices got too loud, they were quickly drown out by his kids calling out for Daddy or the feeling of their soft breath on his skin as they crawled into bed with them, seeking him out to keep the nightmares away. 

So yeah, Jake Seresin may forget to sign up for bus duty sometimes, but he knew he was a damn good father.

(Not sure if the officers have to do bus duty, but my dad sure did when we lived in Japan. He forgot to sign up once and they wouldn't let my little sister get on the bus after school - Mom was PISSED! Thankfully her office was close to the school so I walked us over there and got us a 'water' [read: Sprite] cup from the food court so she would stop crying and we just hung out until Mom left work. Dad never forgot to sign up for bus duty again)

[nichuuu]

Your Turn

Word count: 2k+ tags: smut, Sub Chaewon, Light bondage, creampie, standing doggy, missionary

Requested by @friskyriskywhisky. Hope you enjoy

When you were appointed to be the manager of Lesserafim, you were given a set of rules. Amongst those rules, there was a line in bold that clearly stated that you were not allowed to have any sort of sexual relationship with the idols, and that doing so would result in immediate termination. You've violated that rule about three times now. This would be your fourth time, and the same two girls were the culprits behind the mischief. Luckily for you, these two knew how to cover their tracks. 

You stumbled into your apartment, shutting the door behind you and quickly turning your attention to the two girls. Yunjin’s hand slipped into your shorts, snaking past the waistband of your boxers and gripping your throbbing shaft. 

“Hard already?” She teased. 

“You can’t blame me… It was Chaewon,” You reasoned. 

“He’s right. I’ve been rubbing my ass against him,” The leader giggled. Yunjin chuckled, slender fingers squeezing the tip of your cock. 

“She’s such a naughty girl, isn’t she?” Yunjin breathed. “I think she’s due for some punishment tonight… What do you think?”

She caught your gaze. That mischievous glint was in her eyes. 

“I’ll hold her, you get the rope,” She whispered. 

“Got it,” You replied promptly. Like a well oiled machine, Yunjin and you split off quickly to do what was needed of you. You returned with the rope, just in time for you to see Yunjin strip Chaewon’s bra off her body. The leader’s tits bounced free, her perky nipples taught with arousal. With an open palm, Yunjin delivered a slap to Chaewon’s exposed breasts. 

“You tied me up last week, now it’s your turn,” Yunjin growled. “Can’t wait to see how he treats you when you’re tied up like a good little slut…”

You approached the girls. Yunjin stepped aside.

“Hands,” You commanded. Chaewon pressed her wrists together and lifted her arms. You wound the silky rope around her wrists, trapping her small hands the way a spider would trap its prey. Chaewon was in your web, under your control… She was your meal for the night. 

Yunjin sauntered around her helpless leader. Just a week ago, the roles were switched. Now, Yunjin got to have her turn with her older member, and something told you that she wouldn’t be as gentle as Chaewon had been with her.

“What should we do with her first?” You asked the American girl. 

“Tie her to the bed,” Yunjin instructed. “Let’s make her watch.”

You tugged at the excess rope, pulling Chaewon behind you as you guided her to the bedroom. Once in, Yunjin took the lead, guiding the leader over to the foot of the bed and forcing Chaewon onto her knees. She pulled Chaewon’s hands down, the leader’s biceps squeezing her ample tits together deliciously. Yunjin masterfully bound her leader in place, making sure to pull the rope taught around her elder friend before securing her to the leg of the bed. 

“This should be good enough,” Yunjin declared. She left Chaewon where she was and sauntered over to you. You knew what was next. 

Clothes were quickly discarded, forming a pile in the corner of the room. Yunjin stroked your stiff cock considerately, her lips fiercely locked with yours as your hand busied itself with the flesh of her amazing ass. Her tight body flushed against you, petite chest pressed flat against your torso. 

“Try and last longer this time,” Yunjin rasped. “Let’s make her watch for as long as we can.”

She spun around and presented her plump ass towards you. Standing doggystyle had been Yunjin’s go to position each time you fucked her, and you knew exactly why. It granted you access to all her sensitive areas, granting you the ease of stimulating her while she was ploughed by your cock. You could pull her hair, rub her clit, twist her cute nipples… the possibilities were endless. 

Your tip pressed against the opening of her slick, enjoying the heat that radiated from her cunt. You rubbed your length back and forth against her opening, amply lubricating it with her juices before lining yourself up and thrusting into Yunjin’s tight pussy. A harsh cuss left the girl’s mouth, her hand gripping onto your forearm that was wrapped around her front. She looked over her shoulder, lust blazing behind her eyes.

“Fuck me,” She hissed. 

You popped your hips and hilted yourself back into her depths, drilling yourself deep between her slick walls before redrawing and going again. You pumped into her, a slow and steady pace rocking Yunjin’s tight frame. Her mouth formed an ‘o’, her ragged breaths filling your ears as you fucked her where she stood. Your lips attacked her neck, nibbling, sucking, kissing—leaving a glistening trail of saliva on the milky nape of her neck. Her nails dug into your arm, breaths turning into moans that floated through the air. Chaewon watched from her position, lips half-parted in arousal as she watched you take the American girl’s body. Just a week ago, she was the one being fucked with her legs folded against her shoulders.

You increased your tempo, really beginning to fuck Yunjin. You did your best to get as deep inside her as you could, driving your cock deep into her insides and pulling her back against you. It didn’t take long for you to establish a frantic rhythm, your cock sliding effortlessly between Yunjin’s folds while she screamed in your arms. Your hands slid down her tummy to locate the sensitive nub between her legs. Your fingers did the work, rubbing in circular motions around Yunjins clit. Her legs buckled. You kept her upright.

“Oh fuck,” Yunjin spat. “Oh god… You’re filling me… You’re cock’s filling my tight little pussy so well…” 

Her body was going limp in your hands, the pleasure coursing through her veins making her lose control. Expletives mixed with sighs, traces of English jumbled with gasps and splatters of Korean spearing through her moans. Yunjin was an utter mess. The tightness of her pussy was overwhelming, sucking you in with each thrust you made. Her ass rippled deliciously, the tender flesh striking against you each time you filled Yunjin with your shaft. You could feel the familiar tingle in the base of your cock, the sensation slowly surging up your member as you drilled Yunjin. You tried to keep yourself under control, but the tightness of Yunjin’s cunt overwhelmed you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” You announced. 

“Inside me…” Yunjin whispered. “Fill me up then let Chaewon lick it out of me.”

The excitement was palpable. Squeezing Yunjin’s tight frame in your arms, you thrusted wildly, chasing your orgasm with every last bit of energy in your body. She moaned your name, spurring you with her filthy words that make you want to do nothing except dump your load in her tight body. 

With a final thrust, you came inside her. She sighed with satisfaction as your cock convulsed inside her, cum coating her inside as you groaned into her ear. She milked you to the best of her ability, letting the last bit of your seed get pumped into her before shifting forward. You slipped out of her, your arms sliding off her body. You watched her walk over to Chaewon. She grabbed the older girl’s head and brought it to her freshly fucked pussy.

“Clean me up unnie,” She demanded. Chaewon obliged, her tongue darting out between her lips as she began hungrily lapping up your cum dripping from Yunjin’s creamy pussy. Yunjin moaned in delight, her eyes shutting in bliss as she pressed Chaewon’s face into her crotch. 

“T-That’s it… Keep going,” She gasped, her hand balling into a fist in Chaewon’s short hair. Chaewon slurped away enthusiastically, determined to clean her younger member as thoroughly as possible. You could tell from the quiver in Yunjin’s thighs that her orgasm was fast approaching. Your cock began to harden, your breath caught in your throat as you watched the sight unfold before you. 

With a guttural cry, Yunjin orgasmed. Her body went rigid, muscles tensing throughout her body as she came. Chaewon was merciless, her tongue flicking back and forth across Yunjin’s sensitive nub as she delightfully watched the younger girl cum above her. It became too much for the American girl, and she pushed her unnie’s head away, stumbling back and almost falling. You caught her in the nick of time, keeping her steady as her body convulsed violently. You scooped her up and walked over to set her down on the bed. 

“Rest up,” You whispered. “Your turn to watch now…”

Yunjin smiled and nodded. You walked over to Chaewon, who had a mix of juices dripping down the corners of her mouth. You undid the rope binding her to the bed and helped her to her feet. The rope around her wrists stayed.

“On the bed Chaewon,” You instructed her. She obeyed. You slid her sweatpants off her slender legs. A dark spot had formed on her light panties. She was more than ready to be fucked. 

Yunjin was proactive, rising from her place on the mattress and moving to secure Chaewon’s arms to the bed frame. In the meantime, you pulled Chaewon’s underwear off her body. Her slit glistened under the soft light in your room, lips flushed pink with arousal. 

“She’s ready,” Yunjin announced, hands leaving the rope and sliding down Chaewon’s toned body. The nail of her index finger began tracing circles around Chaewon’s belly button. You closed the distance between you and Chaewon. 

Your hands slipped under her firm thighs. She spread her legs apart instinctively, welcoming you to fuck her. A whimper left her mouth as you slapped your cock against her opening. 

“Please… Just fucking put in,” She begged you. You chuckled and lined yourself up with her. 

“She’s such a needy brat,” You mused.

“Better punish her well then,” Yunjin giggled. 

You slammed yourself into Chaewon. The bound girl moaned, relishing the sensation of being filled by your cock. You began to fuck the leader mercilessly, forcefully ramming your member into her slick over and over. Her walls seemed to tighten around your shaft, hugging your length in a warm, slick embrace while it rapidly slid between her splayed lips. Chaewon mewled, her lips parting to let an endless string of lewd sounds tumble out of her mouth. Yunjin looked on eagerly from Chaewon’s side, a palm resting on her leader’s defined abs as she watched your slick shaft—covered in a mix of her juices and Chaewon’s—disappear and reappear between Chaewon’s flushed thighs. Her free hand fondled Chaewon’s small yet full breasts, pinching the elder girl’s taut pink nipples and kneading her soft mounds together.

“Look at you unnie… You’re taking his cock so well,” Yunjin smiled. “How does it feel?”

“So… Fucking… Full…” Chaewon gasped between her cries. “I… Love it!”

Yunjin giggled and roughly grabbed Chaewon’s jaw. She made sure to look right at you when she captured her unnie’s lips in hers. She tilted her head so that you could watch her tongue intrude into Chaewon’s mouth. Your arousal heightened, your grip on Chaewon’s thighs tightening. You lifted her ankles over your shoulders and let them rest there, your arms locking her legs to your body as you thrusted deeper and deeper into her, eliciting wanton cries out of the helpless girl. Her breasts bounced tantalisingly, hypnotising you with their haze of movement as you watched them rock vigorously with each thrust you made. Yunjin squeezed Chaewon’s tits together, giving you one of the best views you’d ever seen. 

Soon, Chaewon was cumming. Her pussy tightened around your cock, twitching and pulsing around you as you continued to rail her through her orgasm. The sheer tightness of her cunt was quickly driving you towards your second high of the night, and you were determined to pump your load into Chaewon. 

“Oh fuck… Oh keep fucking me,” Chaewon gasped. “Fuck me, use me! Cum in me, please!”

The need in her voice sent you feral. You thrusted into her with a speed you never knew you were capable of, fingers clamping down around her thighs as you steadily approached your orgasm. The pressure began to build in your tip, the tingle working its way up from your balls. You bit your lip, forcing yourself to hold on for just a little more. 

“Do it,” Yunjin hissed. “Fill her up with your cum. Own the slut!” 

With a few final, short, hard thrusts into Chaewon’s pussy, you buried yourself as deep inside her as you could.

Then you let yourself go.

Thick, hot cum spurted from your shaft into Chaewon’s awaiting depths, her hot, tight cunt squeezing and pulsing around your cock, milking you down to the last drop. You held onto her legs tightly, feeling Chaewon’s muscles quiver together with you as you slowly wound down from your orgasm. 

When your cock slipped out of her, you seed spilled out of her splayed lips. She sighed in satisfaction as hot cum oozed out of her slick, slowly spilling down to her asshole before Yunjin’s finger came and scooped it all up. 

“Open wide unnie,” Yunjin smiled before shoving her cum slicked finger into her leader’s mouth. Chaewon sucked it clean, making sure to lick her lips right after. 

“Delicious,” Chaewon beamed weakly. Despite the absolute state of disarray she was in, she somehow still looked as dazzling as she was on stage.

Once you regained your strength, you undid the knots binding Chaewon’s wrists to the bed. Chaeon let her arms fall to her side, a look of relief on her face.

“Next time… We handcuff Yunjin,” Chaewon decided. 

“That’s a bit much,” You remarked. 

“I can handle it,” Yunjin grinned. “Maybe we can throw in some roleplay too…”

Chaewon giggled and pulled the younger girl closer to her. 

“Maybe we should,” She breathed. “And then he gets to cum all over your pretty face and tight body…”

“Sounds fun,” Yunjin replied slyly.

Looks like you’d be in for a treat next week…

[chatonarya]

Let’s talk about Degenbrecher’s module. 

It’s called ‘Footnotes of The Past.’ The title itself is worth mentioning due to her battle line, “Still soaking yourself in the past?” The past is also referenced in her EP, “Blade Catcher”: “There’s a shadow I can’t keep at bay in my past but I don’t let it shake me; cut the cord with the edge of my sword but I’ll never find escape. That’s the key to the fortress you see, when it all knocks me down I’m still upright.” 

Degenbrecher doesn’t hold onto the past: although this “shadow” of hers (her hard childhood and status as an outcast) has made her who she is today, she doesn’t let it drag her down, but rather, her refusal to shy away from it is the source of her strength. So these stories that she’s sharing can indeed be said to be footnotes: anecdotes of a chequered past which remain fond memories of an ongoing tale.

The text itself is about her most-frequently worn medals, for which she has a case exclusively for storing them, and her sharing their significance with Rhodes HR. For easier reference, I’ve included a high resolution image of her medals alongside, so that we might get a closer look at them compared to her sprite. 

Knight-Champion of Kazimierz Medal

Black medal of crossed swordbreakers, lying unassumingly in center of case. Design makes it immediately clear that Kazimierz tailored this champion's medal to her. She reigned for three straight years and so was given three, but only the first was personally awarded to her by the Grand Knight after usurping the defender. Which is why she didn't throw it away, and why it's the one artifact of Kazimierz she still carries with her. 'Commemorative enough, barely.'

The one artifact of Kazimierz Degenbrecher yet retains: her first medal of her first championship, specifically made for her. This is the only one that matters to her. Per her own words, her first victory was to prove herself, and perhaps only her first still holds any importance or significance to her, not in the least because of the Grand Knight giving her the medal. Naturally, Degenbrecher’s first victory would be the most significant, as she basically came from nowhere as the challenger and defeated the previous champion. This victory probably feels the most like a genuine achievement for her, before Kazimierz became “boring,” in her own words, and the other knights gave up on even attempting to defeat her. 

Secondly, it would appear, and I hypothesize, that it wasn’t merely the fact that the Grand Knight—Ioleta Russell—personally gave Degenbrecher this medal, but rather, something occurred during this event that left a mark on Degenbrecher. Degenbrecher does not care for status, but she respects strength and she is fascinated by the aspirations of the strong. I believe it’s possible that she felt some recognition in being presented with this medal by Ioleta (who would appear to be very strong to Degenbrecher), but in addition, that perhaps they shared some enlightening conversation that left a mark on her and perhaps began to steer her thoughts elsewhere in her quest to find a suitable aspiration and see how the lives of people who have them end, even before Degenbrecher herself grew disenchanted and disappointed with Kazimierz.

'Thanks'

Inverted triangle inscribed with Kjerag's holy Mount Karlan. Not issued by any official organization, rather forged for her by clan head Ratatos at the request of a household under Browntail rule. Degenbrecher had rescued said household's members from an avalanche. 'This first one was almost ten years ago now. I know they meant it nicely, and I don't mind how it looks. But the news spread, and now I get one of these medals from the Tri-Clans any time I do something similar. The cupboard at home is full of them.'

A simple medal of gratitude, almost ten years old, thereby dating it to not long after Degenbrecher arrived in Kjerag. It’s likely either her first or second medal after the Silverashes’, and the fact that it was the very first one is probably why she wears it, particularly given that it sparked a trend of the three clans gifting her medals on the regular—something which is quite adorable, I must say. Degenbrecher performs an act of heroism, and she receives a medal. Does she receive them even for minor things, I wonder? Do the clans squabble over who gets to give her medals, who’s given her more? She apparently has a whole collection now!

But this one—this one retains sentimental value for her. I speculate that perhaps it’s because this was the first token of genuine gratitude from complete strangers that she received, and perhaps the fact that the people rescued desperately wanted to do something to thank her touched her in some way.

‘The Silverashes’ Sword and Shield.’

Second medal from the left, sword and shield motif. All of Karlan Trade knows that those wearing this medal are free to act unimpeded wherever Karlan Trade is concerned. Initially a pass designed expressly for her by Enciodes, but as soon became apparent, nobody simply overlooks the presence of Degenbrecher. Its worth these days is instead in gently reminding others that she is affiliated with Karlan Trade. 'One day, I forgot to wear this one. Enciodes went that entire day quieter than usual, then in the end asked if I had any complaints with the company.'

It’s incredibly adorable how Enciodes apparently personally and “expressly” designed this medal for Degenbrecher as a token of their friendship to allow her to come and go freely through Karlan Trade, and basically anywhere Silverash-affiliated: it’s basically a friendship bracelet—I mean, badge, despite its name. Also, look at just how cute it is—it has a little pawprint in the center! Suddenly, the reason he named his secret squadron Tschäggättä is clear—he’s still twelve years inside.

Even more hilarious, the one day she forgot to wear it, he immediately had an internal meltdown and overreaction assuming that surely it was because she didn’t like him anymore, and he spent the whole day effectively moping and panicking about it until he mustered up the courage to ask her if she had any problems with him. “Oh no, she's not wearing my friendship medal, she must hate me now!” Never mind that Degenbrecher of all people would never hesitate to tell him if she had any problems with him. I wonder how that conversation went down at the end of the day.

But actually, let’s think about it a little further. Degenbrecher has apparently faithfully worn this medal day in and day out for years and years, yet one day, she goes without it. Would it not be natural for Enciodes’s thoughts to stray towards the idea that she is holding some sort grudge towards him or is upset about something? And while it’s almost certainly his own dramatic nature flaring up here, I can’t help but feel this is also a marker of how much he values Degenbrecher’s friendship that he so worries over her potential offense in regards to something so small.

Finally, note the mention that now, instead of the medal giving her pass through Karlan Trade, it serves to remind others of her affiliation: she’s become so integrated in Kjerag that perhaps people forget that she actually has allegiance to the company (which we can see in RS). (It also explains more about Enciodes’s internal unease, though it’s not really clear when specifically that anecdote happened.)

'Kjeragandr's Soldier'

Third medal, honorary decoration issued by the Vine-Bear Court, was worn by Enya herself when she formally became the Saintess. 'This was the biggest protest the Saintess could make back then. I don't think much in particular about Kjeragandr—at most, I think I'd like to take Her on.'

We see Degenbrecher here echoing her comments from RS: if given a chance, she would like to fight Kjeragandr, but other than that, she doesn’t have any strong feelings about her. Nevertheless, Degenbrecher accepted this medal, and wears it for what I speculate is either a feeling of empathy or solidarity: Sharp calls Degenbrecher a “symbol of rebellion” in Break The Ice, and we know how much she hates being controlled. Perhaps she saw Enya’s rebellion against the stifling Court by giving away her medal to a non-Kjerag, and accepted it because she could understand or because she felt it would be ungracious not to. Wearing it now, perhaps she feels at this time that she is a soldier of Kjeragandr, or at least, of Kjerag, which after the events of RS doesn’t seem that far-fetched either, and now the medal has at last achieved its meaning in the most literal way.

Finally, I’d like to note that this medal shares its emblem with the one on Enciodes’s belt buckle in his newest skin Never-Melting Ice, where I’m guessing he’s taken on the role of commander of the Walnut battleship. As I speculated before, that he has it is a symbol of recognition from a party which has historically opposed him—the Vine-Bear Court—though it’s unknown at the moment specifically why he has it.

‘Ten Years.’

To mark ten years of acquaintance, Enciodes rustled up a little gift for her, effectively commemorating her Karlan Trade decennial at the same time. It may not have been founded when they first met, but the blueprints were already laid out in his heart. 'I didn't even recall what it was commemorating when he gave me this. A token of thanks, I suppose, but I'm sure he just wanted to let me know that he still remembered the big words he said back when it all began.'

Her fourth most valued medal, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s from Enciodes again. A gesture of commemorating their friendship, her ten years with Karlan Trade, and effectively Karlan Trade’s ten years as well as the company got off the ground with her aid. It’s only too bad that I can’t quite make out the design of it despite best efforts.

It’s interesting and in fact quite sweet that Degenbrecher can easily infer the meaning behind Enciodes’s gesture, though he does not say so. She understands him very well, to the point where her first thought was not regarding the Karlan Trade decennial, but rather, even beyond her guessing it was a gesture of gratitude like her numerous other medals, she immediately grasps with certainty that he meant something more: he’s reminding her that he still remembers how everything began, and he feels it necessary and appropriate to remind her of this, and likely, he also knows that she will understand its meaning. Effectively, through this gift, Enciodes is telling her, “It’s been ten years, but I still hold the same convictions, aspirations, and motivations I still held when we first met. I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten any of those things despite the time. I may have changed since then, but this part of me has not.”

In addition, Enciodes making this gesture of gratitude almost seems to echo Enya’s comments to Kjera at the end of RS about how taking things for granted means one loses respect for them, and also alludes to Enciodes’s comments about his debt to Degenbrecher growing and growing. He knows he has no way to repay her, but he’s trying to at least express his gratitude although she doesn’t care about debt, and to show he doesn’t take her continued presence for granted either. It’s yet another instance of Enciodes treating Degenbrecher as his friend rather than the “sword” she claims she is to him; he genuinely wishes to remind her that despite it all, at heart he’s still the person she met back then.

And Degenbrecher acknowledges and appreciates this sentiment and this gesture, and so she also has placed this medal upon her breast as among her most valued. One medal from him when Karlan Trade first began, and another for the decennial. Fitting, isn’t it? Much like the way her first one shows her affiliation with Karlan Trade, this one is proof of her continued allegiance—an allegiance which will continue further on in the future.

Finally, let’s round this out by looking at the other items in the artwork, as they were surely included because they’re of some importance to her. Although it’s unfortunately difficult to make out what else is in the case other than her Kazimierz badge (likely it’s more medals), we can see a few other things on the side just beneath the case. What are they?

Just beneath the case’s handle, we can see a dagger, likely the one she wears on her thigh. One of Gnosis’s, perhaps? It’s almost assured he gave her one, given their close relationship, and that would be reason alone for it to be considered special to her. Remember, Degenbrecher uses her swordbreakers because they are instruments of blunt damage and it’s easier for her to control her strength when she needs to avoid killing someone. Yet here is an item that would likely be small and fiddly for her, not to mention fragile and largely unneeded—why would Degenbrecher of all people need a self-defense dagger, even in the worst case scenario? Nevertheless, it’s there on her leg, and there amongst her most prized items, effectively all of which were gifts as well. Clearly, it must be of some sentimental value, and ergo I postulate it’s from Gnosis.

Next up, under the dagger is her Kjerag armband. We don’t know who gave her this, but we do know it’s an emblem of allegiance that many Kjerag-affiliated characters and NPCs wear. The fact that she chooses to wear it is yet another marker of her belonging to Kjerag.

Beneath her armband is a coiled chain; it’s difficult to tell what it is, precisely, if it’s a necklace or if it’s the chain that functions as the strap of her broadsword. I’m inclined to think that’s what it is, as Degenbrecher doesn’t strike me as someone who cares very much for jewelry, and her sword would naturally be packed for travel.

And of course, front and center, her trademark swordbreakers. Interestingly, her promotion file states that she had no weapon but the hilt of her greatsword when she left Kazimierz, broken by a Darksteel arrow, and upon arrival to Kjerag her swordbreakers were “crafted by the Karlan Trade artisans.” Given that Karlan Trade at the time didn’t really comprise of much or many people, and given that their initial product was bottled spring water, I can’t help but wonder who those artisans were—or if it was, in fact, Gnosis once again. After all, if he knows how to make daggers, surely he would know how to make swords (or swordbreakers) as well?

And there we have it—a few more interesting little tidbits about Kjerag’s big sister that add some more to her character. :)

[the-heartlines]

bittersweet

rhaegon | {e. 3.5k}

~post-dance & the only survivors~

“look at what has become of us? both of us have lost everything. and now all that’s left of us…is our pain, our grief. you and me.” rhaenyra chokes back a sob, looking at her half-brother. all that is left of her family. her blood.

aegon gazes back at her, not with disdain or rage, but exhaustion, sadness, defeat. with the same dark circles, the same exact look of madness mirrored in her own violet eyes.

he could be mine own twin, she thinks almost laughing at the realization of how much they are alike. the same shade of silver blonde hair, unkempt and wild. she wishes he would say something, anything to stop her mind from racing, stop the madness from spreading through her like poison.

she longs to hear her brother speak, even though she should hate him, want to tear him apart with own bare hands. spill his blood all over the realm, sacrifice him—like her own son’s were sacrificed.

but she cannot seem to hate him any longer, wish to see him dead, his pretty head on a spike. because aegon ii targaryen, her brother, is all that’s left of her on this earth, keeping her tethered to her, tied to her fleshly vessel. and as long as he lives, breathes, is bound to her, she is chained to him as well.

“you and me?” he scoffs sadly, bitterly, pushing salt into the gaping wounds that are still bleeding, that have yet to scab over. 

“yes, aegon,” she says his name softly, trying to use her words as a binding tourniquet, stave the bleeding of the gashes, the cuts, that run deep, with her tongue. she has always been braver than him, never willing to let failure rule her life again.  “we started this mess and we must fix it, or lest—we let it consume us, destroy us. kill us.”

“i do not care, sister. and neither should you. i’ll hand you the dagger myself, while you drink the poison. we can both die together.” aegon retorts, firing back at her with his words, but she sees tears swimming in his eyes, unshed, and it makes her heart seize. her brother has never truly known true unconditional love and affection that one can have for the other. that a mother can have for a son. a sister for a brother. 

she can’t help herself, for she was a mother, is his sister. 

“aegon, do you not think that we have both drank enough of the poison fed to us since we were born? and i will not spill anymore of our blood, it is far too precious now, more than a bloody throne. or valyrian steel.” rhaenyra walks towards him gracefully, as a queen would towards their king, and gently grips her brother’s pallid cold cheeks in her hands, longing to bring warmth, rosiness back to them. 

the siblings have never been this close to one another. this kind of intimate proximity unbidden to them, forbidden by otto hightower’s garbled poison fed to alicent, the same way she undermined, poisoned her first born son with.

aegon looks up at her, his dark glassy violet eyes, still full of unshed tears. he looks haunted, so haunted, older than the young man he is. he reminds rhaenyra of their father, a king of the seven kingdoms, with all the unwanted weight, the burden laden upon him. since he was pushed from his mother’s womb. brought into this world with only this purpose, to be her challenge, her opponent, her enemy.

“we are family, aegon. you are my brother.” she strokes over the divot in his chin with her thumb, eyes drinking in every scar, mark, freckle, every indication that they are related, of the same bloodline.

“half.” 

it’s all he says, spitting the word out like a curse, a reminder of the past, but rhaenyra ignores it presently, taking aegon’s hand in hers and pressing it against her beating heart, right above her full breast, towards his future. she swallows, heart rattling like a drum, not realizing how much she’s missed being touched so intimately in a year.

“feel my heart, brother,” she accentuates the word, hoping each syllable rings true deep inside him; in his spirit. she bites her lip, suppressing a slight moan, when aegon’s hand flexes, nearly brushing her hardened nipple. and she wishes he would. she desires for him to be bold, to be the wrathful dragon, plundering and pillaging, taking and taking, burning her, until there is nothing left. 

but instead his hand remains motionless, stiff, refusing to mold to her flesh like molten fire. “aegon, please, feel my heart beating. the blood flowing through my veins is as much mine as it is yours, dear brother.” rhaenyra guides his hand upwards towards her warm skin, dipping his fingers beneath her gown, letting him feel the heat from her breast. the burning flesh, feverish with want, with desperation.

rhaenyra gazes deep into his eyes, seeing something alight, a spark starting to spread and it emboldens her, so she presses his hand more firmly against her heart, his calloused fingers deeper into the top of her gown, until his rough fingertips touch her hardened nipple, making them both gasp.

“sister,” aegon’s breath hitches and she can feel him shivering from their shared warmth, the closeness they should have had all along. but it’s not yet too late...fate now giving them both another chance to make things right.

“yes, brother,” rhaenyra moans, feeling his fingers curl around her sensitive nipple, no longer able to hold back the desire, the lust that swirls through her like a hurricane, overwhelming and over entrenching. “more.” she says, knowing that word is enough to push him to the point of no return. pushing them beyond containment because they will both lose control in the other. for they are two sides of the same coin of madness. and only they can complete one another now.

and rhaenyra is the key to unlocking everything unbidden in her brother, unleashing it all.

aegon’s lips are on hers before she can meet him halfway, kiss him first. and she understands he needs this, mayhaps, even more than she does. for in this moment, he’s a dragon starved, feasting, devouring on her flesh, his mouth inhaling her in like the sweetest aphrodisiac. her divine taste— a cure, unlike dreamwine or milk of the poppy, for all ailments he’s suffering. more potent and powerful, all consuming, all encompassing. 

and so rhaenyra opens her mouth to him, lets him twist her tongue with his, in another dance of the dragons. aegon clutches the front of her chest with both hands now, tearing her gown downwards to release her heavy teats to his gluttonous, greedy gaze, groping the meat of her tender breasts in his hands.

“oh, fuck,” rhaenyra groans, unable to help the curse, the hiss, that escapes her throat, his fingers prodding and pulling on her pink peaked tips.

“rhaenyra,” her brother growls her name so brazenly, so beautifully. and every syllable reverberates down her spinal cord, through her veins, straight to her core. towards her cunt that is dripping and drenched, desperate to be full and filled, only by him.

“please,” rhaenyra closes her eyes, pleading against aegon’s lips unabashedly, her hands groping the front of her brother’s hardness unashamedly, trying to mold his cock into submission with her hand. “i need you, aegon. i need to be fucked, brother, to be full of you.” she squeezes his cock a little too harshly in her hand, biting down into his bottom lip, pricking and piercing the skin, drawing his blood with her teeth for the first time. the bittersweet coppery twang of it streams into her mouth, coating her mouth. 

it makes them both ravenous, insatiable for one another.

“more.” aegon grinds his groin into the palm of her hand, digging his jagged nails into her nipples, begging rhaenyra for more of her pointed teeth upon him. begging for her to be the dagger, the sharp valyrian steel, that spills his blood. that only she has permission to. for his flesh, the fire in his blood, belongs to her solely now. and it feeds her volatility, the violence beneath her bones that rattles and resonates with both brother and sister. 

she sucks on his bottom lip, soothing it with her tongue, before her hands unlace his breeches frantically, freeing his weeping cock, gripping its girth close in her fist. “fuck, rhaenyra.” aegon jerks up into her embrace, so she closes her fingers tighter around him, tongue dipping into the mark on his chin, before her mouth moves downwards, towards the underside of his jaw. his stubble scratches her smooth skin and it feels sumptuous along her forlorn flesh, long forsaken by the fevered flesh of another. 

“tell me you need me, aegon,” she murmurs into the crook of his neck, his cock perfectly molded and shaped in her small enclosed hand; shielded and sheltered, held steady by her. “tell me you wantme.” her teeth graze over his throat and he swallows, breathing labored, nostrils flared, eyes closed, heart beating erratically, unevenly. her younger brother, lost to every sensation, every sensuous and serpentine slithering of her inexorably entrenching herself into his very soul and spirit. the elder sister taking root in his body, in the very veins, bones, and muscles that twist and tangle her in their intricacy. 

a queen capturing and conquering the king, caged within her motherly wings, her pointed claws, her maw clutching onto him forever. and so rhaenyra bites her dragon again, but harder, harsher, vulgarly gnawing on his wounded skin, his blood flowing into her, flooding her mouth. a primal roar emits low in her throat, and she clings to his jugular, wanting to drain him of every drop. 

“fuck!” aegon yelps, whining, and rhaenyra yanks his head backwards by his hair, running her fist along his manhood, demanding his compliance, commanding his body, his bones to bend, to sway and swing towards her like the branches and limbs of a tree. but not to break him because she needs him whole, sturdy and standing, rooted to her, not rotting from the inside out.

but first she must have his seed, milk it from his lithe body, have it take root deep inside the rot, bringing forth new life; a rebirth.

rhaenyra reluctantly relinquishes her damning hold on him, and aegon whimpers, her hold forever intertwined, interwoven into every crevice and crack, mending, sewing him back together with the scarlet string that links them together, unbent, unbroken.

“brother, sit,” she says hotly, his blood thick and red like pomegranate juice upon her plush lips, pushing him backwards into their father’s seat, with fiery fervor, but not rage, nor hate. running and raking her nails, her gaze, along her brother’s handsome body, she eyes his cock, standing proudly, flushed an angry shade of crimson, weeping, straining, matching the blood staining his neck, his pale chest, his now rosy cheeks. 

and then rhaenyra’s eyes are on his wide, hungry eyes, seeing the beginning of hope, the flowering of spring; lilac staring into deep violet, blooming under a new rising sun. 

she keeps her orbs locked with aegon’s, mesmerizing him, memorizing every fleck of gold that shines brighter in them when she reveals more of her hidden skin to him, tearing the black gown from her curves wholly.

he stares up at her in awe, mouth agape, the sunlight filtering through, haloing her silver hair, encircling her in a golden crown of the most glorious sun rays. a crown to echo the one rhaenyra lost everything for. lost everything to gain this. for she is his now. his savior. his sister. his goddess, his queen, with his fire and blood dripping deliciously from her mouth.

she steps closer towards his shadow, letting the sun touch it, bathe her brother in its luminous light, letting it blind him and bind him to her.

“kiss me,” rhaenyra demands and aegon is ferocious, feral, pulling her towards him, sealing his lips to hers, licking up the blood she extracted from him so exquisitely, so effortlessly. 

“nyra,” he growls, gutturally, his teeth gnawing onto her own lip, desperately trying to puncture it with as much perseverance, persistent on gorging and getting drunk off of her sweetness and blood.

“yes, aegon. yes.” rhaenyra extols, giving him permission, and so aegon does, rupturing through his sister’s pink flesh with his teeth lecherously, extracting her blood, tasting it alongside his. 

“brother, my sweet brother.” she praises, both exchanging breaths, sharing the air in their lungs, the blood of one another, with each other. and rhaenyra descends herself downward, sinking her supple, slick cunt onto her brother’s stiff manhood, engulfing and suffocating him with her heat.

 “sister!” he cries, his head falling back against the cushion, her voluptuous plump body beginning to bounce against his, contouring against his leaner one. 

“oh, gods,” rhaenyra moans, biting her bloodied lip raw, beginning to ride him viciously and wickedly, his cock penetrating her deeply. 

she watches aegon, with his eyes  closed tightly, fists clenched around the arms of their father’s chair. a chair that their father as king occupied daily, commanding the realm, serving his realm,  while rhaenyra kept quiet, bit her tongue, and served her king and his men. 

and now she rides his son—another king upon it. while each submits their body in servitude towards one another, a slave to each other’s insatiable pleasure.

rhaenyra’s peak is nigh, crescendoing inside her like the waves of a volatile sea, rising inside her, the higher the sun sets on the horizon, illuminating both dragons in its golden light.

“finish inside me,” rhaenyra orders, thrusting and rotating her hips into his, hearing him hiss before he latches onto her throat in the exact place she marked him; reclaiming what should have been his since the moment he was born. what should have been hers as much as the realm, the crown, and the throne.

“give me your seed.” she groans, feeling aegon’s hot searing tongue upon her tender and torn throat, licking her wounds. before the waves of pleasure crash inside her, drowning her in a mixture of salt and sea, as tears stream down her face. “give me your son, aegon.” 

this time aegon kisses her softly, with yearning, but hungrily, the curve of his lips sculpted by the gods, shaped to fit against hers faultlessly, immaculately. rhaenyra tastes the iron, the bitterness of her blood, interlaced with the sweetness of him—her brother.

the burning beneath his flesh, his very soul that scorches her, burns brighter and more incandescent than any star or sun. and she’s his silver moon mirroring that luminosity, brilliantly lighting the way towards both of their salvation. 

for targaryens were always meant to burn together—one body, one soul, one heart, one spirit.

she cups aegon’s face in her hands, thrusting her body languidly, longingly, not wanting him to ever leave her.

“i love you, brother.” rhaenyra confesses against her brother’s lips, telling him those three words for the first time, for she means every single word. and the storm breaks, lightning cracking, catapulting both siblings towards the highest and thunderous peak of their lives.

“sister!” aegon’s piercing cry rings out, as the sun sets and shadows engulf them, but they are together this time, tangled and tethered, closer than ever, eclipsing one another. he holds tight to her, hugging her to him, his mouth latching onto her breast, clinging to every piece of her he can clutch.

rhaenyra’s velvet and vice tight cunt selfishly milks his cock, every drop into the warmth of her womb, welcoming him, her king. and aegon selflessly offers himself up, willingly, worshiping his own goddess, his queen. 

and as king and queen, brother and sister, they shall begin anew, as husband and wife.

—

"don't worry, my son. just because your sister is older, doesn't mean you matter any less." aegon laughed, his smile lighting his face up is the most exquisitely, ethereal way.

"valarr." he let his son's name roll of his lips as venerated as a prayer, cupping their babe's silver haired head in his hands with such tenderness, it made rhaenyra's heart swell. "

"a fine name for a prince. one of valor, if i must say, my husband." rhaenyra teases, lightly trailing her fingers over the inside of aegon's wrist, affectionately, causing goose pimples to rise along his flesh.

"yes, wife," aegon breathes deeply, eyeing their other silver haired babe at her breast, nursing contentedly, nearly asleep. “a brave brother for his older sister.” 

rhaenyra laughs, rolling her eyes, “only by a mere minute, aegon.” 

“and they shall be closer than we ever we’re growing up..thank the gods.” aegon places valarr in the cradle next to their bed, then takes their sleeping daughter away from rhaenyra’s breast, placing her next to her twin.

”viserra,” he presses his lips to her forehead, “my sweet viserra. every bit her mother’s daughter.” aegon chants, sighing against her skin, his violet eyes catching rhaenyra’s.

and his beautiful gaze is full of light, of hope, of love.

rhaenyra tries to speak, tries to say her brother’s name, but her throat is thick with emotion, so she extends her hand to him, beckoning him towards her.

and he holds it, intertwining and interlacing their fingers together, gripping her tightly.

”i love you, rhaenyra,” he confesses for the first time out loud, for her to hear, with his own lips. and it’s the most holy words he’s ever said, that she’s ever heard; the sweetest and heavenliest honeyed wine dripping from his tongue.

she pulls him towards her, kissing him to reassure that’s she knows, has always known—luring her sun to her with her moonlight that seeps into every crack and crevice of his soul, healing every wound, sealing every internal cut, a soothing balm for each scar.

“i know, brother.” she cups his face and tears fall freely down her face and rhaenyra welcomes them, for they are ones of happiness, of the utmost joy. 

“sister,” her brother groans into her mouth, glancing down towards her chest, where her rosy tips are leaking onto the her husband’s naked chest. rhaenyra sighs when he cups her swollen teats in his hands, molding his hands with their shape, before he’s moving his lips once more.

“please, mother.” he seeks her permission and rhaenyra relents graciously yanking aegon by the roots of his hair and pushing her dripping, hardened nipples into his waiting mouth.

”yesss, my sweet brother,” she hisses, his mouth moaning, latching hungrily, drinking, needing to desperately drown his lungs in her mother’s milk, just as he has with her blood—their blood. 

his fingers snake between her sore cunt, finding the hidden aching pearl that brings the most exquisite pleasure. for his mouth and fingers know her body, how to expertly draw out her peak in mere moments. and aegon does it hastily, afraid he’ll lose her forever. and so she climaxes fast, hearing him suck her teats fiercely, his fingers furiously dragging another peak from her body.

”no more, please. she begs quietly, trying not to wake the twins, before he does it once more, determined to ruin her extravagantly. and this time rhaenyra bites her lip to keep from moaning her brother’s name aloud. she’s eager for him wholly, wanting him to fill her womb once more, but she knows she must wait, be patient. but nonetheless her body trembles effortlessly, exhaustively, her cunt soaks his fingers and he drains her of her milk, before he finally finishes.

“gods, wife. i will never tire of your sweetness.” aegon collapses next to her, panting and breathless, licking his lips and rhaenyra seals her lips to his, stealing the sweetness from his tongue, wanting to share in the nourishment that feeds their babes.

”well, husband,” rhaenyra yawns, nestling her backside into her brother’s very hard and leaking cock, rubbing her ass against it. “i am exhausted and must sleep.”

”rhaenyra!” aegon hisses, feeling his wife’s hand reach around and encircle around his girth, gripping it tightly. 

“goodnight, brother.” rhaenyra squeezes his head, petting it, patting it, then leaving him without her touch, teasing him. and aegon groans frustratedly, while she smirks knowingly.

because they both know she won’t leave him wanting long, waiting for her, not like she has in the past.

because as brother and sister they belong to one another, like a body belongs to a soul, connected by veins, arteries, a heart. and rhaenyra is the very heart of aegon. and her blood makes his heart beat, with fire, fervency. 

free from the shackles of the bitterness, made whole by the blossoming sweetness; with the burning bond that’s unbreakable between them.

[cosmicasteroids]

Qsmp lore hcs and thoughts !

This is mostly character techno based so I’ll use Q!techno and also based around chayanne and some other things.

Phil mentioned that techno helped guide chayanne in the fight against ender!phil that lasted for like three days and I already had some like small lore on where technos been in the events of the qsmp character wise. Techno was a conduit for the blood god due to this the voices and everything onlt got worse with time and even healthy outlets fell through. Techno took this as a personal mission to bring his fight to the blood god in the spirit realm and left his own cloak and a note behind for Phil before leaving to go fight the gods themselves.

Thing is when techno won that fight and the blood god was slain there was now a new champion to take on the rule of blood and war kind of like a, ‘you kill the king you now are the new ruler situation’, you topple the god off his tower and now the realms deem you to be that god. Techno didn’t anticipate this and now is bound to be and become the new blood god and carry out his tasks and deeds and keep the realms in balance as the other gods. Bros just kind of winging being a god he didn’t come out here to be trapped in the spirit realm forever and become a immortal being, tis was not the plan.

In present day techno uses his god hood to watch over Phil and the his new family he has when the fight with the enderking happened between Phil and chay techno stood in to help guide chayanne through the whole fight where to stand how to hold his sword what to dodge when to strike he knew Phil better then anyone after all. Thing is after days and nights of this fight techno accidentally claimed chayanne to be the new blood god conduit a little soldier much how he was his entire life. Techno tried to speak with the gods saying it must be some sort of mistake but the gods told him it was simply fate. So techno took it in his hands to try to make chayanne better, stronger, and of more sound mind then he ever was using his mistakes of his past as simple warnings.

Of course when chayanne says he hears voices and has nightmares of war and slaughter and has this terrible need for violence Phil freaks out a bit. He’s seen all of this before he had a kid much the same toiled by blood and he’s watching closely to help like he did in the past nothing has changed.

Anyways besides story lore there’s also smaller bits of other little fun facts hc lore !

Only conduits of gods can see other gods, Phil is more likely to be able to see techno if he wakes up for a second during ender kings possession, unlike chay who can see him all the time. Phil is less blessed by a god and more being used like a puppet so he doesn’t have the luxury to see the gods as easily as chay would be able too. Chay can see the enderking wrapping himself around Phil and he hates it.

Techno is the new blood god but as such he kind of claimed the blood gods old memories from thousands of years and his powers making techno not the most sound of mind 24/7 he tries to be generally calm and teach about protection and defense but sometimes the voices beg for war and he can’t help the things he’s becoming (aka techno angst is real)

Will emerald duo ever reunite stay tuned cause gods can’t keep promises and even if the gods reach out and hold tight sometimes words can’t be reached by mortals of light.

Anyways I will make concepts of techno and chay for my lil hc lore au qsmp thing lol but I wanted to shout my thoughts into the void even if no one sees them. And if you do hope you enjoyed my ramble hope it made sense. If you have any questions you are free to ask but no pressure.

[wishcamper]

Cassian Appreciation Week Day 4: Lover

Continuing @cassianappreciationweek with an entry that explores Cassian's openness to love in its many packages. You can read it here or on ao3.

Thicker Than Water

In which Cassian loves his friends.. a lot.

CW: consensual sexual content, a moment of dubcon if you squint

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

“I thought being married would get us past the overfamiliar gifts, but I guess that was wishful thinking,” Nesta sighed, and Cassian cursed himself for the thousandth time for all the years he spent letting his guilt rule him.

The House’s warmth was a relief when it washed over his wings, and as he set Nesta down in the dining room it felt more like home than ever. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the rack, and despite the time his stomach still swooped seeing the long column of her neck, her cheeks flushed from the wine and hours spent in the parlor of the river house.

Nesta, his wife, their third Solstice as mates since that night everything changed. Lucky didn’t even come close to how he felt having her in his life - it was a rare gift, one that he doubted even other mates experienced.

Which was why the present from Mor didn’t make him feel uncomfortable so much as sad. He worried about the ways his friend was struggling to move on, to find her place now their family had changed irrevocably.

Cassian sank into an armchair and chucked the silky undershorts into the hearth, watching the fabric curl and twist as the flames engulfed it. “I’m sorry, I’ll talk to her about it. Maybe she’ll actually hear me this time.”

He’d told Nesta the story of their ill-fated one night stand ages ago, the fallout not just with Mor’s engagement but within their found family as well. He still looked back on the whole thing with shame, but Nesta was helping him shift that, to understand and make peace with the ways he’d been harmed, to discern what was and wasn’t his duty to bear.

“It’s not your fault,” she said as if reading his thoughts, coming behind his chair to drape herself over his shoulders. Her hair smelled of vanilla and cinnamon when she buried her face in his neck, voice thick with drink and drowsiness. “I can’t say it’s surprising, the way all of you are with each other. If I didn’t know, I’d assume you’d have been with at least one of them.”

“What does that mean?”

Cassian frowned as Nesta tapped a careful finger against her lips and moved to pour herself a nightcap, her words sounding measured when she finally spoke. “Your family is very.. charged. You talk about sex all the time, none of you were attached before my sisters and I came along. There’s just something not quite familial about it.”

“Hey now,” he began, but Nesta cut him off with a kiss, returning to perch herself in his lap. He drew his wings and arms around her habitually despite his offense, stealing a sip from her glass.

“Sorry love, I’ve no judgment for you. I’m certainly not innocent." She loosed the tie from his hair, her fingers soothing where they worked through the tangles he'd earned rolling on the floor with his nephew. "Besides, you’ve only slept with one of your family members, it could be worse.”

“Uh.. huh.”

“Cassian.”

He’d been distracted by the fullness of her hips in his hands, thinking of how he could persuade her to push sleep off for another hour or two. But now her words registered, igniting a nervousness low in his stomach. He flashed what he hoped was a lazy smile. “Yes, sweetheart?”

But he knew it didn’t work when her blue-gray eyes narrowed, scrutinizing, fixed him with a stare that would make lesser males cower. 

“You’re being shifty. What are you hiding?”

Damn the bond, damn her mind-reading power that would’ve seen through him without the direct connection to his fucking soul. His insides went all squirmy, knots of memory beginning to unravel.

“Okay, remember how we agreed to not hold our pasts against each other?”

“Cassian Archeron, tell me the truth right now.”

“Okay fine fine, just don’t - ow - don’t kill me until you’ve heard the whole thing.”

Nesta lowered the pillow from where she’d raised it to whack him a second time, her wintery eyes flashing in the firelight.

“Spill.”

—

They’d been stationed in the Illyrian mountains for four fucking months by now, whipping the newest recruits into shape, or trying to, anyhow. Rhys wanted everyone in top fighting shape after rumors of an armada preparing to sail from the continent, and though it was a worthy cause, being away from Velaris was starting to wear Cassian thin.

But if he was miserable, then Azriel was wretchedly depressed. He was as surly as Cassian had ever seen him, and even though it wasn’t abnormal the duration of this last bout was worrisome. For weeks he’d been trying to find a way past that thick wall of stoicism, but for all his jokes and ribbing and attempts at quiet company, Az only sunk further into a deep freeze. There was a kind of deadness in his eyes that Cassian had come to associate with loneliness, or else feeling unworthy of reaching out.

So he decided to offer up one of his own frustrations one frigid morning as they sparred in the deserted ring, hoping to draw the shadowsinger out by catching him when his body was most alive.

“I’m going out of my mind surrounded by males up here,” Cassian said after dodging a jab of Azriel’s elbow aimed straight for his chin. "I have no idea how those monks in Cesere do it."

Az scoffed. “No one warming your bed?”

“Fuck no. You?”

“Not really looking.”

The village close by was more liberal than most due to its status as a trading crossroads, and Cassian had found a bevy of eager and willing females in the earlier days of their assignment. But one had to be careful to avoid spreading themselves too far - Illyrians were famous for being incurable gossips as much as they were for their wings.

Still, it surprised him to hear Azriel wasn’t even trying. They both had healthy appetites, the spymaster’s at times more ravenous than even his own.

“Yeah, sure.” Cassian smirked as they circled each other, making a show of rolling his eyes enough that Az might take the bait. He did, spinning to sweep Cassian’s feet from beneath him, but it went less well than expected when Az pivoted at the last moment and boxed him about the ear with a closed fist, making it ring.

“I mean it.”

Azriel landed a kick to Cassian’s shoulder to emphasize the point. He felt the shadows start to twine up his arm and blasted them outward with the siphon on his gauntlet, his laughter coming out in great white puffs amidst the chill.

He loved that Az never held back when they sparred. Sometimes Cassian wondered if he was the only one Azriel felt comfortable going full tilt with, the only one beside Rhys who could take him and not break. Which was why his curiosity spiked hearing of the shadowsinger’s celibacy, wondering if that restraint appeared elsewhere.

“Why not?”

He saw the frozen ground inside Azriel begin to thaw, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he quickly schooled his expression into that blank mask once more. “Don’t do this.”

“No really, why? You’re a good-looking male.” Ducking, Cassian managed to grab Az around the neck, ruffling his hair with a clenched fist like the childhood bully that still lived within him, though there was something else inside it that he ignored . “Do you not know what you’re doing, Azzie?”

Azriel struggled against him, growling his displeasure at the accusation. “Of course I do.”

At last he wriggled free, shadows swarming waspish and angry about his wings, but that fire had returned to his eyes, replacing the cold hollowness. Cassian didn’t quite know what was happening, but a thrill passed through him that had nothing to do with their sparring. There was so much that powerful body was capable of, and he couldn’t help egging Az on as he kicked out at one of his legs, stoking the flames.

“Prove it.”

“Fuck you.”

The shadowsinger’s hair fell elegantly across his face despite the sweat, and Cassian was distracted watching the sway of it, his already loose tongue unraveling more by the second.

“Like you have the balls to. You can’t handle me.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Azriel wouldn’t be able to let a challenge go, that his competitive streak would win over his better judgment every time. And Cassian could admit to himself that a part of him wanted that, wanted to keep making Az flush with rage like that, and so the taunts kept flowing.

“I’d make you cry, pretty boy. I’d have you begging for mercy before I even touched you.”

The next time Azriel came at him there was no restraint, no checking his blows, and they grappled violently, nails scraping against leather, panting breaths heating the space between them. Color bloomed high in the shadowsinger's cheeks, too deep for the cold, the exhertion.

They’d shared many charged glances in the ring over the years, the dances of combat and desire so often a hair’s breadth away from each other. Cassian usually dismissed it as an unavoidable side effect of being close for so long, knowing Azriel’s quirks more than his own. But now something blazed behind each blow and snarl, white-hot and searing, spurring him on.

“And then I’d make you forget your own fucking name.” He rushed forward and tackled Az around the middle, crushing him into the ground. “The only one you’d remember would be mine, and I’d make you scream it over and over and -”

Shadows whipped around them, lashing at his face and arms. Cassian heard a snarl and then the world flipped and he was the one pinned to the ground, face smashed into the dirt with one of Azriel’s hands splayed across his cheek, scars rasping at his stubble.

Another thrill pulsed through him, more urgent than before as he thrashed to free himself, albeit half-heartedly. The shadowsinger paused, looking down between them.

“Cauldron, Cass, are you getting hard?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

But he already knew the answer, could feel the long, hard press of Azriel through his leathers, the erratic beat of the shadowsinger’s heart in time with his own. Cassian grinned as he looked up into Azriel’s expression twisted in fury and something more malleable, consumed by the turbulence in his eyes he knew matched his own.

“Fuck it.”

Azriel yanked him upward and their mouths crashed together, a tangle of teeth and tongues, hands gripping hair and shoulders, their bodies carving symbols in the dirt. It was all so absurd, so surreal that Cassian laughed against Azriel’s lips, causing the latter to bite down on his own.

“Bedroom,” Cassian panted when Az pulled back, and shadows whisked them away in an instant, his back landing on the soft down of a feather bed. Azriel was still straddling him, now ripping at the jacket of his leathers.

“Get this shit off.”

They both fumbled with buckles and clasps that usually took no thought, an indicator of the building fervor, the delirium that captured both of them in its wild, wanton fist. But when their lips met once more there was a tenderness to it that surprised Cassian, the grip of Azriel’s hand on his jaw lighter than it ought to be. 

An understanding passed between them, two people who had hurt others, had been hurt themselves, and didn’t make themselves vulnerable for just fucking anybody.

Cassian’s hand moved slowly to the laces of his pants, giving Az time to decide as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes, frozen ground replaced by smoldering embers.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Az’s tongue darted out to trace his lower lip. “Always.”

“Then put your hands on the headboard.”

—

“Things sort of devolved from there,” Cassian finished with a shrug. They’d stayed up all night, only to return to the training ring in the morning clear-headed and casual, as if nothing had happened. “We’ve shared females since then, but never just the two of us. I think we needed to get it out of our systems.”

Nesta had moved from his lap and draped herself across the chaise lounge while he talked, golden brown hair spilling across her shoulders as she removed the pins. She was looking at him now with a kind of hunger in her wintery eyes, one that said she was picturing herself as the female they shared. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You two are.. Close.”

“Alright you minx, reel it back in. I don’t know if I’m ready to share you yet.”

“If that’s all I think I can live with it. At least it wasn’t Rhysand,” she said airily as she stood, and he followed her down the hall like a bird chasing the breeze, borne forth by the power she held over him. His thoughts were all a jumble - he couldn’t lie, but he had to, but then she’d be pissed, but she might be more pissed by the truth.

By the time they reached their room, all he managed was a noise like a seagull being strangled, followed by a weak, “Well..”

Cassian bought himself time shucking off his boots and tucking them in the wardrobe, trying to temper the onslaught of memories, the edges fuzzy from liquor and time. When he summoned the courage to emerge Nesta was naked, which was great, but also glaring at him over one shoulder, blue-gray flashing like a stormy sea, which was decidedly less great. 

“Cassian. Are you kidding?”

He sighed, accepting his fate as he rid himself of his shirt and trousers. “Look, it was a long time ago, I was young and drunk and curious. Shit happens.”

Nesta gave a disdainful hm! and stepped down into their giant bathtub, a cruel swish of her hips for emphasis.

“So you just accidentally came on to both your best friends on separate occasions because shit happens.”

“Yes.” He splashed into the fragrant water with much less grace and wrapped her in his arms, drawing a shriek. “Only I didn’t start it this time.”

—

He was finally sitting down, mercifully, miraculously, at rest for one godsdamn moment.

The last month had been one of the most brutal of Cassian’s life, the constant drilling, the endless training as they prepared for war. Now that he’d collapsed like a sack of bones in the armchair before the fire, he didn’t know how he’d remained on his feet so long in the first place.

As if summoned by his weariness, Rhys strolled into the house a few moments later, Windhaven’s harsh winter air sneaking in behind him. Cassian ruffled his wings and shot a dark look over his shoulder, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Close the fucking door.”

“In a bad mood, darling?” Rhys drawled, the aristocratic glide of his voice grating on Cassian’s nerves as the lordling divested himself of his traveling cloak. “I’ve just the thing to soothe your troubled heart.”

He produced a bottle of deep purple mulberry moonshine, a delicacy of Spring. It was impossible to get with the embargo on the southern court, though Cassian suspected Rhys’ stupid blond friend probably had a hand in supplying it.

He ignored the spike of jealousy, ascribing it to the headache now pounding somewhere behind his eye, and accepted the proffered glass without another word.

They drained the bottle for the better part of the evening, talking shit and one-upping each other, the ease of conversation helping Cassian relax until he’d sunk low in his chair, legs splayed long across the floor. Azriel was gone on a mission for the High Lord, and so they enjoyed the rare time just the two of them, perhaps the last time for a while. They’d all be shipped off to their individual assignments soon, and though it wasn’t confirmed Cassian knew they’d be separated, far-flung across Prythian in a way they hadn’t been since the Blood Rite.

Which was why he’d been pissed when Rhys brought a female home last night, shattering the images he’d had of sharing a meal together, drinking before the fire just like this.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Rhys asked casually, and Cassian scowled at him as his cheeks heated in a way he hoped was camouflaged by the flush of alcohol.

He’d heard them fucking in the night, woken to the creak of the bedframe, hushed moans and whispers drifting over him like a warm breeze. Rhys was going down on her from the sound of it, and very successfully if the female’s growing abandon was anything to go by. Even in his mortification Cassian had let one of his hands edge lower, biting the pillow to muffle his own labored breaths.

The memory made his arousal flare even now, loosened as he was by booze and easy company. When he looked up Rhys was smirking at him, a daring twinkle in his inconstant violet eyes.

“If you’re reading my mind I’m going to throw your bed out the window.”

Rhys’ smirk deepened. “That’s fine. I’ll just climb in with you.”

“Like I’d let you within ten wingspans of my bed.”

“You seemed fairly open to it when you were touching yourself under the covers.”

Cassian tried to ignore the spike of wanting at the words, instead downing the rest of his glass before he set it on the table with feigned nonchalance. Rhys stood and circled around the back of his chair, and Cassian assumed he was going to retrieve another bottle until he felt strong hands begin to knead the muscle at his shoulder, where his wings connected to his back. That touch-starved part of him that never got enough affection sparked alive, that wanted to both shy away from the contact and lean into its promise desperately.

“I don’t mind, for the record. We both knew. And we both liked it,” Rhys assured him. A sharp pain tore through Cassian’s neck before he could answer, Rhys following the tendon with a gentle thumb. “Gods but you’re tense. You’ve worried yourself into knots, darling.”

They were silent for a while, and Cassian let himself surrender to the pressure of Rhys’ hands, mind drifting back toward the night before as the tension seeped out of him. He had been curious about how Rhys had made the female moan like that, though at the time he’d thought for purely academic purposes. Now he felt a stirring below, curious in an entirely different way.

“Well if you ever change your tune, you’re welcome to pull back the covers and join in,” Rhys said breezily after a long slug of his own drink. “Have you ever had a male before, Cassian?” 

“No. Have you?”

Rhys hummed in confirmation behind him. “It’s not so different, you know.”

He felt Rhys’ hands roaming lower, slipping under his shirt to stroke at his chest, long fingers running through the thatch of curls at the center. Cassian’s whole body went hot, and he warred against the impulse to give in, still not sure if Rhys was sincere or just fucking with him.

“You fuck anything that moves, so I’m not sure how much weight that holds.”

It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it - Rhys was an undeniably handsome male, and even though he didn’t typically lean that way there was something comforting about the familiarity, the trust. The hands continued their path downward, undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“I have a very talented tongue, I’ve been told. Seems wrong not to share my gifts.”

“What a public service, lordling." Cassian was surprised by the gravel in his own voice, the building desire thick and heavy on his tongue. "Your subjects are truly grateful.”

“What can I say? I live to serve.”

Cassian hissed as fingers grazed his waistband. The rush of alcohol in his veins was making him feel bold, and Rhys certainly appeared on board, but the old twinge lingered, the unspoken rule.

“Are you sure about this? I mean I’m flattered, obviously, but after everything that happened with Mor I assumed we were all off-limits.”

Rhys’ hands stilled, pulling away from him. “Do you still feel guilty about that?”

“Of course I do,” Cassian murmured even as felt the loss of contact acutely, the part of him that wanted to take what was being offered, to let down his wall of self-sufficiency and be the cared for instead of the carer.

Soft lips pressed against his head, an apology somewhere inside it though neither spoke it aloud. Rhys rounded the chair to stand before the fire, a contemplative air about him.

“You work so hard, Cass, you show up for all of us without a moment’s hesitation. I know you’d die for me, but do you know I’d live in Hel for you?” When Rhys looked back Cassian saw the desire in his own eyes reflected along with something deeper, a wish to be connected, to give. “It’s not wrong to let someone else take over for a while.”

Then Rhys stepped close again and lowered to his knees on the threadbare rug, and Cassian forgot how to string a sentence together, how to breathe.

“Just relax. Let me take care of this for you.”

Deft fingers unlaced his trousers, relieving the ache only the slightest bit, which was somehow worse because Cassian was aware of just how turned on he was, how much he wanted Rhys to keep going. He ran a hand through Rhys’ blue-black hair without thinking, earning a satisfied smirk.

Then his breathing went ragged as the world swirled down to the space between them, the closing gap, before he was nothing but white-hot sensation, gripping the arms of the chair to stay tethered to reality.

“Oh, Mother, fuck that feels good.”

“Told you I'm talented."

—

“And then I went to sleep, and we never talked about it again.”

Nesta had flung an arm over her eyes as she listened, sprawled across the bed now in surrender to the images pouring through her mind.

“Just like that. Just casual oral sex between friends. I can never look him in the eye again, but I also can't wait for him to know that I know. Oh no, and Feyre? Is it my obligation to tell my baby sister that our husbands have..? Please tell me that's it."

Cassian couldn’t help but smile despite his mortification as his wife peeked out from under her arm, assessing. For all Nesta’s dramatics he knew she was listening carefully, holding space for him the way she always had. Her jokes were never aimed to wound, but rather to show him that she could handle whatever he gave her, that she wasn’t afraid of who he was and who he’d been.

“That’s mostly it.”

“Cassian.”

“Look, we’re already here.” He passed her the slice of cake the House dropped onto the nightstand, hoping some sugar might help the bitter pill go down. “I might as well tell you about Amren.”

“Amren?!”

—

There was only one bed.

Cassian had faced monsters, undead creatures, yet nothing in his two hundred years of life compared to the terror he felt staring at that single, solitary bed.

“Why have you stopped?” demanded Amren. “Did you forget how to walk through a door?”

Rhys had sent them near their southern border with Day, their first mission together since Amren’s appointment to the court. They were supposed to retrieve an enchanted mirror guarded by a cantankerous cyclops and his herd of mammoths, had been waylaid by a huge storm that blew in from the west that made flying impossible. But the warrior in Cassian was more worried about the volatile creature in the tavern attic with him now, despite her markedly smaller stature.

“I don’t even think we could share the bed.” He cast a glance around at the rest of the room, which didn’t take long considering how fucking tiny it was, the sharp cant of the roof. “You're small enough to fit in the chair if you curl up like a cat.”

Amren grew impatient with him blocking the door and ducked through the tunnel between his wing and leg to get around him. He shivered when she brushed the edge, grateful the tiny fae was now too busy surveying the room in abject disgust.

“I will not sleep in that chair. I will take the bed, and you can swallow your male pride and sleep on the floor.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

She planted her hands on her hips when she said it, but the positioning was slightly off, unrehearsed as she was from developing her gestures in this body in solitude. The effect of that in juxtaposition with her terrifying mercury eyes and awkward attempt at slang made Cassian burst out laughing. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way I’m fitting on the floor.”

She didn’t appreciate his words, definitely didn’t appreciate the laughter, but even she could see his point. There was barely enough room for them both to stand, let alone to get his wings in any kind of position that didn’t leave him bent like a broken parasol.

Amren scowled. “Sleep outside then, hang from a tree by your feet or whatever it is your kind do.”

Cassian let the casual cruelty roll over him, used to being looked down on by High Fae. “They’re your kind now, too, you know. You should learn about the people you serve.”

“I know all that I need to, boy,” she snapped. She was ripping through her miniature pack now, searching for something that must’ve sunk to the bottom. “Chiefly that I will sleep here and you will manage elsewhere.”

“Trust me, I would love nothing more than to not share this room, but it’s raining. So you’re stuck with me unless you’d rather I smell like a wet mutt tomorrow.”

Having found what she was looking for, Amren straightened and regarded him over one shoulder, the effect somewhat dampened by the fact she had to crane her neck all the way back at a weird angle to see his face. Cassian felt a nervousness flutter in his stomach, suddenly remembering all she was capable of, what she’d probably have no scruples doing to him. But after a moment she snorted, as if sensing his caution.

“Very well, then.”

She sneered hard enough he thought her face might split before she perched on the edge of the bed and took a swig from a flask, lips coming away ruby.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Cassian said as he removed his own pack, tucking it under the chair she definitely would’ve fit in. Maybe talking about herself would blunt her spikiness, he thought. It always seemed to cheer Rhys up. “What’s with the blood? Is it just for fun or is it part of your whole..” He waved a hand in her direction. “Image. The scary reputation thing.”

“Language has truly declined in the last few millennia. The blood is necessary. That will be the end of your questions.”

The cap of her flask screwed shut of its own accord, metal glinting in the low faelights.

“Fine, fuck. Just trying to be friendly. Do they not do that where you’re from?”

She fixed him with that eerie silver stare that promised the separation of his balls from the rest of him. “Enough. Questions.”

He took her seriously this time, darting from the room when she started pulling out her sleep clothes.

After scarfing down a serviceable meal in the tavern below, Cassian felt the tiredness settle over him like smoke, making his brain fuggy. Amren turned away from him when he returned, and he peeled off his wet leathers with as much modesty as the small room allowed, not wanting to chance asking her to step out. He could shield most of his body with his wings from the back anyway, but he felt her piercing eyes on him, the air charged with something he couldn’t quite place. At first he thought he’d pissed her off further, and was prepared to do some half-hearted groveling when a cold finger traced down the edge of his wing, making him yelp.

“Mother fuck, a little warning?”

He twisted to see Amren right behind him with her pinky raised, the blood red nail tipping it talon-sharp. “I heard these wings were sensitive.”

“Yeah, and it’s also considered pretty fucking rude to touch them without asking,” Cassian choked out when she reached up again, still reeling from the aftershocks of the unanticipated touch. Her eyes swirled like a midwinter squall.

“It was your suggestion I learn about my people.”

He knew she could scent his arousal from the feline smile that spread across her face, that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stop looking at me like you want to eat me.”

“But you look delicious.”

He couldn’t tell if that meant she wanted to bed him or drain him dry, though neither made sense, nor did the way she knew how to touch his wings that made a fierce hunger spark within him. While it was true he hadn’t slept with anyone in a while, barely anyone outside Illyria really got it right. He suppressed a shudder, heard her sardonic chuckle. 

“My power is in the blood. The flow, the pressure,” Amren said, and Cassian understood as he felt his blood rush south at her words, even as the purr of her voice wrapped around his neck like a noose. “It bends to my will.”

“Careful,” he managed, holding back a groan. “That’s my favorite part.”

Sharp nails tapped on the outer bone of his wing, making him shudder in earnest this time. “I’d have guessed it would be this.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. This was spiraling and he was quickly losing what little ability he had to make tactical decisions. “Maybe this isn’t such a -”

“Shall I stop?”

“NO. No.” His body screamed in protest at the suggestion, and though Rhys would likely kill him for this it was too good,  “Let’s just agree that as of tomorrow, this never happened,” he panted, and when he turned Amren was grinning at him, maybe the first real smile he’d seen her make, just the briefest flash before she pounced. 

It was a whirlwind from that moment on, and he didn’t remember much save for the way she loomed over him, somehow larger than she had any right to be. The blood whizzed through his brain, making him delirious but it felt fucking incredible, like slamming back a shot of pure lifeforce. Amren’s hands danced over his wings expertly, making him see double, so that he didn’t even think to ask how she knew just how to touch them until he was splayed on the floor with his legs under the bed, more thoroughly wrung out than he’d been in decades.

“I had wings once, before I came to your world.”

Perhaps it was the naivety of the afterglow, but Cassian was surprised by the crack that formed in his heart as she said it, the pain that lingered there. She’d been right earlier - his wings were his favorite part, a constant connection to his homeland, his freedom.

“Do you miss them?”

“Every day.”

He lifted a hand to brush back the raven hair that had fallen across her face, but she smacked him away savagely, pushing off his chest to her feet. His head swam as she towered over him, hands on her hips correctly this time.

“It seems you fit on the floor after all, so I’ll be taking the bed. And if you ever speak of this to anyone,” Amren shook the flask, grinning with all her teeth. “I’ll make a special vintage out of you.”

—

Nesta was laughing hysterically now, silver tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“I’m so glad my misery is funny to you.” Cassian crossed his arms and his mate immediately reached over to uncross them, crawling to sit astride him so he couldn’t close off again. 

“Oh my. Oh. This is..” She took his face in her hands, pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow as her laughter ebbed. “I love you.”

“Yeah, you better.”

She brushed her nose against his, gentler now, a gesture that everything was okay. “You know, it does make me feel better in a way. That there wasn’t anything special about Morrigan, because this is just who you are.”

“What, an idiot?”

“No,” she assured him, stifling the laugh that still wanted to bubble forth. “Open to opportunity.”

“I guess so? I’ve never really thought about it before.”

Nesta lay against him in answer, resting her head on his chest. He took the opportunity to run his fingers through her curtain of hair, and she hummed when he scratched lightly at her scalp, holding him tighter.

“As long as you’re faithful to me now and you’ve never slept with one of my sisters, I don’t much care. You haven’t, right?

“No way, sweetheart. Promise.”

He felt her smile against his skin, the corner of it quirked in a way he knew meant she was scheming over something, or else setting a trap. ”So…” she breathed, her tone full of courtier’s dodginess. “Who was the best?”

“You, of course.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She sat up and glared at him, though he saw the lightness in her eyes, the zing of excitement pulsing under her skin. “You opened this door, you can’t blame me for wanting to walk through it. Answer.”

“Fine. Az was the best. Hands down. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I have an opportunity you might be open to.”

Nesta dug one hand into his hair, the other tracing a line from the hollow of his throat to where their bodies connected and Cassian knew he was fucked, knew she’d do everything she could to outshine those memories, to make hers the only body that lived in his mind.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that was already true, though his motives were not entirely selfless as she slipped her night dress over her head, and they twined for hours with unbridled glee, pausing every now and then for Nesta to fall apart with laughter.

---

Me: I’m gonna write fun silly smut! Also me: *drags out the saddest fucking background info to justify it* And you can pry pansexual switch king Cassian from my cold ass dead ass hands. Also think this may be the first Amren/Cassian fic ever. Is this my legacy? Oh god.

[worms-in-the-brain]

So we know this spreadsheet, right? These are the test results from the study the Magnus Institute ran on that group of kids, including our best guy Sam.

First of all: As Sam is we’re getting more and more MagInst. mentions as the series progresses, i thought it would be neat to dissect it a little. I’m fairly sure that it has been done before, but I haven’t really seen it. Because of that, if anyone has a good post or any additional info I’m missing here, I’d love to see it!

Now, on with

the spreadsheet

I’m not sure if we’ve confirmed what exactly the Institute is looking for with these tests. My current theory is that they might’ve been looking for a host/catalyst/avatar of sorts which they could guide from a young age, though I’m not sure if that holds up.

On top of that, I’m not sure what green opposed to red or yellow opposed to white means in the spreadsheet. I am however assuming that the majority of the kids were eventually rejected.

I think that the kids marked in red are kids who already got or are going to be rejected: Griffin(?), Opal, Winnie and Yasmine. It’s incomplete, though, as we know that Sam got terminated from the program at some point during it’s run.

I also think that the kids marked in white are probably of particular interest to the Institute: Joshua, Zoe, Olivia and Sophia. I’ll be comparing their scores to Sam’s scores, since we know for a fact he got rejected at some point, showing us that his results weren’t favorable for the Institute.

So while we can’t know for certain what the institute wanted to do with these results, we can make an estimation on what qualities they were looking for.

First of, name and date of birth. This isn’t really relevant for us, except maybe that the maximum age difference is about 5 years.

Next: Piaget. Jean Piaget was a psychologist who studied children’s cognitive development. The stages in the spreadsheet are from a theory of Piaget’s that described intellectual development (in particular, the way which they obtain and process information). There are 4 stages in total, but the spreadsheet only contains stage 2 and 3.

Stage 2, The Preoperational Stage: Can use/understand symbolism, struggles to see from another’s perspective, and thinks very concretely (based on one’s own experiences (what they hear, feel, see. Example: something flat is bigger than something round, though in reality the volumes are the same and the flat shape only looks bigger) and the present as opposed to the past of future).

Stage 3, The Concrete Operational Stage: Begins to use/understand logic and conservation (the amount of water in a wide cup is the same amount in a tall, narrow cup), begins to think of how others might think and feel and understand that what the child thinks might be different from what others think.

The most notable on this section is that Joshua is the only kid shown to be at stage 2. Sam and all the other children are at stage 3, likely meaning that Joshua struggles most with understanding that other people can think differently from him and finds it difficult to apply logic.

Kohlberg. Lawrence Kohlberg's stages of moral development are an adaptation of Piaget’s theory centered on moral development in children. There are six stages in total, divided into 3 levels. The spreadsheet shows levels 2 and 3.

Level 2: Action’s morality is judged by social norms and societal expectations. Social rules are generally followed even if there is no reward or threat of punishment. However, the nature of the rules themselves aren’t questioned and often blindly followed. (Includes stage 3 (being aware of other’s judgement and wants to please them in order to be liked/perceived as good) and stage 4 (wants to follow the rules/demand of authority. They don’t really feel the need to please any individual and are instead devoted to a duty to follow laws. When someone breaks a law, they did wrong)

Level 3: Morality is judged on an individual level. Societal norms are recognized as shifting instead of constant. Authorities and rules are questioned. Rules can be broken when out of line with their personal values. (Includes stage 5 (Laws shouldn’t always dictate behavior and the greater good is prioritized) and stage 6 (justice is prioritized. There is an obligation to break unjust laws. Actions are taking because they are fundamentally good, not for self interest or because of an obligation to laws).

Notable here is that Olivia is the only child at stage 2. Likely meaning she has a rigid concept of what is good and what should be done according to a pre-established set of rules and might have trouble recognizing when those rules might not apply or be harmful.

Prosocial. Prosocial behavior is identified by an intent to benefit others, either on an individual level or for the group. This behavior can occur out of empathy or self-interest. It can include a willingness to share and cooperate with, comfort, or help others. It often falls in line with social norms.

Joshua is shown as the only one with a moderate score in this category, which could be indicative that he is less likely to specifically act to benefit someone or a group. This might fall in line with his lower Piaget score. If he doesn’t realize others might not always benefit from what benefits him, he’s less likely to act on it.

Sally-Anne. The Sally-Anne test tests theory of mind. It can show that someone recognizes that others have their own thoughts and beliefs that might not align with reality.

Zoe, Olivia and Sophia all fail the test, showing they might not have a complete understanding of what others might think, feel or believe. Interestingly, Joshua passes the test, despite his lower Piaget score suggesting he might fail. Maybe this is suggesting that he does understand logic and know what others might think, but has less motivation to act in other’s benefit.

Ultimatum. Everyone is listed as ‘fair’, so this category doesn’t tell us much.

Empathy index.

Joshua, Zoe, Olivia, and Sophia all have average empathy scores among most of the other children. Sam has the highest empathy score out of all the children, meaning he probably excels at putting himself in other’s shoes, understanding how others might feel and how they perceive a situation.

Milgram. The Milgram experiments were a series of experiments conducted by Stanley Milgram. They tested the willingness of participants to fallow the orders of authority, even if those orders misaligned with the participant’s own moral code.

Joshua and Zoe scored moderately on the test, showing they were more willing to carry out tasks given to them by an authority figure that went against their own moral beliefs than the children who scored low such as Olivia and Sophia, who likely weren’t influenced by the authority in the experiment and stuck to their own moral. Sam is the only one shown to have scored high on the experiment, probably meaning he is extremely obedient to authority figures and has a high disregard for his own morals when authority needs him to be, despite his high empathy.

Asch. The Asch conformity experiments were a series of experiments conducted by Solomon Asch. They tested an individual’s willingness to conform to the group (of peers), despite their own beliefs.

Joshua and Zoe have low scores, showing that they’re unlikely to go against their own beliefs in order to not stand out in a group. Olivia and Sophia are shown to have moderate scores, they might conform to the group under specific circumstances. Sam, once again, is the only one with a high score, meaning he is most likely to want to blend in with a group and is willing to suppress his own beliefs to do so.

One thing I don’t really understand is the ‘s’ marked in Winnie’s Asch score. Does it mean Standard? Does it show she hasn’t done the test? Is it a typo? No clue!

In conclusion

Considering all that information, I think it’s fair to say that the Institute is looking for children who are easy to manipulate.

Joshua’s level 2 Piaget score behaviour can make it difficult for him to realize other’s might have bad intentions and his moderate Milgram score can mean he’s more willing to fallow the instructions of authorities. Along with that, his moderate Prosocial score might indicate he’s more likely to act in ways that are detrimental to others. Even though he passed the Sally-Anne test, this might make him vulnerable to manipulation.

Zoe also had a moderate Milgram score, showing she’s more susceptible to the requests of authority figures. Zoe, Olivia and Sophia also failed the Sally-Anne test, which might mean they struggle with understanding the intentions of others and how their actions impact the people around them. That can mean they can be influenced to act in ways they don’t fully comprehend the consequences of.

Olivia has a level 2 Kohlberg score, which probably means she has a very rigid view on rules and feels an obligation to follow them. She and Sophia also have a moderate Asch score, making them more susceptible to peer pressure.

But then why was Sam rejected? He had the highest Milgram and Asch test results, which can indicate he can be very vulnerable to manipulation!

I believe it this to do with his high empathy score. Considering that and the fact he also passes the Sally-Anne test, he might have been too likely to figure out what the Institute’s intentions with them were and would’ve likely informed others, which the Institute couldn’t have.

That, or something about his high empathy score would’ve somehow prevented him from becoming a proper catalyst, he might care too much for the people he’d harm and that would somehow prevent something to fully manifest.

But really, I have no idea! If anyone has some thoughts about this, I’d love to hear them!

[holylulusworld]

Deep Abyss (8)

Summary: The Winter Soldier smelled something divine, and no one would stop him from having his omega.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Brock Rumlow

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, angst, true mates, male omega, hostage situation, fun

Deep Abyss masterlist

Catch up here: Deep Abyss (7)

Brock drifts in and out of sleep on their way toward an unknown future. He should stay awake. The Winter Soldier is still keeping him hostage; he’s wearing a fucking dress, and Hydra is after them.

How can he sleep then?

Brock hates that he feels safe next to the soldier and that he allows himself to fall asleep. The alpha offers a safety Brock hasn’t felt in ages, or like ever.

A male omega has to fight most of the time. Everyone underestimates a male omega because of their presentation. It doesn’t matter that he’s as strong and skilled as any alpha he fought alongside.

Biology sucks. In Brock’s case, it ruined his chance to become a high-ranked Hydra member. They don’t even pretend to not judge their members by their gender or presentation.

If you want to be successful within Hydra, you must be a male alpha. Just like in the rest of the world. Those are the rules you must follow if you want to be part of the organization.

“We are almost there,” Bucky says. He glances at the omega, hoping things will play out for them in the end. All the information he gathered with the help of the mole helping him escape told him one thing: Hydra is an enemy you should never underestimate. “Just a little longer and we are off their radar. At least, for a while.”

“You still think we can outrun Hydra,” Brock snorts. “Your brain got fried one too many times if you truly believe we can escape them. One way or another, they will capture us. They will fry your brain and kill me. That’s what will happen to your dream.”

“No,” Bucky replies without missing a beat. “They won’t. No more trigger words, and no more winter soldier. We will have a good life, far away from the past.”

Brock snorts. He wouldn’t play along only to make his captor happy. He knew better than believing in dreams or holding his hopes high. His life was hell in the past, and he didn’t see a better future for him.

“I’ll make you a believer.”

Brock rolls his eyes. He can’t believe the feared winter soldier is dreaming of a domestic life and believes in happy endings. After everything he experienced, Bucky should know better.

“Just drive and wake me when we are ready to stop pretending this isn’t a fucked-up situation. I’m not your lovely wife, and you are not my lover. Hell, you kidnapped me, chained me up, and forced me to wear a dress!”

“For your safety,” Bucky argues. “I killed them because rumors spread through the organization. They wanted to get rid of my handler. According to Hydra’s information, he got weak and stopped treating me like a piece of meat.”

Brock crosses his arms over his chest. “Fuck, why did I have to use organs for boobs again? Why couldn’t I be a flat-chested woman?”

Bucky grins. “I didn’t say a thing about boobs, Brockie,” he taunts. “You used them and the make-up.”

“What? I—” Brock grunts. “The oranges and make-up were on the bed, next to the dress! What should I have done with the oranges instead?”

“The make-up was optional, and the oranges were meant for a second breakfast on the road. I didn’t have more snacks left. How should I have known that you like putting on fake boobs?”

Brock turns his head to glare at Bucky. “You tricked me!”

“I was a thoughtful alpha and offered a healthy snack. It’s not my fault you like to look pretty for me.”

Both chuckle at their banter. It’s the first time for both of them to laugh wholeheartedly, at least for a moment. “Next time, tell me it’s a snack.” Brock unzips his jacket and tugs at the dress to get the oranges out of the bra he put on. “I can’t believe I’m wearing a dress and fake tits!”

“I was wondering too,” Bucky smirks to himself. “You’re wearing a jacket. No one will see that you’ve got no boobs.”

“That’s enough talk about boobs!” Brock raises his voice. “It’s not funny, okay. I know an alpha will never understand how an omega feels, but this is embarrassing and awful to me.”

“You look good in the dress,” Bucky softens his voice. “I didn’t ask you to wear it because you are weak. I know you are a strong man.”

“I know you’re a perv who wanted to see my knees and calves,” Brock bites back. “I saw the way you watched me walk toward the car. I’m telling you this one last time. Get it into your thick skill and tell your alpha hindbrain that I’m not going to roll over like a good omega.”

“Good,” Bucky dips his head and says, “I expected as much from my chosen omega. And I like me a good chase...”

Tags in reblog.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hi Mimi!!!! I can't believe I'm only seeing your fic Song Roulette now!!! If this is past your deadline you can totally disregard this, but I was wondering if you could do Return to Love by Andrea Boccelli with Hunter? I hope I'm within the rules? I couldn't find them (I'm tired so observation skills are low atm XD) if not I can submit a different one within the rules!

Can't wait to see what you do!!!! As always, your work is amazing 🥰

Hello my lovely @dragonrider9905!

Thank you for your lovely request: Return to Love by Andrea Boccelli

Love this song and him. Such a fantastic request. I hope you like my interpretation of it.

Love oo

Return to Love

Warnings: Longing, confession, gift giving, fear, apprehension, hugs, kisses, I think that's it if I miss anything please let me know.

Italics - flashback

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Hunter stood at the entrance of your village, it had been years since he set foot on your home planet. However, now that things had calmed down, Tantiss was no longer a worry. Hemlock was dead and gone. The Empire was no longer looking for Omega. Everything was peaceful. 

As he sat by the village tree, and he finally felt peace for the first time in his life, his mind kept going back to you. 

The way your smile always used to light up your face. 

The way your eyes would always look at him with so much love. 

The way your nose would scrunch up when you laughed. 

All those little moments, all those little quirks that he memorized, and had safely tucked away in his heart. Kept all those precious moments with you to himself, untainted and pure. 

Of course, he still remembered the day he left the village, the day the Separatists were chased off your planet. 

His brothers said their goodbye first, thanking you for allowing you to let them use your home as a base for them. 

You couldn’t help laughing at Wrecker’s wide eyes as you gave him Lula, it’d been a hobby of yours to make toys for the children of the village, and when you saw how much he kept looking at the kids with their toys. Well you couldn’t help but make one for him too.

You had asked Hunter in secret what colours Wrecker would’ve liked, and you were so happy that he loved it, as much as he did. 

Tech and Crosshair also were given presents, Crosshair you gifted him a stack of toothpicks, a habit he developed while being in your home. With Tech, you gave him the new strap for his goggles, it was a special leather that was guaranteed to never wear away. 

Hunter just stood off to the side as he watched how you doted on each of his brothers, his heart swelling with each moment. He couldn’t stop smiling when it finally was just the two of you. 

“We are very grateful for everything you did for us.”

“It was nothing, Hunter,” you looked into his eyes, smiling as the wind blew through his hair, it was getting in his eyes. You reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear. “I’m going to miss you.”

“So am I”

You held out a red fabric to him, “A little something to remember me by.”

“I can’t forget you regardless.”

“Either way” you smiled as he opened up the red fabric, looking at the necklace in his hand it was a simple ingot necklace. His eyes focused on the design, “It’s the symbol of our village. It’s not much … I’m sure you probably won’t wear it…”

“I love it.” Your eyes focused on each other, as Hunter reached up and put the necklace over his head and tucked it into his body suit. “I’ll wear it always.” He used the red fabric and tied it around his head keeping his hair out of his face.

“If you … any of you ever need a place to call home … my door is always open.” You reached out and held his hand, “Please stay safe.”

Hunter nodded, he wanted to say more, wanted to do so much more than offer a simple squeeze to your fingers. He longed to press his lips against yours. “If I come back, it won’t be for a long time.”

“Whenever you do come back …” you took a deep breath, as you offered one last smile, “my … my door is always open.” You wanted to say how he had your heart so it didn’t matter how long it would take, you wouldn’t forget him. You’d remember all those moments you two shared.

Hunter steeled himself as he stood in front of your house, your necklace nestled against his chest. His fist raised ready to knock, when he took a moment to steal himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knocked, not backing away. It felt as though hours had ticked by as he stood there, when it’d really only been a few seconds. 

You wiped your hands clean, as you answered the door, “Sorry, my hands were …” your sentence vanished from your lips as your eyes focused on Hunter’s face. 

Your heart started pounding as he stood there, your eyes slowly roving over him, making sure he wasn’t injured, before your eyes went back to his own.

“Hunter…”

The fear and trepidation he’d been feeling from the moment he decided to come to you melted away. 

“Hi mesh’la”

You didn’t hesitate a second, throwing your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer, burrowing your face into his neck. He didn’t hold back wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your hair, remembering your scent from so long ago. You still smelt like home. And now that he held you, you felt like home. 

Neither of you said anything as you both stood there holding on to each other. 

After you’ve had your fill, you pulled back, fighting back tears as you looked at him, “I’ve missed you.”

Hunter fought back his own tears, as his hand gently stroked your cheek, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late. You’re never late.” You held his cheeks in your hand, smiling as he leaned in closer. You didn’t hesitate, as you closed the distance pressing your lips against his. 

Hunter pulled back after holding you in his arms, deepening the kiss like he’d been wanting to do for the past several years, “How do you feel about moving?”

“If it means being with you, I can go anywhere.”

“Ever heard of Pabu?”

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[seijorhi]

Undertow

A tokrev purge AU, as a treat :))

Kakucho x female reader, Kurokawa Izana x female reader

w.c 6.4k

tw: murder, blood & slight gore, implied non/dub-con, yandere themes

This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual Purge sanctioned by the Japanese Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorised for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking ten have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. 

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m, when the Purge concludes. 

Blessed be our new founding fathers and Japan; a nation reborn.

As the polite, female voice falls silent, klaxons ring out, blaring through the night. 

Seven years now. 

Five, since your brother decided to join the would be Purgers and never made it home. It never becomes normal, you never lose that fear. You do, however, learn the rules. 

Stay home. Lock yourself away behind the reinforced shutters and doors, pretend that everything’s fine, that you can’t hear the screaming and gunshots, the violent chaos being gleefully wreaked outside. You put on some movies, music maybe, sit on your couch, swaddled in blankets with the volume too loud and pray that tonight won’t be the night that someone decides to test just how impenetrable the defences around your home truly are.

Arms encircle your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. A kiss is pressed against your hair. “Babe, don’t look so worried. We’ll be fine. We always are.” 

–Only this time, you’re not waiting out the Purge by yourself. 

You exhale, Natsuya’s hold easing to allow you to turn and face him. He smiles at the pinched expression on your face, “We’re gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Now will you please come have a drink with me? The others are starting to wonder why my beautiful,” his lips meet your forehead, “smart,” the tip of your nose, “incredible girlfriend’s hiding herself away.” 

He kisses your lips last of all, a sweet, gentle thing. Brushes your hair back from your face. 

“No one’s getting through the security system, and even if they did, no one’s gonna hurt you, I’ll make sure of it.”

Yes, you’d caught an eyeful of the shotgun he’d been cleaning when you’d arrived. His friends undoubtedly have their own weapons stashed away, too. After all – there’s no such thing as a pacifist on Purge night. 

It doesn’t ease your worry any, but you smile and nod for him, letting him tug you back to the lounge room where his friends and sister await. 

Because what else does Purge night call for, if not a party?

Miyano – charming and roguish, long dark hair swept up into a bun – the first to greet you, passing you a shot of amber liquor with an easy wink. “Purge classic,” he tells you, referring to the drink, “it’s tradition – and a secret.”

You knock the shot back, wincing at the burn in your throat as it goes down. “Why does it taste like toothpaste?!”

“Disgusting, isn’t it,” Tomori, Natsuya’s sister and the only other girl present, says with a grimace. 

Miyano looks mightily pleased with himself, Ayumu and Suwabe both snickering good naturedly. The two of them couldn’t be more different from each other. Suwabe’s short and stocky, Ayumu willowy-tall, blond and bespectacled, and yet one’s never far from the other. 

Your boyfriend sneaks an arm around your waist, dutifully accepting his own with a rueful sigh.

“So you guys do this every Purge?” 

Suwabe nods, “Yeah, for the past four or five years. It’s a shit night, we figured we might as well make the most of it together instead of stressing out about it alone.”

“And you’ve never been tempted to…?”

The three of them share a look, Suwabe shrugging, “What, to Purge? Ayumu and I went one year. Not to kill anyone or nothing,” he hastens to clarify at your wide eyed expression, “we wanted to rob his boss’s place.”

“The guy was an asshole. Rich as hell, too. We knew he wasn’t gonna be there, it seemed as good a time as any to try our luck,” the blond elaborates. 

“And how’d that go for you?” 

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, we didn’t even make it onto the property. And it was fucked out there, not something I want a repeat of anytime soon.”

Your brother’s face flashes to mind, a pang striking deep in your chest. He’d made his choice, though, with intentions far less justifiable, and so you shove those feelings aside, tilting your face to meet Natsuya’s, “And no Purging for you?”

Intended as a joke, his fingers, resting comfortably above your hip, inexplicably twitch. “‘Course not.”

“The whole thing’s messed up. Who wants to go out and hunt people for fun?” Tomori snorts, passing you a glass of wine and pouring one for herself. 

“Kind of a necessary evil, though, right?” 

She meets her brother’s gaze with one raised, unimpressed eyebrow, “Oh c’mon, Nats, you can’t honestly tell me that you believe the Purge is in any way a good thing. Those who can afford it lock themselves away, and the poor pay the price. It’s chaos for the sake of chaos, the only difference between now and before is that alongside all the criminals who would’ve gone out looting and murdering anyway, the government’s convinced stupid, entitled dumbasses like those two,” she jerks her chin towards Ayumu and Suwabe, both suddenly fascinated with their drinks, “that killing and stealing and hurting other people is morally upstanding, and worse; fun.”

And so the conversation goes, as it always does. You nod and hum idly along with the others every now and then, nestled comfortably into Natsuya’s side while they argue back and forth, until– “Look, all I’m saying is that anyone who’s dumb enough to get themselves killed on Purge night probably isn’t a great loss to society anyway.”

The change in the air is palpable. Natsuya stiffens behind you, Tomori’s breath catching, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Figures that Natsuya told her. 

And to Miyano’s credit, he seems to realise he’s misstepped even before your boyfriend’s growled, “Dude, shut the hell up.” 

“Shit, that’s not what I– Fuck, I didn’t–” You raise a placating hand, and his mouth closes with an audible click. 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’m not gonna bite your head off,” you chuckle awkwardly, pretending that you don’t see Suwabe’s wince.

Still, his expression looks almost stricken, eyes darting between you and a disapproving Nats, and you feel a slight twinge of… something.

Miyano hadn’t said it to be spiteful. 

What happened to your brother happens to hundreds every Purge – they leave the safety of their houses with the belief that because they’ve got a weapon and a free pass for twelve hours, they’re invincible. 

Usually, they’re wrong. 

“It’s fine,” you repeat with a tight smile, pointedly ignoring Natsuya’s scoff. 

“No, I shouldn’t’ve–”

Whatever he’s about to say falls by the wayside as a loud, pounding suddenly reverberates through the house. 

The front door. 

For a long beat, nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Six pairs of eyes shift to the entry-way, towards the unknown figure waiting on the other side of the door. 

Silence settles over the six of you, thick and uncomfortable, and undercurrent of tension pressing down on your body. Every door and window’s locked and reinforced behind steel shutters, they’re not impenetrable, though. Nothing is. 

Abruptly, the banging resumes, so sudden that you jerk, flinching back against Natsuya’s frame.

“Pull up the security feed,” Suwabe suggests.

There’s a panel with a keypad on the wall by the kitchen, a few clicks of the buttons and the screen comes to life. Split across six sections, the cameras show a near 360 degree view of the exterior of the house. Natsuya taps on the upper left, bringing the view from the front of the house – the man battering down the door – full screen, the audio filtering through. 

“–gonna kill me! You have to let me in! I promise I’m not armed, I swear it, just– help me, please!”

Your stomach flips. 

“I–” you swallow, drawing in an unsteady breath.

The shock of black hair, the jagged scar cut like a bolt of lightning across his forehead, his eyes, one red, the other a milky white, wide and frantic now as he risks another look behind him – they’re not features you’re likely to forget any time soon. “I know him.”

You feel more than see the way that Natsuya tenses, pulling back to study you, a note of questioning in his eyes.

“He catches the same train home, we talk sometimes.” There’s more to it than that; a creep that tried to feel you up and Kakucho’s intervention, but you don’t feel like getting into that now.

Not when he’s hoarse and begging on Nats’ doorstep. 

He hammers his fist against the shutters, strong enough that you swear you can feel the vibrations rattling in your chest. “He’s coming– fucking hell, please!”

Nobody says anything, uncomfortable glances shared between all six of you. 

It’s an exercise in futility begging anyone for help on Purge night. He has to know that – everyone knows that.

And yet your heart’s lodged firmly in your throat, because it’s not just anyone at the door. It’s not a stranger begging for mercy, for sanctuary, it’s Kakucho. 

Kakucho, who stood up for you.

Kakucho, who took the seat next to yours for weeks before he so much as said a word to you.

Kakucho, who looks half crazed – terrified – pleading for his life. 

You barely know him, a kind act and a few conversations on your nighttime commute doesn’t make him a saint, doesn’t mean you have any sort of deeper relationship or trust built between you, but…

“Nats,” you breathe, your hand seeking his. His palm’s warm, engulfing yours, and you squeeze it, “I know him.”

It isn’t a plea, not quite. 

“Dude, are you crazy? You can’t let him in!” Suwabe hisses, smacking his shoulder. “It sucks, but that’s what happens–”

Tomori‘s eyes flash. She folds her arms over her chest, shooting daggers his way, “So we throw him to the wolves? Just leave him to die?” 

“Yeah; that’s the fucking Purge, Mori! He’s banging on your door ‘cause no one else’s stupid enough to let him in!”

“And if it was your friend and not some random stranger, you’re telling me you‘d leave him to the wolves rather than risk opening your door?”

Miyano, up until now silent, exhales, “She’s kind of got a point.” 

“He’s not a friend though, she said it herself!” Suwabe snaps back, jabbing his finger in your direction. He turns to Ayumu, watching the argument unfold with a small frown. “Back me up here, dude, you know I’m right.”

The blond shifts on his feet, fingers tapping an uneasy rhythm against his drink as his gaze flickers between you and Natsuya. And all the while, the pounding outside continues, furious and desperate, layered beneath Kakucho’s shouts. You’re half convinced that any second now, that door’s gonna give way, and your stomach churns. You feel sick. 

He’s a mere step above a stranger; an acquaintance at best. Suwabe isn’t wrong, either. This is Purge, this is what happens. Those who don’t have the means to protect themselves either learn to fight back or pay the price. There’s no helping that and it’s naive to think otherwise.

Right now you’re safe. Barring an all out assault, you’ll remain that way for the rest of the night. 

The smart thing to do would be to hunker down and pretend the world outside the front door doesn’t exist for the next however many hours. That was the plan. That’s always the plan for the Purge. 

Even the harmless looking ones pose a threat tonight. Kakucho, with his stature and scowl, the scar and those frighteningly intense eyes, never struck you as all that harmless. 

So you don’t blame Suwabe for his reticence. You can’t. The smart, rational choice here is as cold and brutal as it is simple; you keep the door locked. 

Yet your hand tightens around Natsuya’s, anchoring yourself in the touch as Ayumu’s eyes flit across yours, considering. 

You won’t beg, you won’t, but–

“It’s your house,” he eventually says, more to Natusya than you. A shrugs then, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “There’s six of us, we’ve got guns if he tries anything.”

Something looses inside of you, a shuddering breath filling your lungs. 

Natsuya doesn’t look particularly thrilled judging from the clenched muscle in his jaw, the crease between his brows. One glance at Tomori, though, her lovely face set is a mask of determination and that resolve of his weakens.

And shatters entirely. 

“Fine. Fucking– fine. Let him in; 4869.” 

He snatches the shotgun off the table as he says it, drawing you back into his side whilst Miyano – the closest to the door – punches in the code. Suwabe, meanwhile, disappears from the room, reappearing a moment later with a gun in hand. 

Sliding himself into position between Tomori and the door, he cocks the slide with a grim expression. He locks eyes with you – only for a heartbeat – and you find yourself wanting to blurt out that the guns aren’t necessary, that Kakucho isn’t a threat. 

You don’t, though, tongue leaden in your mouth, and he nudges her back as his attention shifts to the door. 

In your ear, low enough that the others won’t hear, Natsuya murmurs, “You don’t leave my side, understand?”

You nod. 

With a heavy clank, the shutters begin to lift.

Your fingers dance by your side, your insides in knots. Inch by inch it goes until finally, Miyano unlocks the door, pulls it open and Kakucho barrels in. 

No one breathes. No one moves as he rights himself, bleeding, panting. 

“Shut the fucking door,” he rasps, and like that, whatever spell everyone’s under is broken and both Suwabe and Miyano snap into action to close off the house once more.

And all the while you simply stare, blinking, unsure of what you’re supposed to say or do right now. Kakucho’s eyes shift around the room, slowly considering each of your friends, tasking them in one after the other, Suwabe’s gun, Natsuya’s, until at last, his eyes fall on you.

Recognition glints. Surprise. His head tilts, almost puppy-ish, brows drawing together. He murmurs your name in that deep, gravelly rumble, and Natsuya goes rigid. 

It’s an instinctual response, you think, because a breath later his thumb rubs soothingly at your hip, slow and gentle, a quiet apology for brutish behaviour. Everyone’s on edge tonight. 

And once again, it falls to Tomori to break the tension.

“Are you hurt? You look like hell.”

Kakucho doesn’t answer her immediately, his attention lingering on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Long enough that you have to fight the urge to fidget. Eventually, though, he grunts and shakes his head, turning his head to face her. “It’s nothing. I‘m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” she presses, as gently as she can. 

Dazedly, he lifts his hand to his face, fingers finding the gash on his cheek. They come away wet and shining, glistening with his own blood – he stares at it, almost confused. “It’s… nothing,” he repeats, slower this time.

Tomori rolls her eyes, huffs in a way that’s so similar to Natsuya that under other circumstances you might have laughed. “What is it with men and their bullshit need to act tough all the time?”

None of them, not even Miyano has anything to say to that, and despite the heavy tension still hanging in the air, a wry grin pulls at your lips. 

It only lasts a moment. 

“You guys have a first aid kit, yeah?” Ayumu asks, to which both Tomori and your boyfriend nod.

“In the kitchen, the shelf above the fridge.”

And like that, the boys begin to disperse. Ayumu to fetch the kit, Miyano water and alcohol. Suwabe sticks by Tomori’s side, and when she mentions something about towels for the blood, he follows her out into the hallway. You suspect it’s more to give you a moment with Kakucho – or to escape the thick, awkward atmosphere – but you’re grateful all the same.

With the others gone, Kakucho’s attention turns back to you. Says nothing as you approach, Natsuya trailing right behind you, watching the two of you carefully.

Tomori hadn’t been wrong. Tough act or not, he has to be in pain. Split lip, knuckles grazed and reddened. The gash on his cheek, and blood seeping from a cut on his brow. Mottled bruises darkening his skin. Even his gait is off, his left leg supporting the majority of his weight. You’ve never seen the aftermath of a beating like this before. They hadn’t even let you see your own brother after they’d found him. 

It twists at something inside of you, sends a pang right through your heart. He has to be hurting, yet Kakucho wears the damage like it’s nothing.  

There’s a strange urge – one you steadfastly ignore – to reach out and take his ruined cheek in hand. To see someone in pain, hiding it… you might not be friends exactly, but a lump forms in your throat, your chest tightening. You’ve never felt so uselessly inadequate.

You sigh, eyes searching his, “What happened to you?”

“Let him sit down first, babe,” your boyfriend mutters. 

Kakucho regards him warily. He’s still holding the shotgun, admittedly by his side, his other hand moving to your shoulder. 

A clear message, and you don’t know how you feel about that.

In any case, your cheeks warm, a sheepish laugh – one without much humour – leaving your lips. You’re doing this all wrong. Stupid, stupid. “Of course, it’s probably better if we do this at the table, right?” you ask no one in particular. “Can you walk over or do you need somebody to lean on?”

A faint frown mars his face, “I said I’m fine.” Again, there’s no heat in the statement, the words are dull, robotic almost. 

The others are returning now, Ayumu blowing his blond locks away from his face as he sets the first aid kit down on the table and pops it open. Yet surprisingly it’s Suwabe who pipes up, “Stop being an asshole, she’s just trying to help.”

Well, maybe not that surprising. 

You repress another sigh, shaking off Natsuya’s grip to go and help him, Ayumu clearly having the same thought, when the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

No one dares to breathe, each of you slowly turning to face the door, still locked behind those steel shutters. 

The doorbell rings again, twice in quick succession. 

You hear someone quietly whisper, “Fuck.”

Cold dread sluices through your system, every pound of your heart echoing in your ear as Natsuya chokes on his spit, glances to Miyano. 

And all eyes shift to the security screen. Tomori’s closest this time, Suwabe’s quick to grab her, pull her back as he instead brings the feed to life. Another tap, and the exterior front door once again fills the screen.

Your heart, pounding so violently in your chest that it feels like you’re going to be sick, constricts.

A blond man with striking – deeply unsettling – violet eyes stands at the doorstep, smiling directly into the camera. He’s not much older than you, less than five or so years you’d guess, dressed in an elegant, brocaded red coat. 

“I’m assuming I have your attention,” he begins. His voice is pleasant and smooth, it sends shivers down your spine, the warmth leaching from your blood. 

He waits a beat, still smiling that chilling, awful smile. “Good. Excellent. As I have no intention of wasting my time on this precious Purge night, I’ll make this brief. Nice and simple for you; it’s come to my attention that you’re harbouring something that belongs to me.” You hear Tomori’s breath catch, and hers aren’t the only pair of eyes that shift to Kakucho. “The man – the dog – you’ve inexplicably given sanctuary to tonight is nothing but filth. A defiler. A killer. A menace to our just society, and like all dogs, he must be brought to heel.”

His teeth, straight and white, glint as his grin widens. You can’t breathe, Natsuya’s hand finding yours, tightening wordlessly. You can feel the tension shift in the room, the fear that descends like a blanket at his words. But you know Kakucho, he’s wouldn’t– he’s not–

“By offering him sanctuary, by standing between me and what is rightfully mine, you’ve aligned yourself with those to be Purged. So, again, I’ll make this clear. You may think that behind this security system of yours, you’re safe. That the locks on your doors and steel shutters will keep me out – that is a lie you’ve been sold. I am coming in, it might take five minutes, maybe twenty, but these defences will fall. And if the dog inside hasn’t ripped you all to pieces, rest assured that I will. I suggest you good folks run. Hide. You cannot keep me from what I want.”

Abruptly the screen goes black, and no less than a split second later, the power in the house cuts out, plunging you into an eerie green-lit dimness as the sole emergency light flickers on.  

The sound of your shaking breath feels too loud in the dead stillness. You swallow, and slowly turn to face Kakucho. 

A defiler and a killer, the smiling man had said.

Those things can’t be true, because the Kakucho you know…

He meets your stare. Cold and empty, and that racing, trembling heart of your sinks into the very pit of your stomach. “K-kakucho?”

Two guns lift, Natsuya yanking you back, and in the space of a breath, everything goes to hell. Ayumu’s closest, had gone over to help, and quicker than your eyes can follow, Kakucho lunges forward, a knife appearing in his hand.

One moment, your friend, with that quiet, dry humour and a heart of absolute gold, is standing, the next – Kakucho’s knife is at his throat, and he’s being yanked backwards. “Put the guns down,” he says.

Like his expression, his voice is cold and flat. 

Neither Natsuya nor Suwabe make a move to lower their weapons, Suwabe teeth bared in a silent snarl. 

“Just do what he says, for fuck’s sake!” Miyano hisses, and you’re not imagining the panic lacing his tone. 

The corner of Kakucho’s lips curl, “However fast you think you can shoot, I can guarantee you it won’t be quick enough. Put them down. On the floor.”

“Kakucho, please…”

He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance. Natsuya’s hand tightens, a silent plea for you to keep quiet, and not draw his attention. 

“Do what he says.” It’s Ayumu, his voice a hoarse whisper. Wide eyed, shaking, the knife at his throat pressed so tightly that the movement of his vocal chords causes skin to break, a thin line of blood beading across his neck. “Please.”

“I am not–”

“Do what he fucking says, Suwabe!”

A long silence settles, neither making a move, unwilling to give an inch despite their friend’s desperate plea. And perhaps the terror in the blond’s voice finally breaks through to them, or the cool, detached ruthlessness of Kakucho’s demeanour, but with a heavy reluctance, the two lower their weapons. 

“On the floor,” Kakucho repeats, pressing the blade tighter against Ayumu’s throat. “I’m not asking.”

Suwabe snarls, dropping the pistol. A moment later Natsuya follows suit, the both of them glaring at the larger man. 

Kakucho smirks. Glances at you.

A defiler, the smiling man had called him. A killer.

And too quickly for anyone to stop him, he yanks the knife across Ayumu’s throat and shoves him aside. There’s a ringing in your ears as Tomori screams, Suwabe falling to his knees, scrambling for his discarded gun. Too slow. Kakucho’s sprinting – unhindered by his supposed ‘injured’ foot – disappearing into the darkness of the house, and Ayumu’s bleeding out on the floor.

Gaping and gasping, twitching like a fish out of water. 

You can’t move, can’t hear a thing but the pounding of your pulse in your ears as you stare into his eyes. There’s so much blood, more and more spraying with every dying beat of his heart, pooling beneath his body, splattering the walls, the furniture, everything. And you can’t move.

Ayumu, glasses knocked askew, pretty blond locks falling into his eyes, chokes and gurgles, a trembling, bloody hand stretching out for help – and you can’t do a thing.

No one can.

And just as Miyano jolts out of his stupor and lunges for him, Ayumu’s body falls slack.

The light in his eyes fading away into nothingness. 

Dead.

Suwabe screams, fires two shots blindly down the hallway, howling in rage and agony. Natsuya grips you so tight that it cuts off your circulation, his own eyes wide and horrified, taking in the carnage before him. Tomori lets out a keening sob, and the shutters on the front door screech ominously, as if to remind you all that there are bigger problems at hand. 

There’s no time for grief. There’s a killer in the house, another forcing his way inside. Five of you left, two guns, and another ten or so hours until all of this can be over. 

And suddenly Natsuya’s in front of you, grabbing your face in both hands and forcing you to look at him. You blink dazedly, trying in vain to focus as he speaks to you. 

“–bathroom, lock the fucking door and do not open it until I come back, you understand?”

You blink again, eyes sliding back at Ayumu. His eyes are open, gazing at nothing, empty, empty, empty–

Your fault.

He’d told them it was okay. They had guns so it’d be okay, but you were the one–

“Listen to me!” Natsuya hisses, yanking your attention back to him. “I need you safe, so take Tomori and lock yourself in the bathroom right now. You don’t open that door no matter what, not ‘til I come back and tell you it’s safe, do you understand me?”

You find yourself nodding, a short jerking movement. 

It’s enough for Natsuya, who presses a quick, desperate kiss to the crown of your head and takes you to Tomori. She grips your hand tight and the two of you disappear into the bathroom, one last glance at the three of them, grim faced and vengeful, gathering their weapons under the green glow before the doors shut, and you click the lock into place. 

The two of you sit in the darkness, Tomori’s arm around your shoulders, sniffling into your shoulder as you wait. 

You hold her, a hand running up and down her spine, tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. All of this is your fault. 

Tomori flinches with every noise, every muffled thump. There’s a deafening bang somewhere on the floor above you – a gunshot maybe, or something falling, it’s hard to tell. 

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, clutching her closer as she whimpers – the only reassurance you can bring yourself to give her. “It’s okay.”

How could this happen, you think numbly. For months now, you’ve sat next to a murderer, talked with him. Laughed with him.

You thought him a protector. A friend, even.

And you all but begged them to let him inside. 

Ayumu’s blood’s on your hands. You might all die here tonight and it’s entirely your fault.

‘I know him,’ you’d told them. ‘I know him, and it’s okay.’

The look he’d given you, that smirk. Like he knew every thought that was running through your head. Like none of this was accidental, but the pieces of a puzzle falling slowly into place. 

A defiler.

Bile creeps up your throat, and it occurs to you that death might not be the only thing waiting for you and Tomori if Kakucho finds you. 

The tears fall quicker, and you close your eyes and bite down on your quivering bottom lip. 

Locked away in the darkness, time crawls by. Minutes, maybe, or hours – there’s no way of knowing how much time has passed when you hear the tell tale sound of metal groaning, the splintering of wood. Tomori moans in despair, sobbing uncontrollably now as the front door gives way.

“It’s fine,” you soothe, “It’s okay.”

It’s a lie, because while the others – if they’re still alive (they have to be alive, they have to be) – are distracted with Kakucho, all that’s between you and the smiling intruder is a locked door.

Far less indestructible than the one he just broke through. 

And soft as they may be, you hear the footsteps echoing off the wooden floorboards as the intruder leisurely makes his way down the hall. Closer and closer. Desperately, you try to quiet Tomori, but it makes no difference. He comes to a stop on the other side of the door.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you bite down on the back of your palm in an effort to stifle your breathing. Tomori cringes. 

When the door opens, you’ll attack, you decide. Go for the eyes, or knee him in the crotch – anything to give Mori a chance to run. 

A heavy, pregnant pause, and then–

“I know you’re in there. Hiding away while your friends are getting hacked to pieces.” You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling, grinning on the other side of the door. You can hear it in his voice. And you hate him, hate him even as paralysing fear claws its way through you, keeping you rooted in place. “That’s fine, I don’t mind. You can stay there for a little while longer, I still have one last thing to take care of, and then we can have some fun, no?”

He laughs then, light and boyish, as if this is nothing more than a game. To him, perhaps it isn’t. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

In any case, his footsteps recede, and you’re left sitting in the darkness alone with your fear once more. 

The thumping upstairs grows louder. There’s a crash and more yelling, a series of gunshots. 

And then the screaming starts. Awful, bloodcurdling howls that have every hair on your body standing on end. Your stomach roils, what little you’d eaten earlier forcing its way back up your throat as you retch into the toilet, shaking and pale. 

“We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?” Tomori whispers, and you can’t find the strength within yourself to try and convince her otherwise. If you survive this, those screams won’t ever leave you. You’ll wake in the middle of the night, gasping for air, unable to shake them. 

“I don’t know.”

Silence, when it falls, feels like a death knell. 

And then come the footsteps. You wait with bated breath, praying that it’s Natsuya. Miyano. Even Suwabe. Any of your friends. 

A knock; the sound ricocheting through you. “Love, are you gonna open the door for me?”

Tomori wails like a banshee, broken and agonised, and you feel that little, tiny spark of hope you’d kept deep within your chest wink out.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, kissing her hair as you hold her close. “I’m so sorry, Mori.”

And as the door shudders under the force of a kick, you hold her close and pray for a quick end. Another kick, and the wood splinters.

A third, and it breaks open entirely.

That eerie, green light floods the bathroom, the blond man stepping inside. He smiles at you, blood flecked across his face. The blood of your friends. Natsuya’s maybe.

“Ah, I thought there was one missing. She’s in here,” he calls out, glancing over his shoulder.

For a heartbeat, confusion flickers beneath the terror. Did he bring others with him? Maybe that’s how he broke in so quickly, maybe there’s a whole gang of them. 

Your unspoken question, however, is answered when another figure steps into the bathroom behind him.

“She won’t be a problem.”

Your blood turns to ice. 

Kakucho. Tall, broad and looming, he surveys the two of you with interest, his gaze lingering on you. “Are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to drag you out?” he asks, a single eyebrow raised.

To your credit, you try to stand. You might not be brave, but you’re not suicidal either. If there’s any chance that compliance gets you or Tomori out of here, even if these monsters killed Natsuya and the others, you’ll do what they ask.

Yet your legs are shaking so bad that you barely make it to your feet before they give out beneath you. Kakucho tuts, sighing heavily – and sweeps in to lift you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all, paying no mind to the way that you flinch and shudder.

The blond pads out behind you as Kakucho carries you back into the living room. 

You’re half expecting to be shoved to your knees, the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head, but Kakucho sets you down gently on the couch, pats the top of your head twice before retreating back to the bathroom.

The blond stays behind, those violet eyes a sickly colour under the green glow fixated curiously on you. Your hands are shaking in your lap as he draws closer.

“I bought you something,” he says.

You frown, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you mumble, “W-what?”

From the pocket he pulls out a velvet box, pressing into your hands as he settles down beside you. “Open it.”

Swallowing tightly, you fumble with the lid for a moment – until he sighs and takes it back from you, popping it open and handing it right back to you.

And you don’t understand when you take it back, because nestled into the white pillow is a necklace with a pendant, a hanafuda design, matching the earrings dangling from his lobes. 

“Well? Are you going to put it on?” he asks, just as Kakucho returns with a squirming Tomori. Yet rather than setting her down the couch as he had with you, he drops her carelessly onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and retreats again – this time back towards the stairs.

You start to rise with the intention of helping her, only to be stopped by an iron grip around your wrist. “If you get up from this couch, I’ll put a bullet through her brain right here and now, do you understand?”

He says it so mildly, the threat takes a second to register.

When it does, though, you nod shakily and fall back to your seat. He smiles again, a mirthful twinkle in his eyes. “Good girl.” He pats your knee, “Now, put it on for me.”

Casting a quick glance to Tomori, prone and near catatonic on the floor, you do as he bids, lifting the thing chain from the box. It’s long enough for you to slip it over your head without having to fiddle with the clasp – a good thing, seeing as your fine motor skills seem to have abandoned you in your terror. The pendant falls between your breasts, which the blond man takes a good, long moment to admire.

“Suits you,” is all he says as Kakucho returns once more.

And drops another body on the floor.

Your heart seizes in your chest as it moves. Groans and lifts his head, blinking to adjust to the dim light. 

“Nats–” you cry, and forgetting the blond at your side you go to rise once more. This time he snarls, quiet and vicious, seizing your shoulder and forcing you back down.

“Don’t. Be. Rude.”

You draw in a shallow breath, hope and despair warring inside of you as you glance from Natsuya to Kakucho, who manhandles him onto his knees. His face is bruised and bloody, a dark, wet-looking patch you can only assume to be blood seeping from one of his thighs.

He’s alive, though. Put through the wringer but alive.

You almost sob.

Beside him, Tomori’s also being raised to her knees, the dead look in her eyes fading somewhat as she takes in the sight of her brother. 

Your gut clenches. 

Both of them are facing you, Kakucho looming threateningly behind them. Despite the momentary joy, this isn’t a happy reunion. 

The blond at your side hums, leaning in close. With a delicate touch, he sweeps back a lock of hair, tucking it behind your ear. The hand on your knee drifts higher, grazing along the inside of your thigh. 

“You get a choice, think of it as… a going away present,” he says. The warmth of his breath fans across your skin, his hand now slipping beneath your skirt. You shudder, trying to blink back the hot tears that well up in your eyes. You refuse to cry in front of him, you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Amusement and something like glee dances across his face, “One of them dies now; quick and relatively painless. The other…” his fingers brush the seat of your underwear, his tongue darting out to lick at the stray tear that slips from your lashes. His voice dips, “The other gets to watch while the three of us have our fun tonight.”

Natsuya snarls, only for Kakucho to kick him back to the ground and keep him there with a foot on his back. 

“And a-afterwards?” you force the words out.

“Afterwards, Kakucho’s going to beat the other one to death with his bare fucking fists. I wasn’t lying when I told you he was violent,” his lips brush your cheek, featherlight and gentle, “I wasn’t lying about any of it.”

You look to Kakucho then, his eyes bearing down on you with a hunger he doesn’t bother to hide. An obsession.

All those nights, sitting on the train next to him. All the stupid, meaningless conversations you’d had, the night he’d damn near knocked the lights out of that creep. The way he’d begged on the doorstep, and the smirk when his ruse was discovered.

Lies, all of it lies.

You draw in a shaky breath and close your eyes, hands tightening into fists by your lap. 

“So tell me, love,” he continues, fingers once again teasing at your panties. “Which one goes first?”

[words-after-midnight]

Weekend kiss tag 😘

Thank you for the tag, @fortunatetragedy! 🦥

Tagging (no pressure): @revenantlore, @cwritesfiction, @klywrites, @mrbexwrites, @saturnine-saturneight,

@davycoquette, @sableglass, @sentfromwolves, @winterandwords, @randomstupidchaos, @jev-urisk + open tag

Rules: From your story/WIP, share a kiss. It can be any kiss, from forehead kisses, familial pecks on the cheek, platonic kisses, to full-blown make-outs.

I AM HERE TO EMBARRASS MY BIRTHDAY BRAINFRUIT. 🎉 Here's the entire scene featuring Gabriel and Jeff's first kiss, shown in a flashback scene in Act I, Chapter 7, "Easy Target."

Some context: immediately prior to this flashback, in the previous (past timeline) chapter, Gabriel made a promise to the moon (yes, you read that right) that he would not get drunk in Jeff's company. Also, Catricia was his therapist at the time of these events. Evan is his current (present day) roommate. In the flashback, Gabriel is 17 (almost 18) and Jeff is 18. Gabriel is 21 in the present day at this point.

At night, I head back to my room, where, for whatever reason, I’m alone. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Evan all day. I can’t help but wonder if something happened – if he’s been brought back up to high security, if he’s been hurt, if he’s been spontaneously released, if he just said “fuck it” and flew the coop of his own accord. Maybe he’s dead. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he killed someone. Maybe his Thursday night group is running late. Maybe they found out he was plotting to kill you. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.

Crawling into bed, I lie under the plain white sheets, closing my eyes. But, as it happens, I can’t seem to fall asleep. My mind still runs from me, heart squeezed with the familiar, relentless, haunting grasp of grief. Dried from fatigue, my eyes stick to the ceiling fan as it single-mindedly spins to its death.

Thwack-thwack-thwack.

My mind is out on the balcony with Jeff on that warm summer’s night, three years ago now, watching his beer can plunge into the darkness of the backyard. Because I can’t think about the night I ran away from my dad’s without lingering on what happened afterward – about the twisted, beautiful mess I unwittingly dove into headfirst, and where I now tread water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Of course, there are things about this situation I’ll carry to the grave. But that doesn’t mean they’ll ever let me drown in peace.

Jeff brought a six-pack of beer and a bowl of cinema popcorn with us to the basement. The popcorn was Daphne’s, but we both knew she wouldn’t notice one bag missing. At least, I hoped she wouldn’t. Jeff, being Jeff, probably didn’t give a shit. He could talk his way out of anything and he knew it, the bastard.

We sat on the couch. He switched on the TV and propped the bowl of popcorn and the beer on the coffee table in front of us, telling me I could feel free to take a beer or two if I wanted. “After the vodka, you mean?” I mused. “Are you trying to kill me?” He just laughed. It wasn’t hard to make him laugh, I’d noticed.

I took a sip of the vodka – just a sip, because my head was properly fuzzy now we were inside, and I was very conscious of what could happen if I drank much more. I told the moon I wouldn’t get drunk. If I broke my promise now, I’d be forced to remember it every time the night was clear and there were no clouds to prevent her from looking down upon me in abject judgment.

I capped the bottle, setting the vodka on the damn table, because I was the boss and it wasn’t. Jeff snatched it immediately, uncapping it and pouring out a decent volume into the glass I figured he originally brought for the beer, mouth full of popcorn. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said enthusiastically, which I barely understood due to the popcorn.

He turned on GTA and I sunk into the back of the couch, feeling a strange sort of peace, like floating on a cloud. He offered me the controller first, but I was in no state to be running people over with any kind of precision, so I said, “Nah, it’s cool, I’ll watch.”

I took the bowl of popcorn and grabbed a handful, then another. It felt like I was sinking further and further into the couch as the moments passed. I was just starting to think I may, in fact, have overdone it a bit with the vodka when Jeff reached over and grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl in my lap.

“You know,” he said, once the mouthful was gone. He paused the game and glanced over at me, taking a swig from his too-tall vodka glass. “It’s cool if you want to stay here. I don’t mind having you around. Only thing is, if you do, you’re gonna have to do some work and stuff. Wouldn’t be fair to the others if not, you know.”

My heart practically skipped a beat. Oh my God, is he actually suggesting I can stay here? As in, live here? As in permanently? No fucking way. It must be the vodka. I must be hearing things. I just said, “Obviously.”

He was laughing. As I sat there trying to be cool – and, by the look on his face, evidently failing – he kind of turned to me, propped his arm along the back of the couch. His eyes tore into my soul again, and he looked like he’d just seen something extremely amusing (spoiler alert: it was me). He asked, “Dude, how drunk are you right now?”

Before I knew what’d hit me, I was kissing him. His mouth tasted like a combination of vodka and popcorn that had no business being so intoxicating. Moments – could have been seconds, could have been minutes, I was too buzzed to be sure – passed before I snapped out of it, one hand on his back and the other under his shirt, where his hip met the top of his boxers, and realized what I was fucking doing. I quickly broke away.

My forehead was in my hands. I could only hope they weren’t visibly shaking. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but to my surprise, he didn’t sound particularly bothered by this truly unfortunate turn of events. “It’s fine, dude, you’re wasted as fuck. Shit happens.”

Stomach lurching, heart pounding, not knowing what else to do, I got up and booked it toward the staircase. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

He laughed. He fucking laughed. “That’d be the half-pint of vodka.”

I stumbled upstairs and locked myself in the first-floor bathroom, sitting up against the door, willing my breathing to stabilize before I had either the world’s biggest panic attack, or an actual heart attack, or both. Oh my God, I fucked up. I’ve really fucked up now. I can never face the fucking moon again. He’s definitely not going to let me stay now. He’ll probably never speak to me again.

I curled up beside the toilet – no blanket, no pillow, just the cold tiles under me and nothing but my burning face and renewed tears for warmth. I imagined this is what hell must be like. I found myself wishing I’d had the foresight to bring the rest of the bottle with me, because now that I was alone in the bathroom and not with him, I could have been drinking myself into oblivion stress-free. I hadn’t brought it, though, obviously, so that wasn’t an option. Neither was cutting, because I had no knife on me, either, and you’d have genuinely had to drag my cold, dead body out of that bathroom. All I could do was shed hot, silent tears into the floor, mortified, wishing I could turn back time and decide not to come here in the first place.

The next morning, I remember – also very vividly – being jolted awake by loud, rambunctious singing somewhere nearby, which quickly reminded me of the terrible, horrible, really bad fact that I spent the night locked in the bathroom at Silverwood Manor, and that, therefore, what had happened the night before was in fact real, and not a terrible, horrible, really bad dream.

I remember thinking to myself, even then, Oh my God, I’m so fucked.

I still can’t quite believe I was able to fall asleep that night. Groggy, my head having felt better, I rose to a sitting position, trying to rub the stiffness out of my muscles – the ones I could reach, anyway. I’m not sure even Isabelle’s chiropractor could have fixed my neck at that point. Even my eyes felt stiff – or at least puffy.

Before I could resign myself to the grave I dug and to spending the rest of my miserable life in that bathroom, there was a firm knock on the door.

“Gabriel? You in there?”

Daphne. Shit. “Be out in a sec.” Great, my voice sounded like a cat being strangled. Cool. Awesome. The morning was off to a great start.

“Is everything okay? Jeff said he thinks you spent the night in there.”

No. I have to get out of this goddamned bathroom. Everything is very much not okay. Jesus fucking Christ. What else had Jeff told her?

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Sitting there on the polished tile, trembling like a wet kitten, I tried my best to gain some semblance of composure. I thought about mindfulness, and after a few excruciating moments, I forced myself up and toward the door. Maybe Catricia isn’t entirely full of shit after all, I thought to myself.

I unlocked the door, letting Daphne in. Her face fell upon seeing me. “Wow. You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Daphne.”

“No, I mean –”

My heart rate picked up – not that it had slowed down much at all since last night. What does she know? I tried my best to play it cool. “Yeah… I kind of, you know… got really drunk last night.”

Her face looked like how I imagine the moon’s would have, if the moon had been a person currently with me in that bathroom. But when she spoke, she just said, “Eh, happens to the best of us. Come on, Kyle made pancakes – you’ll feel better when you get some food in you.”

Oh, shit, I was thinking. The kitchen. Fuck. “You know, Daph –”

“Food first. You’ll thank me later.”

I followed her into the kitchen, dreadful as it is, wishing I had the power to dissociate on command. He was there, obviously. He’d now integrated some kind of interpretive dance into his musical spiel. Holding a newspaper over his head, he gestured and strutted unabashedly around the kitchen island, humming loudly. I sat down, carefully staring at the dotted white marble of the tabletop. Daphne went straight for the coffee maker.

“I dunno,” she said – likely in my general direction, seeing as there was no one but the three of us in the kitchen. Because of course there wasn’t. “He just got up and started singing. He’s still pissed off about his probation. Which, by the way, he wouldn’t have if he stopped punching people in the face at bars.”

A plate containing two thick pancakes was set in front of me. It was joined by black coffee and utensils moments later.

“Enjoy,” said Daphne. “Kyle’s a dick, but he makes the world’s best pancakes.”

Jeff, still humming cheerfully, circled the kitchen island like a vulture stalking its prey. He came up behind me, hand on my shoulder. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall out of my chair. “How ya feeling, kid?”

I want to dig a hole in the backyard, crawl into it, and die. “Been better.”

He chuckled. He was back at the front of the island now, and sat down facing me, swiping a chunk from one of my pancakes with his fingers. As my mouth opened in protest, he asked, “How’s the hangover on a scale from one to ten? I’m at about a three.”

He was acting like nothing happened. Maybe I should, too, I tell myself. “A good seven.”

“Fuck did you guys get up to last night?” asked Daphne, who, I could tell through my peripheral vision, was now sitting beside Jeff. I was staring at the pancakes. “I didn’t even know you stayed over. Sounds like I missed a rad party.”

Jeff responded while I was frantically trying to figure out what to say. “If by ‘rad party’ you mean playing GTA in the basement with beer and a bottle of vodka until two in the morning and Killjoy passing out cold in the bathroom, then yeah, you missed a rad party.”

He was acting so normal. I risked a glance up toward Daphne. If you don’t get it together, she’s going to figure out something’s wrong, my frantic mind shouted at me.

She smiled at me. “Pancakes are getting cold, dude.”

I ate the pancakes. Mechanically. I grabbed the dish of butter and the syrup already placed in the center of the island. I took a gulp of coffee and it burned going down. When I finally dared to look at him, his playful eyes met mine – just for a brief second, but still enough to feel like a hot spear in the center of my chest. Why did I decide not to hate him again? I was really regretting that at the moment. I am so fucking doomed. I’m so fucked it’s not even funny.

I had no idea. None at all.

[tommiruewrites]

JUST A LITTLE LONGER | PT2 - V.T.

requested: yes | no

requests: open | closed

request rules here

REQ BY: @cia-agapanthus SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT ML i finished this like two weeks after you suggested it and then my brain decided posting it was too much apparently 💀💀 here it is now

WARNINGS: mention of past traumatic events, kissing, NOT PROOFREAD at all !! lmk if i missed smth!!

remember to like, comment, and reblog to support my writing <3

part 1

———————

You wake up to the sound of wind whispering softly in your ear. Only able to see the darkness behind your eyelids, you feel like you’ve been stampeded by a dozen horses. As you pry your eyelids open, finding it unusually draining to move even the smallest of body parts, you’re finally able to take in the warm glow of your surroundings. You lay beneath your quilted bedding, the rising sun dancing shades of orange and gold across the tall ceiling through the open window. Catching the source of the breeze, you can’t help but notice the chill that coats your skin.

Gaining more strength, you attempt to push yourself up to go get a glass of water. As you do, a sharp pain shoots through your stomach, gasping at the unexpected feeling.

“You’re awake!”

You hear a familiar voice exclaim from beside you, his voice a bit hoarse. He rises from your vanity chair, swiftly rushing to your side to help you sit up properly.

“How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

You wince at the pinch as you shift, “I feel fine.” but you’re voice comes out gravelly and thin. Tewkesbury immediately reaches for the glass of water he’d set on your bedside table. You thank him quietly as you let the water ease your throat, your head pounding as you lean it back.

“What happened? Where are Sherlock and Enola?” you ask, putting the water back on your table. Your memories seem hazy and jumbled, unsure of why you feel so horrible at the present.

Tewkesbury sits down beside you, careful not to hurt you as he does. “They went out for a walk. They haven’t gotten much sleep since…” he hesitates, not wanting either of you to relive it, “We were fighting… and you got hurt pretty badly.” He explains softly, and your brows furrow while flashes of the night come back to you. “You fell unconscious before we could get you to a medic.”

His eyes meet yours for the first time since he’s sat down, and you see his lashes glisten with tears, “We weren’t sure if you were going to wake up.”

You look around the room, taking in the information and trying to process the fragmented memories flooding back to you. Your eye catches on the table across the room, overflowing with more flowers than one person could possibly need.

“How long was I out?” You ask curiously, noticing how all of your favorite flowers make up the bouquets.

“Four days.” he responds, watching your eyes as they roam the flowers he’s left for you.

You meet his eyes once more. He looks like he hasn’t gotten a proper rest in days. Your heart squeezes at the thought, not wanting him to fall ill due to lack of sleep. From the looks of it he’s been up at your bedside every day.

“I’m happy you’re alright.” he admits, grabbing your hand tentatively in his own, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

You smile at the confession, “Can’t get rid of me that easily, Tewkesbury.”

He mirrors your grin, letting you interlace your fingers with his own. “Do like the flowers?” he asks as a blush breaks out on his cheeks.

“Mmm…” you pretend to think, biting back a bright smile, “I think you could have gotten a bit more. I’m sure there’s a field somewhere you missed.” playful sarcasm laced in your tone.

His cheeks hurt at the smile gracing his lips, and you can’t help the butterflies that swarm your belly as you admire the pretty sight. Reaching an arm up, he brushes your messy hair off of your neck.

“I’ll make sure to find them for you.”

His hand lingers against your pulse, but his eyes stare into yours. Searching and scanning for any bit of tangible evidence that you’re safe. You bring a hand up to his, guiding it to cradle your cheek, leaning into the warmth if his touch.

“You know, we were kind of in the middle of something before… you know.” you suggest softly.

His eyes flicker wider for a moment, swallowing his nerves at the intimacy of your closeness. “Yeah?” he replies with the same softness, not wanting to ruin the moment.

You nod in response, eyes flickering to his lips at the memory. “Do you want to pick up where we left off?”

He contemplates it for a moment, glancing between your lips and eyes, looking torn. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your heart swells at the sweet notion, smiling sweetly, “If you do, you can always kiss it better?” you suggest cheekily, suppressing your laughter as his shoulders shake with it, forehead falling to yours.

The fond smile never leaves your face, even as he’s leaning in to press his soft lips to yours. Even as you feel your whole body buzz with electricity. Not even when his thumb brushes your cheek and a matching smile moves perfectly against yours.

Suddenly your pushing him away, his lips chasing yours. The look in your face makes his head tilt in confusion. “What is it?”

“I still won though, right?”