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nebulaafterdark · 2 months ago

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Dragonseeds (Pt. 2)

Summary: If any man can claim a dragon, what good is the blood of Old Valyria?

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, smut

Part 1

On the day Y/N Velaryon was born, King Viserys hosted a grand feast in her honor. On her twenty fifth name day, Rhaenyra sends similar gifts to King’s Landing, to feed the smallfolk. News which is ill received by her mother by law, Alicent.

“The King and Queen are missing, rest assured we are doing all we can to locate them, your Grace. Still someone must rule in their stead.” Ser Criston suggests, “a regent to guide us through their safe return.”

“A wise thought.” Alicent nods, “might I suggest myself?”

The members of the small council can hardly answer the dismissal of Rhaenyra’s claim by raising up a woman of their own.

The councilmen are inclined to believe they must first search of evidence of foul play. Though Ser Otto is not convinced. Pulling his daughter aside to scold her.

“These are the very same children who made themselves easy on the morning of her brother’s petition as heir of Driftmark. They are insolent and foolish but they do hold one thing dear and that is the other, and their children. They cannot see beyond their own desires.”

“You wished for Aegon to be king.” Alicent murmurs, “I’ve made him king.”

“I take full responsibility for my part in this, daughter.” Otto sighs, “knowing what I do now, it should have been Aemond upon the throne. He is closer in age to Rhaenyra’s daughter, he would not have been so pliable beneath her unyielding hands.”

“You could not have known for certain.”

“Everyone knew.” Otto admits. “To have Y/N is to have Aegon. He bends the knee to her and her whims because he…” loves her.

“Aemond might’ve fallen prey to her charms all the same. Y/N is not cold, calculated or cunning. She is only a girl, desperate to win her mother’s affection by any means necessary.” Alicent knows the role well.

“I want my mother.” Y/N pleaded with her midwives during her first labors.

Alicent developed a quiet fondness for her daughter by law in those days, more than she cares to admit.

————————————————————————

Princess Y/N and Prince Aegon are made comfortable upon their arrival, accepted with open arms by their Queen and left to their own devices.

Y/N and Aegon know little entertainment besides court…and the familiar comfort of the other. Without meetings to attend and their children still abed, they have no choice but to indulge.

Aegon finds his face between her thighs, drawn in like a moth to flame. Gods, how he loves her. Spelling it out over her pearl time and time again.

“Fuck,” Y/N cries, rolling her hips up to meet him.

Aegon’s hands encircle them, wide and full to bear his children. She finds her peak against his tongue, thighs clenched taut around his head.

They scarcely notice the door of their apartments creaking open until Rhaenyra is in their bed chamber. “Oh!” The woman shields her eyes.

“Mother,” Y/N gasps. Pulling the coverlet up to her chin.

“Forgive me. I thought you might be alone.” Aegon had been given his own chambers.

Aegon moves up toward the pillows, popping his head out from beneath the covers. “Did you need something?”

Rhaenyra huffs, “I need my daughter and heir, yes. We’ve much to discuss.”

“Of course, mother.” Y/N nods, “give me a moment to make myself decent and I will meet you in your rooms?”

Rhaenyra nods, before rushing out to the safety of the nearest corridor.

“That ought to keep her from barging in unannounced.” Aegon muses, brushing sweat damp hair from his wife’s face.

“You find it funny that my mother now knows of our…intimacies?” Y/N snaps.

Aegon chuckles, “I’m afraid she has known, darling girl.” He passes a hand over the swell of her belly. “Everyone knows, I fear.”

Y/N groans, burying her face in her hands.

“Do not despair, my dearest love.” Aegon murmurs, “you have laid your line of succession strong enough that no man may question it.”

Y/N nods, as his forehead rests against her temple.

“At all of five and twenty, you have provided the crown with nearly six heirs.” Aegon reminds her, “you have performed your duty. There is no shame in it.”

“When I was a girl, I thought we’d fly away on dragon back.” Y/N whispers, tracing the lines of his face with her finger.

Aegon smiles, “and where would we go?”

“Away on a ship somewhere, to live off the sea. We’d spend the rest of our days singing sea shanties, eating only cake…and fish, of course.”

Aegon chuckles, “of course.”

“We’d be free of all this.”

“We will never be free of this.” He understands better now, what it meant each time she took his body in her own to create life. The way they unknowingly sealed their fate with each kiss.

“Do you wish to be, husband?”

“I wish for your happiness and that of our children. The rest matters little and less.”

“You matter to me a great deal.”

————————————————————————-

“In your absence, Jacaerys and I have set down a difficult path…where it seems we now differ in opinion.” Rhaenyra informs her daughter. “As my successor, I must now raise the matter with you.”

“Of course.” Y/N nods.

“To stand against Vhagar, even with Sunfyre and Stormborn now amongst our ranks, we will need more dragon riders.”

“Our children are very young, their dragons still wet from the egg. It may be a decade or more before they take to wing.”

“You agree then, something else must be done about our numbers?” Rhaenyra asks.

Jace shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists.

“What do you propose?” Y/N wonders.

“There are many in our line who’ve…ventured outside their marriage bed. Those children have lived largely in the shadows, but they share the blood of the dragon.” Rhaenyra continues, choosing her words carefully.

“Surely there are those from our line who married into other noble houses-”

“We have lost Ser Stephen to such a venture. I fear the blood may be too thin.” Rhaenyra laments, toying with her rings.

“You disagree, Jacaerys?”

“When one of those baseborn, silver haired, dragon riders decide they want to rule the seven kingdoms, where does that leave you?” Jace turns to his sister. “They will leave you clinging to Aegon again, in hopes of becoming Queen. Even then they may question your claim.”

“I appreciate your concerns, you are ever vigilant.” Y/N takes his hand in hers, “I appreciate it more than you will ever know.”

“Of course.”

“I ask you now, brother, what other choice we have?”

“Together with Sunfyre, Vermax, Stormborn and Syrax do you not believe we stand a chance against Vhagar?”

“A chance, yes.” Y/N agrees, “but to put the people I hold most dear in danger for a chance? I can do no such thing in good conscience.”

“You are putting your claim in danger, perhaps your very life. Are you so blind you cannot see it?” Jace snaps.

“Better my claim be lost than any of you.” Y/N says, pointedly. “I want to be Queen. I have wanted it from the time I was a child and it was impressed upon me to want. Clinging to it like some prized possession. I married for it, birthed children for it. I was left behind in King’s Landing when I was no more than a child, to hold my place in our grandsire’s court while the rest of my family abandoned me for Dragonstone. I have given all that I am or ever hoped to be to hold this claim. Still I will choose any of you over a crown.”

“You should never have had to do that.” Jacaerys reminds her.

Rhaenyra runs a hand over her own face. “I did not mean for you to feel abandoned.”

“I know that, mother, and I do not fault you for it.” Y/N assures her, “you do what you must to protect-”

“Cole promised he would care for you, I should never have trusted him. I should have taken you with me, as I wanted. You wrote to me often enough that I forced myself to believe you were happy.”

“Cole did care for me, as best he could.” Y/N assures her, “I only meant…”

“You meant what you said.” Rhaenyra understands, “and rightfully so. I have made many mistakes in this life, most regrettably, with you. They have cost you more than even I understood, until now. Leaving you was the hardest thing I have had to do in all my years. I am sorry for it.”

“Mother, I do not fault you for decisions you made to protect me. You did the best you could.”

“I did not do enough, it seems.” Rhaenyra pats her cheek. “All the more reason I must do what I can for you now.”

“If you believe this is the way, then I will help you see it through.” Y/N decides, “tell me what I must do.”

“Nothing yet, the Lady Mysaria has already sent word to King’s Landing.”

————————————————————————-

When they are excused by the Queen, Jace makes haste towards his quarters.

“Jace,” Y/N calls. “Jacaerys!” She says a bit louder the second time to be sure he’s heard her.

“I wish for a moment alone.”

Y/N closes the distance between them. “I do not pretend to know what has happened here in my absence. But what I will tell you is that when Aegon and I first wed, he would not lie with me. After seeing Helaena birth her twins, he could hardly stomach it. He waited and waited.” Y/N confesses, “I too was frightened of the birthing bed.”

“You were a child.” Jace reminds her, “you’d every right to be.”

“When I turned ten and six Otto Hightower began discussing his fear that I might be barren, with Alicent. This was kept hush, but the whispers trickle down, they always do.” Y/N swallows. “In noble families requiring an heir, it is not uncommon to receive…assistance. They wanted to bring in one of the serving girls for Aegon, if I could not conceive. But before that though, I’d be expected to lie with another in our line.”

Jacaerys can only gawk at her. “And did you?”

“No,” Y/N assures him. “But had I not conceived, it would have been expected of me.”

“With whom?”

“Aemond is my husband’s closest blood.” Y/N averts her eyes, “they knew he could sire children.”

“Did mother know?” Jace demands.

“Everyone knew, Jacaerys.” Y/N huffs, “she was prepared to fight for me, as she always has. But I do not care to admit the number of times I’ve envied you…simply for being born a son. We cannot fault our mother for doing what she must, she is choosing between the lesser of two rotten choices.”

“I could not have done the things you have, I wish more than anything that you did not have to do them. But you are just, in your morals and your mercy. So if you believe this is the way, I stand proudly at your side.” Jace assures her. It never mattered to either of them that different men’s blood courses through their veins. Being the eldest, they are the only ones to ever know. Even sweet Lucerys had no inkling.

“Thank you, brother.”

Taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @kamcrazy123 @barnes70stark

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd smut #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon ii #aegon imagine

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deathbypufferfish · 11 months ago

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#puffer talks #im not saying you need to look inward on past relationships if you pick the first one #but i am worried bestie #puffer poll #puffer legacy extras #i know the top two answers here but im curious #edit: look at the last legacy post FIRST before answering tbh

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 8 days ago

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Amor Fati--Chapter 1: Rattlesnakes

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

CW: Series deals with the death of a parent, and will have smut scenes. 18+ please!

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She knows when to butt out--Maelyn swears she does. But the longer she leans into the kitchen island, listening to Jacob’s never ending rant, the more she watches for her opening. It’s not really her business. But as one of the only two girls to phase in the pack, and considering that she was even in the pack, Jacob’s incessant monologue was her business. Or least, Maelyn made it her business. Because it’s about Bella. Like it always is. If not for Sam’s gag order, which Jacob found a loophole around, it’s now for the fragile reality he’d been living in threatening to crash and burn.

Things were a lot easier when the pack didn’t know what the fucking vampires were after. Not easy for them as the protectors of the land, and therefore by extension the people on the land, but easier in a day to day ordeal. Easier in terms of at least then it seemed like Jacob was really only complaining about losing a friend. Easier in terms of at least when Maelyn did tune in for the latest episode in Jacob’s soap opera the stakes didn’t feel so grave.

“And you’re being way too quiet,” Jake states, slowing to a stop, from his rapid pacing, in front of Maelyn. “I hate it when you go quiet on me. It means you’re thinking. And if you’re thinking, it means it’s going to hurt my feelings.”

“I plead the fifth your honor,” Maelyn returns, teeth snapping the skin of the red delicious apple from the fridge. A bit of the juice dribbles down the corner of her mouth and she chases it down with the pad of the thumb.

“You are one of my best friends, so your opinion is useful. Just…be nice,” Jake warns.

Jacob phased right after Maelyn did. Hers sparked by the incessant messages on her phone from her father when she was twenty minutes late getting home one evening. She promised to call when running late and she did. But her dad hadn’t answered, and he hadn’t bothered to check the voicemail she left on the house phone either. The only reason she had a cellphone in the first place was because of her father’s own paranoia. Not that she needed a curfew at eighteen, nor did she want one. But she was trying to placate her father’s anxieties. The phasing and subsequent discovery of her mother’s lineage being the root cause for such ability only seemed now to be gas on the fire. Nevertheless, Maelyn had practice in keeping her cool, most of the time that is. Jacob’s…much too inexperienced. To him, things had always been easy, and fun. And he was easy and fun, before he phased. Now, the boy sported frowns like he was attempting to earn gold medals.

Maelyn and Jacob grew close over the milkshakes she’d sneak him when working shifts at the diner when he and his sisters would visit. Not that Shannon didn’t know what was going on of course. But still, the secret was nice to have, regardless of how secretive it actually was. Eventually, Jake started to frequent without his sisters and the pair would chat about their days between Maelyn’s fluttered steps to refill coffee mugs, take orders, and serve said orders. It was a ritual that forged their current ability to shoot straight with each other.

“What did your mother tell me? If I couldn’t say it nicely, not to say it at all,” Maelyn returns after swallowing down the last of her thoroughly chewed apple bite.

“Well, now I’m telling you to tell it to me straight.”

“Being nice and telling it to you straight are two different things from me,” she offers. Jake’s persistence doesn’t annoy her. In fact, she’s used to it. He’s always been a bit of an optimist. He should just listen to her for his own sake at this current juncture.

“Lyn, you say this like I don’t know this. Ignore everything else. Just--what’s your two cents, okay? What do you think?” Jake asks. He’s got a few inches on Maelyn. Not that her six foot stature would feel like something to make her short, but with all the rest of the boys hitting 6’2’’ and up, it does leave Maelyn as the odd man out--aside from Leah and Seth. But Seth was still young and would still grow. He is already edging out over Leah and Lyn as it is, it wouldn’t be too much longer before he’d have to start looking down.

And yet, none of Jake’s height matters as he rolls into himself. He’s exhausted. Like they all are. They’ve been on patrols for months, though Lyn had graduated early, she’s still feeling the brunt of all the excess caution. She, Paul, and Sam were taking on extra responsibilities to help the others get used to the change. Jared did what he could to help balance it out too. But there’s no denying how much sacrifice is going into their efforts. And he just looks so small, it’s killing Maelyn. If she says what she’s really thinking, it won’t end well. Not when he’s already worried and anxious.

“Lyn, please,” Jake begs.

She sighs. He’s the only one that gets to use the nickname. And she means the only one. Not even Paul uses it. “You don’t want to know,” she states again and punctuates the sentence with yet another bite to her apple. Maelyn grows lesser and lesser a fan of Bella. Sure, Bella hadn’t meant to cause a vampire to fall in love with her. And truly, if Edward had kept his wits about him there might’ve been more caution about the attacks happening in town. Edward’s gone right now--so displaced rage seems like the only fitting answer.

From behind Jacob, Paul’s head rounds the open edge of the wall that blocks the dining area off from the living room. His gaze is assessing, one brow arched in question. Maelyn knows what it means--if he needs to intervene. But he shouldn’t. If he does, it undermines all their previous efforts to keep their relationship quiet worthless. But she can’t respond, not verbally, so all she does is stare back and breathe. And she hopes it’s enough to keep Paul at bay.

“Damn it, Lyn! Just tell me.”

There’s an edge to Jacob’s voice, a frustration that bleeds into anger. His arms shake. Not a full tremor, just a light quake.

“I don’t know who in the room you’re yelling at, but it better not be me.” Her own face grows hot, chest expanding wide to take in the deep breath to stay calm.

“What is your fucking problem, huh? You’re acting real high and mighty. I just want my best friend’s fucking opinion,” Jake snarls.

“She’s no good for you,” Maelyn barks. The words are effortless, dancing off her tongue in perfect succession. She’s practiced this delivery a thousand times over, cautious and careful in her bedroom mirror or while rolling silverware at the diner. Now, they’re hot and sharp. “She’s no good for you! And you’re no good for her, if I’m honest. She had and will always love that cold hearted vampire more than you. And you can’t even see it! It’s right in front of your fucking eyes and you keep turning away from it. Newsflash Jake, you’re a toy. A plaything for your precious Bella and the last I heard, you were too fucking soft for fuckbuddies.”

The air between them shakes. The room’s hot--though the door’s open to let in the draft. “How does it feel to have mommy and daddy issues now?” Jacob spits.

“It’s better than being a walking emotional dildo.”

“Oh, whoa,” the room around them calls out. But it doesn’t matter. Both of them are locked on each other, nostrils flared, fists clenched. Jacob’s inexperience makes him a hurricane--the winds, and rain are predictable. The anger growl in the back of his throat is the warning.

Maelyn’s a quiet chaos, controlled in ways that even Sam denotes as impressive. She can be lethal. Jake may have a natural talent, but Maelyn has the practice, the finesse. She even has the rage she keeps so neatly tucked away. Unlike Leah, who wore bitterness on her sleeve for the world to see, Maelyn keeps her closer to her chest, right next to her heart.

Maelyn nods towards the open door. “You. Me. Outside.”

She’ll at least spare Emily’s house from the utter destruction. Maelyn’s hotheaded, brash, but not that inconsiderate that she’d destroy one of her few places to escape when things get bad. Her nearly eaten apple thunks into the hollowed trash can.

“I’m not normally a betting man,” Quil starts, “but this would be an interesting match.”

The voices are further away than before, Maelyn’s stride carrying her closer and closer to the door. “Jake beat me. He’s not to be messed with,” Paul returns. “Though, I’m ready to see the little lady put her money where her mouth is. She’s been talking a lot of smack lately.”

It’s a jest, a soft jab that would normally roll off Maelyn’s back when it comes to Paul. She could even give a retort in return. But all she has now is a hot stare. It falls sharply on Paul and he winces. “Or maybe I shouldn’t talk so much,” Paul corrects. The unspoken apology covers his face in a thick frown.

“No, we’re not fighting,” Emily calls out. Her feet thump over the wooden floors. “Mae, you get back in here. We handle this like adults, not like wolves.”

“Hate to break it to you, Em, we are wolves,” Quil laughs.

The stairs creak, though Jake’s stride is steady, his steps are heavy, unusually so. His approach is fast as he jogs down the same steps Maelyn took. “You think this is funny, huh? You think you can go on some power trip and just say whatever the fuck you want to say.” His breath is hot and strikes Maelyn’s face in huffs as he talks.

They stand toe to toe, almost chest to chest. “You asked for it.”

“Bella’s important to me. She’s--I’m being there for her. Like a good friend would be. Like you should be there for me,” Jake hisses.

“She’s only using you! And you’re using her, what do you think we can’t see the petty revenge you’ve got going on. We all dislike the Cullens, but goddamn, Edward’s deep under that skin of yours. He’s not even here anymore. But he’s still so deep in that subconscious, he should pay rent.”

“No,” Jake growls, “it’s because of him that Bella is in this mess. And I’m the only one left attempting to clean it up. So yeah, I think that’s pretty damn important here.”

“And who’s going to be there when she breaks your heart, huh? Who do you think you’re going to turn too when this is all said and done and she goes back to Edward, should he ever return. If he even has the balls enough to come back and fix the mess he made. It’s pathetic. You are. She is. He is too. And so I am, because when you come crawling back, I will still fucking be there.”

“I’m helping her, Lyn. That blooducker has got the hooks in deep, but I’m helping her.”

Maelyn’s laughter crawls up her throat, but it’s hollow as it hits the air. “You’re selfish. Like the rest of us. And you can’t even say his name. It’s two syllables Jake. Just two. Six letters. Say his name.”

“It doesn’t matter what his name is. All that matters is that Victoria is after Bella and that we stop her. So that Bella is safe.”

“No, no, say his name. Say all six letters. Say both syllables,” Maelyn barks. Spit flies out with the harsh consonant sounds. “It’s just one little name. Ed-ward.”

“His name doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Maelyn questions. The words hurt her throat and taste bitter on her tongue. If Edward didn’t matter, if his involvement, his existence is so easily dismissed, then so is her mother. A woman who looked way too peaceful to have been attacked by an animal in the night in that casket. A woman who only was in the wrong place at the wrong time, because of work, because of a damn job that hired a replacement in three weeks. Maelyn hands are up before she can stop herself, palms flat against Jacob’s chest. The shove is hard. It’s clear from the shock on Jacon’s face he didn’t think it would come to actual blows. “My mother fucking matters,” Maelyn seethes. “Say her name.”

Jacob can only stare. He should say something. Should do as asked, but he’s not looking at his best friend anymore. There is nothing left but the rage.

“Say it,” Maelyn commands again.

Though Jacob recovered from the first shove, he still isn’t ready or steady enough on his feet for the second or the third shove that comes his way. His weight tips back and back and right before he lands into the thicket of the trees, Jake captures Maelyn’s wrists. The tears are hot down her face.

Her anger is hot against her flesh; it racks against her bones, rattling at the enclosure of her self control. She just might let it all out. It’d feel nice for one, to let loose every screw. Might she be able to sink her teeth into his flesh, shred at him with her claws. Yet, It is only Jacob. It is only a kid in front of her. It’s only the potential that he says her name, that Jacob utters the reverent sound that holds Maelyn back. It’s a single thread. It’s the last latch on her box of fury. She can feel it shaking—and maybe that’s actually her. She only needs one more reason to let it all go. She only needs Jacob to refuse to say her mother’s name.

The tears and the snarl of her lip are the only things that let Jacob know she’s on the edge. That this isn’t just about her opinion on some crush he has. It’d always be deeper for Maelyn. Her mother’s death was ruled an accident, back before Jacob even knew that the legends were true. Back when he still thought that Paul, Jared, and Sam were hall monitors on steroids, and the world seemed random and unfair. Her mother’s death was just random acts of violence and poor timing before it all unraveled. Vampires had been Maelyn’s mother's end.

“I’m sorry, Lyn. I’m so sorry,” Jake starts.

“Say her name,” Maelyn demands. It’s the last warning. She will not ask again.

Jake’s used to the compulsion that comes with an Alpha order, the subconscious string he’s always carrying. But Maelyn’s simple request carries twice the heaviness of any order Sam’s ever given. Jacob thinks refusing would cause the ground to open up and swallow him whole. That or it unleashes every ounce of Maelyn’s wrath. Neither are suitable options. So he exhales. “Taynee.” It falls in a whisper. It’s two syllables. Six letters.

“And if you ever think I care more about your precious Bella than my mother, you had better hope to God, my mother’s name stops me next time.”

“What’s happening here?” Sam’s voice breaks through the frozen air. He watches Emily’s face, the horror painted in her eyes and worries for a moment if he’s already too late.

“I need five minutes to get ready,” Maelyn answers, breaking the hold of Jake’s hand on her wrists and heading back into the house.

She, Paul, and Quil have patrols next. Everyone watches as she strides back inside. Even Sam, who notices that his own question has been left unanswered, can only take in the slow strut back, as Maelyn stalks back into the house. The bathroom door closes and like a balloon pricked, everyone exhales.

“I really thought she was going to snap,” Quil offers up. But no one takes the bait of his light hearted comment.

Paul slips into the house, catching only just the start of Emily’s retelling to Sam. He knocks on the bathroom door, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one’s spotted his departure. “It’s me,” he whispers against the wood, to let Maelyn know it’s someone safe that’s followed behind her.

“I’ll be out in a second.” Her voice sounds shakier now than it did with Jake.

Paul tries the knob but it stiffens a quarter of the way into the twist. “Unlock the door please, Maelyn.” He gets no response. “Please,” he tries this time, softening the request with, “I just--I want to make sure you’re alright.”

The sink runs for a few seconds. Paul listens for the squeal of the pipes and it barely comes, which lets him know she’s using mostly cold water. The lock clicks first, then the knob and the door peels open to reveal the splotchy red streaks under her eyes and over her cheeks, a hardly noticeable construct to the brown of her skin. Maelyn’s darker than Paul by two or three shades, a byproduct of her Black descent. But it’s just light enough that Paul catches the pink that can flush beneath--as rare as that sight is.

“I’m alright,” she returns, looking back towards the door as she exits the bathroom. A hot pink bra is in her hands. Undoubtedly in efforts to save her good clothes as much as possible the excessive need to phase.

Paul follows behind her towards the laundry room. “Are you sure? I was certain Jake was going to die today.”

“The day’s still young,” Maelyn returns, tossing her bra onto the top of the dryer.

He snorts at the jab and in the safety of the walls that divide them away from the rest of the group, Paul takes her free hands. The tips of her fingers just barely shake in his grasps. Paul takes a moment to kiss her knuckles. “My money’s always on you. But I think you should let Sam make some calls--see if Leah can cover--”

“No,” Maelyn interrupts.

“For you,” Paul continues. “It’s rough, I know, right now.”

There’s several footsteps coming closer and Paul’s not going to risk getting caught. Not if he can help it. He takes a step back, but squeezes at Maelyn’s hand. “Think about it. We’ll be okay for a couple hours until she gets there,” he whispers and then disappears around the corner. The bathroom door clicks closed and Maelyn knows he’s ducked inside. It’s not until the weight of his hold is gone that Maelyn realizes how much the touch meant to her. But the thought is fleeting as she catches Sam’s booming voice.

“Mae, you can switch off with Leah if you need this evening, we can make it work.”

It’s not an order. It’s an offering. But just behind it, Maelyn catches how quickly it could become one. “I’d rather work.” Though her skin is still hot with anger, and she feels like her bones could burst, she knows going home is not an option. “I think it’s safer that I do my shift tonight,” she adds.

Sam sighs, but nods, knowing that sending her home in this kind of emotional state is just as bad. “Fine, but Paul, Quil, if you notice anything just a hair off, bring her back and I’ll tag in.”

The toilet flushes and over the roar of the sink, Paul’s affirmative response comes. He cracks open the door and peers out. “Sure the coast is clear? Pretty sure the weather did not include tornadoes.”

“Well,” Mae starts, “it seems like a wet dog is just in your future if you don’t watch it.” The words come out hotter than she means them too. It is all a joke. Meant to crack through the anger. She knows it but she’s still on the jittery edge. The hairs on the back of her neck are still raised. A hair trigger. Only one more reason to make the leap. Though she’s trying to make it two.

Paul’s crooked smile lets her know that it’s taken with jest. “Anyone ever tell you you’re hot when you’re angry?”

“Gag me with a spoon,” Quil huffs. “I swear sometimes I wonder if the two of you should just sleep together to get it over with, ya know. Spare us this absolute agony.”

“Then she’d never leave me alone,” Paul returns, throwing a soft elbow into her bicep. “Once you have a taste, you’ll want more.”

“Something tells me I’d gag, not Quil,” Mae snorts. Her face is tight. It’s awkward to laugh or to pretend to laugh and hope it sounds real enough. But she knows she can’t sulk for long. She can’t hope or dream of the warm embrace Paul gives. So she settles for the jabs, hoping today it will suffice as a substitute.

She doesn’t think it will. Today as her paws dig into the dirt, all she can think about is how her mother had gone to Seattle for a business trip and never made it back alive. All she can think about is how just a year ago when the news broke, it’d seem awful and random. It’d felt like terrible timing for her mother to want to go hiking. But all that’s a lie. All that is just to cover up the truth about all the things that go bump in the night.

All that was much easier to swallow if she’s honest.

“Jake did ask you to be nice,” Quil huffs, a bit short and testy about seeing the replay for the second time.

“I don’t really care what he asked for. He got what he deserved,” Maelyn returns.

“He really didn’t get anything,” Paul answers. “He should’ve gotten his ass handed to him.”

“Would’ve been entertaining at least,” Quill adds. And if Quil does sense this the apprecation in Maelyn at Paul’s comment, he doesn’t mention it. Quil continues on instead with, “I mean, Bella does seem nice enough. But she really shouldn’t get involved anymore than she is. Too dangerous. If she learns anything else, I worry about the Treaty.”

“We’re all worried about the Treaty,” Paul returns. He looks in the direction Maelyn took and though her thoughts are loud, the catalog of birds, twigs, and prints, he knows that she’s desperately trying to keep herself together. But he leaves it there--with her nose buried in the ground and figures it’s perhaps better Maelyn takes in the miniscule details. He’d hate to see her actually snap.

The winds change direction and the trio take their strides with more caution, stretching ears to catch the faintest sound of anything beyond the scuttle of wildlife over the forest floors. But the shift in wind doesn’t uncover anything. The rest of the evening falls around them with little news. No sickly sweet stench to prick their noses and dig further. By the time the sun begins to crest up, they’re already turning towards the horizon of Emily’s place. All of them keep their heads on a swivel even at the tail end of their shifts.

Paul and Quil don’t slow when Maelyn does. They already know the routine to carry on yards ahead of her and phase first. She’ll come up last after a couple minutes so that she can grab her clothes and phase back too. When their thoughts are gone, when it’s just Maelyn’s own internal voice, she exhales. It comes out in a snort. The relief though is immediate, like muscles under hot water. Maelyn’s never been more pleased to be back in her own head than ever before. She’s not sure how the hell she’s going to face Jacob again. Doesn’t know if she went too far or if she didn’t go far enough.

The limbs in front of her shake a bit and Paul steps over the fallen carcass of a tree. In his hands are her clothes. She’s not sure why Paul’s resurfacing now, though she might suspect it’s because of yesterday. When their eyes meet, Paul grins, a bit of the mischievous cackle falling behind it. “I told Quil to go home. That I’d brief Sam since I know his mom’s on his ass lately. He wanted to wait for you but he’s more scared of his mother--as he should be. Besides, this gives me an excuse to see your tits again. You know, under the guise of protection.”

Maelyn finds most of the gesture endearing. As her bones constrict, snapping back like elastic bands, she sucks her teeth. The world goes from a vibrant hue back down, the glint of the sunrise off the dew on the leaves, to dulled wet gray before it clears back up again, like getting the snow off the TV with a good thwack to the back of it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re flirting with me,” Maelyn takes the stack--still neatly folded like she left it--of her clothes and throws the tank over her shoulder before shimmying into the shorts.

“Damn, you really ought to know me better,” Paul teases. It’s only a stride and a half between them and he closes the distance before she can pull the tank top from its resting place on her shoulder.

They both run the same temperature--but the weight makes all the difference as Paul slithers an arm around Maelyn’s waist. They’re the same height. Though with Paul in shoes, he manages to get over her by an inch. His gaze is warm and sincere on her. If Maelyn had less sense, she might say the look means something more. But she knows, now with imprinting on the supernatural table, whatever they feel for each other is only going to wind up in heartache at the worst. At best, they both make it out with no hard feelings and plenty of stories.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft as he asks the question. He knows there’s no easy answer to it. There’s no reason for Maelyn to be okay. But he wants her to know that he still cares.

“I’m…not terrible,” she confesses.

Paul nods, humming as if to consider if her response is acceptable. Then nods confidently. “I can accept ‘not terrible’ this time.”

Maelyn snorts. “This time, huh?”

“Yeah, this time. Next time I might not. Really just depends on how I’m feeling, if I’m honest.”

Her nails trail up and over his skin, short and the polish chipping but the sensation still sends goosebumps over his body. Paul captures her lips--short and sweet--into a kiss. Their noses brush and Paul presses his forehead into hers. “You really should’ve beaten his ass though. I was about to.”

The laughter is quick as it leaves Maelyn, a tuft of laughter for the small levity of the moment. “No, I want that honor. Since you already lost to him.”

“Once,” Paul scoffs. “And when it comes to you, it matters. I don’t know how long I would’ve lasted on the sidelines of that fight.”

Paul’s good at that, Maelyn realizes. Making things seem so simple when in reality they’re so devastatingly meaningful. To him, it’s obvious. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. But to Maelyn it feels like gravity could be replaced by the sentiment. It doesn’t. It could, though, if they were still just humans. Maelyn’s wondered more than once since this relationship started if neither one of them phased how their paths would’ve crossed. If they’d find themselves growing old together. She’s a little older and they’d really interacted in brief moments back in high school. He hung with a different crowd and Maelyn was looking forward to graduating, moving on to nursing or maybe computer engineering. She wasn’t sure, but if they’d stayed only human, it seems like the answer to her question is a resounding no.

Perhaps, there’s a reward for such exchanges in life.

Her exhale is shaky and she wants to cling to him, though they’re already chest to chest. Maelyn would love to crawl into his chest if she could. But that would never happen. “I think it’d get called out for cheating,” she say, finally shaking lose the thought and worry from her earlier ruminating.

“Well, guess I’m a cheater then,” he returns with a shrug.

Yeah, Maelyn thinks, this could change gravity’s shift. Part of her keeps hoping it will. Her shirt falls, hardly a sound, and more just the sensation of the fabric slipping down her shoulder and back as she wraps her arms around Paul’s neck. The kiss is hot, desperate--so much so that even Maelyn worries it’s too much. But Paul responds all the same, teeth nipping at her lower lip, hands sliding down to her ass.

The forest around them is unbothered. And there’s very little worry in Paul or Maelyn as nips are made at their necks and gasps escape them. It’s easy, too fucking easy, but even as Paul sucks at the juncture of neck and shoulder, Maelyn knows they’re risking more than just hickies. She’s supposed to be home soon. Her phone’s not on her and she can’t let her dad know she might be running late. Sam’s undoubtedly going to start looking soon if they don’t surface. But it just feels all too good.

The risk doesn’t outweigh the reward in the end. Maelyn whispers into Paul’s ear, “We should head back.” It leaves her breathless, but it’s just loud enough.

“Just,” Paul hums, pressing his lips into her cheek now. The dramatic ‘muah’ smack follows it. “One more.” He seals the sentiment with a quick peck. “You’re right. We’re already late and I don’t need Sam on my ass either.”

“It’s a nice ass,” Maelyn laughs, patting his backside twice before twisting in his arms to find her shirt.

“Oh!” Paul laughs. He secures both arms around her waist right as Maelyn just barely gets her fingers around her shirt. The hoist happens fast and it’s not even that strong of a hoist either. But the threads of her shirt catch onto the sharp bark of the fallen log. In all her calculations, she should’ve dropped the shirt. But her grasp tightens and her laughter falls before it chokes out on the snap. The shirt separates, the threads popping as she goes up.

“Shit,” Maelyn huffs.

“Please tell me that was in fact your spine and not your shirt,” Paul hisses against her shoulder. He lowers her down and there, from her fingers rests the tattered gray tank top.

“Unless I have an exoskeleton, that was indeed my shirt.” Maelyn knows the shirt is not salvageable. The front torn right across the chest. Not even enough integrity in the fabric to cover the thought of her nipples.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she returns. And it’s really not his fault, or anyone’s fault either. Just poor timing. “Just a shirt. But, do you think that you could get a shirt for me once we’re closer to Emily’s place?”

“Of course, yeah. C’mon.”

It’s not awkward in the woods with no top for Maelyn. It probably wouldn’t be awkward to come up to Emily’s topless. But the worry bubbles at her gut the closer they get to the house. Paul’s taken up the lead but with the shared height, Maelyn can see what waits up ahead. A red rusted truck. One that she knows the Blacks gave to Bella upon her arrival. There’s not much cover. Paul’s sans shirt, as usual and the trees are a little thin on the edges of the property. There’s very little hiding that can be done.

The silence of Paul is deafening. A calculation he’s undoubtedly making and Maelyn’s attempting to find a less embarrassing solution to this problem too. “Think I’m fast enough not to be seen?” she jokes.

It doesn’t land as well as she hopes by the slight growl that grows up from Paul’s chest. “You could phase back,” he offers.

It’s not worth the headache. And she’d have to strip in order to do that too. “I guess I could leave the bra here and get home, but no doubt Dad’s waiting on the porch by now. I don’t think he wants me to turn up naked unless absolutely necessary.”

“I think this qualifies as absolutely necessary.”

“Paul, it’s just boobs. I mean, it could be worse. I could be totally naked.”

He huffs, and shuffles the half step back to close the gap between them. Her chest brushes against his skin and muscle. It’s no shock how protective Paul’s being right now. She thinks in a reversal, she’d get the concern too. “I’m not liking our odds,” he whispers. There’s movement near the front door and the gift of distance won’t save them for much longer.

“Our odds? Your tits being out is normalized,” Maelyn huffs. “I mean they are great tits though,” she tacks on, moving to take a step around to take a look.

But Paul’s quicker, arm slipping around her waist to push her back behind him yet again. “You can get a look later. Right now, we’ve got two important decisions to make.”

“Which are?”

“If you want to talk to Jake and if you’ll cheat for me should he not take a hint.”

Maelyn nods. It’s the easiest decision she’d ever have to make. A decision she’d make a thousand times over if she had the opportunity to do so. “Call the sheriff now and let him know there’s two cheaters in town.”

The next steps are cautious as the pair navigates the yard. Paul keeps his eyes trained on the open door, praying that no one breaks through the line. Just wait on the inside, he prays. Maelyn and Paul make it to the truck before the prayer shatters. He spots the shuffle of someone closer now and then the shadow breaks from one into two across the floorboards. “They should be back by now,” Jacob huffs. “Sorry about this, Bella.”

Maelyn’s blood freezes. The universe has to hate her. It’s revenge, she swears it. That or it’s Jacob's persistent optimism. Though it was a positive in most situations, right now it was becoming more of a nuisance. They’re too far past the truck now to make cover of it. Maelyn already knows if Bella goes around to the left, she’s exposed. Her and Paul’s frozen steps won’t save her. They are sitting ducks, wading in the open waters and waiting for the final blow.

“Oh, Paul, why are you guys so late?” Jacob asks.

And right behind him, Bella comes out, pushing to the left. Maelyn tries to cover herself, tries to use her forearm to keep herself modest. But it’s rather useless. “Oh, shit, sorry. I’m--sorry!” Bella shouts before spinning around.

“There was a bit of a mishap,” Paul starts.

“Mishap?” Jake questions. His voice comes out panicked and Maelyn’s still too busy watching the shake of Paul’s shoulder to care about Jacob’s shrieked horror when he realizes she’s topless.

Perhaps, there’s a third decision that will have to be made today too.

“Baby,” Maelyn starts, pushing in even further to Paul’s back. She takes his hand and though it slows the tremors, it doesn’t stop them.

“Can you dickheads not fucking stare?” Paul barks.

“Hey, look, it’s not a big deal,” Maelyn offers. “It’s just--”

“It’s just the fact that they’re staring, Mae,” Paul snaps. He turns his head to look at her over his shoulder. His stare is hot. “I knew it would happen. I told you.”

“You were right, okay, baby. But I need you to breathe with me. Because I swear, if you phase, I’ll have to keep my problem and then we’ll both be fucking naked at the end of it all. So inhale, two, three,” Maelyn starts.

It’s a rule. Paul can’t ignore the breathing technique, not quite an order from Sam, but it might as well be. Paul’s committed to this boundary and would rather be struck dead than cross it. He exhales for five. And follows the count for his inhale, “Inhale, two, three. Exhale, two, three, four, five,” Maelyn repeats.

The tremors leave. But the heat of the embarrassment is slow to leave. The worry now takes the place of the anger. Sam corrals everyone back inside and it’s enough of a command to allow Paul to walk Maelyn into the safety of the laundry room with Emily.

Emily would shoo Paul away, tell him to give Maelyn some privacy. But he is already doing that. He stands at the door, back turned, arms folded and she wonders if he’d fight to stay there should she push the matter. Perhaps, it’s best to just let it be as she digs into the baskets of clean clothes she hadn’t folded yet.

“Okay, but did no one else catch the way Maelyn addressed Paul as ‘baby’ or are we just going to act like that didn’t happen?” Jared snickers from the living room.

“Shut up, Jared,” Paul hollers.

Maelyn winces when Emily produces a t-shirt. Maelyn’s easily twice the size of Emily. Not that Emily was tiny, just normal. What Maelyn wished she was so desperately at times. “Hope you’re not too attached,” Maelyn quips.

Emily laughs. “I was looking for an excuse to let it go. But if that doesn’t work, the only thing I’ve got left are a couple of shirts from Sam.”

Maelyn sizes up the shirt. It’s a woman’s medium at best and looks like it’ll snap just in her hands. So Maelyn hands it back. “I think if I were to choose your shirt, I should just stay topless.”

Emily snickers and takes the black short sleeved t-shirt. “Fair.”

In the end, Maelyn slips into Sam’s white undershirt and when she faces Paul again, still standing guard, she sighs. “I’m sorry,” she whispers knowing the pack will not let either one of them rest now that the secret is out about them dating. The group’s ruckus from the living room is hopefully enough cover. “I was just worried about you.”

Paul takes her hand without even fully turning around. “I appreciate the worry.” It’s all he says, but he does smile, thumb brushing over the back of her hand as they move towards the kitchen.

Bella’s gaze is shifty and her cheeks are pink when she looks back at Maelyn. Paul and Sam debrief rather quickly. However, with her hand intertwined with Paul’s, Maelyn knows she’s not leaving without him any time soon. Now that the truth is out there, there’s less concern about having to be careful. It’s a nice feeling to be able to share this closeness with Paul openly, but Maelyn knows all the glances aren’t always friendly.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Maelyn calls out to Bella. “No one knew, so it’s not even like you could’ve done anything differently.”

“Still,” Bella stutters out. “I’m really sorry.”

“Consider it a story to tell when you’re older,” Maelyn offers. It’s the best she can offer. It does make an interesting story at least.

Bella flinches at the statement and though Maelyn goes to offer an apology, Jacob interjects. “So, Bella, sorry for the strange introduction. But Lyn’s been a friend for a while now. And I’m hoping that-”

“Ready?” Paul questions, cutting the spill off before it starts. Jake takes a step forward, mouth still primed to say more.

“I’m late getting home because of the, well you know,” Maelyn relays to Bella. “But it was nice meeting you.”

“Nice-nice meeting you too. I hope we can talk more next time,” she offers.

It’s only a nod. Maelyn’s not going to lie. But she’s not going to be rude either. She leads Paul out, hands still intertwined as they go. They throw a parting over their shoulders and take the stairs down two at a time. Their feet don’t even hit the grass before Bella’s voice floats out, “She still seems pretty upset.”

“She’s just stubborn. I’ll talk some sense into her,” Jake returns.

Could Maelyn’s mother's name save Jacob twice in twelve hours? She’s ready to carry herself back up the steps, ready to prove to Jacob just how stubborn she is. But Paul’s hold is strong.

He nods her forward, away from the house. “Go. Your dad’s already on a thin rope.”

“You don’t have to save me.”

“I know. Because we’re both cheaters,” he winks at the mention. “But I need you to go home. Your dad, okay. Just go home, please. I’ll take care of this.”

It’s not lost on Maelyn that Paul’s own father is probably not pleased at his tardiness either. But Paul’s never seemingly been worried about that fact. In fact, Maelyn’s sure Paul does everything he can to avoid being at home, much like Embry. She should get home, she does like having the freedoms she does get. Maelyn squeezes at Paul’s hand. “Call me when you get home, okay?”

Paul nods. “Have I ever missed a call?”

“Never.”

“And I don’t plan on it. Now, go. Home.”

She’d love to kiss him, but she’s beyond late. Maelyn begins to wonder if it’s better just not to show up at home at all. But she nods, and spins, carrying herself down the dirt paths back to her house.

“Let’s try that again,” Paul bellows into the house behind her. “Yeah, you Jacob. Try it again.”

Paul will have hell for that, sticking up for Maelyn. But he has no reservations about it. He’d do this again and again, if he could. Hell, he thinks he’d love to do this, being in Maelyn’s corner and having hers in his. It’s been easy, natural like they were always supposed to do this. But it itches in the back of his brain that it’s not really meant to be like this forever. If it was, they would’ve imprinted on each other. Yet, still Paul doesn’t think this is fighting fate. Maybe they’re meant for something else in each others lives. Maybe soulmates are more than just imprints. But he doesn’t dwell on that long. It’s never spared him, ruminating on what life will hold for him and Maelyn. They had the present and that’s all that matter. Though, Paul’s not sure what could be stronger than the realization that he’d be happy if his life never changed and no one else came after Maelyn.

Maelyn’s jog slows when she catches the sight of her porch steps. On them, her father sits and it’s never a good sign. If it weren’t for the exhaustion, she’d be more prepared, but all she can huff out is the half hearted, “Sorry. Sorry, I’m late.”

Her father stands, holding her phone up into air. “Aren’t you supposed to call if you’re going to be late?” his voice booms. “And where’s your shirt? You said you had patrols? Were you with Paul?”

“My shirt got ripped on a log, Dad.” Maeyln holds out the tattered ends as proof. “Then Jacob brought Bella over. I just--I lost it on him before my patrols and things have just been seemingly not going well yesterday or today.”

“Lost it? I’m going to lose it. You’re supposed to call me if you’re going to be late.” Her father’s voice breaks on the words. His hot stare crumbles and the truth culprit of anxiety rears its head.

She understands. The anxiety isn’t helped by her lack of communication. Anything could be happening. He’d be powerless, a simple human in the midst of the supernatural. A cellphone is his only defense. Maelyn keeps her hands up, shirt tattered and dirty from the forest floor. “I’m really sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, but I am sorry.”

He drops the cellphone into her hands. “Next time don’t let Paul make you forget this.”

“You love Paul,” Maelyn counters. She can’t tell her dad otherwise that it was a torn shirt. And even if it is true that the shirt tore due to Paul’s action, that wouldn’t save her either.

“Yeah, I’d love to go a few rounds with that boy. Get inside and shower. I know you’re in his shirt.”

“It’s Sam’s,” she counters but carries up the steps.

“I don’t really care,” her father huffs. “Just get inside. You’ll be lucky if you’re allowed to your shift later today with this act.”

Maelyn takes the loss, knowing it’s temporary. She’ll make it to her shift at Shannon’s tonight. With the loss of her mother, the shifts are a godsend. Any compensation from the company’s check after the loss of her mother has gone straight to keeping food in the house now with Maelyn’s new found change. Besides, she knows that her dad will believe her eventually, but she doesn’t try to push her luck. Not for something that in the long run may not even matter.

The inside of the house feels too small, and there on the coffee tables the photoalbum Maelyn can’t bring herself to touch anymore. The empty slot makes it too heavy. All but that photo had come back with her mother’s personal affects after she’d been identified and returned home. Her father still looks through the couch cushions, in old filing cabinets. No police precinct or morgue’s ever called to say they’ve found it either.

Maelyn ignores the rants of her father still filling the space with hot hair and goes to her bedroom. There, still on the bed is the pile of her mother’s old clothes. Her father left the box on her floor three days ago with the warning to pick what Maelyn wanted to keep before the rest got donated. Her pile is mostly sweatshirts with the necks cut out entirely or into V’s, so now the item fits baggier which are the only things Maelyn can fit now thanks to her growth spurt. Though, she did sneak some t-shirts just because they still smelled like her mother.

The box is now gone and only the pile remains. She should wash them, and had every intent to, but couldn’t bring herself to put them in the hamper, so on the bed they went.

“Don’t go closing doors in my house,” her father huffs, cracking the door open to her bedroom. “Breakfast will be ready soon if you’re hungry.”

She always is at this point, so she only nods. “Okay.” It’s the only thing that won’t start another fight. Her mother would’ve listened, would’ve wanted to hear about what had prompted Maelyn to lose it on Jacob. Her dad would’ve too, but now he’s too far gone in his own grief to seem to understand what Maelyn wanted to say to him.

Maelyn can’t lose her mother three times, she knows. But as she presses the sweatshirts into her chest, she fears she could lose to a washing machine.

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paytato435 · 1 year ago

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Art for Chapter 6: Pink!

"Do you even know who the President is?”

“I plead the fifth,” he shifted nervously in his seat.

“And what is the fifth?” She asked, checking her phone and propping her feet up onto the table.

“It’s probably better than pleading the fourth?”

Angel has captioned her picture : HE'S HOMESCHOOLED. WE'RE DOOMED.

I started this piece on Sunday and just became absolutely obsessed with these two. I love their poses, the expressions, THEIR HANDS. Y'all I do not fuck with hands and I'm so proud of them! I spent around seven and a half hours on just the sketch for this, whereas the other chapter art I've done before would usually take 2-4 hours lmao. Don't ask where Casey's legs are, because I actually drew a background this time. They are in a library! And I'm drawing shoelaces again too.

THEY ARE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR. LOOKIT CASEY HE IS SO DUMB. HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. I will scream about these two ALL FUCKING DAY. If anyone asks I will share other doodles I've done of them GLADLY. They are my EVERYTING.

#rottmnt #my art #casey jr x angel #casey sas au #snapper and stinkpot #rottmnt fanart #casey jones #rottmnt casey jr #rottmnt fanfiction #angel bridge #rise angel #chapter art

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viejonardo · 9 months ago

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Uhhh. I plead the fifth. Insomnia plus headache=no sleep. Did eventually pass out at around 3am.

-sock

the math checks out! she’s innocent your honor

next time you should watch some of those carpet cleaning videos with just the NASTIEST rugs you’ve ever seen. where the video is over 30 minutes long and they have to destroy an ecosystem to get to the rug underneath. ugh it’s so disgusting. i love it

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armoricaroyalty · 2 years ago

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7, 21, 67, 86, & 98 for … you decide :^) and / or emily🦩

i pick emily because it's her turn on the main character machine

7. Does your oc collect anything? What about of knowledge or facts? How big is their collection?

Emily collects "fun earrings." I do not always have her in fun earrings, but I try to more often than not. Her collection is as large as the number of fun earrings I have in my mods folder.

21. Is your OC expressive, or would they rather conceal their emotions? What are their typical expressions like?

Emily has a fairly flat affect, but she's not necessarily good at lying or hiding her feelings. Her typical expressions are 😐🙁😕 and 🫥

67. How many people does your oc prefer to be around? A crowd, a few friends, or all on their own?

Emily is very introverted. Generally, I think she'd prefer to be on her own, but I imagine, given the opportunity, she could learn to tolerate (or possibly even enjoy?) the company of others.

86. What would someone assume about your oc based on their appearance? Would those assumptions be correct?

Your honor, I plead the fifth.

98. Is your oc the type to have a lot of fairly good friends, have a small group of close friends, have one or two best friends, or have no friends at all? Who are they closest to?

Expanding on the answer from 67...Emily doesn't socialize much, but she's very close to her father. I think she was pretty lonely throughout school.

100 oc questions -> accepting

#armorica asks #ask meme #nexility-sims

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irresistiibles · 21 days ago

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was that jessie mei li? oh no no, that was just princess zelda, a canon character from the legend of zelda. they are twenty five years old, use she/they, and are not aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here

she believes she's been here a few months. zelda's probably under the impression they arrived here in august or july of this year, right before the school term started

what is your character’s job

she's partially a history student and partially a foreign dignitary from a country i will determine! at some point! i will say she's mostly based on breath of the wild and tears of the kingdom.

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom

your honor i plead the fifth. come back to me when she's aware.

has any magic affected your character

memory loss and while i wouldn't say any of her abilities are sealed, since she's unaware of them i wouldn't say she's able to use anything regarding the triforce of wisdom.

any other info!

she's the only child of a political leader back in her home country, and as such has always grown up with a really strong sense of responsibility, and a lot on her shoulders.

it's not necessarily something she's minded, and they've certainly had enough time to get used to it, but zelda has always had in interest in academics and history and putting her mind to that over politics

hence why, when given the chance to come to washington to finish their studies, along with the reasoning that there were plenty of politicians and she could work to strengthen family ties there, she was more than happy to go.

she's generally pretty kind and well meaning, perhaps even a little self sacrificing. she's accepted they'll wind up in politics regardless of interests and has a very strong sense of duty. i would say generally, zelda is pretty curious, eager to learn, and easy to get along with

but that completely disregards the moments in which she can be extremely difficult to deal with.

zelda does not do well with failure! she is extremely hard on herself, and will jump to assumptions about how other people feel about her. god forbid you are in the general vicinity when something is going wrong for them between the embarrassment and assumptions you are instantly a potential enemy for zelda.

they are absolutely defensive and prone to lashing out, but also can eventually realize she's in the wrong, and even if there isn't an outright apology her behavior will definitely get better, but the process of making zelda understand she's wrong is also something

loves for things to be planned and organized, and know exactly how things will happen. less of a fan of making a plan and having one small thing not go how she expected.

they're excited to be away from home and explore the city, learn a lot of new things, and the duty party will drive her to making whatever connections will help her family, even if they aren't as emotionally interested in that.

pretty play it by the rules, things are supposed to happen in specific ways, doesn't like being caught off guard sort of person

plots ideas:

a roommate or neighbor. she definitely lives in a nicer area, and doesn't need a roommate for rent, but would want one for the whole experience

a guide of sorts around washington. could be a random friend she made or someone with business or political connections that zelda's family reached out to

some casual school friends would absolutely be welcome

park/hiking friends. they're used to more open areas and will be going out a lot in washington.

museum buddies are also an easy possibility.

accidental enemies? like i said zelda jumps to conclusions and gets embarrassed easily so maybe they just saw her mess something up and now she's got a completely unnecessary chip on her shoulder about it.

some sort of political or business connection she doesn't really get along with but she's forcing herself to try and neither of them are happy about it

#hw: intro #( intros && zelda )

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benjaminalphabet · 4 months ago

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isn't there so much comfort in your lack of intelligence?

play the fool to plead the fifth,

you don't have to admit to any crime you don't understand.

you can say what you want when your words mean nothing at all,

but isn't it better if you never speak up?

your silence is not like the rest,

your silence is profound and heavy.

the boy who cried wolf, but no one came anyway.

in chains you plead immaturity, but were still held accountable.

how is that fair? how were you to know any better?

there's merit in your thoughtlessness,

you earned your stupidity.

you learned the hard way to learn nothing at all,

so now idiocy is yours to clutch with white knuckled grip.

isn't there supposed to be power in knowing you know nothing at all?

you play dumb so that you can play dead.

when she comes to collect you, you pretend you didn't hear her,

she slipped your mind, it's not your fault -

if she chose to be so smart, then she should have known.

dumb blue and red boys can't speak, so you don't have to either.

damn the linguists, you don't care about language or telecommunication.

you were taught in playrooms and code words.

you love your strings, melodic and puppet,

all you know is what's there for you to play with.

isn't there so much comfort in that limp?

you can never be expected to move too quickly, or climb any stairwells up to a damsel tower.

you're injured forever, veteran's pass,

you were wounded and you have the scars to prove it.

they can shake their tired heads, and sigh, and rot in their expectation,

but they never saw the frontlines of a silver knight in shining armor,

so you can do what you want.

you can't go home again, you lost that right,

but dammit, you earned your freedom on that battlefield.

this badge of honor, bloody wounded sarcastic soldier, is yours forever.

so screech like a crow when they try to pry that splintered cane from your hands,

beg you to walk, to stand, to hold something gentle in your hands without being coarse,

cause you weren't supposed to be told to move on.

the painkillers are yours; any kind you want.

you earned that girl waiting outside your hotel room door, you paid for her, and told her on the first night:

you always read the poets, but you don't believe what they say;

and she agreed to the terms,

and there's no point in being coy about it-

all you know is kicking and screaming, war tactic, survival strategy.

what are you to do with doves? what are you to do with petals?

hope is too fragile,

and you don't have time for paper cranes or making wishes, cause there's nothing you want anyway.

things that die are born with their migration patterns built in,

but you were never given that luxury.

so limbs and wings be damned to heaven;

you love your lame foot, and your sweet little precocious hell,

safe here on the playground.

dummy || 9.6.24

#my writing

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frcturedelora · 5 months ago

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the warmth of the sun’s first rays diffusing across your face, sleepless nights followed by endless cups of tea, the stillness of a forest just before a predator strikes, an ember dancing from a roaring bonfire, and the crackle of electricity in the air promising a storm.

ELORA ELENWEYR / SHOPKEEPER OF THE WILDFLOWER WELL / SILVER ELVHEN

[ biography ] ☓ [ skeleton ] ☓ [ interactions ] ☓ [ playlist ]

&. BASICS

full name: lady elora of house elenweyr

nicknames: el, lora, lory (rare)

age / D.O.B.: 30 / 12.30.2993 AC

gender / pronouns: cisfemale, she/her

sexuality: pansexual

place of birth: lórien’dal

&. MORE BASIC INFO

ability: probability sensing – the ability to sense the success or fail rate of her next movement

languages: common tongue

occupation: unintentional owner of the wildflower well

weapon of choice: hand-carved cherrywood recurve bow

tattoos: a tulip sprig on her tricep in honor of her mother, acquired on her travels

&. PERSONALITY

zodiac sign: capricorn

mbti: isfp

likes: flowers, painting, reading, studying the origin of languages

dislikes: loud chewing, self-importance

bad habits: picking at her nail beds

secret talent: archery

hobbies: painting, gardening

fears: war

five positive traits: loyal, charming, witty, patient, creative

five negative traits: stubborn, cynical, secretive, sensitive, haunted

&. BACKGROUND

tw: death, blood doe-eyed with vibrant auburn hair that tumbles down her back and a smile that would be enough to set the most frayed of nerves at ease, elora elenweyr sees more than she tells, hears through lies, and feels more than she shows. she remembers the rough edges of parchment in the middle of the summer, the moment her mother cradled her in her arms and pleaded for her stay, and the black dread of weathered scales. above all, she remembers colors. ⇒ full bio here

bold which habits your muse has

&. HEADCANNONS

her ability of limited intuitive precognition allows her to sense the success or fail rate of her next movement. thus, her tactical strategy is deeply tied to her perception of a situation. she tends to rely on instinct quite heavily, even if it may be at odds with what one might think to be a logical decision. it’s not infallible, and she will still pursue a choice that has a higher fail rate if the risk is worthwhile. she works best in a support role within a party, providing the team with judgements on whether an action would be beneficial or detrimental.

she has a pegasus companion named archesios. a gift from her grandsire, the stallion has been with her for as long as she can remember. pegasi are seen as a symbol within the elenweyr family, an ode to their elvhen heritage and it was considered a point of pride to successfully hatch one. when the obsidian egg hatched on the girl’s fifth birthday, she and the colt became inseparable. archesios grew into a lean, seventeen-hand stallion, his coat is dappled grey with a deep ebony mane to match. he takes on the same mannerisms as his rider, particularly in his curiosity and tendency to wander. the stallion is timid, as elora was before she first made her way into the feywilds, and the silver elvhen sports a scar just above her chin from a tumble from the pegasus when she was twelve and ten. as it stands, she would not have made it out of the feywilds were it not for archesios.

when she first set out, it was to sate her adventurous spirit and serve the silverlands, however, the years revealed more about herself than she ever anticipated. she already had a difficult time grasping the judicial role her family holds in lórien’dal, given that she rarely believes matters to be as clear-cut as her father sees them. since exploring lysara, that belief has only been strengthened; a loaf of stolen bread is both lost profit to a baker and sustenance to a hungry family. still, she has seen what can happen when diplomacy fails, and justice isn’t dealt accordingly. as much as she misses her home, she’s not disappointed to not be called back yet. despite being a cynic to her core, elora wants nothing more than to make a difference, a real one.

elora has a habit of picking at her nail beds. it was a nervous tick when she was growing up that went away once she started feeling comfortable in the feywilds. it returned in full force after the death of the twins, and she’s only just now starting to get it back under control. she does her best to hide it, but those closest to her would notice. similarly, a result of living in the feywilds is that silence makes her uneasy. she’d much rather be surrounded by noise than left to her thoughts.

her mother’s once mischievous nature was not lost on her, and she has been known to bend the rules from time to time. however, she would deny it to anyone who accused her of being anything short of law-abiding.

#intro.#iii. & you fall 𝚊 𝚜 𝚕 𝚎 𝚎 𝚙 when i put a 𝐬 𝐩 𝐞 𝐥 𝐥 on you; – musings

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theroyalspiderart · 9 months ago

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AO3 Questions Tag Game!

I got tagged by @squish--squash. Thank you so much! I'm glad you thought of me!

I Tag: @neon-virus and @xmajordumps And any wonderful person who wants to hop on the wagon!

1- How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently, only three. One drabble and two actual fics. (One sadly left behind BUT I do intend to work on it again)

2- What's your total AO3 wordcount?

About 9,527 based on current fics. Actually a bit lower than I thought it would be, I should fix that.

3- What fandoms do you write for?

Currently it's Cult of the Lamb and Splatoon! Specifically bouncing off Splatoon 2 and into 3. I don't have a lot of things I'm a big fan of but maybe that will change in the near future! I'm getting into more games so I might pick up another.

4- What are your top five fics by Kudos?

Also pleading the fifth only because I'm no longer in the fandom for most of the fics sadly

5- Do you respond to comments?

I would like to more, yes! I don't get a lot of comments so it's hard to do, but if I get more I'd really like to!

6- What fic have you written with the angtiest ending?

A fic I haven't posted before actually. It's more of an on-going/living story so to speak. A story of trauma, pain, trying to make up for said inflicted trauma, coming to terms with never being forgiven, and knowing this character has actively fucked up that life beyond repair. It's real nice to have around for pain~

7- what fic have you written with the happiest ending?

Currently have plans for both my CoTL fic Death's Forbidden Love and my Splat fic Why Do I Hate You So? (Soon to be renamed) to both get happy endings! Of course there is angst along the way. What can I say? I think they deserve to be happy

8- Do you get hate on fics?

Dunno, never had someone actively tell me before :V

9- Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I need you to understand that is like the majority of my personal writing. I want to estimate a good like.... 80-90% of personal writing, be it RP or for myself, is either primarily smut or has some element of it sprinkled in.

As for what kind? Yeah, you'll have to kill me to get that answer. My main page is SFW but if you know me, You Know.

10- Do you write crossovers?

Not any more, but I used to all the time! Back when I was on Wattpad I want to say like 5/7 fics were all crossovers of fandoms and oc/canon stuff. It was a lot of fun. I think my most popular ever was a goofy Hetalia/Aliens fic I made. Don't ask me where I got the idea, I couldn't tell you.

11- Have you had a fic stolen?

ACTUALLY YES! Still pisses me off, but a fandom friend stole one of my drabbles and posted it to her account. I think it's dead now and you can't find it any longer but it did happen!

It was a small friend group and I was like- in middle school. I've done my wailing about it.

12- Have you had a fic translated?

Nope, but it would be nice if someone did! If they like it enough to translate it, I'd be honored!

13- Have you co-written a fic?

Sadly, no. Unless you count RP stuff turning into OC lore, then maybe. But in literal terms? Nah.

14- What's your all time favorite ship?

Oh this one made me think.

I'm gonna have to go with 3/8 from Splatoon simply because of my own ship pair of them. I adore these two a lot and all the growing they've done as characters together.

15- What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My personal Paracosm's story tbh. There's no set storyline for the world and it just exists in the back of my head like a DND campaign. I want to do it justice one day and turn it into an actual story and REALLY REALLY flesh it all out.

16- What are your writing strengths?

I'm often told that my characters feel like real characters. Not in like, they're made by a professional, but more so in the way they feel like they've had solid personalities. My personal favorite compliment I got was from a teacher in my high school. He'd commented on my lead at the time and how, despite my clunky writing skills, she felt like a living breathing person he was being told all about. Like a long lost friend.

I think this rings most true in my current writings of my version of Narinder. I've gotten a LOT of compliments about him and it makes me excited to write more! Hopefully if I can polish my skills again my whole cast will feel this way!

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Pacing. By god is my pacing TRASH. I'm getting some more work on this with my friend's help and just getting back into the flow of writing again. I'm hoping to reawaken my middle and high school self cuz that bitch could bang out 3,000 words a day for fics.

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Mixed. An actual language? I don't trust my translation skills to be that solid. Small phrases I can do but definitely not full on conversations.

A language I made myself and am currently attempting to flesh out more? Oh you bet your sweet bottom dollar I'm writing whole SCENES in that shit!

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Funnily enough, Sonic. That's where a lot of my creation started as a kid and where my Paracosm kind of spawned from. Despite having never really written a fic for it before, I consider my first "comic" to be that fanfic. AKA 10yo Spider was having a blast writing their characters being besties with the canon crew -fingerguns-

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

Gonna be Death's Forbidden Love. It's my most ambitious writing project in years and has reignited a part of my love for just making stuff. Plot still isn't solid but I really enjoy the things I have planned and I hope to share more of this silly spinoff with everyone!

Thanks again for tagging me Squish! This was a lot of fun and brought back some good memories for me.

#ao3 tag game #spider chatter #fanfic stuff

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gemscales-and-tea · 1 year ago

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Uh-oh, the cops are here! Quick, what are your muses’s crimes and why are they totally-not-guilty-Your-Honor?

Totally not guilty of seducing several cops and then stealing from them. She's too rich to need to do that~

Absolutely not guilty of intimidation and threats. Look at him, he's just a wittle guy

It was not assault. He absolutely had consent to bite that man's neck!

Assault and battery?? Why officer, he was only defendin' his'self that's all! They were gonna eat him otherwise!

Being too damn charming? He pleads the fifth!

He's guilty of everything and he'll CUT YOU TOO--

#asks #not even gonna try to throw all the character tags on here #only a handful of them

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irenedubrovna · 4 years ago

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Lmao we almost made it to home base Jeanette truthers. Then they decided they wanted to make a season 2. Keep it.

#IM OUT I LOVE KATE LOVE THAT SHES BI AND ALLA DAT #BUT I CAME TO CORRECT AND NOW THAT IM NOT I PLEAD THE FIFTH YOUR HONOR #cruel summer

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ptergwen · 3 years ago

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i just finished watching the end of one of the nwh interviews on repeat solely cuz tom is so handsome and his voice was so endearing… do u think u could write smth where he’s flirting w reader during an interview and she’s getting all flustered and just AH

w/c: 704

warnings: one swear and tom being a little shit

a/n: a concept i absolutely adore! omg i’m so sorry for the wait but whew nwh press tom was something else entirely i hope i did him justice and that u enjoy <3

“you’re looking in the wrong camera, darling. it’s this one right here,” tom chuckles and points straight ahead. “oops, my bad. i didn’t see you there,” you wink at the correct camera filming you and tom.

you’re beginning your first round of interviews for the day to promote the latest installment of spider-man. this one is just you and tom, which is always a treat. you get your boyfriend all to yourself. he tends to take advantage of it on the rare occasions it happens, with his constant touches and stolen glances at you. it can be quite distracting, throw you off your game.

not today, though. you won’t let him have it.

“hey, guys. it’s tom holland,” tom introduces. he gestures to you. “and y/n y/l/n. we’re here to answer all your burning questions,” you continue. “about our new movie, spider-man: no way home,” tom finishes for you, bumping his knee against yours. “ladies first,” he prompts you. “what a gentleman,” you sigh dreamily, grabbing your pile of cards with the fan questions.

“let’s get into it. what can you tell us about the movie?” you read off. “nothing,” tom deadpans, earning a giggle from you. he smiles at that. “no, yeah. we’re gonna have to plead the fifth on this one,” you concur. “you’ll be happy we did. you can thank us later,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “basically, peter’s life goes to shit,” you hint. “like it wasn’t already,” tom jokes.

he flips over a card next, his features holding amusement.

“what was your favorite scene to shoot together and why?” tom asks. his eyes lock with yours. “our last one ‘cuz it was finally over. i’ve had enough of this guy,” you tease.

“interesting. i’d say our big kiss, for the obvious reasons,” tom casually reveals. “spoilers!” you gasp, a grin threatening to form on your lips. “oh, there’s always a kiss scene,” tom defends. “little behind the scenes fact, i kept messing up the shot on the day so we’d get to redo it,” he speaks to the camera.

“shut up, you did not,” you widen your eyes, using your cards to hit his knee. “i did! i saw the opportunity, and i took it,” tom insists. your face becomes hot under his gaze, which trails down to your lips. “and here i was, thinking you just sucked at your job,” you play it off.

tom’s eyes find yours again. you lose yourself in them for a moment. one of his hands settles on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. you chew your bottom lip as his fingers dance over the fabric of your dress.

“your turn,” tom murmurs. you squint in confusion. “the questions, darling,” he reminds you. “mhm… the questions, yeah,” you repeat to yourself. he retrieves the next card for you with a smirk. “um…” you clear your throat, sitting up in your chair.

tom hands you your card. you pass him a grateful smile.

“iconic characters from previous spider-man franchises make a comeback in this film,” you start, glancing over at tom. he nods as he listens on. “how does it feel to be able to bring them back to the big screen?” you read.

“oh my god, i mean, it was so special. i think i speak for all of us when i say we’re so honored to have been able to work with…”

you trail off when you feel tom’s hand on your cheek suddenly. you shoot him a look.

“you’ve got a bit of lipstick on your… hold on,” he lets out a laugh. his thumb swipes over the corner of your lips. “i almost have it,” he swears, leaning in.

he sets his cards down in his lap and grabs your shoulder. he draws you closer to him, his breath fanning over your face. your lips part instinctively as he wipes away the smudged lipstick.

“there you are. gorgeous as ever,” tom announces once he’s done. his fingertips caress your cheek softly before leaving your face. “go on, that was gonna be a good answer,” he encourages. “thank you,” you mumble, bringing a hand up to your cheek. it’s all tingly. “i, uh, where was i?” you wonder.

goddamnit, you folded.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years ago

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The Tremont Tempest: Chapter 2

At first you thought the notes were cute.

They always showed up when you needed them, sliding under your office door after a grueling long day or finding them as you unlocked your office door. You had asked the secretaries in the front office who they were from but everyone pleaded the fifth. There were multiple students who could be responsible for the short, positive messages hand printed on plain copier paper. It could be a group of them or just one. Out of the five hundred students in the school, you had taught almost all of them in the previous years.

You had a file in your desk where you kept notes, cards, and letters that students and sometimes even parents sent to you. You pulled them out when you had a rough day, doubting your skill as an educator, and read over the outpouring of support and praise. It helped center you, encourage you, remind you why you got into this profession in the first place. And even though the current notes dealt with your performance as the Dean of Students and not as a teacher, they reminded you that you were not meant for an office but a classroom.

A knock at the door early one morning disrupts your search for a box to contain all the notes. Captain Duarte, Mike, you silently correct yourself, is standing in your doorway. You toss a smile over your shoulder as you wrestle loose a decorated photobox from one of your many unpacked boxes. “Morning, Captain.” You check your watch. It’s just barely six thirty. “You’re here early.”

He had been at the school for the last month, around the same time that the notes started. You had been afraid that he would only show up a couple times or hand this off to one of his detectives but you have been surprised at his dedication. He is there most days, only called away when his attention needs to be in meetings down at the precinct. Other than that, he is a consistent presence in the hallways and cafeteria. The students are starting to get to know him, many of them engaging with him in conversations. There are a handful of seniors who only speak to him whenever there is a disagreement with a teacher or peer.You both had tag teamed more than one poorly behaved student over the last month and you liked him having your back.

“I was hoping we could go over some files and you could give me some input on the kids.”

You nod towards the chair across from your desk. “Of course.”

He drops a small notepad on your desk before taking the seat. He pulls a pair of dark framed glasses out of his pocket and motions towards the photobox with them. “What’s that for?”

You sit down across from him and put the box off to the side of your desk. “Someone keeps me leaving notes and it’s starting to fill up the file I have in my desk drawer so I thought I would keep them all in a box. You, uh, wouldn’t happen to know who’s leaving them, would you?”

He slides the readers on, perching them on his nose, and shakes his head. “Nope.”

You bite back a sigh of disappointment. You’ve worked with him enough to know when he is telling the truth and when he’s joking around. His answer was honest. You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit a part of you had been hoping it was him leaving the notes. You both have the same goals, want the same things and that’s to make your borough safer. Finding someone who has that goal and hasn’t burned out in five years is rare. It also doesn’t hurt that you find him quite handsome, with his dark eyes, wavy hair, and dimples. It’s the first time in a while that someone has caught your attention.

You sign into your computer and pull up the student database. “Alright, who are we looking at today?”

“Merissa Valdez.”

“A junior, Honors student, GPA is 3.8.” You frown. “What makes you think she might be mixed up with BX9?”

“We just collared her older brother and two cousins for drug possession with intent to sell. I wasn’t sure if they were grooming her or not.”

You pull up her attendance even though you didn’t need to see it. “She has two absences, one for illness and one to attend a grandparent’s funeral, this year. And she was just chosen by her teachers to be student of the month.”

“Do you have any concerns with her?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Good,” he crosses her name off his list. “How about Luis Courtney?”

“Ah, Luis. He’s a semi-frequent flier down here but for fairly minor things.” You click on his discipline record. “Electronic violations mostly. Arguing with teachers when they tell him to put his phone away. Skipping out of study hall but not the content classes.”

Mike makes a note. “Could be doing business and that’s why he’s getting bent out of shape over the phone. I’ll keep an eye on him. Can I get his schedule?”

“Of course.” You download the pdf of Luis’ schedule and send it to your printer. “Anyone else?”

“One more, Jonathan Caban.”

That brings you up short. “Jonathan? You’re sure?”

He takes his glasses off and hooks them on the collar of his shirt. “Yeah. You know him?”

“Well, he’s Dr. Caban’s son for starters.”

“I figured. But I’ve seen the crowd he hangs out with at lunch. Talked to a couple of his teachers who are concerned about his grades. Even the coach said he’s missed a couple practices.”

You tap your fingers on the desk, wondering if you should tell him what you know, things that Dr. Caban had told you recently behind closed doors. Mike’s a cop, you remind yourself. He’s used to hearing sensitive information and keeping it to himself. “This isn’t common knowledge but Dr. Caban and his wife recently split up and are going through a divorce. That could explain the behavior.”

“And the teachers don’t know that?”

“Dr. Caban is a private man. He doesn’t want that information spread around the school. I’m the only one that he’s told so I would appreciate it if it stayed between us.”

He nods. “Got it. I’ll still keep an eye on him though. BX9 looks for kids like Jonathan, home life up in the air and looking for a solid family group. Since his father is the head principal of the school, he has clout and more money then the kids they typically target. He's probably top on their recruitment list and they’ll promise to fast track him if he joins.”

“Jonathan is smart, hard working, and talented. He already has a scholarship to NYU and Penn State in their medical programs. It would be a huge hit for the school and our community if he went down the gang route.”

Mike stands up and pockets the notepad in his jacket. “Well, I’ll keep one eye on Luis and two on Jonathan then.”

“Thank you. I really mean that. Dr. Caban was my mentor teacher when I was student teaching. He’s the reason I’m here. If we can do anything to keep Jonathan out of BX9’s grasp, I’m willing to do it. On a positive note, we’re already starting to see less disciplinary actions being taken up here in the front office. So you’re making a difference, even if you’re not getting very far with BX9.”

He smiles at the gratitude, his dimple appearing in his cheek, and he motions to the photobox. “Those notes you keep getting, you want me to figure out who’s writing them?”

You give it a moment of serious thought. It would be nice to know who’s been kind enough to leave you these notes but ultimately you shake your head. “No, I kind of like the mystery of it.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

“Will do.”

He leaves your office and you set about to organize the notes. There are quite a few, probably about twenty. You count them out before putting them in the box and there’s closer to thirty. If it’s a group of students, then that’s not worrisome. But if it’s one person, that might raise some flags. But it’s contained to your workplace. It’s not like they know where you live. Someone knocks at your door and it’s one of the front office secretaries.

“Hey boss, the Delgado’s are here for your seven o’clock meeting, eight teachers called out and we have five subs to cover their classes, and bus 43 is running late.”

“Tell me we have some good news please.”

“The vending machine guy is coming today and promised to put cherry Coke in the soda machine.”

You lean back in your chair. “The day is saved!”

Like most days, you go from one meeting and crisis to the next until you’re able to grab your cherished cherry Coke at two in the afternoon. After a quiet fifteen minutes, the end of school day meetings start again, and then the paperwork that follows those meetings. You sign off on eight behavioral referrals, still a small amount compared to the start of the school year. Once everything is done and signed, you close down your computer, clear your desk, and gather your belongings.

You live about eight blocks from the school and walk to and from the school daily. It’s almost dark by the time you’re outside so you stop by the local market to grab a roasted chicken and some potato salad for dinner before making your way home. You’re tired and hungry by the time you slip your key into the three deadbolts and let yourself into the two bedroom apartment. As you step through the door and turn on the light, a white piece of paper catches your eye on the floor. Setting your things down, you pick it up and turn it over, wondering what your cat had managed to knock off your desk. But it’s not a bill or card.

It’s a note.

You deserve more than just cherry Coke.

This is a little uncomfortable. Slipping notes under your office door or putting them on your desk is one thing. Having it slipped under your apartment door means they know where you live, what apartment you inhabit. You realize most of the students probably know what building you live in but you doubt any know your actual apartment number. You remember Mike’s offer to help track down who’s leaving the notes and you pull out your phone, opening the messages app.

But is there any harm being done? Has any law been broken? It’s not a threatening note, none of them have been. It’s probably just a well-meaning, socially awkward student who doesn’t understand social expectations very well. What good would it do to send a police Captain in charge of the gang unit to break down the door of a teenager just trying to make his teacher’s day better?

Shaking your head, you put the phone back in your pocket and move through the dark apartment. You put the food down on the kitchen counter and turn the light on in the small area. That’s when you see it and your blood runs cold. Another note, propped up against a bottle of wine and two of your glasses sitting next to it.

Here’s to a relaxing evening! Maybe one night I’ll join you. Cheers!

You forgo the text to Mike and call him directly.

***

Mike Duarte doesn’t think the notes are cute.

He had done a quick count, making a mental note of when those slips of paper made their way into your office. At first it was a nice gesture, but after the sixth or seventh one, Mike started to get suspicious. In his line of work, especially with gangs, some attention is fine but excessive attention means you’re being targeted. Nothing good ever came from being targeted. There was a side effect, however, to his worries, something that he had thought he had been able to put behind him when he came out from being undercover. He apparently is wrong.

The dreams have started up again. The bloody, messy memories of being undercover, the mistakes that had been made, the absolute clusterfuck that had ended that assignment, are haunting him once more.

He’s on his third whiskey when the phone rings. He’s surprised to see it’s you. Despite being friendly, chatting over student files and cups of Ramen that pass as lunch, you’ve never once texted or called him outside of the workplace. The fact that you’re calling now sobers him up slightly as he answers the call.

“H-hey, uh, Mike, I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He can hear the warble of fear in your voice and that helps him sober up immediately. “You’re not disturbing me. What’s up?”

“I, um, I came home today and, uh…you know what? I’m sorry. This is dumb. I shouldn’t have called-”

“You found a note under your door.”

You sigh heavily on the other end. “Yeah, I did. But there’s something else.”

He’s already standing up from the couch and gathering up his keys and gun. “What else?”

“I think whoever it was, got into my apartment.”

All his senses go on high alert. “What makes you think that?”

“There was a bottle of wine and a note left on my kitchen counter.”

At first he thought whoever is leaving you notes was doing something kind and encouraging. But then he started asking around and found out that you are the only one receiving those notes. No other teacher or administrator is receiving them. That is why he offered to look into who was sending them this morning. It only enforces what he already suspected: you’re a target. For what, he doesn’t know yet. But now he is determined to find out.

“Don’t touch anything, especially the wine bottle and note. I’m on my way over there now. Speaking of, where am I headed?”

You give him your address and he realizes you’re two blocks away, in an old historical building near Arthur Street in Little Italy. He tells you he’ll be there in under ten minutes and asks if you can wait in a neighbor’s apartment. He stays on the line with you until you’re safely in the apartment across the hall from yours and only then hangs up. He’s halfway to your apartment when he calls a number he never thought he would ever call. Three rings and the line picks up.

“Benson.”

He bits back a chuckle. “What, no Captain?”

There’s an exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone. “What do you need, Duarte?”

He knows about the BX9 attack on Benson, and had gone up to Manhattan SVU to get her victim statement. He knows the plan of her and her team coming to the Bronx SVU to help sort out the backlog of cases. He knows that she may be the only person to convince you of the severity of your situation. And he knows that he cares about you because making this call, admitting he may need some help, is a bitter pill to swallow.

“How soon are you going to be in the Bronx? And before you get on your high horse, just know this about a possible stalking case.”

“Stalking? Why don’t you just kick it to the local precinct?”

“Because I don’t know who’s doing the stalking yet, if it’s gang related or just your regular neighborhood weirdo. I would call the Bronx SVU but I don’t want the feds handling this.”

“Okay. Who is it?”

“She’s one of the principals at the high school in Tremont.”

“Ah, the one you let you into the school to do recon.” Benson pauses. “Why do you think it’s not gang related?”

He can see your building and scans the sidewalk for anyone out of the ordinary but doesn’t see anything alarming. “This isn’t typically how BX9 does business. They don’t drop off bottles of wine in your apartment with a handwritten note.”

“Someone got into her apartment?”

“Yeah. I’m walking in the building now to check things out.”

There’s a beat of silence. “I’ll be at the school tomorrow morning around 9.”

#mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you #svu fanfiction #captain mike duarte

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