#maybe three is too high of an estimate

[momhowell]

very nice of phil to give the context for dan's eye emergency for his 3 viewers who still have no idea who this dan howell guy is

[from-izzy]

proposing to you | nct dream

“Marry me,” he started, “Carry a part of me wherever you go too.”

pairing » nct dream (individual members) x fem!reader​

trope/au » ​established relationship au!, non-idol au!, marriage au! (well it leads to it)

genre » it's all just fluff and vibes here hehe, dreamies who are all very much in love with you, mark's one makes me chuckle, renjun's one makes me wanna squish his cheeks (i miss him 😭), jeno's one makes me melt, haechan's one is chaotically (?) romantic (in my opinion), jaemin's one makes me want to have pets again so bad, chenle's one makes me want to splurge and treat myself, jisung's one is too adorable for me

word count; estimated reading time » 4303 (total); ~16 mins (total)

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » nicknames; members to reader (love, bubs), lots of kissing, ...not proofread---

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

my very first time doing something like this. this scenario has been in my head for some time and i finally had the time to sit and write it all 🥰 (and also because sem 1 results come out later today and this is my way of forgetting about it uhm 🤠)

this is my personal take on how each member from dream would propose to you!! i tried to make them all with similar word count but i can't help but to get carried away with some 🥹

Mark sits on the stool, one foot on the ground while the other is on the footrest, making sure that his guitar is tuned properly and that the new strings that he bought yesterday are set up properly. To ease his tension he strums random chords and raps random words on top, making the other Dreamies lovingly judge (and tease) him. Jeno would be tasked with calming him down, while Haechan does the exact opposite of what Jeno is doing, purposely annoying him to get his mind off his nervousness. Either way, it worked well to get the lovesick boy from the reason why they’re all gathered today. 

“You both are too loud!” Renjun says when Chenle adds random notes to Mark’s singing, belting high notes that are out of his range whilst also purposely hitting them off-tune.

“She’s probably going to walk in and think we’re crazy,” Jisung whispers to the boy who scolded Haechan not long after, who decided to join in on the chaos.

“Well, the point is that she doesn’t see the chaos right now…” Jeno lets out a nervous grin, turning his head to the still-closed door, “Maybe one of us should stand outside and text someone in the room or something.”

“No,” Jaemin crosses his arms, “This is funny,” taking out his phone to start recording, making the other three facepalm at how he’s indirectly contributing to the chaos. 

In the end, the noise and chaos were too loud for anyone in the room to realise the door opening. When he noticed you from the other side of the room, hand over your mouth, cheeks rising at the scene, his voice cracked and his cheeks blushed instantly. Mark’s voice cracked and his coughing caused the other boys to be immediately disciplined, rushing to their scheduled spots in their room as Mark mutters an “Oh crap…” thinking that everything has all been ruined.

You tried to keep your laughs at bay at your pouting boyfriend, but the image of him being silly only made it harder for you to wipe the smile off your face. But soon after, you realise the decoration around the room and the heart-shaped balloons and the unique balloons shaped like rings. Understanding how this is a different occasion to a date that you expected him to set up, you blurted a quick “No, I didn't see anything!” and rushed out the door, heart beating fast at the possible connotations behind the set-up.

It will forever become a memory that you two will always bring up whenever and wherever. A slight mention of it would instantly bring out a shy Mark who hides his red face in the crook of your neck, forever in love with you.

“Ah! That proposal was supposed to be perfect.”

Your mind replays the scene back again. After running out of the room, you waited around five more minutes, trying to calm the beating against your chest. When you did enter back, your eyes were only focused on Mark who started performing the little piece that he has prepared for you. Your body sways to the rhythm and the sweet melody of his voice and Mark who kept his eyes on yours for the majority of the performance only made the moment even more special. You remember the way you hopped on stage, only wanting to be held in his arms and unable to let go. Eventually, you did and Mark got down on one knee with the ring that he had prepared for this moment. Reminiscing the time always made you chuckle and Mark pouted and groaned, knowing that you were lost in that time once more. 

A kiss lands on his lips, wiping the pout effectively from his lips, “It’s perfect because it was you, Markie.”

Renjun is pacing around the room, making sure the decorations are placed at their designated spots properly. He would circle the room countless times, making sure the flowers were fresh and presented in the way that he liked whilst his hands busied themselves with playing with the case of your ring; that he hopes will be on your fourth finger soon.

Mark massages his shoulder, relieving his body tension. Jaemin has his camera ready to take pictures whenever he can, making sure not to interfere with the small bubble that Renjun would create with you. Jisung, being more responsible than the older members most of the time stands still with a proud look on his face while Chenle gives him a thumbs up along with Jeno as well. Haechan is just as encouraging; Renjun’s threat to make sure he didn’t cause trouble playing in his head.

“I think everything is set up,” Jaemin says as he takes more photos of the venue to add for the memory book.

“You’re playing a very important role here,” Haechan comments, a hand resting on his hand, “Don’t mess it up.”

Jaemin replies with a slightly menacing smile, “Don’t mess with me, Lee Haechan.”

“To be honest, everything will go well as long as Renjun doesn’t go blank as soon as she walks in,” Chenle teases the older boy at how in love and speechless Renjun would be around you.

“True,” Mark gives him an encouraging thumbs up, “But you’ll be fine. She’ll be here any minute now actually.”

You received instructions through text from Jeno about meeting at a place, a dress code and a time “when you should open the door (don’t open it before!)”. The text is odd and when asking Renjun about it, the tips of his ears growing red from each passing second tell you that he does know what’s going on but it's cleer he wouldn't tell. You couldn’t ask any more questions after he pulled your face into his for a quick kiss, hushing you from any more questions. 

When you walked in, outfit in line with the theme of the room and matching with his, Renjun’s heart melted once more, falling in love with you all over again. You slowly walk towards your boyfriend, eyes flickering around the area and taking in the decorations as well as giving the boys a smile and greeting back. When Renjun is infront of you, he playfully bows, momentarily stumbling and losing his balance. You cup his cheeks when he lifts his head, kissing his lips, not bothering about the camera capturing it all. 

“W-Woah,” Renjun stumbles with his words, “That was nice.” 

“This whole place is nice, Junnie,” your boyfriend is relieved by your words, “You look beyond nice, by the way.”

Few minutes later, Renjun takes his position on the floor and Jaemin captures it the memories with his camera: the way it dawned on you that he's proposing, to when you finally sealed Renjun’s love and to the way Renjun takes your lips after. 

Jaemin smiles behind the camera, capturing all the moments to make a physical memory of it all.

Including getting extremely closer than he said he wouldn’t take a better picture of the band around your finger.

“So this is why you made me dress up?” Taking in the fragrance of the flowers that Jisung gave as a token of congratulations from the rest of the boys.

Renjun nods, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Jeno and his little smile that would reach his eyes. That was one of the first reasons why you fell for Jeno but to him, it’s his default expression whenever he sees, thinks of hears anything related to you. At the start of your relationship, he’s shy about receiving and giving you affection but you didn’t mind initiating the skinship, hugging and pecking his cheeks that would gradually lean towards his lips. He loves the skinship from you even in front of the rest of the boys who would tease him about it.

“She loves you,” Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows at the goodbye kiss you gave him.

“I love her more,” he replies, his eyes filled with heart shapes.

As the relationship developed and you got a little place with him, Jeno would slowly be the one who initiated the skinship, hugging your waist to sleep and keeping you close to him whenever he could. Even outside, he would be the one to link your hands together first and show his love through the bouquet of flowers from the start of any date.

“These bouquets just keep growing bigger and bigger each time in my opinion,” twirling the gift around in your hand while the other is in Jeno’s.

Your boyfriend kissed your head, “It didn’t really change from the first one, bubs.” Content with the little giggle you gave as he watched the elevator take you both to the floor where he booked the last dinner where you would be his girlfriend and the last anniversary as boyfriend and girlfriend; the start of a new title to the both of you.

His hand is stashed in his pocket where the ring is and he couldn’t help but gulp nervousnessly. The dinner went smoothly with the courses that Jeno pre-ordered and throughout the whole date, he loves the way you fill the atmosphere with the times that you didn’t spend together for the day, him updating you on his day too. He would never be tired of hearing your voice and the eye smile on him is a clear indication of that.

“I’m going to go to the restroom,” Jeno says as he kisses the back of your hand. He approaches one of the workers there, asking for the largest bouquet that he has ever given you in their back room where he dropped it off hours before the dinner. 

You’re preoccupied with taking pictures of the view from the windows that span from the floor to the ceiling but your boyfriend’s reaction comes into view and your phone screen rests on the table once again, ready to greet him. What you didn’t expect is when Jeno kneeled to one knee, arms outstretching the flowers he had with the opened box nestling between its petals.

“Jeno?” You asked him, tears beginning to fill up your eyes.

“I thought it would be nice to ask here, at this place. We always spent our anniversaries here and even today,” happy with how the corner of your lips rises with the event, “Will you marry me?”

It took you less than a millisecond to respond with a nod and a loud “Yes”. When Jeno stood from his position, your arms were immediately wrapped around his, hiding your lower face behind his shoulder.

“I thought you were shy.” 

“I am,” heat rising to his cheeks, “But I wanted to make this special for my very special girl.”

The Dreamies have never seen Haechan so nervous before. It bought them back to the times when he was crushing on you, blushing and being giddy all the time at the thought of you. They remember how Haechan was asking Jaemin for advice for the outfit on your first date that you prepared, and he rocked up with something really formal for a casual date, mixing up the place for the restaurant as a similar four-star restaurant. It would be something that not only you would tease him about, but when news spread to the Dreamies, they used it as the main thing to tease him about whenever he was being mischievous. It did die down quickly as after learning that the memory is very fond to you, the teasing wouldn’t work against him anymore.

The necklace that Haechan gifted you that day would be a reminder of the happiness that he has been giving you from the start of the journey and just like the sun pendant that reminds you of him, you love how just a glance of it knocks out all your worries that life may have weighed you down with. 

It all seemed to be a recent memory, but that was quite a long time ago for everyone who knew what happened. Now, Haechan is waiting for you to come back home after a night out with your friends and earlier in the day, the boy who was pacing around the room about what to wear to his first date with now is now pacing around the jewellery store on the perfect ring on your hand. 

He talked with the boys about his proposal plan to which the others have chipped in and helped him with. In the end, some of their advice is taken on board, but most of them made him grip his hair and made him say, “I’m just going to wing it.”

To which Mark replied with, “Sure, dude. If it doesn’t go ‘well’, it’s another thing to tease you about.” 

In all seriousness though, he wants the proposal to be perfect; just like how you are to him. He plops down on the bed, raising the box to the ceiling as he looks at the diamond he worked hard for. At the sound of the front door creaking and your voice greeting him from the other side of the house, he pockets the jewellery in his sweatpants, jumping from the cotton to greet you.

Your arms were outstretched and Haechan brings you to his embrace immediately, “How was your day?”

“So good,” your voice muffled with the hug, “We bought friendship rings,” pushing him away slightly to show him, “We thought about this so much but we thought it’s so pretty that we couldn’t not get it.”

You realised that as much as Haechan smiled at the decoration around your finger, it didn’t go unnoticed that he was playing with the hem of your jacket. An eyebrow perks up from that and you give him a kiss on his cheek, asking him what was wrong.

He took a deep breath, took the box from his pockets, got down to one knee and opened the jewellery to you for the first time, “Marry me,” he started, “Carry a part of me wherever you go too.”

Growing up, you were never able to have pets. Your dad is allergic to cats, one of the pets that you’ve always wanted, and your mum isn’t sure of how well the family would take care of another life due to how busy life is. You totally agree with her because pets should be well taken care of as much as any other kind of life form.

When you and Jaemin were financially ready to get a place for yourselves, one of his first promises was to get a pet that you wanted. Through motivation and a lot of saving, making sure that you were both ready to take care of another life and doing all the research on how to take care of cats, you and Jaemin finally adopted a pet to take care of. Jaemin is also thankful for the added company in the house as your work schedule wouldn’t match with his and that would mean that one of you would be alone in the house. Having another pet would make the house more lively and less lonely. With gradual time and more financial stability, you were able to adopt two more that you both love equally. 

“We should get another one,” you comment as Jaemin turns off the bedroom lights.

Your boyfriend hums at your thoughts, knowing exactly what you mean. He slips into the covers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to his warmth, “You really love taking care of others, don’t you?”

You close your eyes and hum a response, exhaling at the comfort of him next to you. “You know how I am.”

“I do, bubs. I do,” and he really does. With how your eyes light up whenever you take care of the people around you, always loving how you’re able to help out others whether it be him, your family, his family or the three cats that are sleeping soundly in the living room, it comes naturally that he’s thought of settling down with you permanently for the rest of his life; and having a little mini you or mini him later down the track. Similar talks have happened in the relationship and he thought that it would be perfect to make it happen soon.

No more words were said that night but Jaemin kissed a final kiss onto your soft lips and made a mental note to prepare for another life chapter with you. A few days later, he was able to speed through his work, being able to finish early to see the ring that he had been monitoring through the website. As soon as his eyes landed on it, he immediately thought of you and that’s how he made his final decision to buy it.

Thankfully, you had a later end to your work today and that gave Jaemin enough time to prepare a small, quick dinner as well as dressing the three cats into little outfits that would be fitting to wear in a wedding. 

“Come on, Luna,” he says as he struggles to get her paw in, “I don’t have a lot of time and I want to make mummy proud!” With this, the cat seemed to comply instantly and Jaemin squished the cat’s cheeks in thankfulness.

With each cat, he securely attached a note on their ventral side: Love, Marry, Me, and plans to release each cat one by one from the bedroom when you come in. Jaemin just made it in time, quickly scooping up all the cats into his arms, and rushing to hide in the bedroom.

“I’m home!” You routinely shouted, “Nana?” Confused about why the house was so quiet, especially when knowing that Jaemin finished work a long time ago. “Maybe he went out and forgot to tell me?” But that’s quickly proved wrong when pipping hot homemade food were neatly set out on the table. “Luna! Lucy! Luke!” Calling out to your three cats, wondering how none of them rushed to the door like they usually would.

Suddenly, the door to your room opens and you gasp, scared that an intruder is in your house but out comes all your three cats in different, cute attires. “Oh!” Kneeling on the floor to get a better look at them, “Did dadda do this? Hm?” Picking up Luna with his little white dress, rubbing your nose on hers. “What’s this?” Reading the ‘Love’ message on her stomach. You set Lucy down, picking up Lucy in a similar outfit, “Marry…” Your eyes widened, looking at a groom-like dressed Luke who sat patiently, licking the back of his exposed paw. Sure enough, the final and last note makes your jaw drop.

Jaemin emerges from your bedroom, smiling at how you look up at him in shock. He kneels on the floor, “I was supposed to let them out one by one but they got excited," he shrugs with a smile. "As much as I would love another pet,” he hinges the velvet box open, “If you would like to, I would also love a mini you or mini-me.” A hand rises to your gaped mouth, eyes staring at the cushioned ring. “But first, will you marry me?”

It seems that Luna, Lucy and Luke were on board with the idea, jumping on your lap and resting their little paws on your arms. Sure enough, you nod and verbally express your actions. The “Yes” is all Jaemin took to carefully place the three nosy cats away from you, sliding the new ring on your hand and pulling you into a kiss.

During ring shopping, Chenle would look around the places he could find and spend a lot of time window shopping on all the rings that were available in your size. He invited Jisung along on the journey and the younger boy was more stressed than him with how he was handling the situation. From the very first store, he already has about five rings that he’s thinking would be perfect for you. Jisung gave his input on each one which Chenle is thankful for, but did minimal in narrowing down the options. He even asked the other members, but it was still the same result. 

In the end, after visiting all the stores that he had listed, Chenle purchased about ten rings from each store. The employees are used to customers who are stuck between multiple choices as a symbol of love for their partner. But they weren’t prepared for Chenle to cross his arms, calmly exhale point to the rings and say, “I’ll just take them all.” 

Jisung tried to save his wallet but after deep thinking and checking the return policy, he decided to buy all the ones that his heart couldn't let go of. He'll figure out what to do with the rest of the diamonds later. Because of his massive purchase, on the day of the proposal, he looked calm and collected but inside, his heart was beating like he just ran a marathon. It was running so fast to the point that you asked him if there was something troubling him when you laid on his chest to sleep last night. Chenle shook his head firmly but from the way his finger trembled a little when he was patting your head, you couldn’t help but to question him once more.

“It’s not a big deal, I promise.”

After some time, your raised eyebrows relaxed, “Okay. Tell me if it weighs too much and whenever you’re ready, okay?”

And he’s so excited to tell you what is on his mind soon. The thought of finally being able to spoil the love of his life for the rest of his life excited him so much that with the boxes looking similar across the stores, he didn't realise that he also grabbed the one that he hadn't decided on the previous night. When you nodded to his proposal, too stunned and speechless from happiness to speak, the different ring to his expectations when he opened the velvet box made him let out the famous Pikachu face. 

“What?” You chuckled and tilted your head in confusion at his reaction, completely unaware of the boxes hidden under the bed. 

“N-Nothing,” well, it looks like he'll explain later but with the happiness written on your face and the kisses you showered him with, maybe he'll just gift the rest of the spares to you.

“Don't be so nervous,” a hit lands on the side of Jisung’s arm from Chenle, “She'll love this.”

In the early stages of dating, you were always sharing your date plans with him, planning most of them. You made sure Jisung didn’t mind them because being in a relationship isn’t only about one person. Jisung loves the way you talk enthusiastically about all the places you want to go with him and all the activities that you want to do with him. Jisung would give you that adorable gummy smile, eyes shaped like crescent moons whenever he did so. Those small event plans became more detailed, expanding into different topics naturally such as proposals, weddings and honeymoon places and Jisung being in love with everything about you, would mentally take notes of what you love for each occasion.

“I promise,” Jisung stops your words for a second, “We will do them all together.”

There was a time he was caught writing it all down on his phone to which Chenle teased him endlessly, the other Dreamies joining along at their youngest being in love. It’s not that he will forget the things that make you happy, he just wants to be able to see it all so that he can plan the perfect proposal. They promised to help him with every step when he was ready. 

Today is that day.

Jaemin tells him that the hinge of the engagement ring’s box would eventually break with how much he’s fiddling with it but it’s the only way he could distract his nervousness.

“Maybe you should recite your speech once more,” Jeno clears his throat, opening the paper in his hand.

“Jeno loves Jisung, guys. Look at him,” Haechan teased his same-aged friend. His bear-like friend would chase him around the room and Jisung would be shouting at the two to be aware of the decorations around the room.

You came in through the chaos, the door opening inwards where Haechan stops abruptly to avoid his face smashing against the wood and Jeno back hugged him as a result of that. You peeked behind the door, confused but smiling at the two. Before you could question what was going on, Renjun kicked Haechan out the door and welcomed you in.

“He’s not prepared for this,” pointing at your boyfriend who hides behind Jaemin. “Stay here while I talk to Haechan for ruining this moment.”

But the moment wasn’t ruined at all because just looking at how your Pinterest board came into life and the boys slowly giving Jisung the spotlight while you walked down towards him, everything is indeed beautiful and perfect.

“Oh wow,” you breathed out, “It's like my Pinterest came to life.”

Hearing that is the biggest compliment to Jisung who spent hours analysing your saved folders of wedding venue inspirations, trying to find a consistent theme. He gifted the teddy bear on his hand to you, pecking your lips and pulling away with a deep red blush across his cheeks. He readies himself to his rehearsed position after, “Will you marry…me?” Endeared by the way you hide your face behind the teddy bear. Yet, your answer is clear without your words.

Just like how he gives you a kiss on the lips with a “Yes” from you and the silver band around your finger that sealed your happily ever after.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY DORIAN PAVUS  *  assorted dialogue from dragon age inquisition, updated version

i don't care what they think about me. i care what they think about us.

i like you. more than i should. more than might be wise.

discretion isn't your thing, is it?

all this dancing, politics, and murder makes me a bit homesick.

i suppose it really depends. how bad do you want to be?

living a lie... it festers inside of you, like poison.

i'm a man of many talents. what can i say?

the moment i saw you, i thought "there's a man who knows quality."

if you don't come through this, i swear i'll kill you.

i'm curious where this goes, you and i. we've had fun. perfectly reasonable to leave it here.

here is my proposal: we dispense with the chitchat and move on to something more primal.

i tease you too much, i know.

i'll have to find something we can do that doesn't involve teasing.

time to drink myself into a stupor. it's been that sort of day.

i see you enjoy playing with fire.

i like playing hard to get.

i'm not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity.

if it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. you're good at that.

talk to me. let me hear how mystified you are by my anger.

oh, i'm not arguing. just pointing out the ridiculously obvious.

if you choose to leave your door unlocked like a savage, i may or may not come.

now... what was i talking about? ah, yes. me.

i am apparently an incredible ass at accepting gifts.

i prefer the company of men.

would you prefer me bound and leashed?

sometimes the ones you love are also the ones who disappoint you the most.

you are the man i love, [name]. nothing will truly keep us apart.

the things you ask are just... very personal.

sometimes... love isn't enough.

there will always be an "us." we'll just be... farther apart, for a time.

i had no idea something like you was possible.

i'm imagining what you would look like in a dress.

i've never seen you smile so much!

i have no idea what you're talking about.

you stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest.

you're shaping the world for good or ill. how could i aspire to do any less?

my footsies are freezing, thank you.

don't you ever bathe?

you're not suggesting we're similar.

watch where you're pointing that thing!

i'm not wearing a skirt.

it's significantly more impressive than hitting them with a sharp piece of metal.

i only meant to say i'm very sorry for your loss.

we can continue this dance forever, if you wish.

i'm saying we should be careful what we assume when it comes to such matters.

demons don't appreciate a man with good hair.

what i wouldn't give for some proper wine.

your outfit's entertaining. i'll give you that.

he had to leave early on account of assassination.

it's nice to know you have friends.

i'm here to do what is right.

come on, just answer the question.

they were asking me about you. personal things.

you said we'd be ass-deep in trouble. this is more like knee-high.

so what's your estimation? think we can win?

you can't call me pampered. nobody's peeled a grape for me in weeks.

you startled me. you're always so... nondescript.

you're a special and unique snowflake. live the dream.

i wanted to see you make flowers bloom with your song. just once.

you've done a lot less dancing naked in the moonlight than expected.

i've never seen anyone in this part of the world do it.

i realize there's more to you than that.

have i offended you?

for hating the outdoors, you sure seem to like bad weather.

i can't figure you out, [name].

you don't play their stupid game, they send an assassin or three your way.

i can't believe you're scared of magic.

i'm going to take that as a compliment.

still don't like me, [name]? after all this time?

[name], i owe you an apology.

i suspect people will use any excuse to hate us.

why be ashamed? power should be respected, not swept under the carpet.

maybe you're not a complete moron.

i just need to know you're capable of higher thought. for my own comfort.

it would take work. and soap. lots and lots of soap.

[tcfactory]

Silly idea of the day: Shen Qingqiu grills the System for answers about how to avoid the whole Abyss scenario and save his little cabbage favorite disciple until the System very reluctantly offers up the option to transfer the protagonist halo - and all the trials that come with it - to someone else if he pays literally all his points. It's a risky endeavor, but he doesn't see any other way to save Binghe from his suffering/blackening, so he decides to take the risk. After some deliberation he decides to transfer the protagonist halo to Mobei-jun. Based on his memories of PIDW, Mobei-jun isn't the type to be interested in world domination and Shen Qingqiu figures if any kind of wild plot is going to happen to the ice demon, it will be limited to the demon world + maybe Huan Hua Palace and that's it.

The System checks in with Shang Qinghua about what kind of story he would have written for Mobei-jun if he had the choice (SQH is vary of the System and answers 'found family and slowburn romance, maybe with a touch of a coming of age plot' because there's no way the System can make something horrible from that, right?) and accepts Mobei-jun as an alternative.

The protagonist halo is transferred with the click of a button; Luo Binghe loses that special spark that designated him for greatness, but at the same time, he is free of the weight of his fate as well. He's destined to live a life as ordinary as a half-demon cultivator's ever gets.

However, Shen Qingqiu is not required for the new story and keeping a 'troublesome' transmigrator around is too risky for the System, so it decides to swap Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu back. There is a high chance of Shen Jiu dying of qi deviation when he's shoved unceremoniously back into his body (his soul has been fragmented and damaged when the System replaced him with Shen Yuan) which would be the best outcome, as far as the System is concerned, because it would be a natural-looking death that nobody would bother to investigate. It's pure luck that Liu Qingge is lurking around, looking for a chance to thank Shen Qingqiu for saving his life in the caves, and can step in and stabilize Shen Jiu.

At the same time Mobei-jun, in the first hour of being the new protagonist, stumbles into a patch of very specific magic weeds and passes out.

Shen Jiu now knows of the System and has some vague awareness of the person who, as far as he can tell from the incoherent hints the System gave him, was kidnapped against their will and showed into his body and fate for the sake of raising some prophecised emperor of the three realms to power, a plan that was foiled by Shen Jiu's return. He doesn't know why this person acted so strange while in Shen Qingqiu's role (coddling those brats, especially that brat?! What was the stranger thinking??), but the System's remarks make something clear: the stranger knows something about the prophecy and did his best to avoid it, much to the System's displeasure.

So clearly the best course of action is to get them back and question them, somehow. But first Shen Qingqiu is going to Yue Qingyuan and shakes him until he confesses why he left Shen Jiu behind, because if he has to deal with a demon (?) or being that can erase him from existence at a whim, then he wants to know the reason. He's facing almost certain death here, it's the least he's owed!!

While Shen Qingqiu is grilling his soon-to-be-beloved-again brother and trying to come up with a way to keep being a decent teacher despite himself, just in case, on Qian Cao a young, amnesiac rogue cultivator wakes up. He was found in the borderlands, almost ripped to shreds by a herd of man-eating boars. He doesn't remember his name or his past or even his cultivation, but Mu Qingfang estimates him to be in his twenties. He has a very well-developed fire root and a sunny complexion, but he is haunted by dreams of ice, so they decide to call him Beilun (悖论 - paradox) for the time being. When Beilun recovers he asks to stay in the sect so he can learn proper cultivation again and after some rigorous testing - a balanced nature between physical and spiritual cultivation, not much of a head for arts, but excellent instincts for politics, trade and strategy - Yue Qingyuan snatches him up as a personal, soon-to-be head disciple (also maybe brand new adopted little brother, because Yue Qi can't help himself). Shen Qingqiu is initially unhappy about having to share Yue Qingyuan's brotherly affection with someone new, but soon warms up to Beilun himself when he realizes how ruthless the young man can be. Second big brother acquired!

Time passes. Shang Qinghua privately mourns for Mobei-jun when word gets back to Cang Qiong that the Northern prince has been missing so long that they wrote him off. His mourning is tinted by guilt, because he keeps getting distracted by the handsome new Qiong Ding head disciple. Yue Beilun is tall and suntanned and scarred, even years later still not fully recovered from whatever befall him on the edge of the demon realm, but every time he smiles at Shang Qinghua it feels like the world comes to a standstill.

So for one there's the glacially slow falling in love between Shang Qinghua and definitely-not-Mobei-jun. There's the forming adopted family with the two disasters in charge + still-absolutely-not-Mobei-jun. There are Shen Qingqiu's persistent attempts at being a good teacher and a better martial brother (with inconsistent degrees of success, but Liu Qingge is discovering a lot of new things about himself as the primary audience of Shen Qingqiu's self-improvement). There's the long search for ways to get Shen Yuan back from the System, which leads to a whole, wacky side-adventure when they learn the truth about Tianlang-jun and set him free while they are there to get the mushrooms.

Of course this New Plot can't happen without some drama. Beilun is accompanying the masters to the Immortal Alliance conference when the Endless Abyss opens up. Luo Binghe almost succumbs to a sever qi deviation when his seal breaks and Beilun rushes in to fight off the monsters attacking the disciples and falls into the Abyss - which is just the thing needed to break the curse on him...

So Cang Qiong is in mourning over the loss of Yue Beilun who many of them assumed will be the next sect leader based on Yue Qingyuan's strong attachment. Luo Binghe is confined to Qian Cao, half under treatment and half under house arrest on account of being half-demon until they can figure out what to do with him. At least the System has relinquished Shen Yuan, now that the mushroom body is grown enough, and after learning how young he is, he becomes the new replacement little brother of the sect leader and the (ex) scum villain, which is weird and confusing, but not in a bad way.

Meanwhile in the demon realm Mobei-jun makes his return (as far as people know he was training all these years in the Endless Abyss and he is monstrously stronger for it), takes over as Northern King and starts solidifying his power base with Tianlang-jun's help (rumors have it that he was the one who broke the Junshang out of his prison, a feat everyone thought impossible). After all, only a fool goes courting when their court is in disarray and now that he remembers all the things Qinghua has done for him, he has eyes for nobody else.

All the while the Old Palace Master watches the shifts in the demon realm and plots a new war against the demons. With such a cold and ruthless rising Northern King looming on the horizon, not to mention the vengeful Tianlang-jun, it shouldn't be difficult to whip the cultivators up into preparing for conflict...

[coffincestuous]

kit9 progress report #9

happy september!!! progress report time!!

to start, we’re given these images:

ashley doesn’t look her best here :( she’s pissed off. there are bags under her eyes. she has a bruise on her face (or blood?). this is not a girl who is having a good time

then we have… this? we’re back to the woods!! i wonder who Square Head and Cone Head are?? i wonder what ashley SAID!!! and what’s with the colorful flowers at the bottom??

(not to mention, they could totally sacrifice these people, and pretty easily too!)

next, we finally have some development progress reporting from kit9!! apparently episode 3A is super long & they’re trying to find a place to end the episode and start another one (4), but they haven’t been able to. they’re adding another several months to their estimated release date, which was previously “sometime in 2024” and is now “sometime in 2025… maybe”

they say, once again, that episode 3 (A and B) will be bigger and longer than episodes 1 and 2 combined, so episode releases won’t be as quick as they had been previously

finally, we have an episode three preview clip!!! it’s titled “voicemails” and the thumbnail is julia on the phone

a summary of the video for those who don’t want to watch, or can’t:

julia and andrew are in julia’s room. she tells him to listen to the voicemails she’s been getting on a daily basis. he declines, saying he’s “had [his] fill,” but julia insists

julia thinks that they’re from ashley, but she doesn’t know for sure because the voice is distorted. the voicemails contain graphic descriptions of julia’s “oncoming, painful and slow death” and then talk about how andrew would rather have sex with ashley than with julia. julia is disappointed in andrew’s lack of reaction to the upsetting content of the voicemails, and implies that he was previously upset about julia receiving these messages, but now he doesn’t care

she brings up the fact that she thinks ashley is sending these messages to her, pointing out that only ashley would use the word “floozy,” and andrew (probably lying) denies thinking that ashley has sent these.

julia disagrees, asking if he really thinks that some girl from college is pretending to be his sister and claiming that they’re a little too close, just to get julia to break up with him? he counters with “it’s working, isn’t it?” julia again disagrees, saying that she really does think that ashley is sending these messages. andrew then mentions that people teased him and ashley in high school for “keeping it in the family.” julia says that his relationship with ashley can seem incestuous, to which andrew reacts by slamming the phone back on the receiver, and getting really pissed at julia

julia gets scared of him, which makes him backtrack very quickly and clairify that he’s upset that julia would “think so lowly” of him. he says that he thinks she’s a wonderful person, while she thinks that he’s a “piece of shit” who “probably fucks his sister.”

julia then starts crying, denies thinking that he and ashley are having sex, and apologizes for starting a fight. andrew hugs her and says it’s fine, it wasn’t a fight, but he’ll “forgive her” either way

finally, andrew decides that they should “stay in after all” and it ends with julia saying she forgets what she even wanted to talk to andrew about

it’s fun to see andrew’s more… “genuine” side, even if he’s kind of an asshole. i guess “authentic” is a better term there. i think there’s an interesting contrast between how he acts with julia versus how he acts with ashley, and i’m so glad that we get to see more of him and julia!!! his lack of reaction to the threats against julia is so, so telling. it makes me think back to the part of episode 2 where andrew can bring ashley into the cult party and the cultist calls ashley a bitch and he immediately gets in the cultist’s face to defend her. there are some similarities between how he acts when he has upset each girl, but he doesn’t excessively compliment ashley when they fight. he doesn’t have to worry about ashley crying when he’s rough with her. he doesn’t have to worry about ashley breaking up with him because they’re not dating and she’s his sister

(chosen family is just as valid as blood family, but with andrew and ashley, their codependency shines)

i love how manipulative andrew is. don’t get me wrong, i’d absolutely hate him irl, but i love him as a character. he’s an asshole. he’s charming. he knows what to say to get people (like julia) to feel guilty of accusing him of something he’s thought about on more than one occasion. he knows that if he acts mad towards julia, that she’ll start fawning and apologizing, and he uses that to his advantage. he is not normal (affectionate)

and i’m glad we get solid “proof” that andrew is just as bad as ashley. before, people have argued that there’s plausible deniability, but now?? omgggg. especially when he’s hugging her, saying to julia the things he wishes he could say to ashley instead… they make me crazy. absolutely insane. i am so fucking excited for episodes 3 and 4

[madhatterbri]

Deal | D.P. Part 3

Summary: Hello! Not sure how many parts you’re willing to write but I just started reading Deal & I need fem!reader’s backstory. Who was she before? Her relationship with Liv? How was Uncle Howdy able to recruit her? Did she always have a crush on Damian? Does she secretly want to break away from the Wyatt Sick6?

Author's Note: Thank you for reading my story. I hope you like it. ❤️

Damian Priest Masterlist

Deal Part 1 and Part 2

Taglist: @theworldofotps @plentyoffandoms @mrsarcherofinfamy @brideofinfamy @fallout-girl219

Y/N sat in the Wyatt Sick6 locker room alone. The only light in the room flickered quietly. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her thoughts lost in the various catacombs of her mind. She used to be so.... different. What happened to her?

"Hey, Y/N!" Liv squealed and wrapped her arms around her neck in a hug. Y/N smiled. It wasn't every job that a girl could work with her best friend. Two women who were just trying to make their own path in the WWE. Currently, their eyes were set on the women's tag titles. They had a match that very night to achieve their dream.

The crowd cheered the moment they won the titles. All of their hard work finally paid off. They stood in the middle of the ring with their belts hoisted high. Y/N walked in front of the camera. She vowed to the women locker room that they would become the longest reigning women's tag team champions in WWE history.

Three months. That's how long it took for them to lose their titles. Y/N was holding them back. She knew it. The internet knew it. Unfortunately, Liv knew it. When they lost their rematch, Liv lost it.

With a chair in hand, Liv aired her grievances for the world to see. The chair came down on her back before the last one connected to her knee. Y/N was curled up. The bleach blonde grabbed her hair. "You cost us our titles by talking too much,"

Y/N held her knee as she lay in the middle of the ring. Her words swirled around in her head. She was quite the trash talker. Always looking for a fight, she never turned down anyone. Referees and medical ran to her aid once Liv left the ring.

The doctors estimated she would be out six to eight months. It felt like an eternity. Y/N followed all of the doctor's advice perfectly. She knew she had to be back to get her revenge. As the day for medical clearance grew closer, her self-doubt grew as well.

Y/N was back to compete, but now felt lost. The gimmick she once loved now felt like a burden. It was as if the ghost of her former self had a choke on her. No one wanted to be around her. All her friends stayed clear from her, except Damian Priest.

Before her drastic change, they were friendly to each other. A simple greeting here and there for politeness. When they were on the same brand, they started to talk more. As they did, she found herself falling for him. He was funny, kind, and smart.

Their dynamics changed when she returned. He was still friendly to her, but it was different. Damian seemed to want to keep a distance from her, but a friendship nonetheless. At least she wasn't completely alone. Until he stopped having as much time for her to focus all of his attention on Judgment Day.

One night during RAW, Y/N walked the hallways alone. She felt hopeless. Maybe she shouldn't have come back to the WWE. A door slowly creaked open to her right. The words Wyatt Sick6 written in red on the door was the only indication of who was inside.

"Come join us," a distorted voice spoke to her one night. "You will never feel alone again,"

The night Uncle Howdy told her everything she needed to hear. All she wanted was a place to belong and she found it. They may have been a little strange, but so was she. All he expected from his little family was loyalty. She happily pledged it.

It didn't take long to see the group would cause chaos on the RAW brand. Uncle Howdy kept his promise. She wouldn't be alone, but now she felt like a pawn. His pawn. Everything Y/N wanted to do had to go through him. She hated it.

He vetoed her going after Liv Morgan because it didn't benefit his needs. He would have to get a kickback for his family's services. Yet when Damian walked into the scene, everything changed. Uncle Howdy saw the opportunity at gold. Y/N would get her revenge. A win-win for the group.

Her thoughts were cut short when the locker room door opened and closed. She stared at the floor. Uncle Howdy moved to stand behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. They remained in silence.

"You got your revenge. Now it is my turn at happiness. Tell me everything I need to know to crush him,"

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 1 | S.R

Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - When you find a handsome cowboy in need of assistance at the side of the road you make the decision to help him, despite the personal risk.

A/N - just pretend for me that the episode Rusty took place before Believer and 300.

Paring - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - some direct quotes taken from 15.07 Rusty, vague mentions of the events in 13.22 Believer and 14.01 300, depiction of injuries, Spencer’s intrusive thoughts, swearing.

WC - 6.5k

Chapter 1 - Wanted Dead or Alive

He’d watched the sun ebb across the sky, from where it began at its midday position directly overhead, scoring laboriously down, not impeded by a cloud in the expanse of blue. 

He witnessed it leisurely recede across the stratosphere, edging lower and lower on its slow descent towards the horizon. With each passing hour the heat dwindled, the sweat that had gathered on his temples and forehead was drying and crusting against his skin. 

The earth beneath him started to cool, unhurriedly, or perhaps he just got used to the temperature which seeped through the layers, beneath the denim of his shirt, further permeating his t-shirt until it scorched the skin of his back. 

The black stetson, which was originally used to cover his eyes from the assault of the sun, was now resting on his chest. 

It started growing darker around a half hour ago at his estimate and it wouldn’t be long before the darkness encompassed him, literally but maybe even figuratively too. 

Maybe out here on this isolated stretch of desert miles outside of town, would be where former FBI

Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid would meet his end. 

His heavy and tired eyes fluttered. He’d tried to fight it for hours now, desperate to stay awake in case a car passed by on the baron road. In all the hours he laid there, not a single one had. And now it was getting dark, the likelihood of a car even seeing him from the road was slim. 

He gave over to it, closing his eyes as his fingers drummed against the dusty ground beneath him. He was taken back to a conversation of years passed, he could practically hear the thrum of the jet's engine as she spoke. 

“All this talk of alternate realities, where do you think you’d be in a parallel universe? You know, one of your imagined futures?” Jennifer tucked the blanket tighter around her body, the BAU jet’s AC up high. 

Spencer closed his book while his eyebrows furrowed in curious contemplation at his friend's question. 

“I don’t know.” He shook his head lightly. 

“Come on,” she gave him an almost knowing look. “If you weren’t an FBI Agent, what would you do?”

Spencer inhaled through his nose, the cool air tickling his sinuses before puffing the breath back out. 

He glanced over his shoulder, then over JJ’s to check no one else was within ear shot. 

“Promise not to laugh…?” He asked and she nodded slowly with a twitch at her lip. “A cowboy.” 

He could still see the look of amusement coupled with confusion at his admittance. The way she couldn’t quite contain her smile, but also the way her forehead crinkled. 

“A cowboy?” She repeated, as though doing so might help her make sense of his words. 

“Yeah. I’d, uh, you know, have some horses, a few cattle; be surrounded by nature.” A slightly dreamy look washed over him. 

Even now laying in the dirt as the sun set that same smile appeared on his grossly chapped lips. Even as his mind succumbed to the idea that he was to die out here, he couldn’t hold back. 

Since he was a little boy he’d been oddly fascinated by cowboys and the old west. He was just five years old the first time his mother had read him The Log of a Cowboy, a nineteen-oh-three novel by Andy Adams. 

The story followed the journey of young Tommy Moore, who is helping drive three thousand circle-dot longhorns along the Great Western Cattle Trail from Brownsville, Texas to Montana. It was written, he discovered at a later age, as Adams' response to unrealistic cowboy novels that were being penned at the time. 

Spencer had clung to the normalcy of it. He’d never had a regular life, and knew most likely that he never would given his unusually high IQ. 

Something about that tale had stuck with him his whole life. He kept the idea at the back of his mind, wondering if one day, once he retired, he might seek to find a piece of that which was spoken of in Adams' story.

“And what would you do with cattle?” JJ’s lip was still twitching, curling up a little at the corner as she imagined her straight-laced, suit-wearing best friend as a cowboy.

“You know, look at ‘em, pet ‘em…I hadn’t really thought about that. But I’ll figure it out.” He shrugged. 

“Wow, I was…I was not expecting that.” She sat back in her chair, nodding somewhat appeasingly. A part of her could picture it, no matter how far-fetched the concept seemed. 

After everything Spencer had dealt with in his life, maybe being a cowboy was the change of pace he so sorely needed. 

He’d gone on to tell her how he envisioned the team there, even in his parallel universe they were still special to him, just as close as they were now. He spoke of how JJ ran a flower shop on Hickory Street with the boys helping out after school. Will was also there, an old-timey sheriff who protected the townspeople from trouble. 

Rossi ran the saloon, where most of said trouble occurred. Penelope had a sanctuary for wounded animals, Alvez was a rancher. Simmons was a blacksmith while Tara and Emily owned the only hotel in town. 

They were all happy in this timeline. Apart from the odd bar fight at Rossi’s, his make believe town was safe from all the evils of the world. He and his friends could live out simple lives, not to be perturbed by serial killers and rapists and the like. 

But it was all conjecture, an innocent fantasy created in Spencer’s head of what he imagined his life could have been like. But in reality he was an agent of the law, he’d taken an oath to protect and serve. His alternate universe was nothing more than that. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The final straw, the last nail in the coffin of his illustrious career, was Benjamin Merva. After nearly dying at the hands of the cult leader, he knew it was the end for him. 

With Merva’s blade at his throat, he remembered thinking, I can’t do this anymore. Two weeks later he stood in Emily Prentiss’ office handing her his resignation. 

It briefly crossed his mind to teach full time. He’d been working more and more at Marlborough over the last few years and they’d always told him if he ever decided to leave the BAU there was a permanent position for him there.

But the thought had been short lived, barely a blip on his radar. And somehow he circled back to that conversation with JJ a few months prior to his abduction by the cult. 

None of his former teammates could wrap their heads around the idea of Doctor Spencer Reid moving to live on the outskirts of Bandera, a small town fifty three miles outside of San Antonio, Texas. 

He spent nearly his entire life savings on a ranch with almost sixty acres of land. It consisted of a single story wooden lodge in which he would live, fitted with a wrap-around porch for which he pictured himself relaxing in a rocker whilst watching the sunset over the rolling hills in the distance. It included a large barn, outhouse and stables, as well as a second, smaller lodge which was also habitable. 

He equipped his own lodge minimally, a couch, a bed, a desk, a wardrobe and some bookshelves. He had the bare minimum kitchen appliances due to his inability to cook and his unwillingness to learn. 

He brought a whole new closet full of clothes more appropriate for the setting. Crisp, pressed shirts were replaced by denims, flannels and plain tees, his converse and dress shoes were tossed in lieu of sturdy work and riding boots. 

On behalf of a car, he brought a horse, a beautiful three year old, blue roan American Quarter Horse named Willow and to begin with purchased two cattle.

Now two years later he had four more cattle and two more horses. These two were stallions, both American Quarters, one black named Franklin and one brown called Wilbur. 

Somewhere not too far away was the sound of hooves padding around in the dirt and the occasional huff of impatience from the large beast. Spencer’s eyes opened again and he cautiously rolled his head to the side in the dust. His eyes met the cloven hooves and thick blue-grey legs of his trusty steed. 

“Willow,” he spoke, causing another huff of air to leave her mouth. “A dog, I should have gotten a dog. Lassie would be of much better use right now.” 

Willow cantered around him, as though frustrated herself that they were still here after all these hours. She’d nudged him a few times in his ribs with her muzzle, silently asking her owner what was going on. 

This was supposed to be a safer alternative to working at the BAU. After almost having his hyoid bone claimed by Merva he’d decided he’d put himself in harm's way for long enough. 

But upon travelling back to town after taking Willow for a morning saunter into nearby Pipe Creek, he’d come across a wild horse at the side of the road. 

The mare didn’t appear, on first glance, to be injured in any way but she was certainly a little skittish as he approached. He simply wanted to make sure she was okay before going on his way. 

She was a flaxen and elegant beauty. Her chestnut-red coat billowed like a flame under the blazing sun and her golden-blonde mane like a wild halo as she galloped around in haste. 

As he neared her on Willow’s back, his own steed seemed to agitate the other and she started to buck and neigh in fright. Not to be easily perturbed he tried to calm her with a series of “whoa girls,” and gentle pats of her back. 

But then the wild horse let out a piercing sound, her back legs lifting effortlessly off of the ground and kicking Willow in the neck. 

Willow herself had bucked at the impact, her front legs rising. Unprepared, he hadn’t been holding her reins and one foot hung at her side out of its stirrup, causing Spencer to slide back on her saddle. 

He quickly tried to grab hold of something but coordination had never been his strong suit. It had taken him months worth of lessons to even be able to ride a horse and although he was an efficient rider now, it hadn’t improved his motor skills. 

And so he slid, and he continued to slide as Willow raised herself on her haunches until she was almost vertical. His one foot was still in the stirrup, and as he fell his knee twisted with force, the same knee he’d been shot in so many years ago. 

He swore he felt the tendons ripping beneath his skin and he screamed out in pain whilst trying to dislodge his foot. Once freed he flew to the ground, back slamming into the dirt with a thud and a groan. 

He glanced up, pain searing through his body as Willow lowered herself back to the earth. The second horse was galloping wildly, still screeching out in fear. Willow approached it and Spencer groaned out, not wanting his own steed to be hurt by this out of control creature.

As expected, the wild horse bucked at Willow again but Willow trotted out of her way this time. Spencer slithered a hand out into the dirt, clicking his fingers at his mare to come to his aid. But instead of his own horse, it garnered the attention of the wild beast who suddenly ran at him with a fearsome gait. 

He heard the bone in his arm crunching under the weight of the creature's heavy hoof as it galloped over his outstretched limb. He screamed loudly, the sound getting no further than the lonesome desert and petering out into nothing. 

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? 

If Spencer Reid screams out in pain in the desert and no one is around to hear him, is he going to die alone?

He still had his old cell phone, he only kept it at Penelope’s insistence at being able to get in touch with him, check he was doing okay living the life of a hermit. He only used it to speak with his old team and as such, didn’t often take it out with him. 

Right now it was sitting on his kitchen counter, next to his empty coffee mug and the book he’d been reading over breakfast. And now due to the oversight, he would no doubt die out here.

Willow trotted a little closer, bowed her head near to the ground and nudged Spencer in the ribs again, as if this might make him miraculously stand up and take her home. 

“I’m trying,” he grumbled. “Shoulda got a dog. Man’s best friend, that’s what Alvez always said.” 

Willow simply nudged him again and he rolled his tired and sore eyes. 

Gritting his teeth, he decided to try and sit again. He braced his forearms against the ground, trying to turn a blind eye to the pain that rippled through his left extremity at the small movement. There was almost certainly a bone broken, maybe more than one. 

Attempting to ignore the way the pain spread up and down his arm, causing a fire to burn through his entire upper body, he pushed himself against the dirt in an attempt to sit up right. The throbbing in his arm combined with the swell of discomfort down his spine made another booming groan erupt from his lungs and he moved no more than a few inches off the ground before, panting with the exertion, he fell back against the dirt.

Even if he was to get into a sitting position, he had no doubts that he wouldn’t make it any further. Without looking he knew his knee was swollen, ballooned up so much it was now pressing uncomfortably against the inside of his jeans. He wouldn’t be able to walk even if he could stand. 

“Well, Willow, I guess this is the end of the road.” He closed his eyes, folding his good arm across his chest and leaving the other in the dirt at his side. “It’s ironic really, all those years at the BAU, all those times I thought I might die. This is not how I expected to meet my death.”

He felt oddly resided to this fate, almost feeling some kind of twisted relief. There really was no point in panicking, there was nothing he could do. 

May as well lean into it, let it happen. 

Keeping his eyes closed he breathed out through his nose, accepting that this was the way his life came to an end. They’d probably never even find his body and if they did it would be too scavenged by vultures to make a positive ID. Probably for the best, he couldn't imagine Garcia or JJ or any of the others having to identify his decomposed and ravaged remains.

He felt himself drifting swiftly, the heat and lack of hydration making him implausibly sleepy. He didn’t fight it, he let the tiredness wash over him. But before he could succumb entirely, his ears pricked at a sound off in the distance. 

His eyes shot open once more and he tried to turn his head towards the road beyond the desert. If he wasn’t mistaken, he swore he heard the sound of tires on the gritty asphalt.

***

It was getting dark and you felt your eyes growing increasingly heavier. You’d been driving for hours, days in fact, stopping only for gas and to stock up on snacks and energy drinks. 

Thinking of which, you loosened one hand from the steering wheel and reached blindly for the can sitting in the cup holder. Your hand wrapped around the lukewarm metal cylinder and brought it to your lips without taking your eyes off of the road. 

The liquid was warmer than the can itself and you grimaced as it trickled down your throat. Grumbling under your breath you replaced the can in the cup holder and wiped your mouth with your sleeve. 

You were heading for the border via desert roads and inconspicuous towns. You needed to lay low until you reached Mexico where you could keep your head down, keep your nose close to the ground. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, things weren’t meant to end this way. Your plan had gone wrong somewhere along the line and now you had to keep driving, until you reached your destination. 

You were tired to your bones, the dull ache from driving countless miles seeping deep into every muscle. But you couldn’t stop. You had the push through and keep going no matter how exhausted you were. 

You found yourself on a long stretch of desert road after passing through a small town, its signage declaring it Pipe Creek, Texas. The AC rattled through the car, almost blocking out the hum from the radio. 

You couldn’t afford to use a GPS system, if you knew where you were others could know where you were too. You’d brought an old paper map early into your journey and if your bearings were correct you should be passing through the town of Bandera within a few miles. 

You stifled a yawn and despite your better judgement, took another sip of the warm energy drink. It wasn’t warding off the tiredness, only making your heart thump heavily and a little erratically in your chest.

You stifled yet another yawn, eyes closing for a fraction of a second longer than was safe but the road thus far had been desolate. 

However, upon opening your eyes there was suddenly a large and imposing creature standing several feet in front of your speeding car. 

Your eyes grew wide and you slammed on the brake, the speed in which you’d been travelling forcing the vehicle to spin a little on its axis, gravel crunching under tires. 

You tugged on the wheel as the car turned to the right, trying to straighten up as you came to a sudden and screeching halt. You breathed heavily, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the huge beast through your windscreen in the glow of your headlights. 

The horse blinked several times at you, as though trying to convey a message but it remained on the road. 

You exhaled loudly, keeping the engine running so as to keep the lights on, you threw open the door and stepped onto the asphalt. 

“Where the fuck did you come from?” You glared at the horse, not daring to come too close in case it was vicious. 

The horse blinked a few more times before bowing its head towards the side of the road. You frowned at it, watching it slowly canter in the direction it nodded. 

“Okay, good.” You nodded with a frown as it walked off. “You’re lucky I didn’t hit you, you crazy horse.” 

As you turned back to your open door, over the sound of gravel crunching beneath the horses hooves, your ears picked up on another sound. 

Turning back to where the horse had meandered, you squinted into the darkness, focusing your hearing. 

“H-help? Please?” A crackly voice met your ears. 

A shiver passed up your spine, suddenly on high alert. 

“Is someone there?” You called back, not daring to move away from your vehicle. 

“P-please? I’m really hurt.” The voice came again. 

The horse had stopped walking now, you could just make out its figure in the dark. To its left was another figure laying in the dirt. 

“Uh, you okay?” You called again, still not daring to come closer. 

You didn’t trust this situation, you were a naturally suspicious person and this didn’t sit right with you. The horse had been used to get you to stop and you had no doubts if you were to go over to this person who claimed they needed help you’d find yourself in grave danger. 

“No I’m not okay!” The voice grew exasperated. “I fell off my horse. I’m fairly certain I’ve broken my arm and twisted my knee. I can’t move.” 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, huddling against the side of the car.

“No offence mister, but I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m lying to you?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“No! I swear! I’m a…” he trailed off and sucked in a breath. I’m a what? What did he plan on saying? I’m an FBI Agent? It had been years since he’d left the BAU but the habit to announce himself as such still lived inside of him. “I’m in a great deal of pain.” 

You clutched yourself tighter, rolling your lip between your teeth in silent contemplation. He did sound in pain, but he could have just been a good actor. 

“Look, I’m really not itching to get murdered tonight and I’m kinda in a hurry.” You scuffed the toe of your sneaker in the dirt. 

“You can’t leave me here!” The voice begged. “You’re the first car to pass in hours! I need to go to the hospital.” 

“I…I really have to go.” You shuffled towards the open car door. 

“So you’re just going to leave me here to die?” The voice turned sour. “Because that’s what will happen. If I don’t die of dehydration or starvation, I will undoubtedly be eaten alive by all manner of animals that live out here. Hell, my horse will probably turn against me if she’s not fed soon. Do you really want that on your conscience?” 

You grumbled under your breath, looking between the car and the shadowy figure on the ground. With a huff you spun towards the vehicle and climbed onto your knees on the driver's seat. Reaching across the central console you popped open the glove compartment and withdrew the item sheathed inside. 

He heard you land back in the gravel before the sound of tentative footsteps getting closer. The dirt crunched under your feet, your eyes flitting between the silhouette and the horse who was ambling around. The item you’d gotten from the car was being held in both hands, pointing at the figure on the floor.

As you drew closer you started to make out some features. He appeared to be tall, even laying down, slim build with a mop of dirty curls brushing against the ground. He wore jeans, a denim shirt over a white tee and a black stetson laid on his chest. 

He blinked a couple of times as you came into view, trying to lift his head to get a better look at you. But what he saw made the colour drain from his face and his eyes bulged from his head.

“What the hell?” He tried to shuffle backwards but he couldn’t move due to the pain coursing through him. “What are you doing?” 

The barrel of a revolver was staring at him between your hands, pointing directly at his head. His heart beat frantically against his chest as he scrambled to move but his limbs were uncooperative. 

He stared down the barrel of countless guns in his time with the BAU, not to mention the fact that out in these parts many people carried shotguns. He wasn’t usually so perturbed by seeing weapons, even when they were pointing at him, but this was an exception.

“You really hurt?” You stepped a little closer until you were standing right by his booted feet. 

“Yes!” He tried to insist. “P-please put the gun away.” 

You didn’t at first, keeping it levelled at him while you gave him a once over. One of his knees was clearly swollen under the fabric of his jeans and his left arm was bent and disarticulated. He genuinely didn’t seem as though he could move. 

With a sigh you lowered the gun, tucking it in the waistband of your own jeans. Cautiously you came closer to him until you were next to his chest where you knelt in the dirt next to him. 

His eyes were piercing, a deep intense brown with flecks of gold that glistened in the moonlight. He had high cheekbones and a chiselled jawline which was peppered with a few days worth of stubble. His parted lips were plump and chapped. 

Did he have to be so attractive?

“Can you help me up?” He asked, pouting slightly. 

“I can try.” You shrugged.

Shuffling closer you placed a hand on his shoulder, using your other hand to take hold of his. He flinched a little at your touch but you assumed it was due to the pain. 

You used your grip on his shoulder to manoeuvre him, peel him away from the ground and pulled the rest of his weight using his hand. He groaned deeply as he started to be lifted, the agony evident on his tongue. 

He tried to assist you even though the movement felt like it was sending daggers down his spinal column. He used you to anchor himself, steadily pulling him into a seated position. Once he was up, you let go of him and sat back on your haunches. 

“Now what?” You asked with a curious look. 

His face was contorted from the pain, his brow furrowed deeply and his eyes downturned. 

“I…I have no idea.” He groaned. “There is no way I can stand.” 

“Should I call paramedics?” You picked up his stetson which had fallen into his lap and ran your fingers along the brim.

“I think that might be wise.” He agreed, pinching his eyes closed as the pain flooded through his limbs. 

Keeping hold of his hat in one hand you drew your cell phone from your pocket and dialled 9-1-1. It was only when the phone was already to your ear that it occurred to you what a terrible idea this was. 

You’d been so careful up until now, was this handsome cowboy going to be your downfall? 

You noticed the way your voice pitched and cracked as you informed the operator of what had happened and tried to explain where exactly you were with a little help from the stranger. 

Somewhere between Pipe Creek and Bandera. You’ll see a car. And a damn horse.  

Within a few minutes you were off the phone. 

He was leaning back against his good arm, hand braced against the dirt behind him. His eyes were still closed and you saw his face twitching with each surge of pain. 

“So, uh, you new at this?” You waved the stetson in the direction of the horse who was still ambling around. 

He opened his eyes and looked between you and his trusty steed. 

“No, I just…there was this wild horse and I was trying to check to see if she was okay. She got spooked by Willow and the next thing I know I’m on the floor.” He closed his eyes again.

“Willow? Cute.” You smiled slightly at the great beast. “A little intimidating.” 

“She may look that way but she’s incredibly docile. Maybe a little unpredictable in new scenarios but on the whole she’s pretty placid.” His eyes squeezed tighter as another wave of pain thrummed along his spine. 

“Uh,” you continued looking between him and the horse as a thought occurred to you. “Where does she go when you get taken away to the hospital?”

His eyes opened again, landing on you in a look that told you it also hadn’t occurred to him either. 

“You, uh, know how to ride?” He tried his luck.

“No I don’t not.” You scoffed. “I’m a city girl. I know nothing about horses.” 

“She’s incredibly intelligent. She knows the way home, she just needs the impetus to get there.” Once again his eyes fluttered closed. 

“Meaning?” 

“She’ll walk beside your car, show you the way. But you’d need to feed her in order to keep her going. I can get her to do it without the treats but you’re a stranger to her.” His fingers dug into the dirt, the ache that spread up and down the length of his back was brutal. 

And then there was the pain shooting through his left arm and the throb in his old knee injury. This was not the day he had planned.

“So you’re proposing I take your horse home?” You scoffed at the ludicrousy of it. 

“She won’t make it back on her own.” He tried to shrug his shoulders but stopped short when it caused a new eruption of pain. 

“Dude, I don’t even know you.” You shook your head, still fingering the stetson.

“I’ll admit it's a little unorthodox, but I can’t leave her out here.” He forced his eyes open, pleading with you. 

“I told you, I’m really in a hurry to get somewhere.” You shook your head. “I called the paramedics, I did the good Samaritan thing. But as soon as they get here, I’ve really gotta go.” 

“Where are you heading in such a hurry?” He cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Seems like that’s none of your business.” 

“I’m not trying to be nosy.” He shook his head lightly but even that caused him to wince. “It’s late is all, I was just wondering where you had to be in such a rush.” 

“Never you mind.” You grumbled. “But the sooner I get there I can finally rest. I’ve been driving for days.” 

“Do this for me and you can spend the night at my ranch.” He whined slightly as he spoke. 

“Excuse me?” You shuffled in the dirt. 

“Oh gosh,” he huffed. “Not like that. I’m not…I’m not hitting on you. I am undoubtedly going to have to spend the night in hospital, I have a spare lodge on my ranch which doesn’t get used. If you get Willow home for me, you can spend the night, you must be tired.” 

You shuffled again, still for some reason playing with his stetson in your hands in an absent mind. He was looking at you with a pleading expression, begging you to do this for him. But it all seemed too weird.

“You’re willing to let a stranger stay in your home without you even being there?” You clicked your tongue. 

“If it means Willow gets home safe, yes.” He sighed.

“What if I rob you? You don’t know me, I could be a criminal.” You reached forward and placed the stetson atop his head gently.

“I really don’t have a lot worth stealing. I mean I have more horses and cattle…nothing really worth anything unless you're a rancher which clearly you aren’t. I’m willing to risk it.” He once again tried to shrug but groaned at the effort. 

“This is insane.” You shook your head, unbelieving you were even considering this. 

“I’ll admit it’s not ideal circumstances but I need to go to the hospital, and I also need to get Willow home. And if you continue to drive all night you’re going to end up in an accident. In a weird way it’s kinda a win-win situation.” 

“Until I rob you.” 

“You’re not gonna rob me.” For the first time a smile spread to his lips, the pain momentarily slipping away from his features. 

It was a damn nice smile, one which you were sure it was impossible to say no to. But nonetheless you tried.

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” You swallowed. 

“I'm good at reading people.” His smile grew a little. “You have a trustworthy face.” 

“Oh do I?” You tilted your head to the side in curiosity.

“Mm hmm.” He nodded, seemingly forgetting all the pain he’d previously been in. “A very trustworthy, very pretty face.” 

You swallowed again, shuffling backwards in the dirt slightly in discomfort. Spencer averted his eyes at his omission. The pain must have been going to his head, maybe it was due to the dehydration. It was unlike him to be so bold. 

“Oh jeez,” you muttered under your breath. “Fine, fine I’ll take your stupid horse-”

“Willow, her name is Willow.” 

“I’ll take Willow home for you and I may or may not stay at your ranch and then I may or may not rob you.” 

“And then you may or may not pick me up from the hospital in the morning? Assuming I’m allowed to leave so soon.” His smile was growing, but the pinch of pain was back in his eyes. 

“Are you for real?” You hissed. “No, no I am not doing that.” 

“I don’t have a car, and the nearest hospital is just outside of San Antonio, like forty five miles southeast of here. How do you expect me to get home?” His smile faded.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s my problem.” You suddenly pushed yourself to your feet. “I don’t have time to hang around this little Podunk place. I have to be somewhere.” 

He was silent for a moment or two, looking up at you under the wide brim of his stetson. His eyes shone in the moonlight and caused your stomach to coil into knots. 

“Fine.” He spat. “Just go, sorry I bothered you. So much for that southern charm.”

“Never said I was from the south.” You rolled your eyes. 

You fell silent and in the distance you both noted the distinctive sound of sirens. Seconds later you saw the red and blues lighting up the dark stretch of road, heading in your direction. 

He didn’t miss the way you jumped a little at the initial sound and how your body seemed to go rigid at the sight of the flashing lights.

“You're off the hook, you did your good deed now you’re free to go.” The man scoffed, a sarcastic twang evident in his voice. 

“Goddamnit,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “Fine, I will take your damn horse home.”

“Willow.” He corrected you and when you looked back down at him he had a mildly smug smile on his lips. 

“Don’t make me change my mind.” You huffed. 

Soon the ambulance was screeching to a stop next to your car and two paramedics jumped out the front of the vehicle. 

You stood aside while the cowboy, who told them his name was Spencer Reid, explained what had happened with the wild horse and how he’d ended up on the floor unable to move for hours. 

One of the paramedics got a stretcher out the back of the vehicle while the other delicately helped Spencer to lay back down in the dirt. The stretcher was brought over and lowered down as far as it would go. 

“This might hurt a little, sir.” The woman, who was near his head, spoke. 

“Mm hmm.” Spencer grit his teeth, readying himself for the pain.

The female EMT tucked her gloved hands gently under Spencer’s shoulders while the man wrapped his around Spencer’s ankles. 

You hovered near the horse - Willow - arms tucked around your waist. You curled in on yourself at the howl of pain that erupted from Spencer when he was lifted onto the stretcher. The EMT’s were quick to strap him in and lead him across the bumpy ground towards the ambulance. 

“Sorry, can you give me a minute?” His voice pierced over the sound of the wheels on gravel before they stilled.

He looked towards you and beckoned you closer with an almost imperceptible motion of his head. 

“My keys are in my right front pocket.” He cast his eyes downwards. 

You drew your lips into a tight line and huffed a little. It felt like crossing over a line diving into the pocket of a stranger but you’d moved so far past this being weird it almost seemed normal. You fished in his pocket and pulled out a loop of keys. 

“The biggest one, that’s the key to my lodge. Inside the lodge on the hook is another key for my other cabin where you can stay the night. The linen is fresh and there’s clean towels on the back of the door in the bathroom. Help yourself to anything in my fridge.” He told you. 

“And how do I find it?” You cocked an eyebrow at him, keys dangling from your index finger. 

“Willow will show you the way, she’s well trained. Oh, her treats!” He used his good hand to pat the pocket on his shirt.

You huffed once more, manoeuvring around the EMT’s to his other side and freeing a ziploc bag full of apple and carrot slices. 

“The stable is a little way left of my lodge, you can’t miss it. There are two other horses there, her paddock is the one on the far right. Can you take her number down?” He glanced at the paramedic nearest him. “Have someone call her when I’m discharged?” 

The paramedics clearly sensed there was a strange story here but neither wanted to ask. Instead the man reached for a clipboard tucked inside the van and handed it to you. 

It was a patient intake form and he pointed with one finger towards the emergency contact section whilst handing you a pen. 

With a sigh you took it, scrawled down your number and - without hesitation - a fake name before handing it back to him. 

“Thank you for this. I owe you one.” He offered you a meek smile. 

“Oh you owe me more than one.” You grumbled as they set about lifting the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. 

You watched them load him, the man staying in the back of the cab while the woman closed the doors and went to the front. Soon the engine was starting back up and the ambulance turned back towards the way it had come and drove off, sending particles of dust flying in its wake. 

Holding a stranger's keys in one hand and a bag of fruit and veg on the other, you turned back to the horse - Willow you kept reminding yourself - who was seemingly watching the ambulance retreat with her owner. 

Cautiously you stepped closer to the giant mare, hesitant steps, holding up the bag of goodies. 

“Say, Willow?” You rustled the bag and she turned to look at you. “What do you say you show me where you live?” 

Willow seemed to perk up and trotted closer to you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say the beast was smiling at you.  

You opened the ziploc bag and pulled out a slightly slimy slice of apple and dangled it in front of her eye line. 

You started walking backwards towards your car whilst keeping your eyes on Willow who was following appeasingly, eyes trained on the piece of fruit. 

When you reached your car you held the slice in the palm of your hand and proffered it towards her. She gratefully took it, large gums spreading across your open hand while she shuffled the slice into her mouth. 

You grimaced at the feeling, her saliva coating your hand in a muddy, sticky mess. You wiped your hand on the thigh of your jeans. 

“Gross. So gross.” You sighed, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Why the hell am I doing this again?” 

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @kalulakunundrum

[ghostskiss]

Capture

Summary: Reader is well known soldier/vigilante captured by Task Force 141. Ghost is put in charge of keeping you contained while the rest of the Task Force completes an operation a town over. You’ve been under their command for a couple weeks now, tensions are high. Maybe now that it’s one on one, you can escape the grips of Ghost. You’re trained, what could go wrong? He’s only one man.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, enemies to lovers trope, degradation (kinda), praise, mean!ghost, breathplay (if you squint), grinding, outdoor, rough, hate sex, penetration, fingering, creampie, pain kink (you can’t tell me this man doesn’t have one) No use of Y/N. possible dub con

Word Count: 4.4k

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Mentally you count down the days since Price and his little lap dogs snatched you up. You think it’s been about two weeks. They have no idea how much this time here has hindered your plans. You’ve tried to explain to them that they’re on a dead end, a path of destruction, that you did what you had to stay alive. That there was always a bigger picture, that the man they were working under was corrupt.

They wouldn’t hear any of it. In fact, they detested hearing you speak. You were a nuisance, a mission gone haywire. Price was supposed to take you to his head of command, Shepherd, but every time something was planned out it fell through. Pilots couldn’t get here, and the only way out was trekking through this dangerous rocky terrain. You’d been hiding low in the mountains after you learned there was a hit on your head. Of course there was. You’ve been after Shepherd and sabotaging everything to do with him. That included sabotaging a lot of the Task Force’s operations, too. This wasn’t the first time you’d run into this group, but it was the first time they got an upper hand on you.

Minor slip up on your end. You’d gotten too comfortable in the mountains, learning the terrain easily. You had no idea that Price could learn it just as quickly as you. You’d done the most dangerous thing a person could do in your line of work. Underestimated your enemy. You were paying the price now.

Three days ago, three of the 141 men left you in the mountains with the most intimidating man of them all. Just your luck. You tried not to let him get you or show just how intimidated you were of him, but hell. He was the largest of them, yet somehow the quietest. The mask he wore didn’t help with your slight timidness around him. From what you gathered; he never took it off. Soap often bantered with him about it, asking him to take it off, teasing him as well. Ghost never really gave into it, but it was entertaining to say the least. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that you’d grown to enjoy the 141’s dynamics. Being alone for so long, you were taking up a slight liking to them. And now they were gone on some other Op under command of Shepherd nonetheless, leaving you and Ghost to move through the mountains on your own, moving slowly out the cold maze of the terrain.

It took you weeks to get this deep in the mountain. You had no idea how the 141 crew managed to catch up with you in the little time that they did. Estimating on the days that the other men had left, they were probably close to the little town below the mountains. Ghost was moving you in the opposite direction they had left in, this side of the mountain more treacherous and a much longer hike to the bottom. The both of you were about halfway down the mountain.

Letting out a sigh, you clench your gloved fists, trying to ease the chill of the air. You weren’t as high up in elevation when you were first captured, but it was still cold. Pockets of snow could be seen in the places hidden by the sun, glaring out at you, reminding you of just how cold you’d be when night came. You’d had to leave all your things behind when they’d fallen upon you. Thermal tent, sleeping bag, all your supplies. They weren’t terribly cruel to you now, being accustomed to your presence, allowing you to walk without your hands tied, because good luck hiking down a mountain with steep terrain and rocks with your hands tied in front of you. You all learned quick that no matter how trained and in control of your body you were, it was impossible to keep balance. Your bruised knees were evident of that.

So, they let you keep them untied as long as you didn’t try any funny business. But when night fell, you were tied up like a dog outside. Wrists bound; feet bound together. They’d toss a thermal blanket over you, and you’d shiver until morning came, lips blue and chapped. That’s how your two weeks have been under their capture. It was hell, but somehow these three days had been worse. Ghost made you jumpy. To try and ease the fear, you talked to him. And he wouldn’t really respond. You knew he could hear you; you could feel the distaste and the anger off of him. He hated you. And you hated him too.

Which made it easier to plan your escape. You wondered if 141 had gotten too comfortable around you in the two weeks. You even shared a few laughs with Soap before you were both scolded by Price or Gaz. They didn’t even bat an eye when they told Ghost they’d leave you alone with him. The man that was adorned with knives, easier to steal than the gun he had slung over his shoulder, or the one strapped to his thigh. It was almost too easy. You just had to be careful, and you were. You wouldn’t move until you were completely sure. Maybe you’d push him off the edge of the mountain. The big man looked like he could handle a tumble.

“Any updates?” You call out to Ghost, who’s just a few feet in front of you, like he knows you’re going to be a good dog, following him along the rocky trail of the mountains.

He doesn’t respond for a second and you open your mouth to ask again before he growls out, “Quit actin’ like you care.”

You huff, trying to hide your smirk. What you’ve learned these past three days is that it’s easy to get on his nerves. It’s fun to get on his nerves, and now you try to any chance you get. You’re going to make him regret ever taking this operation on you, for capturing you.

“C’mon Ghost. I miss Soap. You never told me what kind of Op they’re on. I’m a little worried, I haven’t heard you talk sweet nothings with Johnny in forever.” You pout, looking down at your feet, careful of the rocks you’re stepping over. You’re so preoccupied with making sure you don’t trip that you don’t see Ghost stop in front of you. Nose now smacking into his vested up chest, you yelp in surprise, jumping back to glare up at him.

He's glaring down at you and despite the sliver of fear you feel, you defiantly stare back up at him, crossing your arms. The cold air is nipping at your unmasked face and suddenly you’re mad that his face is probably nice and warm under that scary thing. In fact, he looks warm everywhere, with his jacket under his bullet proof vest, covered head to toe in winter clothes. They’d freaking snatched you up without grabbing any of your real essentials for this terrain. The only things you have on you are a jacket, gloves, pants and boots. You feel naked and underdressed, especially with no weapons. There’s no doubt your nose is red and cold, face flushed. You probably look ridiculous but that doesn’t stop you from giving Ghost a death stare, pretending to be unbothered by the weather and his piercing gaze.

The man doesn’t say anything, but you know what he’s saying. He’s telling you to shut up. Without a word, he turns his back to you and starts forwards again as you let out a frustrated noise. Your legs and feet are killing you from hiking nonstop. If you complain, it’ll fall on deaf ears. You start after him, silent for a moment, taking in the mountain and scenery. Too bad it’s so pretty here, it almost ruins the notion that you were here in hiding. Your mind wanders. You could pretend that you two are working together on an Op, trailing through the mountain to take down Shepherd. Despite your state, you chuckle to yourself, Ghost whipping his head around to glare at you at the sound.

“What’re you laughing at?”

Fighting a smile, you shrug. “I was thinking it’d be funny if we ran into a mountain lion or something.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, like actually rolls his eyes at you before he starts ahead again. This time you laugh out loud.

“Oh, come on! It’s possible. We’re in the mountains that no one travels through, except maybe hunters. There’s probably a large chance that we could run into either!” You exclaim, almost giddy that you got a real reaction out of the stoic Ghost.

As if you conjure it up with your words, movement starts a few football fields away from the two of you. Ghost stops abruptly and you come up closer behind him, heart pounding. There, adorned in hunting gear are two men, unaware of your presence yet. Your mouth opens, voice ready to shout out at them, until Ghost whips around, almost eerily sensing what you were about to do, gloved hand clamping around your mouth just as you let out a muffled scream.

“Fucking hell.” He growls down at you, dragging you around the bend of the mountain you were just in front of, hand over your mouth as you continue to scream, thrashing against him. You trip backwards, falling harshly against the side of the mountain. Ghost comes down with you, one hand around the back of your head, the other still over your lips. Panting under his hand as your back presses against the rocky terrain, you glare up at him. You’re sure you’ll feel how hard you just fell later today, but the adrenaline surging through you is enough to lash out at him, unaffected by the rocks.

“Stop, dammit.” He hisses lowly at you as you continue to thrash, your hands clawing at his forearm. His fingers pinch your nose, cutting off your oxygen supply. “You’re going to wear yourself out, little girl.”

Something in his voice and eyes makes your heart rate spike, his voice like liquid fire to your veins. Suddenly you’re warmer than you’ve been in weeks. You stop struggling, your lungs burning, aching for air. Shaking, you stare up at him with wide eyes, trying to stay still even with how your lungs are protesting. Testing you, Ghost allows you to breathe, but keeps his hand clamped around your lips. You gasp for air, trying to breathe around his glove, sucking up oxygen through your nose and mouth. The hand behind your head flexes a bit and you realize in this position he could easily snap your neck. He squeezes your face a bit and you want to bite his hand, as you glare. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done it three days ago.

“Be quiet. Try anything, and you’re going down the rest of this mountain gagged and bound.” Ghost roughly tells you, shaking your face slightly before slowly letting you go. Your thighs clench together at his promise, face flushed now for a whole different reason than the cold. He watches you for a moment, before he decides you’re being obedient.

Taking a shaky breath, still trying to get enough air in your lungs from screaming as loud as you could and then being cut off oxygen entirely. Ghost’s gaze is on you, his hand slipping away from the back of your head, keeping his crouching position in front of you, ready to pounce if you make any sudden movements. You feel like prey like this, pressing into the mountain behind you, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The man in front of you is an unmoving boulder, large enough to block out anything behind him.

He pulls a heartbeat sensor out from his pack, turning it towards where the hunters are. From this angle you can see his lashes cast downwards as he studies the screen. They’re stupidly long and you bet he’s stupidly handsome under that mask of his. Your gaze trails down to his vest, seeing a hilt of a knife peeking out from a pocket, a thought forming in your mind quickly. Your fingers tingle under your gloves and your breath quickens. This is it. This is your chance.

Launching yourself forwards, your hand snatches out quickly. Fast hands are deadly, you think, and this is your expertise. Your left-hand jolts up to hit the sensor out of his hands, and it crashes to the ground. Ghost makes a noise in the back of his throat that slashes fear through you, but you persist in your task, kicking out one of your legs at him. He grunts as your boot connects with his side, falling a bit backwards from the hit. The hilt of the knife is in your clenched fist and as he falls, you pull, the knife coming up and out easily of his vest.

This time, you’re the one to pounce on him, free hand grabbing a hold of his jacket and vest, the knife going to the junction of his throat. The two of you have labored breaths, adrenaline no doubt consuming the both of you now. Ghost is oddly still as your legs squeeze around his midsection, ready for him to throw you off. The tip of the knife presses into his covered throat and he stares up at you, no glare to be found. He doesn’t even look mad and that pisses you off.  Freezing, you watch as one of his hands plays with a strand of your hair that fell forward in the tussle. You’re trembling now and you can’t figure out why, readjusting your grip on the knife.

“You’re pretty when you’re mad at me.” He tells you, and a gasp fills you as his hand wraps around your hair now, tugging it harshly. His voice drops into a deadly tone, “Makes me want to hurt you.” As if you weigh nothing to him, he sits up, your body sliding down from his midsection to settle in his lap.

Craning your neck, trying to tug your hair out of his grip, you hiss down at him. “Says the one with a knife to his throat. Let go or it’s going to find a new home.” To give an idea of the weight of your words, you press harder, no doubt nicking the skin under the fabric of his mask.

He tsks, his other hand shooting up to grab your wrist and squeeze. Crying out, you drop the knife and then let out an enraged noise. You grab at his mask, fully intent on ripping the damn thing off him. He lets go of your hair to grab your other wrist, bringing the two of your hands together, holding both in a vise grip with just a single fist of his. You tug against him and make a move to stand up from his lap. Ghost tugs you back down on top of him with ease, placing you hard against—

Oh.

A small gasp leaves you as you blink up at him, surprise etched on your face before it turns into a scowl. You can act angry all you want, but you can feel him hard against you. You have half the mind to rub your aching wet cunt against him. “You sick fuck.” You spit out at him.

Ghost has the audacity to chuckle down at you, yanking you closer to him by your wrists. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, sweetheart.” He leans in closer, his eyes and voice dark. “I can feel how much you’re shaking against me.”

Much to your demise, your body betrays you. You squeeze your thighs tight around him on accident, hot arousal burning its course through you. You won’t let him have it though. He isn’t allowed to have your pleasure. “It’s because I’m scared of you,” you growl at him, tugging again at the grip he has on your wrists.

“Mm. Maybe. That’d be the sanest response. But you didn’t kill me. You hesitated. You’re not even screaming for those hunters anymore.” Ghost tilts his head, looking to where your wrapped around his torso before he lets out a dark laugh that has you almost panting. “I can give you a reason to scream.” He lets out hoarsely, voice thick, as his gaze trails back up to yours.

You’re scared now, heart leaping up to your throat. He looks dangerous like this and a part of you knows you’re liking it too much. You start to panic. “Ghost – please, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone for your knife—”

“No,” he cuts you off, “you really shouldn’t have.”

You’re going to start screaming again, hoping that the hunters haven’t moved down the mountain too far. They have guns. If you can keep Ghost from killing them, you can take theirs and get away. Far far away from this man. Sucking in a deep breath, you start –

His hand comes down over your mouth and he laughs dryly again, making your arousal tingle up your spine. You can feel his cock throb against your inner thigh as you bite down on his gloved hand and he lets out a grunt before he’s pushing his hand more against your mouth, daring you bite down harder. “That’s real cute, baby. How’d you know I’m a sucker for pain?”

You thrash against him, letting go of his hand from between your teeth, accidentally grinding down on his thigh you’re straddled around. A whimper catches in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to keep your reactions to yourself. You feel like he’ll win if you don’t.

“Like I said. You want a reason to scream? I’ll give ya one. Let’s see if those men hear and try to come save you.” He stands, pulling you up with him, pressing your back into the mountain. Looking down at you, you watch his pupils flare as his free hand comes to the front of your pants, cupping your pussy.

Your head falls back at the contact, knocking against the rocks and you let out pained noise. There he is again, chuckling down at you, being cruel as he starts to rub you through your pants. Your hips move to their own accord, trying to catch with his rhythm. You’re practically dry humping his hand as his other pinches your cheeks together, tugging your gaze to look up at him. A whimper escapes you and you try to get out of his grip.

“You wet for me, baby?” Ghost asks as his hand presses harder against you, your hips stuttering with pleasure. He knows what he’s doing. You hate him. You’re soaking through your pants, you’re sure he’s going to start feeling how turned on you are, how your cunt is dripping for him, but still, you deny. You shake your head frantically, even as you moan, allowing the noise to escape your throat. You don’t care about him hearing you anymore. Not with how good his hand feels. The friction is almost too much as your clit catches against the seam of your pants, his hand adding a delicious pressure to it.

“You’re such a little liar. Look at you, so desperate. You’re riding my hand like you wish it was my cock.” Ghost pulls his hand away from your face but continues letting you grind down against his other hand. Your nails scratch against the rough surface behind you, refusing to grab onto him like you want to. You want to make sure he keeps his hand there, want to hold him there until you get your fill, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I hate it.” You hiss at him, despite your pace picking up. God, you’re getting close. The band getting tighter, the pressure too much yet not enough at the same time.

Abruptly he pulls his hand away from your covered pussy, and you cry out in frustration, your own hands shooting out trying to grab at him before you force them back down at your side, clenching them into tight fists. You’re shaking, trembling, legs barely holding your body weight up. Glaring up at him, you say nothing even as frustrated tears prick your eyes.

“Keep lying to me, girl. I can do this all day.” To prove his point, Ghost crosses his arms, showing shop was closed.

“I hate you.”

“There we go. Was that so hard?”

Ghost grabs you, turning you around to press your front to the mountain. Your hands come up to brace yourself, and you look at him from over your shoulder, brows furrowed in anger at him. If he thinks you’re going to beg for it he’s dead wrong. He comes up to press into you from behind and you still, feeling the heat of his body seep into yours. Shuddering, you look up at him as he looks down at you, and he almost tenderly brushes your hair aside before he’s gripping the back of your neck, keeping you immobile.

Slowly, you feel an ungloved hand slip into the front of your pants, past your panties. Your breath quickens and you struggle against him, trying not to let him feel exactly what’s he’s doing to you. It only makes it worse as your struggles grind your ass against his hard length as he lets out a surprised hum at the back of his throat, his fingers dipping into your slick.

“This all for me?” He asks, masked voice pressing up against your ear as he cages you against his hard unmoving body and the rock in front of you.

You shake your head as you let out a whimper.

Meanly, he pinches your clit and you squeal, trying to scramble away from him. “What’d I say about lying?”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry, it’s all yours. It’s for you. I’m sorry.” Your sobs turn into low moans as he takes your apology, the pinching turning into loose circles. The abrupt change has you dazed, grinding your sopping cunt against him.

“That’s it. Good girl.” The praise from him makes your core spike. His circles and pressure tighten on your clit and the orgasm he’d stolen away from you starts back up, hot and heavy. Your head falls back against his shoulder, letting out a groan. You haven’t been touched by anyone other than yourself in so long. Too long. You doubt you’ll last with him doing this to you. You don’t want to.

Ghost’s arm braces you against him, forearm crossing over your chest, hand around your throat. His fingers hold steady, a tight grip but he doesn’t squeeze the air out of you. The threat there has your breaths quicken, the edge of it pushing you over. Blinding hot white pleasure surges through you and you cry out, hips rolling against his fingers. He shoves two fingers in you at the peak of your orgasm, making you clench tightly around them, legs squirming as he holds you to him. It’s too much as he starts pumping his fingers in you, saying something in low tone to you that you can’t even comprehend. You can’t even think straight.

Suddenly his fingers pull out of you and you sob out from the loss, crumbling against the wall of mountain. Ghost yanks down your pants, pushing you back up against the wall and then he’s there, he’s pressing against your aching needy pussy with his cock –

“Too big too big!” You squeal, trying to get away from him from what seems like the thousandth time today.

His hands come around your hips in a vice grip, keeping you in place and he thrusts up into you in one motion. Tears fall down your face as his hips start undulating, letting you slowly adjust. His cock feels like it’s splitting you apart, hitting and stretching in all the right places.

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” Testing you, he pulls out slightly before sliding back in. Your head drops to press against the mountain, no longer having the strength to hold yourself up. You can hear how wet you are as he thrusts slowly into you, easing you into it.

A moan slips from you, Ghost’s fingers flexing around your hips as he pulls you backwards onto his cock. The coil in you starts to tighten again as the man starts a brutal pace, making you cry out. You feel like a mess, unable to contain how loud you’re being.

“Atta girl. Let me hear it. Wanna hear how good I’m making this pussy feel.” He starts pounding into you with ferocity, pressing you up against the wall, squishing you against him. There’s nowhere for you to go, nothing you can do besides take it and hope you’re still functioning afterwards.

Ghost is grunting and groaning behind you, unafraid of letting you hear how you’re making him feel. It makes your pussy clench and squeeze around him and you’re hurtling towards the edge of the cliff again, thighs quivering.

“Ghost, I’m—” You start, unable to catch your breath as your sight starts to fuzz out.

“God, yes. Come on my cock, need to feel it.” He growls, his fingers coming around your front to assault your clit, pushing you way over the edge.

Ecstasy thrashes violently through you as your pussy spasms around him. You head falls back into his chest as your lungs are rung out from your pleasure filled screams, Ghost soon joining you with a roar of his own. His cock pulses inside of you as he cums, lengthening your orgasm, cunt eager to milk him for all he’s worth. He bucks into you as you both ride it out, panting like you’d just gotten done with running a marathon.

He pulls slowly out of you after you gather your bearings, you whine lowly at the feel of him. Your legs give out and you slide down the wall. Sucking in air, you turn to look back at him, watching him put his glistening dick back into his pants. He tosses a piece of fabric to you, which you surprisingly catch given the current state you’re in.

“Clean up. We still have daylight to use. We’re getting down this mountain soon.” He gruffly commands you, eyes burning into yours.

Weakly, you manage out, “Fuck you.”

You see him grin under his mask. “Ya just did, love. We can have round two later if you want it so bad.”

[saturdaysky]

First Lines

I was tagged by @mithrilwren to post the first lines of my last ten fics! What a fun trip down memory lane this was.

1) fray (Ludinus/Essek; feelbad manipulation + an intentional gap between wants and needs)

"Such a fanciful tradition," he chides, watching the light play on Thelyss' bright braids. The candlelight of his bedchambers paints them fetchingly gold. Thelyss sits with a prim tiredness on the bed, holding still while Ludinus slips the buttons of his high collar back into place. They have begun to take all of their meetings here, in recent months.

2) discretion, written with @mllekurtz (Caleb/Essek; power dynamics and clothing)

“You wore this to the court today.” The words do not feel quite real coming out of his mouth.

3) growing sunlight (Caleb/Essek; a post-canon homecoming)

Caleb shuts the door against the afternoon sun, sealing them into comfortable privacy. The curtains on his windows are likewise shut, but light seeps through them anyway, casting the room in a warm, muted glow. Dimmed daylight will gather here for hours; like a little bubble of sunset just for us, supplies his mind. He is too glad to resist whimsy. Essek's visits always make him so.

4) if only for a moment (Caleb/Essek; time travel, grief, love, a leave-taking)

It was supposed to be five minutes into the future, but Caleb is pretty sure he fucked that one up. The lurch in his stomach tells him so, as does the treacle-like quality of his perception, and the way the spell writhes in his mind.

5) the end; to hold the sun (Caleb/Essek; a Calamity AU set minutes before the city falls from the sky)

It is done. It is done.

6) brothers (Beau & Essek talk about their estranged brothers; canon-with-a-twist AU)

Essek's shoulders are tense in a way that's gonna ache later, his frame drawn tight against the endless blue sky above the bay. He leans on the salt-crusted railing and stares out at the armada gathered for the peace talks. "I am still a Thelyss," he whispers in Undercommon. "They cannot take that from us." To Beau's ears, it sounds like a prayer.

7) sanctuary, a claiming (Caleb/Essek; werewolf/witch dark fairytale AU)

The night is red. Above the Wildwood, Catha’s gentle silver eye has waned into sleep at the end of its long cycle, leaving only the ruddy gaze of its sister to light the forest. Tomorrow, Catha will wax anew into wakefulness, but tonight, when magic is strong and bloody in the air, Ruidus’ dark creatures come out to play.

8) a shape made by our hands (Caleb/Essek; in a decaying timeline, Caleb meets Essek as a child.)

The spell is almost up. He’s gotten what he came to this timeline for, and when he returns to his own, this reality will decay into nothingness like an echo. The clock ticks unrelentingly in Caleb’s head; he estimates he has at least an hour. Maybe two, maybe less; time magic is an inexact science, as it turns out.

9) fulcrum (Caleb & Trent review proper torture techniques)

He is deep in the bowels of the sanatorium and has been for three days. Caleb is doing his best not to let that fact peel him out of his head.

10) poisoning the well (Caleb character study, ft. Trent's incessant, inescapable praises)

There is the splish-splash-splash as the Nein travel through the drenched Aeorian tunnel, and then Ikithon’s voice slithers into his head, parting the layers of Caleb's privacy with ease and blotting out all other sound.

I tag @mllekurtz @ariadne-mouse @chronurgy @burningdarkfire @annundriel and anyone else who wants to do it! Tag me in, I'd love to see your first lines.

[survivingcapitalism]

At a time when the CDC estimates that nearly a quarter of adults who have had Covid have also experienced long Covid symptoms, when research is showing a rise in the number of heart attacks across all age groups — but most especially among 25- to 44-year-olds — when researchers are finding evidence that Covid overwhelms the immune system to the point where it may not be able to protect against certain cancers as well, the narrative that many in the media are pushing — that infections don’t matter and it’s time to move on — will cost lives. “We know that people are more likely to wear masks if they understand how high the risk is. Or if they understand that it’s airborne and not droplets, so like six feet apart isn’t enough, and we actually need to keep masks on because it lingers in the air,” says Griest Schwartzman. “But a lot of people still don’t know that, or they’ve been made to believe that maybe it wasn’t that serious, or they don’t have a clear understanding and don’t know people that could clarify that for them. It really harms people that don’t have access to the health literacy they need to understand themselves how at risk they are,” they added. “And that’s not their fault. It’s the fault of a lack of accurate health and science communication.” It’s also the fault of the media.

[lullaebies]

Hi! It's been awhile since we last spoke but I hope you're doing well ❤ I noticed your post about writing prompts and I was wondering if you'd be interested in a little helaegon family fluff project? ^_^ I've been making art about the Green siblings flying with their dragons and currently working on Aeggy&Sunny but I'd also love to make a close up for both Helaena and Aegon. So I thought I'd ask if you'd like to write a little fluffy story about then taking the kids on a day trip. Maybe it's Maelor's 1st flight. Bonus cute points if Jae&Jae also have their baby dragons with them. I just need to imagine them being happy, even if it's just for one day. Maybe we could inspire each other? :) ❤

a/n: my bestie <3 yes it has been too long since we last spoke! but absolutely, you know i love family fluff. I decided to go for a Maelor first flight/first interactions with his family's dragons - this would probably count as an au because he would be a little bit older than canon (i'd imagine 5!). It ended up from his pov too, but all riders get a bit of interaction with their dragons, so I hope it works well <3

The wheelhouse rides up Visenya’s hill, bouncing to the gravel of the road. 

Maelor sits in between his siblings, holding their hands. Jaehaera squeezes at his hand every time a harsh jut takes place, while Jaehaerys gives out a yip at each bounce, giggling softly shortly after. The horses outside neigh loudly, and Maelor kicks his feet to their gait.

“When there?” the boy asks their parents, who were sitting in front of him. Maelor’s mother, Helaena, sighs softly, a breezy chuckle to her voice, while his father’s face contorts to a wide, exaggerated smile, with his eyebrows nearly reaching the sky.

“I’d answer, but you hadn’t sufficed with my answer the ten times before, twerp,” Aegon says. “I don’t think you will this time either.” 

Maelor blinks at his father. And at his mother, when she slaps father’s shoulder, asking him to not be all that snarky. Maelor doesn’t care all that much; all he could think of is the dragons he is going to meet. They could fly as as high as papa’s eyebrows!

His mother had made many embroideries with dragons for him to hold. He has one on his blanket, and one on the banner of his wall. He brushed his fingers against the needlework often. He had gotten a glimpse of only one dragon in his life, his uncle’s one. Big, burly Vhagar, who was big enough to see from his window; father calls her a flying mountain.

But then again, Jaehaerys says Shrykos is the size of a dog, and mother says Dreamfyre is the color of lavender flowers. Father says he named Sunfyre for the sun, and Jaehaera says “Morghul is Morghul,” without much explanation given. 

And Maelor? He has his little egg, in that container that warms the underneath of his bed. What would it look like? He wonders. They say it could hatch soon. Mama had told him it is Shrykos’s egg, it would likely look like her. And papa says Shrykos is Sunfyre’s and Dreamfyre’s, and in that case, “he should get to know them all.”

He is jittery in his seat. He turns his gaze from his father and mother to his siblings looking between them for an answer. “When there?”

His parents snicker both, staring at them three.

“Eh…” Jaehaerys tries to estimate with some undecipherable count with his fingers, while Jaehaera’s gaze flicks to the window.

“Now,” his sister says, coming up from her seat even before the wheelhouse stopped fully. She squeezes his hand, tugging at it at the same time for him to rise. Jaehaerys jumps to stand before him, and Maelor rushes to do the same. His feet rattle the wheelhouse with little jumps in his place, waiting for the door to open.

“Maelor, you will trip, sweet,” His mother warns, lighthearted in tone.

“Ser Rickard,” his father raises his voice in a merry timbre and looks out of the window. “Release my dragons before they chew the damn door!”

Ser Rickard does. Maelor’s siblings hum chipperly and jump to the ground without waiting for assistance, holding his hands all the while. His mother squeaks to stand as his legs hit the ground. 

“Haera, Rys, be careful!” Helaena says. “Maelor, all is well?” She worries for a moment, while Maelor looks at the big, big building he sees in front of him. A dome of sorts, with big, walls and doors of dark stone. The rumble underneath it, underneath his feet, feels almost alive. 

It springs Maelor’s feet into life, skipping ahead. “Let’s go mama!!”

His siblings follow, as do his parents, as do his guards, all flying in.

—

Maelor makes rounds around the head dragonkeeper as they wait for the dragons to be let out. He doesn’t quite understand whatever the man is saying, except a few words here and there that he heard his family saying lots. He knows Jaehaera is counting his spins in High Valyrian, he knows numbers, from one to two and ten, to be exact, but the older dragonkeeper’s words are fancy, with rolling sounds that sound draconic.

He tries to copy the rolling ‘r’ to little avail, but that doesn’t stop him from trying right up to the point he hears a familiar name coming from the man’s mouth. Morghul. His sister perks up, coming forward. From the depths of the pit, a first dragon comes forward, charcoal black scales that seem to resent light upon them. Maelor steps back when he notices his dark horns, keeping by his mother’s skirt. 

Up close, a dragon looks unreal to him. Uncle’s flying mountain is big dot in the sky, and mother’s embroideries remind him of her harmless bugs. He hasn’t expected Morghul to be so… scary?

Morghul is Morghul, and his gaze is as piercing as his sister’s when she’s angry. The rest of his family are very calm as his sister's fingers brush against the dragon’s sharp teeth. “The hellspawn grew bigger quickly, huh,” his father notes. Hell? 

His mother hums. “He may be able to be saddled soon,” she says, running her fingers through Maelor’s light curls.

“Dont remind me,” Aegon says, fiddling with his fingers. “She’ll forget I exist then,” he looks down to Maelor, who was watching them both. He reaches to ruffle his hair. “Like you are starting to even without one, little twerp.”

Maelor scrunches his nose and shakes his head, moving to embrace his father’s leg. “Not true!”

His father hums, letting him hang off of his leg. He slowly relaxes as when he smooshes his cheek against his father’s side. 

Until a woosh of green sweeps through the room, and Maelor holds onto his father tight. A loud shriek is heard as the form breaks out with it from the dark of the pit, lunging at his brother. A dragon slightly smaller than Morghul topples Jaehaerys, a long green wingspan twinkling under the light.

A dragonkeeper rushes after and wipes his forehead as he sighs - the head dragonkeeper grunts and then dismisses himself to help the novices to bring the bigger dragons. Maelor looks towards his brother, his heart bouncing more than his feet now. The dragon looks like it is made of his grandmother’s jewels, but those can scratch you, too. 

“Dohaeeeras!” Jaehaerys yells chipperly, rolling around with the dragon that tried to nuzzle his face. His giggles echo around the room. Maelor breathes in, as he understands the dragon is Shrykos. She does not remind of a dog, but of a rampant pony.

“Sunfyre’s hatchling through and through,” his mother comments to his father.

His father snickers. “The derangement is from your dragon.”

“Is it?” his mother asks with a smile, as a big, big dragon the color of lavender flowers is brought in. His mother steps forward and away from him, saying some words he can’t understand. Mama’s dragon? Dreamie, with her silver-glistening scales and pale blue eyes. 

The dragon looks at his mother once, listening with a cocked head, and looks towards his brother and his dragon. Dreamfyre’s steps are loud on the ground, and she cranes her big head and opens her mouth to grab Shrykos by tail, pulling the younger dragon back gently.

Shrykos answers her with shrieks, resistance and threats of the short breaths of fire. Dreamfyre lets Shrykos go when she starts beating its wings, returning the threat of flame with a whistle of her own flame, just barely touching the green dragon. Shrykos seems to shriek towards Morghul for help, the black dragon coming to help the green. Mother chuckles, seeing Dreamfyre swatting the two with her head, and his siblings come beside her, copying their dragons and playing against their mother. 

Maelor hides behind his father. His bones feel wobbly now. 

And then one more dragon enters the room. The last one, father’s, golden like the one on father’s shirts. Aegon ruffles Maelor’s hair again and then moves to greet and pet the dragon. “Hello,” his father tells Sunfyre with a big smile. 

And in the chaos of dragons and riders in the room, Maelor feels very small, very jittery, and even very lonely. Thick tears cloud his lash line. He wipes at his eyes. He needs to be brave. His parents and siblings thought he would be ready to meet their dragons, that he would be prepared to get his dragon.

“There is someone you should kn…” his father starts. He turns back towards Maelor when the boy wipes at his eyes, trying to make them disappear before he notices. “Son?”

The golden dragon looks at Maelor with his equally golden eyes. Maelor stays frozen when the dragon steps forward to him. He lowers his neck, and his big nostrils take a whiff of him. Maelor’s own nose is full of snot, he doesn’t even know what the dragon smells; some tears fall. 

And then, Sunfyre brings his snout, and pokes at it lightly against his forehead, ruffling at Maelor’s curly, silver fringe. The dragon voice is rolling some guttural ‘grrr,’ more familiar to Maelor as similar to the calming purr of the Keep’s cats.

Maelor sniffs away his tears when his father crouches beside him. Patting his back lightly. “Don’t fret, he is used to crying twerps. I daresay he even likes them,” Aegon chuckles, glancing at his dragon. “Will you pat him? I think that will please him plenty.” 

Maelor licks his small lips, and offers a shaky hand. It reaches the dragon’s chin, touching the gold of his scales. It doesn’t feel too different from touching his own egg; coarse and warm. He soon gains the courage to reach over with his other hand too, and Sunfyre nearly chirps.

Maelor giggles, a big smile drawn on his face. That laughter echoes in the room now, and his mother and siblings notice it too. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera played with their mother on the ground no better than their dragons in the air, but with one word from mother his siblings ran towards him.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera rushed from under Sunfyre to reach him. Jaehaerys pats his head and showed him how he pats Sunfyre under his chin, and Jaehaera wipes his glassy eyes and kisses his eyebrows, saying “good” when his face is clean. Mother comes closer, and bends to kiss the top of his head, saying “well done.”

And his father — he looks around the room, seeing his siblings’ dragon batting their wings around Dreamfyre, as if in request — and turns to his mother. “We could take them for a ride, couldn’t we? There is time.”

His siblings perk up looking at their mother with bright pleas.

“I think so. We came all this way already, why not?” Helaena says with a grin, and looks at their children. “Would you like that?” 

Jaehaera and Jaehaerys nod and squeal happily, babbling. Aegon looks at Maelor, almost stealing his snotty nose with his thumb and index. 

“And you? Would you like to ride Sunfyre with me, twerp?” 

And Maelor regains the giddiness in his legs, the glimmer of a gold dragon giving him back the glint in his eyes. He nods; with his family, with their dragons, he is ready to fly out.

[starlightkun]

⇢ teaser word count: 2.2k | series word count: 67.8k ⇢ warnings: past unethical experimentation, brief blood and gore descriptions (some human and some non-human), you have to accept the premise of a single human empire in space in the future with colonies and a military and not think deeper about that ⇢ genre: sci-fi, set in the near-ish future, humans and aliens and robots, black op mission, captain kun, ?????? reader, slow burn, fluff, dash of angst, ft. wayv as the crew of the vision ⇢ extra info: took a lot of obvious inspo for this one from isaac asimov’s robot stories, specifically his concept of positronic brains & the three laws of robotics (and if you’ve read any of his stories, you’ll probably be able to see some other places too) ⇢ estimated release date: saturday, may 18, 2024 6:00 p.m. eastern time ⇢ series masterlist

The air smelled like blood, burned electrical components, and whatever horrible odor came from blood getting onto electrical components as they sparked. All the blood wasn’t human, you could tell that, too. Skipper blood always stung your nose like rubbing alcohol. It was pitch black in the space you were hiding in, or maybe it was just nighttime. You should be scared, but your heart wasn’t beating fast for some reason.

Two pairs of heavy footfalls. One was heavier than the other. Walking, so definitely not Skippers. Both were still too light to be heavier races.

They slowed to a stop outside your hiding spot, and you really hoped they couldn’t read the Outspacer controls that would open the otherwise impossible-to-see door. After all, it was a language that had been dead for hundreds of millions of years, there was no way—

“Hey, Zennie, you got a read on these?” A man’s voice came from nearby, muffled by both the wall and presumably a helmet as well. Human, or related species.

You couldn’t hear this ‘Zennie’s reply, as it most likely came through the comms in his helmet, but you could hear the man’s side of the conversation.

“Oh, of course, how dare I, a mere meatsack, doubt your high-and-mighty artificial intelligence,” he replied with fake deference. “Yeah, yeah, I know that’s not what you meant. Alright, so just tell me which one’s the self-destruct button so I don’t press it?”

“Move, Wong, before you blow us up.” Another voice interjected. “ZEN? You said it’s a passageway? Oh, safe shelter. Bit different, don’t you think? Mind translating the dead language right the first time?”

He paused as he probably listened to Zen’s reply, then continued, “So? You know which one’s the open button?”

You couldn’t go anywhere. The hideout you were in was designed to hold only a few people for weather emergencies, to be structurally sound; not to have a back door in case you needed to escape intruders. You just had to hope Zen was completely wrong and they wouldn’t get it open.

Click.

There goes that.

The door dematerialized, and the rancid smell from before became even stronger. A man peered in barrel-first, and you recoiled back from the sudden light flooding your vision. You couldn’t press yourself any further back into the corner, but you still turned your head away to shield your sensitive eyes.

It only took a couple strides for one of the men to reach you, the other stayed back in the hallway, keeping his rifle fixed on you. The man stood over where you were sitting on the floor—your legs had gotten tired of standing after so long—and lowered his gun slightly so you could see the entirety of the front plate that covered his face. It was a reflective shield that gave you no clue to who was behind it, only let you see a warped, thinned and stretched version of yourself cowering in a corner. His armor was an improved version of the standard issue United Human Navy, if the insignia on both of his shoulders didn’t make that clear enough. It looked the same as the standard issue, but the heft of his footsteps had belied a weight difference that wasn’t explained by his stature or build, so it must be the grade of material.

“Are you hurt?” His voice came through an external speaker on his helmet. He was speaking in standard human. You couldn’t detect any sort of odd stiltedness or lag that sometimes happened with computer-assisted translations. He was assuming you understood standard human, and you did.

“No,” you replied, slowly uncrossing your arms to show your hands first, that you didn’t have anything hidden in them to attack him with. You still weren’t scared, for some reason.

“Oh, she’s pretty,” his companion commented from the hallway. The two of them must be sharing helmet feeds, as the one in front of you was definitely blocking most of you from his sight.

“Wong, shut it.” The outer speaker had been turned off for that, but it was still pretty clear to you.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Can you stand?” His weapon was still at the ready, his finger resting above the trigger.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d wiggled your fingers and toes, and it felt good to do it. “Yes.”

He stepped back, the unexpressive mirror of his face shield watching as you pushed up from your half-sit half-crouch, bracing yourself against the wall. Your body instinctively took a deep breath to try to recover from the sudden exertion, but the vaporized Skipper blood burned your entire respiratory tract, and you coughed and spluttered trying to force it back out, catching yourself on the wall on your forearms to stay upright. The odor made your head swim, your eyes water, and your chest hurt like someone had put gasoline in your lungs and struck a match.

“Okay, woah, woah.” Two gloved hands were on your arms and back, helping you stay up. His voice was muffled again as he switched to his in-helmet comms, “Xiao, get over here! We’ve got a survivor! Yes, really, just look at my stream.”

Then, his voice was projecting to you once more, “Breathe, breathe.”

You felt the roughness of a thumb wiping at the tears running down your cheeks, the durable material of his glove scratching against your skin. He grabbed the front of your shirt collar, pulling it up towards your face at the same time he firmly pulled your hand down that had been covering your mouth as you wheezed. Positioning the material over your nose and mouth into a makeshift filter of some sort, he continued holding it there for you as you took a few breaths.

“Better?”

You nodded shallowly. The smell of Skipper blood still cloyed to your throat and lungs, but the shirt helped keep more from entering.

More footsteps from down the hall, then another pair entered the shelter.

“Holy shit…” Someone breathed out.

“I know, man,” the voice that you were already pretty sure was ‘Wong’ from earlier replied.

“How long has she been in here?” A fourth voice asked, belonging to the footsteps getting closer to you.

“I don’t know,” the man already with you answered. “Wong and I just found her while clearing this sector.”

“Okay, well, you mind, Captain?” He said indicatively. “Can’t examine my patient through you.”

“You got it?” The captain asked you, shaking the collar slightly.

You took it from him, holding it over the bridge of your nose yourself as he had been doing for you before. Looking into his face shield where you were pretty sure his eyes should be, you nodded firmly this time.

He didn’t step back until you felt another pair of gloves grabbing your elbows where he had been. The newcomer’s uniform differed from the others’ in one way, he had a neon green rectangular patch on his right arm below his UHN insignia, as well as a few other places—intergalactic signal for medic. It was removable for the wearer’s own safety, and his in particular was slightly askew, as if he’d just slapped it back on in a hurry.

The medic flipped through the pockets of a pack strapped to his thigh before pulling out a small disc of clear plastic and pushing that against your hand. “Here, this’ll work a lot better than your shirt.”

You accepted it, and he helped you orient it the right way over your nose and mouth. It was apparently a mask or rebreather of some sort. It wasn’t exceptionally bulky, and you could feel that there was some sort of fine mesh material on the inside. Immediately, you could tell the difference. The air coming into your lungs carried only the slightest tinge of lingering burning electronics smell, and while you could tell that there was Skipper blood, it didn’t burn, or make your head spin. It was just unpleasant.

“There. How’s that?”

You gave him a thumbs-up, the standard human gesture for good, since they all seemed to speak standard human. The mask didn’t allow much room for talking.

“Alright, good. Are you injured?”

You shook your head.

“Do you feel pain anywhere?”

You shook your head again.

“Good, good. I have more questions, but we should get somewhere you can breathe. Give me a second.” He looked upwards as if talking to the heavens, and his outer speaker turned off. “Liu? Professor? Did you finish clearing the building? Alright, ZEN, got readings on air quality for her?”

After a pause, both the medic, Xiao, and the captain, who had been hovering behind him the whole time, nodded.

“Thanks, ZEN.” Xiao’s speaker turned on, “Here, our teammates found somewhere that you can breathe. It’s going to be a little bit of a walk, though. Is that okay?”

You nodded. Your legs would just have to deal.

“It’s not pretty out here…” The only one that hadn’t been identified to you in passing called out as a warning from his position in the hallway with ‘Wong.’

You turned around and pushed off the wall as your answer.

Stepping into the hall, you knew why you had smelled that particular concoction of smells. Just off to your left were two dead Skippers, their uniquely-articulated hind limbs that gave them their distinct gait—and consequently, the questionably flattering nickname from humans—stuck out at awkward angles now. Dark purple sludge seeped out from under their armor, Skipper blood. On the outside of the armor were smears, streaks, and splatters turned a gleaming ruby red under the emergency lights, human blood.

You couldn’t see any dead humans, or pieces of them, in this corner, but you remembered what the captain had called you. A survivor. Which meant there were others who didn’t survive.

“Come on.” It was the captain who ushered you the other direction from the Skipper bodies. “This way.”

Their helmets must have been mapping out the facility as the unit cleared it and displaying a route in all of their HUDs, because the four of them moved as if they knew the building like the back of their hand. The captain and Xiao flanked you on either side, with Wong at the front and the fourth unnamed one at the rear. You couldn’t tell if it felt more like a protection detail or a prisoner transport.

You kept your eyes on your feet not only so you didn’t have to see all of the mutilation, or to keep from stepping in something, but to avoid the unsettling, cold dread slowly sinking over you when from the moment you caught a look at the first dead human you passed by with her remarkably in-tact face, dandelion yellow blouse and lab coat, and realized you didn’t recognize her. When you inhaled sharply and shot your eyes down to your feet, you could tell that the captain noticed. He turned his head just ever so slightly towards you, off of the consistent path it had been before, and he paused, then went back to keeping watch.

They weren’t kidding when they said it was a bit of a walk. You could feel the muscles in your legs get sore, then start twitching, then start shaking, but you didn’t even consider asking to stop.

“Woah, Liu, slow down!” The captain ordered into his headset. “Okay, yeah, I see it. Don’t touch anything. We’re just sweeping right now, remember?”

“Great, the kid’s found more toys,” the one behind you snorted.

Xiao and Wong suddenly erupted into more laughter than that statement warranted you were pretty sure.

Wong then informed him with a snicker, “Mic’s on, Ten.”

“You say that as if I wouldn’t have said that to his face, too,” the one now finally identified as Ten retorted.

“ZEN, the mics, please?” The captain sighed. “Thank you.”

“Now he’s going to whine that we were shit talking him behind his back,” Xiao groaned. “Again.”

“Well we are,” Ten laughed.

“If he just stopped acting like a baby, Captain here wouldn’t have to step in and put him in time out all the time,” Wong clicked his tongue.

“You think he’s the one in time out right now?” The captain replied dryly.

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle into your mask, trying to cover it up with a cough when all four of their reflective shields whipped around to face you, as if they’d forgotten you were there. After an uncomfortable stretch of silence, they all shifted back into their watchful stances.

The captain suddenly spoke again, “Yes, Professor? Okay, sure… ZEN, put that on everyone’s HUDs.”

The lack of commentary from any of them for seemingly several minutes was startling, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know what this ‘Professor’ was showing them.

“We’re going to have to go back there after dropping Xiao and her off, aren’t we?” Wong was the first to speak.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” Ten sighed.

“Or already know the answer to,” the captain said. “If she has any wounds that Xiao needs to tend to, one of you will stay to keep guard. If not, it’ll be Ten and Wong with me to meet up with Liu and the Professor, and Xiao will stay with her.”

“Alright, Ten,” Wong rolled out his neck. “Rock paper scissors?”

⇢ series masterlist | blog masterlist

[angelkhi]

mirrorball - j.m

pairing: bodyguard!joel miller x f!reader (3rd person)

summary: a gala isn’t your thing, dress shopping isn’t Joel’s. It’s a shame no one can get their way.

warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut in future parts, mentions of alcohol, references to being roofied, language, sexual themes (no actual sex), mentions of blood, joel is a massive dick. let me know if i missed anything!word count: 2.8k

a little note: it’s here! (kinda). ive been kinda busy (i graduated!) but also wanted to take my time with this, and maybe explore some aspects of writing that i usually skim over (my bad). i estimate that this will be maybe 3 parts? i hope i do it justice either way, this fic was born out of this hc, but mostly your encouraging responses. thank you for being so kind 🩷

series masterlist part two>>

For a price tag of almost three grand, her dress is itchy. Sure it's beautiful enough that the slimy little daddy's boys will fawn over her, and each superficial gold digger will give her one syllable compliments in an overly saturated tone, but it fucking itches. She hikes the material further up her thigh for the third time since the short car ride began, trying to scratch at her skin. Maybe it's an allergic reaction. She hopes so, that way she can avoid the event all together. She's half way to pulling her sleeve away from her shoulder, ready to scratch the irritated skin, but a firm grip around her wrist prevents her from that sweet sweet relief.

"Stop fidgeting." Joel's tone is clipped, the usual hint of strain pulling across his words. She swears she's never seen him relax, not since he became her live-in bodyguard anyway. She cuts her eye at him but of course he's not looking. The only time she ever really has his attention is if her life is in danger, other than that its pure nonchalance and ignorant glances. She can admire his desire to fulfil the position, what with the pay and free accommodation, hell if she had a real job she'd probably be just as uptight as him. But there's only so much a person can take.

"It's itchy." Of course she sounds like a whiny little brat. It's fine, that's all he thinks of her anyway, she's sure of it.

"Should've picked the other one then."

She almost laughs.

She had walked him around the store at least four times, each trip resulting in the same two dresses. She couldn't decide between the colours, then the length, and then the sleeves. In the end he forced her into the changing room, mumbling she either picks one of those or goes in nothing. They both know that's not an option. Both dresses felt nice, as nice as a constricting piece of fabric could feel, they both looked as nice as they could in the dreary washed out lighting. In the end she had asked Joel, who sat just the other side of the door, arms folded, shoulders tense, scowl mastered.

Joel isn't one for verbal communication, unless it's telling her to 'go here' or 'stay there' or his most frequented phrase, 'shut up'.

But his eyes say it all.

Sometimes it's a simple twitch, letting her know he's not as irritated as he lets on, others it's a slight squint. That's her personal favourite. That's when she knows she's got him right on the edge.

His eyes fix on her, moving slow and calculated over the second dress. The way the fabric moulds to each divot and curve of her body, lingering on her chest, on the slightly too high slit exposing her thigh. It's a clear winner.

His levels of exasperation had clearly spiked in the time it took for her to change again, his constant glaring, huffing and puffing dialled up to 100. His wide steps only seem to grow wider on the way to the checkout, his whole demeanour screaming get me the fuck out of here. Which is why she doubles back on herself, not needing to check if he's following, she knows he will.

She stops, a wide array of underwear in front of her. She takes her time, making sure to show each and every barely there pair to him, watching that eye twitch with a perfect mix of irritation and lightly tethered resolve.

He'd dragged her out of there in the end, though not after she held up the skimpiest pair of panties she could find. His hand wraps tight around her arm, not enough to hurt her, she knows he'd never do that. But enough to tell her she's officially pushed his buttons a little too much.

Soon enough the car rolls to a slow stop in front of a grand building. Stone columns tower over her when Joel leads her from the car. She likes to pretend it's not in his job description, that instead he's simply just an emotionally constipated gentleman, but she's not stupid enough to believe it. Still, when his hand finds the small of her back, when he guides her up the steps and into the vast museum-turned-ballroom, it's hard to believe that his behaviour is entirely obligatory.

The event is just as grand as she expected. Her father certainly has no trouble with throwing his wealth around, even less so when it presents the opportunity to show just how wealthy he is. An ornate chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a warm twinkling light over the guests. An sizeable portion of an orchestra plays dreary classical music from the back of the room, and the guests are filling the space, drinking overpriced champagne and nibbling on bite sized canapés.

She waltzes through the sea of false affluence, painting on her best smile, choosing her most pleasant tone, saying all of the right words. She embraces her father heartily, pushing down the small piece of resistance when he pulls her close. She puts on a good, exhausting show. The only thing that keeps her grounded is Joel, hot on her 5-inch heels, anticipating her every move, being ten steps ahead of her.

She's seated with a handful of the elite from the gathering, laughing when they relay the same stories as always, gasping and feigning surprise when they compliment her. She eats the bland food with a sweet smile and laughs off propositions from parents who just know their son would be a perfect match for her.

In between convoluted speeches, she listens to them drone on about their latest investments, or how well their darling daughters are performing in their ballet classes. She smiles, she drinks. she laughs. She's the perfect daughter. The luckiest girl in the room, with the richest daddy and all the luxuries life could offer. But sat at that table, choking down specs of gold in the dry champagne, she feels more akin to the age old scrolls and scriptures.

A caged artefact, another one of her father's prized possessions, on display to be gasped at. She'd give anything for the glass to shatter, for tiny shards to rain down on each and every person in here. She'd marvel in their horror as they learn they bleed the same as everyone else on this planet. That they're not special, and neither is she.

From the corner of her eye, she spots Joel hiding in the shadows, standing to attention. His eyes constantly scan the room and every few seconds, they're on her. She almost feels bad for practically ogling him whilst he's doing his very best to keep her alive. But his black suit fits his form so well it'd be a sin not to look. She watches as he readjusts his cufflinks for the third time, the material catching around his biceps, the single button clipped across his stomach almost straining with every moment.

Yes, Joel is an insufferable bastard, but he's an unfathomably good looking one. His stoic behaviour is almost forgiven on that basis alone.

A round of applause pulls her from her Joel induced trance. She fixes her smile and joins in, nodding jovially with those around her. Not soon enough, she's free to leave the table, thanking them for their company, and heads straight for the bar. She feels Joel's presence before she sees him, perching a few seats down, eyes still wondering.

She doesn't pay much attention to the man next to her. His suit probably cost more than what most people make in a year, and his charming smile is more snake-like. She smiles when he pays for her drink, laughs and touches his arm, letting him think he has a chance. He's been talking about his most recent investment in overseas stocks for ten minutes, and all she wants is to go home and take off these fucking uncomfortable heels. To be able to breathe without the rigid dress digging into her skin. She wants to be alone, or as alone she can be with her human shadow.

"... and profits are at an all time high. My old man reckons I'll be taking over from him soon enough" The man, Matt? Mike? Manny, speaks. She flashes him a smile.

"Wow. That's amazing." Or at least she hopes it is, he could be talking about his dead childhood pet for all she knows.

"Let me buy you another drink?" He asks. Though it's more of a demand, he's already flagged down the bartender, ordering something sweet and fruity her, and a "real man's" drink for himself.

"You got the last round. I'll get these." She pretends to root around in her too-small purse knowing he'll decline, they always do. Men like him take any chance to throw their money around, wave it in peoples faces, impress the men and woo the ladies.

By the time she's ended the facade, he's waving his amex at her dismissively, nudging the drink towards her. Once again she smiles. She doesn't even want the drink, certainly not in his company.

His beady eyes watch her, a hint of something beneath the thick layer of painted on charm. That snake-like nature increases tenfold and it takes everything in her not to tip the drink down the front of his Givenchy shirt. The glass is barely in her hands when it's ripped from her hands, the familiar scent of Joel invading her space.

His face is taught, that scowl he loves so dearly gone, in its place pure rage. His eyes are dangerously dark, and she's sure if she looked hard enough, there would be smoke blowing from his ears.

It all happens so quickly. The sloshing drink flies from the glass straight into Manny's face, dripping down onto his clothes, turning his sickly white suit into a damp shade of pink. Then Joel is moving, slamming the empty glass onto the bar and gripping the terrified man by his collar.

She can feel the eyes of almost everyone at the gala trained solely on them, she almost expects the music to come to a screeching halt.

She can barely make out Joel's enraged words, despite the silent crowd. She's barely aware of his hand gripping her arm, pulling her through the parting guests. A sea of shocked faces, some sympathetic others purely confused. She stumbles on the top step, her stupid heels and Joel's insane pace working against her. The world turns upside down, and her hands reach out to brace herself, hitting his sturdy back. Even with a layer of clothing between them, she swears she can feel his bare hands across the back of her thighs, the tight muscle of his shoulder pressing against her stomach.

He's thrown her over his shoulder. Like a damned child. And now he's shoving her into the back of the car, as though she's the one that threw a tantrum and caused a scene. He rounds the car and slips in beside her, and they're speeding off back towards her apartment.

The last few minutes slowly slip from a hazy blur to a sharp reality, and she can't help but stare at him. Confusion and pure embarrassment hit her first, then comes the anger. He speaks to the driver for a second, and then the partition is rolling up again.

The car feels ten times smaller and itching of her dress is long forgotten. She wants to ask him what happened, why he dragged her out of there like an insubordinate child, but he's busy typing on his phone, making hushed calls as though a whisper wouldn't travel the few feet of space between them. His chest heaves, small tufts of hair peaking through the now open buttons of his shirt, the once neat tie hanging loosely from his collar.

He barely looks at her the whole time. Even as he helps her out of the car, or guides her into the elevator, or pushes open her front door, bolting it behind them. She throws off the heels the moment she steps into the large living room, knocking an ornament sideways. Not even that gets his attention.

"Sunshine secured." He speaks into his wrist, a small undetectable microphone hidden in one of the cufflinks. Sunshine. She remembers it like yesterday, the first time he'd called her that. She'd stumbled into the kitchen after a late night, barely acknowledging the hulking man sat at the island. She remembers the exact moment his eyes met hers with that all consuming gaze and the slight quirk of his lips as he studied her from head to toe, then in that deep texas drawl, uttered morning sunshine.

She had quickly come to learn it was not as endearing as it seemed. Joel doesn't do endearing.

There's a growing urge to throw something, at a wall or at him is still undecided, so she crosses her arms across her chest instead. She calls out his name, though it falls on deaf ears, his nose buried in that stupid phone of his. She tries again, and again until throwing something doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. Finally, he grants her the privilege of his attention and she considers for a moment, if that's all she wanted. Not answers, just his acknowledgement. He raises an eyebrow, his nonchalance pushing her over the edge.

"What was that?" It comes out as a high pitched shout, rather than the calm and controlled manner she had hoped.

Once again, he quirks his brow saying nothing any everything . This doesn't concern you, or are you really that stupid?

"Joel, you just threw a drink on someone and dragged me out of a room filled with hundreds of people. You would think that warrants an explanation!"

He has the nerve to huff and shake his head, shoving the buzzing phone in his pocket and takes a step towards her.

"You want an explanation." He eyes her again, focusing on the slow curve of her dress. "There was a threat. I eliminated it."

She scoffs, "You were being a dick."

"I was doing my job."

"Oh that's what it was! Your little tantrum was you doing your job?" She's aware that she's now the one throwing a tantrum, not that she cares when he's acting so high and mighty, as though the status of his role outweighs her own peace of mind.

"Go to bed." His phone buzzes again, he ignores it. "It's been a long night and I have a bunch of shit to deal with."

"Are you being serious right now? You just humiliated me in front of everyone. Was carrying me down the steps really that necessary?" If she was itching to throw something a few minutes ago, she's desperate now. Maybe her shoe, right in his face.

"He would've done a lot worse Sunshine, now go to bed." For fucks sakes.

"No! Not until you tell me what is going on."

He sighs, pinching the small bump along the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes for a moment. He does this a lot, when he's trying not to yell at her or even better still, quit his job. He shoots her a pointed look.

"If you weren't so busy flirting with your little boyfriend, you would've noticed him slipping something in your drink." His words are met with a long silence, and the space between them seems to stret even further.

The dress feels tighter, and she wobbles a little, though this time she can't blame it on the shoes. She was wrong. He hasn't humiliated her in front of everyone, he'd done it in her own home.

"Unzip me." Her voice is clipped. She's not sure if she wants to scream or cry. Maybe both. He hesitates for a moment, but then he's there right behind her pulling the zip down so torturously slowly, the soft brush of his knuckles on her skin threatening her with a shiver. She almost hates herself for it.

He steps back, but she doesn't face him. The dress slides off easily, leaving her in barely anything not that she cares. She's already humiliated herself enough, what's another notch in the belt? She gathers up the crumpled fabric, wanting nothing more than to throw it in the bin, and walks down the hall pausing at her door. She turns to him. She refuses to let him have the last word, he doesn't deserve it, not tonight. With tears already threatening her voice and Joel's beyond sour mood she's not sure she cares much either. Making sure to look directly into his eyes, she bares herself, lets him see the hurt he has caused.

"Fuck you."

She makes sure the door slams behind her, leaving him alone in the dark.

[inneedofsupervision]

I didn't ask, did I? (Chapter 4)

Happy begrudgingly steps aside and walks after Tony into the diner. The billionaire skillfully ignores the gasps of surprise and the poor attempt to take pictures of him secretly as he strides straight up to the counter. "Two cheeseburgers and a large fry. To go." "Please get in line and wait for your turn, Sir." "Excuse me?" Tony slowly pulls his sunglasses down and glances at the skinny teen behind the register. "Bad hearing comes with age, huh?" mutters the teen under his breath. Happy makes a choking sound behind him. ___________________ Or, how Tony Stark gets sassed by some high schooler working part-time and makes it his mission to figure out what he did to make this kid he'd never seen hate him. If that means annoying the hell out of said high schooler, that's not his problem.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3

Chapter Summary: Tony makes the first move.

Read on Ao3

"Sir, your order will be delivered in approximately thirty seconds."

"It's about time. I am famished."

Tony pulls the cap deeper into his face before glancing up from his StarkPhone. The voice of his AI rings with a hint of judgment out of the phone speaker. "It certainly would have been quicker if you ordered from the shop at Forest Ave and not Manhattan, Sir."

He grins at that. "But where is the fun in that, Friday?"

Tony squints at the silhouette of a person walking purposefully in his direction. He puts his right ankle over his knee, the embodiment of relaxation. Catching the paper bag flung at him with ease, the corners of Tony's mouth draw up into a self-satisfied grin. What could be better than the magnificent smell of tacos and victory? The reason for his markedly good mood stands a few feet before him, staring him down with a heat that makes Johnny Storm look like a matchstick.

"I hope you choke on it."

What a sight.

Peter Parker in a Taco Bell server uniform, looking earnestly pissed off. Tony should take a picture while it lasts.

"Nah, what kind of harsh greeting this is after I've made it possible for you to get a free ride with the Staten Island Ferry. How did you like it? Took some selfies with the Statue of Liberty?"

God, could the kid's glare turn any more vile?

The teen crosses his arms over his chest. "You can use the Staten Island Ferry for free. You didn't do anything."

"Listen to that," Tony praises mockingly. "Should have expected the smartest student of Midtown High to catch on quickly."

The kid narrows his eyes at the comment. "What do you know about Midtown High?"

He ignores the teen's question and bites into a taco.

"How is your strikingly looking aunt doing?" he asks instead, noticing how the kid stiffens up at the question.

"Could be better," answers the teen slowly. The hesitation in his answer makes the corner of his lips tug upwards. It entertains him immensely how the kid fishes for information, trying to estimate how much Tony truly knows about him.

The man decides to humor him.

"Oh, I could imagine. If my nephew traipses across the city far past his curfew, I'd be worried sick, too. You're quite lucky as she's working a double shift, not knowing anything about your little side jobs. She's probably thinking her darling nephew is at home, sleeping like a little angel."

The kids stares at him, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a thin line.

"What are you working so hard for, huh? What could a high schooler like you need three jobs for, Mr. Parker? Yeah, that's right. I know about you playing Mr. Fix-It for your school pals and the little photography quip for the Bugle."

Tony stands up, pulling out a hundred bucks. He steps over to the teen and slips the bill into his breast pocket.

"That's for buying a new camera. Maybe you get some better motives than Spider-Man." He sniffs. "How about Iron Man? Rumors say he got a new suit. It's very photogenic."

Clapping the teen on the shoulder, he is about to walk past when a hand wraps around his wrist.

Peter Parker looks about ready to punch him in the face.

"Even if I did tell you what you did, it wouldn't change anything. Because you fail to recognize that your actions cause repercussion, and I am sick of it," spits the teen before letting his arm go.

Tony's eyes widen before he grins in self-satisfaction.

"Ha! I knew there was something!"

Parker looks at him like he lost it. "That's what you take from this? Are you serious?"

The billionaire pays no attention to Parker as the teen stomps down the direction he came from, too busy celebrating himself for trusting his hunch and being right. It needs Friday's voice to make him look around and notice he's the only person left in front of the fountain.

"Sir, Mrs Potts asked you to keep from picking fights with employees, especially minors."

Tony rolls his eyes.

"Friday, please. Where did that look like a fight?"

"You are right, Sir. I apologize. It seems more like a case of bullying."

Tony lifts an eyebrow.

"Did you forget what the kid did to me? Who's side are you on, Friday?"

"Sir, you demanded a minor and underpaid employee of a Taco Bell to deliver your order from Manhatten to Staten Island in the middle of the night with a shop of the same brand meters away from your current location."

"Are you trying to guilt trip me? Cause it's not working."

"I am merely appealing to your understanding of humanity and responsibility, Sir."

He takes the rest of the food and throws it into a bin. "How am I responsible for a teen using a fake ID to work in the middle of the night? That stunt of teen revolution is his problem, not mine."

"Sir, you are being childish."

"Bold of you to assume I'd care if you call me that when I hear that from Pepper all the time."

"Sir, it would be best to keep from irritating Mr. Parker any further. I am afraid you will find yourself in more trouble than Mrs Potts and the PR Team can prevent from happening."

Tony snorts.

"Please, what could that kid do? Cause another scene at a new Fast-Food place? The pace with which the kid is fired and newly hired is astounding."

"Sir, you have been responsible for Mr. Parker getting fired from his last two part-time jobs. It won't come as a surprise if further confrontation leads to a situation that will be hard to handle."

Rolling his eyes, Tony unlocks his car. He slides into the seat and takes off his sunglasses.

"I believe it when I see it, Fri."

[shivsroy]

“It is not for me to judge my brother. History will tell that story. I can just give you a couple of instances about him. You probably all know we came across the first time during the War, for our safety. But the engines of our ship let go and the rest of the convoy sailed on without us, leaving us adrift. They told us—they told us, children—that if we spoke, or coughed, or moved an inch, that the U-boats would catch the vibrations through the hull and we would die right there, in the hull. Three nights and two days we stayed quiet. A four-year-old, and a five-and-a-half-year-old, speaking with our eyes.

So, there's a little sob story. And uh—once we were over, our uncle who was, so to speak, a character. He, um, well—they had a little money. And they sent Logan away to a better school, and he hated it. He just hated it. He wasn't uh, he wasn't well, he was sick. And he mewled and he cried, and in the end he got out and came home, under his own steam. But when he got back our little sister, she was a baby, but—she was there by then. She, uh… He always believed that he brought home the polio with him, which took her. I don't—even know if that's true. But our aunt and uncle certainly did nothing to disabuse him of that notion. They let it lie with him.

I… loved him, I suppose. And I suppose some of you did too. In whatever way he would let us, that we could manage. But… I can't help but say, he has wrought the most terrible things. He was a man who has, here and there, drawn in the edges of the world. Now and then, darkened the skies a little, closed men's hearts. Fed that dark flame in men. The hard, mean, hard relenting flame that keeps their hearts warm while another grows cold. Their grain stashed while another grows hungry. And even has the temerity to tell that hard—funny, yes, but hard—joke about the man in the cold.

You can get a little high, a little mighty, when you're warm. Oh yes, he gave away a few million of his billions, but he was not a generous man. He was mean. And he made but a mean estimation of the world. And he fed a certain kind of meagerness in men. Perhaps he had to. Because he had a meagerness about him. And maybe I do about me, too. I don't know. I try. I try.

I don't know when, but some time he decided not to try anymore. And it was a terrible shame. Godspeed, my brother. And God bless.” —Ewan Roy

[mydarllinglover]

Playing Favourites || One

That dreaded time had come, once again, Reaping Day, for the 69th year in a row.

Cove wasn't worried, she wasn't a career, even if her name managed to be picked, someone would volunteer for her, right? They'd have to.

It wasn't often that District 4 had volunteers, but considering Cove had dropped out the academy, she had high hopes someone was willing to take her spot.

"Where've you been, girl?" Cove's father asked, as she walked through the front door, wringing out her wet hair.

"Decided to take an early morning swim, burn off my nerves." She huffed, making her way towards the bathroom. "Peacemakers are here, by the way."

"Already?" He asked.

"Yeah, Dad, not long now." She sighed

"It won't be the same, it can't." He muttered to himself. "I can't lose her too."

"It won't, there's a 6 in what? 10 thousand?" Cove shrugged, coming up with a random estimate of 12-18 year olds in her district, out of the 100 thousand population. "I'll be fine, I promise. 'Sides, its the last one, then we're free."

She didn't really believe these odds, but she had to keep a front for her father, he had been broken since the incident, that had happened three years ago, where she had lost her brother, and her mother, only a week apart.

She remembered it, well, it wasn't something that was exactly hard to forget, both had happened right in front of her very eyes.

Her brother being brutally massacred, when he had made it so far into his games, all he had to do was beat those four tributes, and he would've been home, but the second he accidently shown vulnerability, he helped that kid, his story was over, just like that, her parents and herself were gathered around the TV as it happened, sobbing and yelling, trying to wake up from the nightmare.

Her mothers pain had turned to anger, she had been petitioning and striking all around the district, for a stop to the games, and on the same day, the following week, her mother was hung, for the whole district to see, as a warning, the games would never end, and rebellions would be diminished.

But it wasn't just her family, that she had lost to the Hunger Games, her friend from school, Finnick Odair, the sensation that he was, had been reaped and won his games, at only fourteen, the youngest ever, he was loved by the Capital, and since winning, and moving to the Victor Village, he had no time for his life from before, no time for her. They had hardly seen each other, his first year, and she couldn't move past the images of him taking those other children's lives' on repeat, in her head.

After her brother, Finnick had taken all measures possible, to avoid the girl, a notable memory, had been a few months after the games, she was working in Shrimps Café, the boy had walked in, and as soon as he layed eyes on her, before either could blink, he was back out the door, she had never seen him in there, since.

She wondered if he felt guilty, since becoming a Mentor, knowing that these people's lives were in his hands, and it was up to him whether they died or became murderers, maybe that's why he had gone out of his way to avoid her, for three whole years, knowing the pain he had caused her and her father, for he had been there too, when her mother was hung, she had spotted him, that day, in the crowd.

Once the seawater had been rinsed out of Cove's hair, she reluctantly got dressed for the Reaping.

She had chosen a pale blue silk dress, that complemented her well, throwing an crocheted off-white sweater over the top.

She did her best to tame her wild blonde curls, but being drenched in saltwater, and bleached from the sun, over the years, hadn't been the best thing for her hair, so she brushed through them with her hands, untangling any knots, letting her hair stay down, to air dry.

She then sprayed her mothers perfume along her body, letting the scent bring back warm memories of the woman, she only ever wore it on special occasions, or reaping day.

Cove sat down on her bed, hugging her stuffed shark to her chest, the one she had since she was a child, as she waited for the time to pass.

The 69th Hunger Games, all those children that have died, for something they had no hand in, it made Cove feel sick at the thought, her brother was one of them, and now, another unlucky twenty three, would be joining him and all the others.

When enough time had passed, Cove placed down her stuffed shark, getting up from her bed, and leaving her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"Dad...It's time." She tried to keep her voice steady, as she leaned against the door frame of their living room, he hadn't moved since she first entered the house. "Daddy, it'll be okay."

"I can't lose you, too." He began to sob. It was the same, every year, since her brothers passing.

Cove holding her father together, as if it were him being sent to his death, each year.

"We're going to be late, it's okay, here, Grap was kind enough to sneak me this." She handed her father a small vile, morphling, she was willing to try anything, to keep her father from causing a scene, or even his death, to this day, they still had eyes on them, after what her mother had done to their reputation. "It'll make you feel better, I promise."

Her fathers red rimmed eyes fell on her, and then her outstretched hand.

He sighed as he took it, unstopping it, and downing the lot.

Cove held her fathers hand tightly, as they walked down to the Square, outside the justice building, together, ignoring the onlookers, and the whispers, from the other residents of district 4.

Cove had worked hard, over the years, to make a name for herself, not the girl who's brother died during the games, or the daughter of the hanged and widowed.

She made friends with every tradesperson in district 4, she took on as much jobs as she could, and even doing volunteer work, for others. Every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, she sang in the Tavern for the people, she loved singing, and apparently, others liked her voice, too, as she always seemed to have good feedback.

Though, Cove was popular with the community, her father had become a hermit, since the passing, he rarely left the house, he was a shell of the man he once was, no one in their district held any respect for him, especially after what he had let his wife do, and then with how his wife had passed.

Begrudgingly, she kissed her fathers cheek, letting go, and pointing him in the direction of where he should stand, in the crowd, as she lined up behind the other children.

"Name?" One of the registerers asked.

"Cove, Cove Tippet." She answered, holding out her right index finger.

The man took hold of her hand, pricking her finger with the little machine, then placing it down, clocking her into the Panem records, once again.

Once she had been processed, Cove made her way to stand with the other 18 year old girls in her district.

"Feel sorry for everyone else" Tampa Riverbank scoffed, beside Cove. "Only one of us here has to be sacrificed, for us lot to go home safe and never have to worry about this, again."

"Well, may the odds be ever in our favour." Cove put on a posh accent, mocking one of the Capitols many motto's, causing a snicker and scoff's from the girls around her.

"Can you see that one, over in the 16's" Another girl had turned around, to ask the two. "Lil redhead."

They followed where she was nodding at, spotting her.

"That's Annie." Cove replied. "Annie Cresta, I think, she's like two years below us, in school."

"Look at her crying and sobbing." Tampa rolled her eyes. "Like, hello, we all have a chance of dying, or surviving."

"Who's the careers, this year?" Cove asked her.

"Uhm... I'm not actually sure, I haven't heard anything."

"If Tampa's not heard anything, good luck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She turned on the girl next to her.

"Come on, you know everything that goes on, around here, You're the biggest gossip in the district."

"Shush, here come the victors." The same girl from in front of them, hissed.

All their attention turned to the stage, watching closely as the previous Victors of District 4 walked it

Mags Flanagan was the only female tribute of their district, that was still alive, winning in the 11th games, having the first ever Victory Tour, Adrian Mississippi, he had won a few decades ago, he was a lean balding man, he mostly kept to himself, no one really saw him around the district, Cove could remember her father telling her once, that his games had been before the second quarter-quell and he never truly seemed to come to.

Max Pompano, had been a couple of years after, she'd spoken to him a few times, though he could come off blunt, and a lil strange, he had always been polite. Oscar Shan, who had won a good ten years ago, had been one of Finnick's mentors, along with Mags, she had been grateful to him, for saving her friend, even if their friendship was no more.

Then, Finnick Odair took to the stage. 

Hushes and whispers could be heard all over the square, Cove was pretty sure she had seen someone's mother faint, when he gave a wave to the crowd.

The girls around her giggled and nudged each other, but she had tuned them all out, her face was blank, as she strayed away from him, as he took his seat.

"Now, now, settle down." The Mayor of district 4 called.

The whole of the district faded into silence, as he spoke.

Cove was still in her own world, as he continued his annual speech, about the Hunger Games, the dark times and the importance of the morals Panem now had.

"And now, our escort, all the way from the Capital, Remus Tacita."

A brightly dressed, and eccentric Man walked the stage, he was dressed in all shades of blue, and wore a wig, that looked as though it was supposed to be representing waves, Cove guessed this was him trying to support the district.

"Welcome, Welcome, everyone, to the 69th Annual Hunger Games, as always, it is an huge honour to be here, once again, and may the odds be ever in your favour" Not even a whisper was heard, in the silence that followed.

"Very well then, now is the time to pick one very brave young man and woman, to compete, this year, ladies first, of course."

The man trotted to the large bowl, containing the name of every girl between the ages of 12 and 18 in the district.

Remus dipped his hand in, digging around for a certain piece of paper, before pulling it out, and holding it high for everyone to see.

He then walked back towards the mic.

Tampa yanked a hold of Cove's hand, squeezing it tightly, with her eyes scrunched up shut, as they waited.

"... This years female tribute is.... Cove Tippet."

Cove clapped her hands, not hearing what he had said, until she realised she was the only one.

"Why's everyone looking at me, who was picked?" She asked Tampa, who was staring at her in horror.

"Cove, it was you." The girl from in front, hissed at her.

"What, no." She shook her head.

"Cove? Cove Tippet, come on up here."

She had heard him, now, the other girls moved out of the way, for her, as a peacekeeper marched forward, ready to escort her.

"Go, Cove" Tampa shoved her forward, into the path up to the stage.

She struggled to find her footing, as he legs visibly shook.

"Come on, we don't have all day." Remus encouraged her forward.

Cove's face had paled incredibly, some wondered if she was going to throw up, or pass out.

With everyone's eyes on her, and the Camera's pointed in her direction, broadcasting all over Panem.

She walked forward, much like a deer, learning how to walk for the very first time.

Cove stared at the stage, as she got closer, it was the last place her mother had stood, alive. And it was where her brother had also been sentenced to his death.

She wondered what thoughts were going through her fathers mind, right now.

As she stood in front of the stage, frozen, not being able to get any closer, Remus let out a bored sigh, to the people, jogging down the stairs, taking a hold of Cove's arm, as if he was helping her, but she could feel the force of him dragging her onto the stage.

"You know what I have just realised." Remus spoke into the mic, as she stood beside him, looking shell-shocked. "Your brother competed, a few years ago, didn't he?" The man grinned.

Cove's head slowly turned to look at him, her mouth was slightly opened.

"Well, let's hope you have some more luck." He laughed. "Right then, moving on, now, time to pick our male tribute." He left Cove's side to go to the other glass bowl, picking out another name, her ally, or her competition. "Lake Osborne!"

Another 18 year old.

She knew him, and they barely interacted with each other, but when they had, it wasn't always pleasant.

Lake fist bumped the air as he grinned widely, practically skipping onto the stage, the polar opposite of Cove.

The mayor took the spot of Remus, as he said aloud the Treaty or Treason, to the district.

"Your tributes of District 4, Lake Osborne and Cove Tippet, you may shake hands." Remus cheered, as he went back to the mic.

Cove still hadn't moved, her eyes hadn't strayed from her father, in the crowd, until she felt the boy grab her hand, yanking it towards his mouth, as he kissed the back of it.

"Get a hold of yourself." He muttered in disgust, as she blinked at him.

They were then ushered inside the Justice building, one of the fanciest places in the whole of the district, where they would get an hour to say goodbye to their loved ones.

Apart from her father, Cove would be rather surprised if she had any other visitors, and she was only allowed 5 minutes with her only other living parent.

But as time kept ticking on, not a single soul had shown up, not until there was only ten minutes left.

"Manta?" Cove stood up, spotting the owner of shrimps Café, and the tavern, a middle aged woman who she had grown to love a lot. "What are you doing here? Where's my father?"

"Honey." She sighed, taking a seat, urging the girl to, as well. "We tried talking him into coming here, we did, but he couldn't, the poor fella couldn't even speak, it's just too much for him, right now."

"What?" her brows furrowed, as her lip started to pout. "He's not coming? He won't come say goodbye to me?"

"He wants to." Manta brought her into a tight hug, cradling the girl. "I know he does, but he's scared it will be his final goodbye."

"It will." Cove sobbed.

"No! Don't you say that." Manta pulled her off, glaring at her. "You still owe me shows and shifts, don't you dare say that, you're coming back home, even if I gotta drag you back here."

"I-I can't survive this, look at me! I'm not a fighter, or a survivalist."

"Look at what you already have survived, my dear, you are a fighter, and you can survive, you will survive. And whilst you're at it, make amends with that lover of yours, when you're both trapped up in the capital."

"Who? What lover?" Cove shook her head.

"The blond boy, Mr Odair, don't think I don't know about your two's history." The older woman rolled her eyes. "I see everything that goes on around here."

"We're not even friends."

"Well, its universal knowledge about how well he's loved. He's your key to winning, so do whatever you gotta, to win him back over, you got it?"

"Time's up." A peacemaker called through the door.

"You get your ass back here, girl." Manta told her, placing something in her hand, as she was escorted out of the fancy room.

"Look after my father, please, Manta!" Cove called after her. "Please!"

Once the door had closed, again, and she had only 5 minutes left, Cove sat back down with a heavy heart.

She opened her palm, where Manta had placed something in it, inside her hand, was a small seashell, attached to some tight elastic rope, aside it sat a small note.

For when you're missing home, give it a lil listen- Ma

Cove brought the shell to her ear, hearing the sounds of waves, and the wind, the noises that would always remind her of her district.

That must be her token, that every tribute is allowed to bring with them.

She quickly put it on over her head.

And then she was being transported to the awaiting train to the Capitol.

Where her and Lake was made to stand in the doorway, letting the cameras get a good look of their new tributes of District 4.

"Smile." She felt a pinch in her back, as Lake muttered to her, with the side of his mouth.

Cove listened, smiling for the cameras, waving excitedly, as she bid them goodbye.

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