#she shows up once the sun goes down to bother him about finding out what nico is up to since she's forbidden from interacting w/ him

[happyk44]

overprotective big sister bianca showing up inside percy's room in the middle of the night, waiting for him to wake up at her presence hovering over him, then screaming, "YOU LET HIM RUN AWAY?" when he does

percy and his emotional support neglect ghost

[reidsrambles]

Something More and Second Chances

Chapter 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader // Second chance

Description: You're stunned when your former friends with benefits shows up at your new job—and nearly a decade after you ghosted him. It turns out, he works in the same building, and he definitely hasn't forgotten about you. Will your apologies be enough? What happens if he does forgive you? Does time truly heal all wounds? (Content/Warnings below the cut)

Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI], smut, friends with benefits, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, condomless sex, IUD birth control, mention of abortion (in the context of being on the same page prior to sex), riding, soft dom M, praise kink F.

This fic is quite emotionally heavy, and both Spencer and Reader delve deep into past traumas. None is current. If any of these topics may be triggering or upsetting to you, please skip this one: child abuse, child abandonment, attachment issues, foster care, adoption, CPS, bullying, trust issues, mental health issues, misunderstandings, ghosting, and Reader mentions that she possibly committed emotional infidelity in the past, thinking about Spencer while with another partner.

A/N: This is my (very late) fic for @imagining-in-the-margins's FWB challenge! Life's been a bit crazy lately. Your girl now has a boyfriend who takes up a lot of her time. 🥹👉👈

Names used: Baby, good girl

Words (this chapter): 1,706

Words (total): 12,462

There’s only one person you had hoped to never face again in this lifetime, and he’s standing a mere twenty feet in front of you.

You hear him before you see him. His laugh echoes off the walls of the large, airy library, and the normal hushed murmur goes silent in response. Working the front desk today, you have nowhere to hide. 

A flush sweeps across his cheeks as he scans the room. A few people at tables nearby lift their heads but lower them just as quickly. Nobody can be bothered to care. Nobody except you.

As you wait for his gaze to fall upon your face, time lags to a snail’s pace. An inescapable cataclysm of fate. 

This must be punishment for some unspeakable crime committed in a past lifetime. Or maybe this is just karma biting you in the ass? It has to be. How else could he be here? This place is locked down like Fort Knox. 

He bounces on his feet, looking at the floor. Left, right, left, right. He was never that good at staying still, especially when nervous. An FBI badge dangling from his belt loop catches your attention as he shifts. A firearm is holstered at his hip on the other side of his body.

He belongs here. 

“Okay, Garcia. Well, I just got down here, so I’ll call you back once I find it,” he says quietly. 

Realization crosses his face as soon as his eyes land on you. The thump of the kick drum in your chest rattles your body, and everything in your peripheral fades until all that exists is him.

He presses his lips together and slides his cell phone into his pocket.

The last time you saw those lips, you traced the crease of his dimple with your finger, without hurry. Early morning sun. His sleepy smile. He was so happy. The soft, thin cotton bed sheet draped over your naked bodies, and Spencer looked at you like you were his everything; his worshipping stare turned you translucent. 

The light caught his face, and the blue-green of his eyes glistened with an auric sheen. As you watched the dance of color, a vice grip tightened around your rib cage. In that one brief moment, something clicked within you. 

How hadn’t you seen it before? 

A newfound clarity painted him maroon. A flag waved in warning. That was the morning you left without another word. That was the morning you had to accept that, for his sake and yours, you’d never be able to see Spencer Reid again.

This has to be some sick joke. 

You snap out of your daze and look at the new Academy recruit standing in front of the desk, still patiently waiting for an answer to his question. “I’m so sorry about that. I had completely lost my train of thought,” you laugh, trying to maintain your professionalism. 

“So, on the lower level,” you continue briskly, “is the law library. That’s where you’ll find law books, periodicals, and any government documents. Those have to be used in-library, though, and you can’t check them out. Older, more sensitive documents—and anything requiring special authorization—are kept in climate-controlled, locked storage, so you’d have to inquire with one of us regarding any of those items. The 2nd floor is where we keep any books designated for leisure reading. Other than that, if you need help to locate anything, you can come ask me or any of my colleagues.” 

Wow. Practicing that little spiel in the mirror like the dweeb you are did actually help.

You beam a smile at the kid, no older than his early-20s. To your relief, he thanks you and walks away. 

You don’t have to wonder if Spencer recognizes you. He hasn’t looked away yet.

The library’s front desk is a stocky, rectangular enclosure, dwarfed by the grandeur of the sunlight-soaked atrium. The large skylights battle it out with the building’s air-conditioning, and even though it’s a cool fall day, you have to continuously blot the dampness from your forehead to save your makeup. Suddenly, you’re far too warm for your usual blazer, though. You stand and drape the jacket over your office chair.

Still warm as an oven, you pass behind your coworker, Sarah, the other librarian working the front desk with you today, and place a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m going to be right back. Can you cover for me for a few?” you whisper. 

“Only if you cover for me later so I can get an extra smoke break in,” she says, not bothering to look away from the email she’s writing.

You shake your head. “Sure, whatever. Fine.” 

A half door built-in to the large, rectangular desk is all that separates you from the rest of the library. You walk, but Spencer remains parked until you look at him, finally acknowledging him. You jerk your head to the side, gesturing for him to follow you, and his feet finally start. 

Ironically, you met Spencer in a library. Loving parents funded your English Lit degree and living expenses—not that you ever lived anything but frugally. All through undergrad, you worked in the university’s library, pushing your little book cart around and putting things back where they belonged. All your paychecks went straight into a savings account. Your parents would eventually tire of you, and you’d be left high and dry, you’d assumed, though you never let that thought escape your subconscious.

“Who’s the lanky nerd in the corner?” your new 18-year-old, first-year coworker whispered far too loudly. She had a bad habit of being extremely blunt, you’d quickly learned. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “He’s been here most days either working or reading. Doesn’t seem to have any friends. Joann said he’s some freaky genius on his 3rd PhD, but he always puts his own books back, so I’ve never had to deal with him.” You grabbed another book and returned it to its home on the shelf, hoping that if you didn’t look her way, she’d drop the conversation. Quietly escaping into your own thoughts while shelving was your respite. It was serenity… Until she showed up.

“Hey, freaky genius guy,” she whisper-yelled, somehow getting his attention, “my coworker thinks you’re cute!” 

Yeah, she only lasted two weeks in that position before the librarians had enough of her antics.

You mouthed an angry and confused “What the fuck?” to her before going to apologize. He was so awkward, but he did try to keep the conversation going. An enigma. Maybe the loner didn’t want to be so lonely? In regular chats, you learned a bit more about the guy. Though, on the surface, you had very little in common, you and Spencer ended up being better matched than previously thought, and you became fast friends. 

The conversation shifted from classic literature to niche science topics that shouldn’t have interested you, but his passion was infectious enough to capture you. He taught you how to play chess, and you’d sneak over to his table mid-shift to get a few turns in at a time. You always lost to him, but you liked the challenge and started skimming chess books at the library for different plays. One day, he related something in the conversation to Star Wars. When you admitted to never having seen any of them, it led to the first of many movie nights at your place. He showed up with his personal copy of A New Hope and a big bag of popcorn.  

Those horrid two weeks of babysitting the coworker were good for something, at least. It was strange, but nice, to have a friend.

Beep, the card reader chimes. The green light flashes, and you push into an empty conference room of the library. Spencer follows you inside, putting a solid five-feet of distance between you.

“Hi,” is all you say. The forced chirpiness of your customer service voice is on its last legs, only a single word into this conversation. A trip to the gynecologist for a pap smear would be more fun than a conversation with a man whose heart you smashed into a million pieces like a fucking coward. 

Spencer gestures to the badge on your lanyard with a flick of his head. “You, uh—work here?”

Taking the badge between your fingers, you quickly examine it. Your mugshot-esque headshot and the required stone-cold expression are in direct contrast to the radiant smile and cheery disposition you paint on while at work. You’ve seen FBI badges on TV and in the movies, and even though yours signifies you belong to the Library and Information Services department, it still feels odd to be wearing it.

“I do, yeah. Just started two weeks ago, actually.”

He nods, rocking back and forth on his heels. Your performative amiability slips from your grasp. False pleasantries won’t work with Spencer.

“Look,” you add, “we don’t have to interact after this, if you don’t want to. One of the other librarians can help you or check you out when you stop by, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“You’re a librarian?” he asks; less like a question and more like a stunning realization. 

After you left Spencer’s apartment a decade ago, you packed up the essentials and drove eight hours home. You took leave from school, but you’re sure classmates and acquaintance assumed that you dropped out, and with only a few months left of your degree. You didn’t just cut contact with Spencer; You cut contact with everyone. 

“No,” he continues, “it’s not that. It’s just… I have so much I want to say and no idea how to say it all. I obviously wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

You keep your focus directed at the sting of your nails pressing into your palm as you attempt to steady your breathing. Work isn’t an ideal place to be crying, attempting to apologize for all the pain you caused. 

“Do you want to grab a coffee sometime and talk?” you ask sheepishly. 

“I happen to be free tonight after work, if that’s good for you?”

“Yeah, I think I can make that work,” you nod, flashing him a shy smile.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

AO3 | Tumblr | Masterlist

[dancingtotuyo]

drabble. what's that i see?

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: a unexpected discovery brings Joel acceptance.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, grief, acceptance, fluff?

Notes: no beta, we die like Gabe, Chris, and Paul.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 865

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

The sun still sits below the horizon when a hand roams over your middle and the scruff of Joel’s beard scratches your neck. You don’t bother opening your eyes, a half-assed whine leaving your lips. He chuckles softly. “Just obeyin the rules, Sweetheart. About to head out.” He kisses your cheek. 

You crane your head back, eyes opening to small slits. He smiles at you. “Be safe,” you barely manage to say. 

Joel nods, minty breath hitting your lips as he kisses you. It’s soft and gentle. It feels like a lazy morning spent in bed, meant to lull you back asleep. “Always.” He kisses your head. “See you at dinner.” 

He stops in the doorway, looking back at your sleeping form. You're seven months along now, well rounded in your middle. Your ankles and fingers are swollen. He’s noticed the slight waddle develop in your gait as well. It all makes him smile. 

You’ve been taking things one day at a time, but neither have you made any preparations for when the baby gets here. No crib. No clothes. No discussions of a name. You still need time, even though the window rapidly is closing. 

Joel thinks about it silently sometimes, especially when he can feel them moving about, the small grunts that leave you when you get a fist to the bladder or a foot in your lungs. What will the baby look like? Will they have your eyes? His smile? Will it be a boy or a girl? 

You’re unconscious before the bedroom door clicks behind him. 

Patrol has picked this neighborhood over a hundred times in the last decade, but Joel and Tommy still stop. They still rummage through a couple houses. As time goes on, people have had to get more creative. Things that once seemed useless have renewed purpose. 

Joel hasn’t been in this house before. It’s a single story. Three bedrooms by his calculation. He rummages through linen closets and dresser drawers while Tommy goes through the kitchen. He finds a couple towels. They have a few holes, presumably from moths, but they can be cut down for rags. He finds a couple bars of soap still in boxes shoved to the back of one. 

The last door is stuck. He puts his shoulder into it twice before it gives way. His breath catches the moment he takes in the space. Dust floats around, flickering in the sunlight from the intact window. A crib sits in the corner, covered in dust. The sheets are faded with tiny pink flowers and the walls painted in pastel pink. 

He takes in a deep breath, blinking back tears. It’s eerily similar to the pink he’d painted Sarah’s walls right after her birth. He’d painted it over with purple a few years later once she expressed her preference. It brings forward a whole slew of emotions that he hadn’t realized were bubbling under the surface. 

What if you were carrying a girl? Would it feel like he was replacing her? Rationally, he knew that wasn’t the case. Ellie had carved her own spot in his heart. So had Carter. Would this be different? Would biology make a difference?

Joel clears his throat, pushing away the moisture from his eyes. It’s extra dusty in here, he reasons. 

There’s no closet in the room. He opens up the dresser. Once again, Joel freezes. Light muslin swaddles miraculously untouched by time. One has little yellow flowers against white, and the other has bouquets of pink flowers that match the sheets. They each have a solid color pair to match. He picks them up, expecting them to disintegrate in his hands, but they don’t. They only release little puffs of dust into the air as he shakes them out. 

The last one catches his eye, purple butterflies. Tears gather in his eyes again. There’s a tugging in his heart. Joel has never thought much about what comes after this life even before the outbreak when there was time to do so. So much of his life has been spent focusing on survival. Wherever Sarah might be, he knows she led him here. He turns around half expecting to see her smiling at him from the corner. 

It’s empty, but he still imagines her there. There’s no doubt in his mind you’re carrying his daughter. It’s a surety in his brain, and for the first time, he’s okay with the idea of a girl. Hell, it might be the first time that he’s truly at peace with this pregnancy. She won’t be a replacement or a placeholder for Sarah, but the little sister she spent years begging for. His heart will grow, create a new space just as it did for Ellie and Carter. He knows that because he can feel her telling him that. 

Joel nods to the empty corner clearing his throat. He wipes the moisture from his eyes, shoving the swaddles into his backpack. The drawer of clothes isn't as preserved but he manages to find a few options untouched by two decades of moths and other insects.

He carefully tucks the items into his pack. He’ll give them to you when you’re ready. 

[llamagoddessofficial]

Idk if someone else has already asked this, but what about a Birdtale au? Like Sans, Red, and Skull are either wild birds or live in an aviary or something like that. They would probably try to preen Mc and sing her courting songs

I did a harpy au ages ago but the recent fanart by @iridescent-serpent has made my 'i love birds' brain go AWOOGA. We're doing it again, folks; zoo edition this time.

Big, clawed, dangerous and scary bird monsters living in a big aviary since they have a habit of hunting down people.

Sans: A beautiful owl harpy with steely grey, blue and black markings that help him blend into blue-toned darkness. Since he's mostly nocturnal, he has two modes: day mode, and night mode.

In day mode spends pretty much every hour napping in his aviary, enjoying whatever patches of sun he finds; he's very cat-like, and he's worked up a reputation of being lazy thanks to his constant napping. Staff can actually go in and out of his enclosure if they're quiet, which is a big deal for a species as aggressive as a harpy. It's important they keep their distance from him to avoid disturbing him, though... he's tired, but he can still lash out with deadly precision. At night, he really acts like a cat. He's hunting, he's active and terrifying, he attacks with the intent to kill. You hear nothing, you see nothing, not even his eyelights. He blends in so seamlessly with the night that nobody dares go near his enclosure, there's few things as dangerous as an owl harpy at night.

... However, Mc is the exception. Like always. When she's around in the day, he'll sleep through pretty much everything she does. She isn't food or a threat, so why get up? He'll sleep even if she goes right up to him and grabs his wings- which she sometimes has to do, when she's looking him over for injuries or signs of illness. She does all of his medical checkups, and he seems to like the touching, if his purring is anything to go by. And at night, he just uses his incredible silence and camouflage to get up close and steal her keys. He has an eye for shiny things, and a taste for her flustered attention when she looks for him to get her shiny things back.

Red: Red is a big, stunning bird of prey harpy. Something resembling a hawk or eagle; and he's got the hawk foul temper, with a habit of biting and slashing at anyone who encroaches on his territory (enclosure). But a running joke at the aviary, in the same vein as that guy who's 'married' to a crane, is that Red is Mc's husband.

Red is an aggressive harpy who likes to hunt and fight. But he's also a showoff, and apparently, a complete romantic- he's made it clear that he's decided Mc is his mate. He lets her into his enclosure, and he shows all the courtship behaviours under the sun... he displays and shakes his wings, brings her gifts, puffs his feathers up, preens her hair, nuzzles her face like they're knocking beaks. He even sings, and tries to initiate dances.

For Mc, it's a balancing act of what behaviours she does and doesn't reciprocate. She doesn't want to give him ideas, but he gets really cranky (and won't eat) if she totally ignores him. She's learned she can ignore his attempts at dances or nuzzles without him being too bothered- but she absolutely has to accept his gifts, and let him preen.

Harpies, especially hawk harpies, have one mate for life. As much as the other staff tease her for being Red's one true love, nobody can deny that his affections make everyone's lives at the aviary much easier.

Skull: A massive beast of a bird, with a wingspan tens of feet wide, he resembles one of those massive alpine vultures- thick snow-resistant plumage that's very soft to the touch. He once lived a solitary life high in the mountains, so he isn't great with people or other birds, but he has to stay at the aviary because the same incident that caused his head injury also gave him a large scar down the back of one wing that leaves him unable to fly for any longer than a few seconds.

Despite his penchant for gutting people with those giant claws of his, he's very soft and docile with Mc. He's also a highly curious beast- he follows her around his enclosure like a puppy, observing whatever she's doing... he also likes observing her, his face often only a few inches from hers as she works, always letting out a thrumming coo of delight at her presence. He's very soft, and since he used to live in a brutally cold environment he instinctively dislikes the sight of her being cold and is always trying to pull her into his arms to keep her warm.

His only issue is his 'sulking'. When he gets upset that she's leaving, or he thinks someone else is getting too close to the two of them, he likes to pick Mc up and fly/climb to the highest perch point in his enclosure. His wing might be injured but he can still flap, and his time in the mountains made him an adept climber. He'll sulk as high up as he can, squishing her close until he can be food-bribed into letting her go.

[bluebearbasket]

Sooo I have a scene idea for ShikaHina, specifcally Shikamaru and Hinata during their academy days.

Basically, Hinata is quietly studying under a nice tree outside. However, her eyes are drawn away from the her notes as she sees Nara Shikamaru, one of her classmates that sits nearby her in the academy approach the tree with a bored look on his face. She nervously asks Shikamaru if he needs something, and Shikamaru just shrugs, saying that the tree is the best for napping and lays down beside her. Hinata blushes, wringing her fingers nervously saying she can leave if he wants to nap here, and Shikamaru, eyes closed, just says "It's fine, you're pretty quiet anyways." Hinata takes it as a compliment, smiling softly, not saying anything else and going back to studying. 

After what seems like an eternity, Hinata goes to softly stretch her arms, careful not to bother the boy beside her, but finds he's already looking her. Hinata startles a bit, blushing apologizing for disturbing him. Shikamaru just shrugs, saying she didn't, and asks her what she's studying. Hinata explains she studying her clan history, to which Shikamaru sighs, with a classic "what a drag..." But lifts himself up to see what part she's on. Hinata moves closer to show him, as she senses his thinly veiled interest, despite his outward demeanor. Shikamaru hums reading over her notes, his eyes piqued with intrest over the healing and medicine section as he mentions he didn't know their clans collaborated on that, he only knew vaguely about the Nara's history in it through his mother. The pair continue in peaceful, with the occasional comment on the subject and the scroll reading at hand. 

After sometime, Shikamaru notices Hinata's eyes drooping a bit as she rubs one of her eyes to focus back on her notes, he smirks, amused at the sight (which despite himself, finds kind of adorable) he comments that she has been studying for a while and could take a break. The tree's a pretty nice place to nap (he would know, he was napping before lol). Hinata blushes at being caught getting sleepy, and worries about her notes flying away while she does. Shikamura rolls his eyes good-naturally saying that, he's here so she doesn't need to worry about that. Hinata hums, already eyes drooping again as she leaves against the tree trunk. She softly thanks Shikamaru and dozes off lightly. 

Of course, as for timing, a light breeze passes by and nearly sends the papers flying, but Shikamaru had thankfully already prepared for that, and caught them before they flew away. "How troublesome," he mutters, but nonetheless folds them a put them in his pocket for safe keeping. He also lies back on the trunk relaxing, sparing a glance to Hinata once more, a small smile on his face pleased she's resting. He knows she's been studying like crazy recently for the upcoming exams, if she's not going to look after herself, he suppose, as troublesome as it maybe, he help her out in that regard, just a bit.

Maybe it could go something along the line of this:

~~~

A Quiet Pause

Bluebearbasket, August 25th, 2024, ~900 words

Hinata sat quietly under the shade of a large tree, the afternoon sun filtering through its leaves, casting dappled shadows on the pages of her notes. The academy grounds were peaceful, with most of the students having gone home for the day. She preferred this quiet time, where she could focus on her studies without distraction. But today, her concentration faltered as she noticed a familiar figure approaching. It was Nara Shikamaru, one of her classmates, with his usual bored expression. 

Hinata felt her heart rate quicken slightly as he drew closer. She wasn’t used to being approached, especially not by someone like Shikamaru, who she never really interacted with as he mostly always napped through class. She wrung her fingers nervously, trying to think of what to say.

“Um… Shikamaru-kun?” she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “D-Do you need something?”

Shikamaru stopped in front of the tree and gave her a nonchalant shrug. “Nah, just wanted to nap,” he replied, his tone casual. He glanced at the tree, then back at her. “This tree’s the best spot for it.”

Before Hinata could respond, he plopped down beside her, stretching out on the grass with a contented sigh. He closed his eyes, already settling in as if she weren’t even there.

Hinata blinked in surprise, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Oh… I-I can leave if you want to nap here,” she offered, her voice hesitant as she gathered her things, ready to move.

Shikamaru yawned, his eyes already closing as he replied, “It's fine.” He turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open to look at her. “You’re pretty quiet, anyway.”

Hinata’s cheeks warmed at his words, taking it as a compliment. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips as she nodded and went back to her notes, her heart fluttering just a bit at the unexpected company. 

For a while, the only sound was the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the occasional turn of a page. Hinata was careful not to make too much noise, not wanting to disturb Shikamaru’s nap. But after what felt like an eternity, she stretched her arms gently, trying not to draw attention to herself. 

To her surprise, when she turned her head, she found Shikamaru watching her, his eyes half-lidded but alert. Startled, she quickly dropped her arms and stammered, “Oh! I-I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Shikamaru just shrugged, sitting up slightly. “You didn’t. What are you studying?”

Hinata hesitated, then showed him her notes. “It’s… about my clan’s history. I wanted to make sure I understood everything before the exams.”

Shikamaru leaned in, his interest piqued despite his usual laid-back demeanor. “What a drag… but I guess it’s important. Let me see.”

As Hinata moved closer to let him read, she noticed the subtle curiosity in his eyes, even though he tried to mask it with a sigh. They sat together, their heads almost touching as they pored over the notes. Shikamaru hummed in thought as he read about the collaboration between the Hyuga and Nara clans in the fields of healing and medicine.

“Huh,” Shikamaru muttered, “I didn’t know our clans worked together on this. I only knew about it from my mom.”

Hinata nodded, feeling a little more at ease now that they were discussing something familiar. “Yes… our clans worked together on developing certain medical remedies. It’s part of why we’re both known for our healing ointments.”

They continued in a peaceful manner, with Hinata explaining parts of her notes that Shikamaru found interesting, and Shikamaru occasionally adding his own observations or comments. The conversation flowed easily, and Hinata found herself enjoying the exchange more than she had expected. 

After some time, Shikamaru noticed Hinata’s eyes starting to droop. She rubbed one of her eyes, trying to stay focused on her notes, but the exhaustion was clear on her face. Shikamaru smirked, finding the sight unexpectedly endearing. 

“You’ve been at this for a while,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Maybe you should take a break. The tree’s a nice place for a nap, you know."

Hinata’s blush deepened, embarrassed at being caught. “I… I suppose you’re right. But… my notes… if the wind picks up—”

Shikamaru rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll keep an eye on them. You just rest.”

Hinata hummed softly, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment. She leaned back against the tree trunk, the exhaustion from her studies finally catching up with her. “Thank you, Shikamaru-kun,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible as she drifted off into a light nap.

Shikamaru watched her for a moment, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew she had been working hard, maybe too hard, for the upcoming exams. It was just like her to push herself, always striving to do better. If she wasn’t going to take care of herself, well… he supposed it wouldn’t be too troublesome to help out a bit.

As if on cue, a light breeze rustled the leaves, and Shikamaru’s sharp eyes caught the movement of her notes just as they started to lift off the ground. With a sigh, he reached out and caught them, folding them neatly and tucking them into his pocket for safekeeping.

“Troublesome,” he muttered to himself, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He leaned back against the trunk, letting his eyes close again. Before he drifted off, he spared one last glance at Hinata, making sure she was comfortable. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment, knowing that even though looking out for someone else could be troublesome, it wasn’t so bad when it was Hinata.

~~~

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil's Den

Chapter 42: In Which The Daylight Is Dawning Pt. 3

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

::!TW!:: Depiction of self harm, but not in an unaliving way.

The concrete was still wet but it was setting quickly.

Without thinking twice you rushed past everyone in your way and dug your fingers into the mixture, prying and pulling and digging with all your might, but it was so thick and cold it was freezing your fingers. The bite of that icy cold was rendering your efforts to stall.

A large hand grabbed your forearm gently and pulled you back.

"It's ok, just relax," Karl assured you, a crooked smile meeting your visage full of panic, "I brought my favorite toys!" He exclaimed, dropping the huge bag off his shoulder, "explosives! Never know when you need 'em, right hot shot?"

Somehow his lack of, or refusal to show worry and concern helped calm your nerves for the most bizarre unknown reason. He seemed so sure of himself and it was comforting. At least someone was.

You were about to respond to Karl but Angie came flying down the stairs like a bat out of hell, which shocked you because you don't remember her disappearing at all.

"We gotta blow the fuckin' door NOW!!" She yelled, nearly slamming into Donna to stop herself, "I just came from the control room - " she paused and flashed her hands covered in blood, "mutants - the sun is already entering the silo! They have 10 minutes tops!"

Everything around you became unintelligible as they all began to speak at once. You sank into yourself as something else grabbed control of the wheel. A sudden flood of warmth ensnared you and your eyes shot up.

"The setup takes time and care! These bombs aren't ready-made - this isn't fuckin' McDonalds!!" Karl shouted, "If I blow this willy nilly the whole motherfuckin' tower might collapse!

"Are the tops of the silos accessible above ground?" you inserted quickly, "I can try to block out the sun from up there, buy us all some time."

There was really only a split second everyone was silently looking at you, then Karl sprung a giant grin on his face.

"She's a fuckin' genius, I know why Alcina likes her - c'mon fairy wings, let's go!"

Karl shoved everything he was holding in Dmitri's arms and patted him roughly on the shoulder, "you 'member the schematics, right? Lefty-loosey, righty-tighty, all that jazz, just don't push the splodey button until the amp light goes blue!"

You had no idea what the fuck he was talking about but you sure hoped Dmitri did, because Karl offered no more explanation or clarification and was grabbing your arm and hauling you through more of the underworld maze before you could blink.

Everything was in utter disarray as the two of you scrambled through the tunnels and corridors and passageways galore. There was plenty of carnage along the way too; dead bodies (mainly mutants to your relief) were splayed about here and there, the evident battle a chilling reminder that you were a very mortal being in a very deadly environment. Still, your mind was occupied with Alcina more than anything. The haste to squeeze every last drop out of every second to make them count giving you unwavering focus now.

Would there be anything to actually cover the silo opening? 

Would you be too late?

The thoughts had to come to a screeching halt as a very rickety metal ladder now faced you and Karl to the top of the particular part of this run down old building.

"Up ya go, sugar. That door to the left of the platform takes us right to the roof of the building."

You didn't need to be told twice.

Without further delay you took to the ladder and climbed, not bothering to wait for Karl, though he was right behind you. You ran down the even wobblier metal mesh platform and shoved your way through the almost rusted shut door, falling out into the bright sunlight. It was blinding and you covered your eyes as you eagerly searched for the silo top, finding it not too far off to the right of where you'd entered.

Karl was already on his way there and you followed, finding there to be a thick metal grate welded to the top of the wide silo opening. While this would make it easier to place things on to seal out the sun from below, you needed to find something to put there.

Your eyes couldn't help to gaze down the long dark tunnel below. You so wanted to be able to take time to see if you could see Alcina but this was the last time and place to doddle. 

Karl was already running about on the roof, looking for anything that he might be able to use for a shield against the sun, but there was barely anything worth having.

Displaced 2x4's, scrap metal not larger than a few feet wide or long, and the flooring to the roof was too secure to rip up either.

The sun was progressing. You were not.

As you were about to splay yourself over the grate, which really was far too large for just your body to make a difference, you heard and felt a familiarity come swooping in.

Your crows came cawing and flapping, landing next to you on the broad edge of the silo. 

You almost cried. 

Ebony was the first to hop to you and eye you curiously as if waiting for instruction.

"C-can you - can you all cover this and stop the sunlight from getting through down below?" 

Without so much as a pause, Ebony and the other five crows hopped onto a piece of rebar that made up the grate, spread their wings meticulously and created the most perfect make-shift wing umbrella you'd ever seen, completely blocking out all sunlight from below.

Several tears of relief went strolling down your freezing cheeks and you smiled, "thank you, thank you!" you whimpered, reaching out without thinking to stroke each of their heads with love and appreciation. In turn, to your surprise, you received tiny coos and purrs.

"I'll yell up to you from below when you can leave - thank you! I owe you all the croissants!"

A clatter pushed you back to the present and you looked behind you. Karl was standing there with the most 'what the literal fuck is happening' look on his face. The clattering seemed to be the large bit of scrap metal he had found somewhere along the line falling to the roof from his grasp. He just stood there, cock-eyed and slack-jawed.

There was little time for gawking. You rushed back over to him, wrapping your arms over your chest as the awareness of how damn cold it was up there smacked you across the face.

"The fuck was that?!" he blurted as the silent agreement to head back to the underground was put to action.

"Uh, well, they're my friends?" 

Yeah it sounded weird but you were literally talking to a lycan so, this was the farthest from the strangest thing that's ever happened in your life.

Karl chuckled loudly as he slammed the door behind him and the scaling of the ladder began once more. He grabbed the comm at his hip and radioed Dmitri, "you're clear to blow the son of a bitch, we, er fae-bae here got the top covered!"

"Copy. Charge still setting." 

"I'm gunna really look forward to getting to know you, bird-whispering fairy child - you are interesting as fuck," Karl mused as he led you back through the labyrinth of the underground.

You couldn't help but give him a look as he gave you a glance of his own, "fae-bae?" you inquired with a raised eyebrow.

He cackled, "get used to it; nicknames are my specialty. You outta hear some of the ones I have for your woman."

Your woman. 

Yes, she was your woman and you were hers. Even in this dire circumstance that gave you a blanketing warmth. And so many flooding emotions came from this and the enveloping of it was giving you more strength to carry on. This tidal wave of memories and feelings weaved through you and sewed you together for whatever lie ahead; you were ready; you were ready.

"Somehow I'm sure she has plenty for you as well; I may or may not have heard a few," you tested playfully.

"Oh yeah?" he asked just as the two of you were turning down another corridor, unfortunately being met with a rogue mutant far from the herd.

Karl's reflexes kicked in immediately and he shoved you out of the way into the neighboring wall, drew his gun as he kicked the mutant in the chest and began to blast. But it didn't go down as fast as the others had. It rose and charged Karl again. This time it was met by Karl's large fist to the face, the butt of the gun to the top of its head, and as soon as he put more distance between them, shot at it again and again. It only snarled and shrieked with rage and lunged once more.

You took this moment to test your magick, just to be sure you had the grip on it like you felt you did.

While Karl was almost getting bested in this fight, you hunkered down on the floor against the wall and held out your palms, focusing on the mutant with the need to protect, like you had with Malka. And you'll be damned if it didn't start to slow down, sputter, and stall as the sensation of prickly stinging numbness flowed through you. 

As Karl went to make his final blow with a gun barrel between the eyes, you saw the blood swelling in the mutant's eyelids before the bang went off.

It dropped like a bag of rocks and you smirked wickedly.

Yes, you were very much in control. Good. Because you wholeheartedly planned on killing Mother Miranda as soon as you had the chance.

You were slowly uncrouching from your spot when you realized Karl was yet again looking at you like you had become a tiny green alien in the last five seconds.

"Wh - what - the fuck? D-did you help me, did you do that??? Is that what you did to Mother Miranda? Do you just like - fry bodily circuitry or some shit?!"

You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious, "I'm not entirely sure? I don't know what my magick does exactly. My friend calls it 'mind EMP'."

Karl burst out laughing and holstered his gun, offering his arm to you as you both stepped over the dead body, "Hoooly heyseuss kreestoose! We need a couple hundred of you to keep around; you're useful in a fight. Keep your bag of tricks handy, just don't mind EMP any of my bombs or electronics, ok?"

Your surroundings were becoming more familiar as the disjunct conversation was becoming quieter, and as the two of you made it down the same set of stairs you came in, you heard Dmitri's voice holler; "Charge is hot - cover!".

A loud pop echoed followed by a sharp bang that stung your ears, followed by a reverberating miniature shock wave that knocked you into the wall.

The view was a relief to your whole system.

Through the small puff of rising smoke and settling dust, the archway that had been sealed up was open and the entry inside was dark.

Donna was the first to climb over and through the rubble to get inside, Dmitri second, Angie remained outside the debris grinning like a mad-woman as she saw the two of you approach. You were set to head in as well but Karl grabbed you and held you steady.

"Hold on, let them bring her out."

He said as if he could read your damn mind.

From inside the hollow dark silo you could hear muffled, raspy female voices barely conversing with Donna. Several clangs and what seemed to be chains dropping to the stone floor echoed through, and then shuffling as Alcina's three girls were brought out first.

You'd heard Alcina talk about them at length, and even as defeated and worn as they looked, they were even more beautiful still than Alcina had described to you. Several bickering emotions decided to show their faces, but being overtaken by fear, uncertainty, and like the weird boyfriend mom brings home after divorcing dad and trying to make nice with the kids was not something you could deal with. This was not your place at all.

They were too tired to notice you anyway, and Donna had immediately dug through her bag and handed each of them what you deduced to be bags of blood to drink.

Everyone's attention now lie at the mouth of the silo once more, bated breaths waiting for Alcina's arrival.

Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest and through you whole body you felt like you were actually pulsing. Time felt so stupidly slow as you waited, as everyone waited, until Dmitri emerged with a limp, bloodied, grey-skinned Alcina in his arms.

Your feet molded to the ground. You couldn't force your muscles to move. She looked in a way you never ever wanted to see; dead.

Her once cream colored blouse was shredded and stained with crimson. Her skin slashed and gouged from each whip lashing. Dried blood covered her upper body, down her arms, splattered haphazardly around her neck, and some of her very sunken face. 

Everything fell to the pit of your stomach. You couldn't breathe, you couldn't think. The shock of what you were looking at immobilized you.

Dmitri carefully laid her down on the ground. You realized then how quiet it was as every little sound of the shuffling of fabric against skin and stone was almost violently loud in your ears.

The state of Alcina's shirt gave her barely a hint of modesty in its tatters, the very stark contrast of her black bra glaring against the cream, grey and red. And you could see then a very deep, ugly wound just below her sternum. A stab wound. One that gave you an ill remembrance of a story she once told you, and a scar you can recall all too vividly on her side. You don't know how you knew, but you knew.

Donna was immediately retrieving another bag of blood, hooking a tube to the opening at the top, hunkering down at Alcina's side and carefully placing the article to her dry, thin parted lips. She began to squeeze the liquid from the bag as her daughters gathered around their mother as the blood was administered.

Cassandra and Daniela held tightly to Alcina's hands as Bela propped her head and upper body up to help the blood flow down her throat.

You were frozen in your place. Still barely breathing. Making deals with unknown deities for your lover's recovery.

Karl sensed your disconcerted demeanor and carefully wrapped his arm around your mid back and pushed you forward so you could see.

Still, you could hardly move or force a reaction as the painful suspense dug its claws into your heart.

If she died, or was already gone, you could not fathom what the future would even look like.

You could not fathom a world... your world... without her in it.

Through the deep concentration of draining bag after bag of blood into their Matriarch, Donna thoroughly checked Alcina's forehead, throat, cheeks, and chest for something you couldn't understand. Warmth, maybe? Any sign of life? And the more this went on the worse the lines became in Donna's lovely face.

"It's not... it's not changing her state," she blurted, quite upset, tossing another empty bag with contempt across the hall, "her blood loss is too great, I don't have enough reserves with us to help her the way she needs - we need to get her to a medical bay immediately."

"The city is far too overrun and we have no idea where Mother Miranda is, the risk is not in our favor."

"She will die if we don't!" Donna barked at Dmitri's warning, "our options are none as it stands right now; it is either the risk or her death - what's it going to be?"

Donna, Dmitri, the three girls and Karl had a duel of exchanged silent looks until you couldn't stand the feeling of uncomfortable electricity sparking in your nervous system.

"Does anybody have a knife?" you asked, splitting the quiet, gaining everyone's attention, "My blood might help."

Donna blinked rapidly, "I've already given her six packs - she needs intravenous blood administration - "

"That blood isn't my blood. I'm not human, remember?"

Before another word could be exchanged, the sound of a switchblade flinging open could be heard and Angie stepped closer to the group, brandishing a sharp, shiny blade.

"Hi! Middle name's shiv, or shank," she grinned wildly, "er, should be anyway."

"Everybody move back," Cassandra chimed in, nodding at you briskly, "please, try."

The tension could not have been any tighter as you stepped forward and grabbed the knife from Angie, swiftly and precisely kneeling down next to Alcina as you rolled your sleeve up as far as it would go over your elbow. The sight of her this close made her condition all the more dire and you quickly placed the blade to the vein in the crook of your elbow and punctured it. Bela propped Alcina as close to you as she could; you placed the spilling blood to her lips, and grasped her freezing cold shoulder for more support; Donna held to the other side of your arm to alleviate stress to the blood flow, and you all knelt there in great anticipation as the seconds ticked on. You so wanted to wrap her up in your arms and care for her like you would in your apartment, but you didn't dare in front of everyone, especially her daughters. You had to put on a strong, distant front.

Your arm began to ache as you were starting to feel a coolness set in, but you closed your eyes and held fast. You could smell the thick metallic of her dried blood all over her and it made you wince, thinking about the pain she must have endured, and how badly you wanted to make them all pay for this. It was consuming how violent you felt inside. 

After at least a minute, which felt more like fifteen, you felt a warmth engulf the crook of your elbow; Alcina's tongue.

Looking over almost dizzyingly quick, you could see her eyelids fluttering and a smile burst across your face. You let go of your breath and held even tighter to Alcina as you felt her begin to drink voluntarily, her shoulder was no longer freezing cold and something even warmer than her tongue sprung loose inside you.

"It's working." You said softly, hearing the rest of the collective sighs of relief echo through the area.

Where Alcina had been in the dark, bleak confines of her mind before she felt life tingling inside her again was a place she didn't wish to return to. While everything was still in slow motion, she could comprehend the beautiful sensation of the hot, rich, satisfying blood that was coursing through her mouth and down her throat as yours. What a way to come back from the brink of nothingness. Her strength was slowly waxing and her senses began to creep up, but the wounds she had endured were becoming more and more fitful in the fight to heal. Your blood was vigorous and relentless and Alcina knew when the dam burst, the pain and brutal retaking of her body would be unpleasant at best.

And that moment was now.

Like an army breaking through battle lines, Alcina's body, at the mercy and aid of your blood, began to heal and reanimate itself with ferocity. Yanking her head back from wherever she had been feeding off you, Alcina cried out as the excruciating sensation of being reborn pummeled every sense in her body. It burned. It itched. It spasmed. It cracked and broke and then spilled out and over into a soothing warmth and numbness as some normalcy seeped back in.

With fluttering lids, she opened her eyes to see every face that was near and dear to her heart.

You. Her daughters. Donna. Dmitri. Angie. And, yes, even Heisenberg.

Bela, with the help of her sisters, scooted Alcina back towards the wall and sat her upright there. The three of them fawned over her through quiet whimpering relief as they clung to her with secure embraces.

"Shhh, Sunt aici. Sunt aici," she cooed, "iubitele mele, suntem cu toții aici."

(Shhh... I'm here. I'm here - my loves, we are all here.)

As you were being aided by Donna quickly wrapping your arm with a tight bandage, Alcina's slate colored eyes found yours and she offered you the most endearing smile you think you had ever seen in your life. It was a knowing smile. A proud smile. A smile that wordlessly said thank you in a way no language on the planet could express.

"Looong live The Real HBIC!" Angie shouted, accompanied by a short celebratory dance, "Woooooo yeah! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! Now when the fuck can we go kick the rest of the smelly ass down here?!"

Well, the tender moment was short lived.

"Ang, please," Donna huffed, trying her best to stifle her smile, "Alcina still needs more nourishment and we need the rest of a plan."

"I'm with Angie," Karl butted in, giving Alcina a tip of his hat, "we got hot shot mind melter and our Matriarch back, let's go whoop some ass."

It wasn't so much bickering as it was very energetic clashing of ideas, but as they all spoke above you animatedly, you and Alcina once more stole calm, loving glances at the other through Donna shoving more blood bags in her face to drink and her daughters clinging to her for dear life, until a clobbering sound from the other stairwell shot everything into a halt.

Unceremoniously came a plump, sheepishly hunched figure from the shadows.

Salvatore Moreau slowly slipped into the light and the sound that followed had everyone rattled to the bone.

The throaty, shrill shriek had come from none other than Donna herself.

The tiny brunette had sprung from the floor and charged the vampire in question, pinning him to the wall as she bore her teeth in utter fury; "TRAITOR!" She screamed, her hand around his throat with nails threatening to pierce his flesh, "YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS WITH YOUR LIFE! I KNOW YOU AIDED MIRANDA - I KNOW YOUR FILTHY LITTLE HANDS HAVE BEEN ALL OVER THIS TREACHERY AND I PROMISE TO MAKE YOU PAY FOR EVERY DISCRETION UNDER THE SUN!"

During Donna's rage, Angie had donned perhaps the most psychotic look of glee any of them had ever seen. Even Karl was a little unnerved as he watched the whole thing unfold. Alcina had risen from the floor, and she too had now a look of murder on her stoic face. Dmitri had joined her side and you were watching quite unsure what to do with yourself next to the wall. 

"Please!" He squeaked, holding up his hands shakily, "Please, just wait! I have information! Information about Miranda! The mutants! I come in truce!! I have information you need if you want to win this war!"

Donna snarled even louder as she sunk her claws into his neck, "Why should I believe you?!"

"Because! Because! I - I realize - I realize I made a huge mistake! I chose the wrong side! PLEASE you must trust me!"

Karl carefully and hesitantly nudged the deranged looking Angie, "you uh... wanna do something about your sister?"

Angie's big eyes glanced at Karl momentarily, "oh... oh yeah!"

And she was off like a bolt, knife in hand accompanied by a cackle.

"No, n-not like that!" he huffed, dropping his head to rub at at exasperatedly, "I meant to stooop her from killing him, not help - oh Jesus fucking Christ what's the use." he muttered to himself.

Now Salvatore was at the mercy of two very deadly Beneviento sisters. His face showed every ounce of his dread as his big beady eyes shot from one sister's face to the next, knees quivering as he swallowed with struggle. 

"P-please, please, listen... I want to help," he swallowed once more through Donna's claws and Angie's knife pressed to his jugular.

Donna was still seething but paused, taking time to calculate and reason with her own rage before clicking her tongue loudly, "Alcina? Your call."

You blinked hastily as you watched with eagerness, noticing the very elegant and nonchalant movements of Alcina as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Bring him to me." 

She commanded with a dominance that made you weak in the knees.

He was yanked from the wall, drug to Alcina and thrown at her feet. He showed no signs of struggle or the urge to flee for his life, which in your humble opinion, would have been a smart move.

Alcina glowered down at him and pursed her lips, looking more and more like herself as the minutes passed.

She placed her hands on her hips swiftly which made him jerk in fear, but she remained unmoved, "it's a little late in the game to be switching sides, don't you think?" she snapped.

"My Lady," he quivered, bowing his head sharply, "please, My Lady, I am a coward and I will not deny it. Mother Miranda offered me falsity. Her lies I thought were truths became apparent the moment she made her move. It is never too late to redeem oneself from the side of tyranny. Please, let me tell you what I know, you will not defeat her otherwise."

"You seem awfully sure of this," Alcina bit.

"That is because, as Donna has said, I have been part of this from the beginning."

Silence permeated the area once more as all focus went to Alcina. Her eyes never left the sniveling man at her feet.

"Then speak."

The next several minutes was a verbal vomit of information that had everyone pretty fucking shocked.

Mother Miranda, in her psychotic search for perfection, had begun breeding and mutating parasites nearly ten years ago to infect fledglings to whatever end to make them into the mindless, deadly, stealth machines that had invaded their city. Salvatore explained her brutal trial and errors and the horrific mutations that had gone wrong and how simply she discarded vampire after vampire like a broken toy. How that when she had perfected the mutation to her liking as it stood now, she infected herself with the queen parasite DNA that gave her the complete control over the hive-mind of the vampires she controlled. When she is at her peak strength and ability, they are the deadliest creatures known to any vampire or lycan imaginable. But therein lies the Achilles heel to this creation.

"I had hypothesized it well enough in my own mind, but it wasn't until I realized you," he stated, nodding to you in the midst of everyone else, "had escaped and in the attempt wounded Mother Miranda, that the so-called hive mind did in fact falter. If Mother Miranda is vanquished, they become unarmed. They will have had their tie to their very reason for existence severed, hence, they will have no direction and they will quite literally be living statues. So, in order to win this fight, you must keep Miranda's strength at a bare minimum. You must keep her down. Otherwise, at full strength, there will be none left alive in the underground."

Once more, Salvatore's eyes returned to you, "whatever you have done to her, she is still recovering. In all my many years of serving Mother, I have never seen any foe deal such damage the way you have," his focus went back to Alcina, "but she is recovering, that is the part that is the most important. If you want to win this you need to act quickly and hastily. Your lycans and vampires have done much damage to many mutants, but at their best, ten of your men cannot best even one of them."

Not even fifteen seconds had passed before Karl was clapping and rubbing his hands together eagerly, "Aight, so, lessss go?" he gestured shamelessly towards the staircase.

"Not without more of a plan," Dmitri growled, "if Miranda is getting stronger we can't run out there guns blazing the way you like it, we'll start losing too many too fast."

Alcina sucked the last drop of blood from the last pack and threw it aside with a sharp sigh, "We haven't the time for planning. I need to find Miranda and bring her down."

"You can't do that alone," Donna added, "please let Angie and I help you."

"No, I need you both in the field - Angie I need your stealthy expertise to be the eyes and ears for the troops, can you do that?"

Angie nodded, "fuck yeah."

"Heisenberg, I need you, your men, and your explosives rigged in the best and most efficient way possible when that bitch begins to falter. Can you do that?"

"Roger!"

"Dmitri, I need you and your men ready to back up the lycans in their wave of attacks and whatever tricks lie in that brilliant military brain of yours, can I count on you?"

"Always, My Lady."

Alcina's eyes skimmed over you with a wink and settled on Donna and her girls, "and you three... I want Ethan and Mia captured. Alive. Make that happen."

Her daughters beamed with a wicked glint in their eyes, "yes mother," they all replied.

"Karl, arm them to the teeth."

Grabbing his chest in the most dramatic way possible, Karl staggered back and looked up at Alcina with a silent gasp, "y-you called me Karl! Oh my god, did y'all hear that? She called me Karl. See that? Near death experiences change a person. It's like she likes me or something."

Alcina narrowed her eyes, "keep it up and I won't like you again."

Karl beamed and straightened his hat.

Donna was still less than sold.

"I don't want you facing her by yourself."

"You'll be doing something much more important for me," Alcina smiled warmly, "you'll be protecting her," she motioned over to you.

You almost did a double take, "uh, sorry, not to be disrespectful but no, I'm coming with you."

"Like hell you are," Alcina retorted furrowing her brows, "this vampire in question is hellaciously unpredictable and deadly -"

"And off her rocker - yeah I know," you interrupted, "we've met personally and I escaped her."

Her face dropped cold, "you what?"

"Yeah, you haven't been brought up to speed!" Karl waltzed over, shouldering you playfully, "your fae-bae here escaped Miranda's sticky lil fingers after mind blasting her ass - pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I got first hand experience with her magick when she helped me fight off a mutant before we came and saved you. I uh, I'd reconsider taking the nuclear bombshell with ya," he winked at you, "two hell cats are better than one, baby! AND she's got a legion of crows at her command or some shit, that's how we blacked out the silo."

"Oh shit!" you exclaimed, remembering you'd not released your crows from their post, "and technically, they're called a murder."

Smirking at Karl you jutted to your right, hopped your way over the rubble of the blown blockade and peered up into the silo. It was still completely dark and you smiled, "you all did wonderful!" you shouted up to them, your voice carrying loud and clear, "thank you Ebony, Ash, Onyx, Noir, Sidda, and Shade! Please get home safely and be warm!"

Their caws echoed down to you and one by one they took to the sky, leaving a remaining brightness from the clear sky now that the sun had passed.

When you returned to the hall, Karl was shaking his head with his arms folded over his chest.

"Named every one of 'em, did ya?"

You returned his grin, "and?"

Alcina's eyes went from Karl to you, back to him and then you again before she was able to really collect herself. There was a lot to digest right at this moment. She had to choose wisely as to what she was ready to take a bite of. The crow issue was last on her list, you and your powers were at the top of it, screaming.

The two of you had only briefly spoken about the changes you were going through before Donna showed up and everything promptly fell apart. She didn't want to believe you had grown so much and she'd missed it all, but she more less wanted to believe you weren't strong enough to go with her, risking your safety if it wasn't necessary.

"Draga..." she stated softly, "this is... this is not a danger I want you anywhere near ever again."

You watched as her hands carefully rested on your shoulders, eying you in that beautifully desperate way.

"Uhm... Mother?" 

Came a voice you'd not heard before.

"Poate nu ar trebui să te îndoiești de ea. Cum ai încredere în noi acum, poate că ar trebui să-i dai la fel." Cassandra stated with a knowing smile.

(Maybe you should not doubt her. As you trust us now, perhaps you should give her the same.)

Man, you needed to learn Romanian.

Whatever her daughter had said gave Alcina great pause. The smile she gave Cassandra made you smile by proxy, it was so genuine and soft.

Taking one last look at you, Alcina dropped her hands and turned to gather everyone's attention.

"I have faith in all of you. Go, quickly. Make this a battle that will be painted in remembrance for whatever outcome lies ahead of us. Let our valiance and spite be known. Violently."

She turned back to Donna and took a deep breath, "I would like you to make use of Moreau. If he makes one move you don't like, kill him. But if he is truly set to redeem himself, use whatever knowledge he has and exploit it to our every advantage."

Donna nodded somberly, "and... you are off to find Miranda?"

"Yes," Alcina smiled, "and I won't be going alone."

Two sets of beautiful eyes from two beautiful women now rested on you.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Summary: Gabriela Cruz invests in a Victorian mansion in the middle of America where the rule of Buyer Beware is absolute. When her twin sister goes missing, a couple of federal agents show up. Lucky for Gabi, Dean and Sam Winchester are on the case.

Characters: Gabriela Cruz, Camila Cruz, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Ed Zeddmore, Harry Spangler

Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, language, mentions death of family members, cursed object, mentions of blood + gore, sarcasm, twin dynamics, explicit sex

Words: 4,600

Author's notes: thank you, @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker as always for the pre-reads and support!

CAVEAT EMPTOR

I consider myself a strong, independent woman. I pay my own bills, put a little money away in savings every month, and I just recently took out a loan all by myself to buy an old Victorian mansion cum bed and breakfast in my hometown.

Which brings me to my first point — that most of the time, I think I’m rad as fuck. Then, once in a blue moon (literally, in this case), some guy finds his way into my life, and I personally end up winding back the advancement of women by a century for good dick.

It’s humiliating.

How, you ask? Well, let me tell you...

“When you said Victorian bed and breakfast, I thought it’d be all lace doilies and ornately carved wood. This place is sick!” 

Camila, my little sister by 15 minutes, had driven down from Minneapolis to help me move into my new home. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past year because she was living with a man who considered our twin bond to be “unhealthy” (read: he’s a pissbaby.)

What he couldn’t wrap his tiny brain around was that Cami and I were not only twins, but we’d spent the entirety of our adult lives with only each other to call home. Our older brother was killed by a drunk driver, our mom by breast cancer, and our dad by colon cancer, all before we were old enough to vote.

Anyway, Camila told him he could stay in his glass box of a top-floor condo in the city while she popped down “just for the weekend” to help me unpack. Little did he know, she’d brought with her an obscenely priced bottle of pink Taittinger Comtes de Champagne 1973 from his wine cellar. 

“Camila Beatriz!” I cackled as I popped the cork.

She was living with a guy so worried about our “connection” that he never bothered to ask about her predilection to permanently borrow (her phrase, not mine) things from the men she dated.

“He’ll never miss it. Just pour.”

We sipped, kind of unpacked, nibbled on a fruit and cheese platter, and generally basked in each other’s presence. As we squeezed the last drops of pink bubbly from the bottle and the sun dipped below the horizon, I felt a chill. I assumed it was exhaustion, nerves, stress — whatever. 

“I’m tired, sissy,” Cami confessed. “Show me to my room, would ya?”

I did, giving her a long squeeze. “Thanks for coming, sissy,” I whispered in her ear. “Sleep sweet.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she kissed mine before I headed to my room to take a warm shower. Even though the chill never quite left me throughout slathering myself in lotion and wrapping up in my warmest pajamas, it didn’t occur to me that anything was off off.

Then, at midnight, when the third full moon of the season was at its fullest, I was awakened by a blood-curdling sound that seemed to hang in the air for hours after it was released.

“Camila!”

I bolted from the warmth of my bed, flung my heavy door open, and sprinted down the hall to where my sister was supposed to be sleeping. What I found inside that room can never be erased from the darkest corners of my mind.

There was blood everywhere — on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The room was frigid and vibrating. I felt a presence that turned me inside out, and I started to sweat and heave, regardless of the temperature of the room.

“Cami!” I called out to her, receiving no reply. “Sister!”

I rushed further into the space as whatever it was that I felt began to recede.

“Camila! Where are you?”

I searched and cried, but my sister was nowhere to be found.

The police arrived within minutes, and neighbors hovered on the edge of the property, haphazardly bundled in robes and coats like vultures at the site of carnage. There were hushed whispers of a ghost, a ghoul, or dark spirits.

An ambulance came.

Once the police had questioned me, I was examined by the EMTs and given a sedative. I was told I was in shock. Someone asked if I had any relatives or friends in the area who could stay with me. 

I shook my head. “Cami’s my only family.”

The sedative dumbed me down more than anything. I wasn’t able to sleep or relax. Before dawn, two FBI agents appeared on the scene. The local police were reluctant to let them speak with me, but they somehow persevered.

“Ms. Cruz?”

I looked up to find a string bean of a dude with puppy-dog eyes and a tentative, soothing voice. He introduced himself as Agent Gass and his partner as Agent Black. He asked how much time I’d spent in the house.

“Not even a day.”

Both men nodded. 

I suppose it should have tipped me off that they were not run-of-the-mill federales since they didn’t seem at all surprised by my answer or the situation the way local law enforcement did.

“You just bought the place, right?” asked the other agent.

Until he spoke, I hadn’t realized how tightly wound I was with fear and grief. The quality of his voice had a visceral effect on my senses, like a deep tissue massage or an epic fucking orgasm. 

This man’s voice, you guys...

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, then found that the face belonging to that voice was so beautiful I could no longer hold the tension in my body, and the tears began to flow.

(I know this sounds very dramatic, but I promise we won’t be spending much more time on the grim details. Also, don’t worry; Cami’s fine. I mean, she’s fucking traumatized, but it wasn’t her blood decorating the walls, is what I’m saying.)

The agents quickly bookended me. Agent Gass tugged a paper towel from the roll I’d left sitting on a side table the night before and handed it to me, muttering something about my nose and tears before Agent Black started talking again. 

“There’ve been reports of strange occurrences in this house for decades, but nothing violent.” He was so close that I could feel the rumble of each syllable like the hum of a lullaby or a stealth percussionist in the wild. “Have you witnessed anything out of the ordinary in the last 12 hours?”

I sniffled. “Besides all the fucking terrifying shit I’ve already told the cops?”

Agent Gass cleared his throat beside me. “We’re sorry, but we need to record our own findings. Do you mind telling us what happened?”

I rolled my eyes and blew my nose. “Fine,” I sighed, tossing the wadded-up snot rag into a nearby trash bag.

“It started when the sun set…” 

I recapped the evening’s events, groggily noticing once again that neither agent seemed nearly as taken aback as the local police.

“‘Blood-curdling sound’ — like a scream?” Agent Black’s question pinged in my brain while other parts of me continued to react to the sound of it. 

“I don’t know why I keep using that phrase... it wasn’t a scream, but... it woke me up, and I immediately knew something was wrong. I was chilled to the bone.”

Agent Black nodded. “You said you were cold before, so you took a shower. Was it the same kinda chill you felt when the sound woke you up?”

I shook my head, squinting to try and remember. “No... I- there’s cold chill and scared chill — I felt both at different times. I... I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Agent Black nodded, peeking over my head to his partner, and they exchanged a silent agreement.

I cannot stress enough how aggravated I am that I felt attraction at that moment. My twin sister was missing, and yet I couldn’t stop staring at his stupid mouth. At the time, I didn’t rationalize it at all, probably because of the drugs the EMTs gave me, but suffice it to say that Dean Winchester is a sorcerer. 

He pushed up from beside me, smoothing his tie and buttoning his suit jacket. “Thank you, Ms. Cruz. Try to get some sleep.” He made a subtle gesture to his partner, spurring him into action, then turned to survey the room with a narrowed gaze.

Agent Gass handed me a card. “Please give us a call if you think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

Well into the next day, my new home was under constant guard, filled by local law enforcement and various consultants. I didn’t see Agents Gass and Black again until two weird little guys with video equipment showed up. 

I walked out onto my side porch from the kitchen, wiping my hands on a dish towel, wondering what kind of new crew was on the case. By the time I made my way outside, Agent Black was there, hovering over the bearded guy with glasses.

“...I will shoot you, and you know I’m not fucking kidding,” he growled.

“Agent?” I asked, amused beyond reason at his violent threat and casually draping my dish towel over my shoulder. 

At this point, I’d been able to get some sleep and put a bit of time and space between my cognitive processes and the happenings surrounding Cami’s disappearance. So when that cocky little (there’s nothing little about Dean Winchester, OK, I’m being facetious) shit stretched those long, strong legs and climbed up onto my porch, I was fully aware and accepting of just how incredibly attracted to him I was.

He turned, his posture neutralizing and his eyes softening.

“Ms. Cruz. Yeah, hi...” He strode toward the porch. “Thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doin’.”

“Gabi, Agent.”

He grinned wide as he took the last step to stand in front of me, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking to his heels and back. 

Such a little shit.

“Gabi… right.” He smirked, then glared over his shoulder at the newcomers. “These two botherin’ you?”

I peeked around him and shook my head before pulling back and looking him in the eye. “This’s the first I’ve seen of them. Coffee, Agent?”

He smirked. “Call me Dean.”

In hindsight, inviting him in for coffee was probably my first mistake. I could’ve offered coffee to him and those two boneheads from Wisconsin outside, but, as previously mentioned, I was busy derailing feminism. 

“How do you take it, Dean?” I asked, swiping one of the clean coffee mugs from an array of disorganized kitchenware yet to be shelved from the move. 

As I took the last two steps to my second-hand Nespresso machine, Dean remained silent, so I glanced over my shoulder before reaching for a coffee pod. He shook his head and blinked up from where he seemed to be mesmerized by something in the neighborhood of my hips.

“Black,” he answered with a lush, lopsided smile.

I nodded, then turned to focus on my task. “What brings you back this way? Is there something new with my case?”

“Uhh, yeah, actually — Agent Gass found some interesting things about the layout of this property on the county assessor’s website. D’you know this was a safe house in the Underground Railroad?”

“Yeah.” I turned and handed the agent his coffee. “That’s one of the reasons I bought it and one of the attractions of the bed and breakfast.” 

He thanked me for the cup, eyeing me closely. “So you’re aware of the secret passages in the home? In the room where your sister was sleeping the night she disappeared?”

I shook my head. “What? No. There’s no passageway in my sister’s room, only in the basement and the outbuildings.”

Dean shook his head, holding my gaze. “There’s a full network of passageways in the exterior walls of this house, Gabi,” he continued slowly and pointedly. “Your sister could be trapped. We’d like to take a look at the room again.”

(The next night, over a post-orgasmic cigarette, Dean told me all about another structure he and his brother had cleaned out and sealed off. Someone had erected an apartment building on the execution site of America’s first serial killer. Because Dean Winchester, in addition to being exasperatingly sexy and good with his hands, is a ghost and monster hunter with his brother not-Agent Gass, they come across this kind of thing all the time, I now understand.)

Five minutes after agreeing to let them explore the alleged secret passageways, Agents Black and Gass were sans jackets, rolling up their sleeves, and peering into the mouth of the Rosebud Suite’s small closet. 

“So...” I paused, absorbing the confirmation that all the things I feared went bump in the night and more are real. “What do you think you’re gonna find in there? A ghost? Vampires? My twin sister’s disembodied head?”

For the first time since meeting them, the agents looked at me in alarm. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dean said, crossing the room to clasp a big, warm hand around my wrist and squeeze. “You’re twins?”

I nodded.

“Then if that twin stuff everybody talks about is real, you know she’s gonna be fine.” He smiled down at me with kindness. “All we know is that she’s missing, and we know the blood in the room is animal blood.”

Dean was right; I knew in my heart that Gabi would be fine, but as relieved as I should have been, I was suddenly much more disturbed on an entirely different level.

“Animal blood? No one told me this was animal blood. What the fuck is going on?!”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Agent Gass appeared at Agent Black’s side, and they exchanged looks before Agent Black continued.

“I dunno why the police didn’t tell you about the animal blood. Maybe they didn’t want to alarm you-”

“Alarm me? I’ve been walking around here worried Camila’s guts were all over one of my guest room walls. I’ve taken sooo much Xanax since Friday night. Is there anything else alarming I should know about?”

They looked at each other again for a beat before Dean shrugged.

“Those two little weirdos outside?” 

“Yeah?”

“They picked up readings that indicate the presence of a cursed object as well as confirmation of human life other than those of us in plain sight.”

I sighed, dropping my eyes to where Dean helpfully caressed my wrist.

“I feel like I’m in catechism... what’s a cursed object?”

I didn’t pull away because, like I said, his caress was very helpful.

“Just like it sounds. Somethin’, usually old, that’s been loaded up with black magic. If we can find it, we can cancel out the magic-”

“Black magic?! Who the fuck- wait, old?” 

Dean nodded, and sadly, he released my wrist.

“Oh, my god, the wine!”

The agents perked up at that and exchanged more silent looks.

“Gabi... where’s the bottle?”

When I say that I am unreasonably attracted to Dean Winchester, this is what I mean: watching him and the clean-shaven Ghostfacer pepper and ash an empty champagne bottle in a graveyard after telling me said bottle was “cursed” should have made me worry about their and my eternal soul like any other good Catholic girl, but no — I still took him to bed. 

Once we found Cami, of course.

“Cayenne pepper. Interesting.”

Dean unwedged the shotgun from propping his trunk of many wonders open before dropping it shut. “Not just for cookin’.” 

He shifted and swayed and sighed as he slid his hands into his pockets and fixed his crinkly, sparkling gaze on me with a lick of his smug smirk.

“Sam?” I asked about his gigantic younger brother, who was back at the house with the other Ghostfacer, rescuing my sister. “Does he have Camila?”

Dean’s face lit up, and his eyebrows popped. “Oh, yeah. She’s good. She’s talkin’ to the police.”

I sighed. “I’d like to go home now.”

I must’ve looked like a frightened and exhausted child at that moment because Dean’s entire demeanor softened as he reached out to pull me in for a hug. His clothes and skin felt and smelled warm, and I started to cry into his white button-up. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know, but I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re fine, and so’s Camila.”

This. Man.

This gorgeous, brave, smells-like-you-expect/hope/pray- for-Axe-body-wash-to-smell (but it doesn’t) man, holding me like a fragile doll and calling me sweetheart is the only man I have allowed to witness a sliver of vulnerability since my dad died. So you can imagine the abject horror I felt at the increasing flip-flop from my guts and the heat pulsing even lower. 

I’ve experienced attraction, okay? I’ve had romantic and sexual partners, I self-lubricate at appropriate times. I orgasm.

But the way Dean Winchester made me feel was so alarming that I have since added that feeling to the stack of alarming things happening after Camila and I opened that bottle of wine.

He loosened his embrace but didn’t pull away completely, looking down at me with curiosity in his tender gaze. “Let’s go.”

Dean ushered me to the front passenger door, opened it, and helped me inside. We were quiet as Dean drove back to my bed and breakfast. The silence allowed my thoughts to dance until he pulled into the alley behind my house.

“They’re just wrapping up with the cops,” Harry said, sliding forward with his phone in hand.

The lights were on inside. Sam was standing in the middle of the kitchen, behind Cami, with one hand on the back of her chair. She was wrapped in a blanket, nodding her head at the men on the other side of the table, and Ed was in the corner, pocketing his phone.

It was all so clear, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and inside to hug my sister. 

“Whoa, gotta put the car in park, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, doing just that.

I guess I really couldn’t wait.

And then I was sprinting to the back door.

Like I said before, Cami is fine. She’s shook, but alive and breathing and not bleeding. I’ve never felt so sick and relieved at the same time or cried so hard. That experience didn’t only bag me the sexiest, warmest, most loving man alive, but it also further strengthened Cami and my priorities for each other. 

Dean kicked the cops out, and Sam made coffee for everyone (which Dean spiked). At some point, the little Ghostfacer dudes squirreled away into guest rooms for the night, Sam and Dean lost their ties, and Cami fell asleep draped across my lap where we were huddled in the front parlor.

“Sammy’ll put her to bed,” Dean whispered, gently tugging me to my feet as Sam indeed lifted Camila in a bridal carry. “Which room you want her in?”

“The one adjoining mine, east wing at the end of the hall.”

Sam nodded, and Cami mumbled, burrowing into his massive chest. He turned and swept toward and up the stairs into the quiet darkness.

“Is it really over?” I asked the house itself as much as Dean. Thankfully, only Dean answered.

“Yeah, it’s over.”

I turned to face him, heaving a sigh. He watched me with that same inquisitive expression as the one from the graveyard, this time with his hands in pockets, sock-footed, sleeves neatly cuffed to his elbows, crisp white collar open at his throat — and he looked like he belonged there in the center of my parlor.

“Agent Black-”

“Yeah... about that...” He dropped his eyes for a beat before looking me in the eye with a renewed spark. “We’re not really federal agents.”

You might think that another surprise would send a person careening into catatonia, but not me. No. No, no, I laughed. I started laughing because it was fucking absurd — the whole thing was berserk, right? 

Cursed objects? Cayenne pepper as some kind of supernatural DEET? This remarkably handsome man existing? I was being Punk’d, right? Is that show still running? What is Ashton Kutcher doing these days anyway?

The answer to me being Punk’d is no. You might want to Google Ashton Kutcher because I still don’t know what he’s doing these days. 

Do I sometimes still stop feeding my chickens to look up at the clear blue sky and pinch myself in case this is all a dream?

The answer to that is yes.

“My name’s Dean Winchester. Sam’s my brother. We've been hunting ghosts and demons and-”

“Demons?!”

The good Catholic girl inside me stammered over that, and Dean nodded slowly, blinking even more slowly as he took a step and reached for me.

“I’ll tell ya everything,” he said with a tired smile and an easy clasp of my hand. “D’you mind if we get a few hours’ sleep first?”

I didn’t mind.

I led him upstairs. We peeked in on Cami, where Sam was watching over her, stretched out on the chaise in that room. They were both fast asleep. 

Dean followed me to my room, and I didn’t think twice about stripping myself bare as I made my way to my ensuite. Before I could conjure any pesky stranger-danger excuses, his hands were on me under the hot spray of water.

The next day, Cami dumped her boyfriend. I have a feeling she’d have done it even if the deadbeat had been assed to make the trip south during her 36-hour absence, but his ineptitude made it easy.

Turns out, the brothers Winchester are more than okay with Cami and my connection. Turns out, they’re more than familiar with that kind of connection too.

Dean molds himself to my back, pressing kisses to the side of my neck and the parts of my shoulder that are bared by my tank top. 

“Almost done? Sammy’s makin’ breakfast.”

I hum, letting him swallow me up. “Shower first?”

Ever since that very first night, Dean and I have showered together just in case the water’s cursed, and if it isn’t? Conservation. Right?

Plus, we really like giving each other orgasms.

Five minutes later...

“God damn, I love your mouth,” I sigh as water sluices over my shoulders and spirals my arms before filtering into his hair, where he’s burying his face between my thighs.

Dean’s let his hair grow lately, giving me a lot more to grab onto, not that he needs direction. (He has a beard, too, which wouldn’t normally be my thing at all, but because I know what’s under there, I’m good with it.)

He hums and licks and moans and sucks. The pressure’s always just right — never too much or not enough. I’ve never had anyone down there who knew as much about eating pussy as Dean Winchester. He’s good with his hands, his dick, and toys, too, but man, he loves giving head and is a mother fucking pro at it.

“Dean,” I gasp and flail, nearly busting through the shower curtain and toppling over the end of the claw-foot tub to my death.

Dean lunges up and hooks an arm around my hips, gathering me closer, and I explode.

“Mmm, such a good girl, Gabriela.” He licks his lips as he drags me into the tub with him. Water beats down on his back as he notches his hips in the place his face just vacated. 

I toss one calf over the back of the tub and watch Dean grip his hard dick to slip and slide along my slit. 

“Don’t tease me, Dean. Get inside.” I thrust my hips and reach for him. 

He cocks a brow, lifting my other knee to drape over the other side of the tub, punching the curtain, and slopping water onto the floor. “Honey, I ain’t teasin’; I’m goin’ easy on ya.”

“Pfft!” Now I’m panting like a dog with my ass suspended three inches above the base of the tub. “Who asked you to take it easy on me? I sure didn’t.”

Dean smirks, wrapping one big hand around one hip and steadily guiding himself inside. 

“Fuck.” I drop my head to the porcelain under me and clamp my hands around the edges of the vintage bath to take what he gives.

Every time.

Every time, he feels so perfectly hardhotsmooth, so thick, so heavy. 

And I can’t not stare because he is perfectly beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabi,” he whispers as he slides his other hand around my other hip and grinds into me.

“Uhhh!”

We both groan, and my back arches all by itself.

He tells me I’m beautiful, and sometimes it feels like a lie — not because I think he’s dishonest but because Dean Winchester is the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.

He drags out slow, and thrusts back in hard and hot, swearing before biting his lip. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, tossing his head back into the fall of water before looking back down at me as he blinks water out of his eyes. Then he smiles wide and bright, almost like he’s laughing. “Hold on tight.”

I never take Dean’s warnings lightly.

He sets a hard rhythm, grunting with each thrust, and I echo.

“You look so good, baby — fuck me so good.” 

Dean’s a tough guy and everything, but he loves praise. I give him pet names and tell him how smart and strong he is. I am always sure to thank him for every little thing he does to help me. And he goes fucking crazy when I praise him for fucking me right.

“Give it to me,” I breathe, clenching around him. “I love your dick... so hard and thick — please, Dean.”

I can’t pretend with him, either. No praise I ever give him is lip service. I really do love his dick.

He pitches forward, bracing his hands on the edge above my head, stretched over me like a telephone wire, and that fucking shift-

“Hooofuck, I- ahh!” 

Dean arches and grinds up against my g-spot, pinning me in place until I burst.

“Yesyesyes!” Dean beats a hand against the side of the tub in time with my pulses and throbs around him. “Fuck, honey, yes.”

And then five minutes after that...

“All I’m saying is, if you want some alone time,” Sam actually uses air quotes. “Just say so, and we won’t wait. At the kitchen table. Directly beneath your bathroom.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cami and I stifle corresponding giggles.

“It’s not like I personally came down here and burned the toast,” Dean pretends to make sense as he folds a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Bacon’s good.”

He looks to me for agreement, and I nod. 

“It is good bacon!” Then I look at Sam. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Cami guffaws. “No, you won’t!”

I playfully backhand her and shrug. “Probably not, but the bacon’s still good, and I love you guys.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, OK, I love you, too, Gab.”

“Hey, don’t be gettin’ my girl mixed up with yours.” Dean mumbles around a mouth full of food as he stabs into his pile of fried potatoes.

I peek over at Camila and catch her looking at me. A memory flashes in my mind of pink bubbly and shivering myself to sleep and that awful fear that my sister was gone forever. Then, Camila blinks, and I’m filled with the warmth of knowing she would return to me and that we would both live happily ever after with the perfectly imperfect Winchester brothers from Lawrence, Kansas.

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[your-divine-ribs]

I’m With the Band Part 18

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I’m With the Band Masterlist Main Masterlist

"You shouldn't let him get to you Arabella."

The voice comes from behind me just as I locate Sam propping up the bar across the terrace and I turn to see Lucy standing there with a sweet but knowing smile.

"Who do you mean?" I ask, although it occurs to me that it's probably quite obvious, I'm just not sure how Lucy knows anything about my recent altercation with Van.

"Van of course!" She laughs, leaning in close like she's about to divulge a secret. "Gossip travels fast around here!"

"You're not kidding! I've literally just left him."

I let myself be steered across the decking to where Lucy's been sitting with Bob and Benji.

"Johnny wasn't best pleased with Van when he stepped out," she explains. "You know you maybe ought to be careful there."

"And why's that?"

I take a seat opposite Lucy, realising with embarrassment that I still have my underwear tucked away in my hand. I quickly and sneakily shove them down between a gap in the cushions, hoping Lucy doesn't notice, but I don't need to worry. She's too busy glancing at Bob and Benji who appear to be deep in conversation. Then she turns back to me with that knowing smile still evident.

"Van doesn't like sharing, you know. He makes out he's not the jealous type but he is."

I'm not even Van's for him to be concerned about 'sharing' me. Irritation flares in me at her words, but it's swiftly overshadowed by a sense of satisfaction as it sinks in just how much he obviously wants me to be his, and his alone.

I sit back in my seat, aware a smug grin has found its way on to my lips and not bothering to try and hide it. "Maybe it's about time Van didn't get his own way for once. A bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone did it?"

I assume Lucy will react negatively, try and talk me around, tell me that it isn't fair to be playing games, but to my surprise she leans forward even further in her seat, her eyes sparkling with conspiratorial mischief.

"It's Leos."

This means nothing to me. "Huh? What do you mean?"

She giggles, loud enough for Bob to break away from his conversation and look over.

"Leos," she repeats. "I don't think I've ever met a more typical Leo than Van!"

"You're not going on about that astrology crap again are you?" Bob chips in with a laugh, then he looks at me. "Don't listen to her Arabella, it's a complete load of rubbish!"

"Hey!" Lucy exclaims, eyes wide as Bob raises his eyebrows at me pointedly. "It's not rubbish at all. It can tell you a lot about a person if you must know. What they like, what they don't like, what makes them tick... what winds them up..."

She pointedly ignores Bob who shakes his head while tutting playfully, and then he's turning back to continue his conversation with Benji. I'd normally be inclined to share Bob's views on fanciful zodiac insights, but the idea of finding out potential ammunition to use against Van, no matter what the source, intrigues me. And it isn't just how the stars are aligned. As Bob's girlfriend, Lucy spends a lot of time with the band which means that she knows Van and she knows him well. Not the exasperatingly annoying 12 year old boy who I'm familiar with who used to tease me relentlessly. She knows the 22 year old man that he's become who both intrigues and frustrates me in equal measures.

"Van has a very interesting natal chart actually," she tells me, excitement clear on her face as she realises that she has my full attention. "Of course it goes a lot deeper than just the simple sun sign too. There's also a person's moon sign which shows their emotional side and the nature of their relationships with others. Then their ascending sign..."

"Hold on... you lost me at moon! Back up!" I interrupt her, holding up a hand, surreptitiously glancing around to check on Sam's location again. I'm intrigued by Lucy's theories but I don't want to fall into the trap of getting drawn into a lengthy discussion which means that the party will be over and I'll be left with no other option than Van at the end of the night. Although I'm pretty sure that would delight him I have my sights set elsewhere.

"Just skip all the moon and stars mumbo-jumbo and tell me about Van! Come on... all the juicy stuff. What winds him up? What's his weaknesses? What really pisses him off?"

Lucy laughs. "Most people want to know the good stuff, like are they compatible?"

I smirk. "I don't need a star chart to tell me about compatibility. It's kinda obvious. You either click with someone or you don't. And guys just aren't that deep. They like to think they come across that way but they can't hide it. 90% of their decisions are made with their dicks at the end of the day!"

Lucy giggles again, a tinkling sound, her mouth flying up to her hand like I've just said something scandalous. I smile back, realising that I'm enjoying myself, thinking how different she is than my friends back home. Discussions about boys with them focus on wallet size and who's best to hook up with according to which Prada handbag they'll likely bestow upon you for hanging on their arm like some shiny accessory. Lucy doesn't seem to have that side to her, being concerned primarily with material things. She seems sweet and amiable, friendly enough that she's happy to sit and chat idly just for fun about the inane workings of the male mind. Something that I already consider myself an expert in, but additional research always comes in handy.

"Not all guys, they're definitely not all the same." She drops her voice lower, angling her body away from the boys. "Not my Bob anyway. It's never been like that with him. He never even pursued me, he was too shy. I did all the running!"

I raise an eyebrow skeptically, struggling to imagine being that hung up on a boy that I'd actively expend time and energy trying to snare them into committing to a long-term partnership. My efforts are usually only for temporary measures, and always for my own amusement.

"He does seem sweet... really sweet," I muse, looking beyond Lucy and catching Bob's eye for a second as he glances in my direction, his face looking a little flushed like he's caught my comment. He quickly looks away as I smile to myself. "Not like Van... he's too busy admiring himself to care too much about other people. And I bet he's a player..."

"You'd be surprised actually," she cuts in. "I mean, yeah... since the band started to get more popular he is starting to attract a lot of female attention, but I guess you've noticed that. Have you seen the fans? Some of them are shameless! Sneaking him their phone numbers, trying to get back to his hotel room..."

"And I bet he laps up all that attention."

I roll my eyes, imagining Van's smug face as a host of young female fans fawn over him.

"Of course he likes it, it's those Leo vibes, but he's got a lot of love to give too."

This makes me laugh, my thoughts flitting back to our steamy encounters. "Oh I'm sure he has. And I'm sure he just loves giving it freely!"

Lucy leans forward to place a hand on my knee, glowing with a wide smile. "Yeah he does... but only to the right girl!"

It doesn't take a genius to work out her insinuation. I play dumb though, enjoying hearing about the impression I've left on Van, the fact that despite his growing army of female fans he only seems to have eyes for me.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on Arabella, he's mad about you! Anyone can see it. I was watching him earlier when you were dancing with Bondy and Sam and he couldn't take his eyes off you. Like I said earlier... your arrival in sleepy little Llandudno has caused quite a stir amongst the boys... but I guess you already knew that."

The smile stretches across my lips automatically, my head full of possibilities, the heady feeling of being desired flooding me. But it's all too easy with Van. Despite his teasing games earlier on in the evening he's practically offered himself up on a plate. And where's the fun in that? A flirtatious smile and a nod of my head and I know he'll come running, eager to please.

I let my eyes roam around the terrace, catching Johnny's as I do. He raises up a beer bottle, tipping it at me, a hopeful look on his face. I smile with enough sweetness to charm but not quite enough to entice him to come over. I know he won't be quite so easy to tempt as Van. He's made his feelings quite clear that he wants to get to know me better as a person before taking things further. I don't have time for that tonight, but with the tour coming up there'll be plenty of opportunities to steal away on the tour bus for quiet encounters away from Van, shared moments together where I can show him exactly what a temptress I really am.

As for tonight... well I've already decided where it's going to end. I carry on looking around the terrace, eventually finding Sam. I watch as he drains his glass and places it on the bar, leaning in to speak to Dean and then stepping away. I watch him as he looks around, his eyes scanning across the faces in the crowd like he's looking for someone.

Then they meet mine and to my surprise his gaze locks on. It's almost like he's found who he was looking for...

I smile at Sam and see a cheeky grin lighting up his face as he moves forwards, a thrill of excitement warming inside me.

The night's just getting started...

[dragonflylady77]

a frankly ill-timed visit

Remember The Harringrove Husbands text post? And the teaser I posted after?

Well, it's time. I just posted Burrito Steve on Ao3 (or you can read it below the cut).

Oh and it's a present for @shieldofiron <3

Steve's parents show up unexpectedly and Steve can't be bothered dealing with them and their endless questions

Steve stretches as he wakes up, arm reaching beside him to find the bed is cold. He knows it’s not very late by the way the sun doesn’t quite reach into the room yet. Billy always gets up so early, even when they’re up half the night making love to each other.

Steve yawns and stretches as he finishes waking up. His body is sore in that pleasurable way that says ‘I had a really good time last night’. He can smell the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and slowly realises that the noise he can hear coming from downstairs is actually voices.

Plural.

Confused as to who would show up this fucking early on a Sunday morning, he gets off the bed and casts a quick glance around the room for something to wear. His pyjama pants are nowhere to be found even though he remembers placing them on the chair by his desk the previous morning. They undressed each other on the way up to the bedroom last night so for once there are no clothes on the floor. Not in this room anyway.

He catches his reflection in the mirror, taking a second to admire the trail of hickeys Billy left on his skin. They start by his collarbone and disappear in the hair covering his chest to reappear along his ribcage and down to his hip bone. Steve smiles as he remembers what happened after Billy reached there, a shudder of desire for the other man going through him like lightning.

He needs to find Billy. They need to christen the kitchen all over again. Billy will probably take some convincing because breakfast is like the most important meal of the day or something but Steve is pretty sure he can derail Billy. A morning blowjob should do the trick.

Simple plans are usually the best.

The voices coming from downstairs are getting louder so Steve pulls the white sheet off the bed. Wrapping himself in it, he heads out of his room and down the hallway. He stops at the top of the stairs, shocked when he recognises the voice of his father.

“What the fuck?” he whispers to himself, slowly making his way down the stairwell, staying close to the wall so the people in the kitchen can’t see him, listening intently.

“For the last time, you need to leave, right now, or I will ring the police and you can explain to them what you are doing here.”

“I have told you already,” Billy says, his tone very flat. “I live here.”

Steve is very proud of Billy for not raising his voice but he can hear the thread of anger in his love’s voice.

“This is ridiculous. I think I’d know if someone like you lived in my house!”

Billy snorts and Steve knows he’s rolling his eyes. “I’ve been living here for three years and we’ve never met. No disrespect, but I don’t think you have a clue, sir.”

Steve bites his lips to stop a laugh at the way Billy says ‘sir’ because there was nothing respectful about it, and why would there be. Steve’s not sure what exactly his dad meant by ‘someone like you’ but it’s clearly nothing flattering.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.”

That’s my cue.

Steve pulls away from the wall and enters the kitchen, clutching the sheet around his waist, trying not to trip like that other time.

Billy, wearing Steve’s missing pyjama bottoms and nothing else, grins when he spots him then goes back to pouring them a coffee, totally ignoring the older man in a suit who is still glaring at him.

“Dad, I would appreciate it if you could refrain from calling the police on my husband.” Steve uses his more boring tone and it has the desired effect.

His father’s hand stills on the screen of his extremely expensive cell phone and his face turns pale.

“Steven! What do you mean, husband?” Mrs Harrington exclaims, clutching her pearls and, oh my God, could she be any more stereotypical? He wonders how he never noticed before. Oh yeah, because his parents are never fucking there.

Steve walks around the kitchen island to come stand next to Billy. His golden skin is equally marred with hickeys and Steve’s heart fills up with pride.

“How-how long have you two been married?” Steve’s mother asks while his father is still staring, looking like he might pass out.

“What’s the time?” Steve gratefully takes the mug of coffee that Billy hands him and gives him a quick peck on the lips. Proper kissing will have to wait until his parents are not in the room. “Thanks, babe.”

“Eight a.m.” His father slowly puts his phone back in his jacket pocket and turns fully towards Steve and Billy.

“So that’s…” Steve tries to work out how long since the ceremony the day before but maths was never his strong suit.

“Sixteen hours, pretty boy,” Billy says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Thanks baby,” Steve says again, smiling at Billy before addressing his parents. “We’ve been married for sixteen hours.”

“Steven MiddleName Harrington, explain yourself.”

Steve bristles when his father uses his full name. He’s not a fucking child anymore. He sees Billy rolling his eyes behind his parents and bites his lip to stop smiling. He tightens the sheet around his waist, boner a distant memory. Ugh.

“We met, we fell in love and yesterday we got married.” Steve takes another sip of coffee. Billy makes it perfectly every time, just like he likes it, three sugars and a dash of milk.

Steve makes an appreciative noise, absently scratching his chest with his free hand. He looks up when he hears a low groan to find Billy’s eyes fixed on him.

He stifles a laugh. Billy has been obsessed with the thick mat of hair growing on his chest since he stopped waxing it once they finished high school.

“Since when are you gay?” Mrs Harrington asks, a confused look on her face, bringing Steve back to the present.

“I’m bisexual, actually, Mom,” Steve corrects her without offering any other clarification.

Like Billy said, it’s been over three years since he saw his parents in person, a bit less since they talked on the phone so Steve reckons that doesn’t give them any right to pry into his life.

“I’m gay, though,” Billy adds because he enjoys stirring the pot and Steve loves him for it.

Steve glances at Billy who does that thing with his tongue and Steve wants nothing more than to bury his hands in Billy’s curls and pull him in for a kiss.

“Yes, Billy’s gay.”

His parents turn an interesting shade of green.

“Why are you here?” Steve drains the last of his coffee and wonders whether his parents would fuck off quicker if he dropped the sheet and bent Billy over the kitchen counter.

“We missed you.”

“I haven’t seen you in three fucking years, so try again, why are you here now? Today, of all days?”

“Steven! Language!”

Steve rolls his eyes at his mother, putting the empty coffee mug on the counter. He’s had just about enough.

“I’m twenty-three, Mother, and your frankly ill-timed visit is getting in the way of my morning after fuck fest with my husband.”

The Harrington couple gasp at their son’s words and Steve decides he quite enjoys shocking his parents. They kinda deserve it, he reckons.

Billy walks over to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and pulls him close, dropping a noisy kiss on his neck. “Awww, Stevie, you say the sweetest things. I was gonna make breakfast for you.”

Steve feels his cock starting to react to Billy’s closeness. It’s time to wrap up this shit show.

“Mom, Dad, I’m gonna take my husband upstairs now, we’ll get dressed and get out of your hair. We’re all packed up anyway, shouldn’t take too long.”

“What do you mean, packed up? Where are you going?” his mother asks and Steve turns to her with a happy grin.

“I’m moving out, of course. You can hardly expect me to live in my parents’ house with my husband.”

“Were you going to tell us?” His father’s tone is brisk and cold.

Steve doesn’t care what his father thinks of him anymore.

“I figured you’d find out eventually.” He shrugs and leans back on Billy, tightening his grip on the sheet he is wrapped up in because Billy is pressing his erection against Steve’s ass and it is taking all of Steve’s tenuous concentration to pretend it isn’t happening. “Now if you’ll excuse us…”

Steve grabs a laughing Billy’s hand and pulls him away from the kitchen, ignoring the outraged cries of his parents.

Billy laughs even louder when Steve drops the sheet on the third step and they race each other up the stairs and down the hallway to Steve’s childhood bedroom.

Taglist because I forgot: @robthegoodfellow

@prettyboybillyhargrove @cieldepeanut @lovebillyhargrove @every-dayiwakeup @ouizzyharringrove @ringringbitxh @persephone13

Let me know if you wanna be tagged and I'll add you (I'm not sure how to do this properly but I'll work it out)

[witchofthesouls]

I find myself in the dire need of more "other!kids + other!June" hc, in both forms. Creepy, otherworldly and fiercely protective June is the best June ever; also, any hc on the kids but as adults? Do you think they would remain "human" or they will start to show more otherness as they grow up?

In the canon-related ending of this TFP AU, the artifact was never decoded. So it never reached the Autobot base, all the kids would have remained quite human, but the potential to be more will forever dog them, even if none of them ever came across Team Prime.

Miko’s mother hailed from a fishing village and they keep to themselves and their traditions. When Miko was born, her aunts sighed that she held signs as they painted her brow and flailing limbs in their family’s traditional script. No matter where she goes and how far she travels, she will return to visit the village and will make a home on the coast. If she keeps the Apex Armor, then one day she will venture into deep, dark waters where no sun can reach that far down below...

Raf descends from dragons and adventurers. He has a great chance to become a Dragon himself should he ever take that leap of faith, conviction, and sacrifice. Team Prime was his Adventure. He found his calling in the stars. (Eventually, he will figure out what Pilar truly was and will be.)

Jack would be the hardest to place. He could go back to his old life Before; return to the steady, easy rhythm of school and work and feeding birds. While conversation had never been his strongest suit, finding a beat or a pattern is an old game to him. A mortal life with mortal dangers is not a bad thing to slip into. Or perhaps his curiosity will get the better of him; an itch that grows deeper and deeper in his bones gets too much to ignore; the gentle warnings by the faithful blackbirds; the strange murmurings under the rain... Jack is very much his mother’s son, who’s to say he won’t follow in her steps?

It’s hard to truly place the Darby family’s ages. Even Jack is possibly far, far older than he appears. Perhaps. Time runs so very queerly Elsewhere. There are places that time can’t truly touch.

Jack’s memories of his childhood prior to Nevada are foggy. The place they once lived was surrounded by impenetrable fog and the constant drizzle of rainfall.

He remembers moving a lot. He misses the greenery of the forests and fields. The decaying matter beneath his feet, the sighs of the trees, and the rustling of animals. But there’s something freeing about the desert. The coldness never bothered him as he wandered into the endless expanse of sand, dirt, and shrubbery under the clear night sky full of constellations. No matter where he travels, he finds himself waking up back inside his home.

June loves the children. Fiercely. Viciously. Devotedly. Her love is the water’s. Nurturing and steady and everywhere. No matter where her loved ones go, she will always find them. But no one can deny its destructive capabilities: the wrath of the ocean; the roar of typhoons; the damage of hail; the deadly crawl of frost; the inevitable roll of a tsunami; the thundering crash of an avalanche; even in deserts, a flash flood can rise so sudden and without warning and wash away everything in its path.

Whenever something hungry, oh so very hungry, prowls near the base, so willing to risk the wrath of the mortal shell of a deity for the taste of little fragments of power… June is waiting in the shadows and never so far as long there’s a puddle.

Nothing can truly escape her. Sooner or later she will succeed. Sooner or later her maw will sink into her chosen prey.

While it’s easy and/or simple to guess the sparklings’ frame-types, June is an enigma. No wheels. No wingspan. No treads. Ratchet has found an active T-cog, many subtle seams all over her frame, and highly aggressive nanite cultures in her Energon that greatly surpass the capabilities of the Autobot War-Forged.

She’s amused by their confusion, by the thought that she’s defenseless and “easy pickings.” It was quite a day for everyone at Jasper Hospital, both the Autobots and the personnel are very confused by what was going on.

Miko is a sea-blooded being. No matter whether her form is flesh or metal, bloodthirst sings to her and she eats the pieces June provides. < Grow well, little fish. > So does Jack -he’s full of shadows and secrets and < dark wings, dark words >; he holds the blackbirds’ love and such birds are carrion and predatory. Much like crows, he has a fondness for eyes.

June wouldn’t leave Raf out, but he’s very small. She grinds the bones and shells to mix them into bentonite clay: volcanic ash and sea-salted.

There will be cultural clashes and misunderstandings, and despite their transformations, the "humans" are still Wild things, are still natives of Earth. From what June could piece together, Cybertronians, at least from the urban states, are well-acquainted with "recycling" parts. Waste not, want not.

June keeps quiet about the things that attempt to stalk or hunt near the base. The Autobots are already queasy about the War-Forged tendencies towards "trophies." How those mecha would collect their conquests frames to fix or upgrade their own, even upon the battlefronts. Their own unique biology would counter and suppress rejection.

She listens to the campfire stories by Smokescreen, of the roving band of Empties beneath the underlayers of city-states and the gutted streets, of sparkeaters lurking in untouched crypts and haunting the aftermath of experimental weaponry gone awry.

June remembers their confusion over human consumption, of organics eating other organics. (But what did the Predacons eat? What did Cybertron's predatory fauna subsist by? Did their planet not have biodiversity as well? Did their entire planet only drink Energon and ate minerals?) There's no need to have them worry over things that are well in hand. After all, waste not, want not.

[rosanna-writer]

to make them love me and make it seem effortless

Summary: When the High Lord of the Spring Court whisks her off to Prythian, it's exactly what Feyre Archeron wants. Her plan: let Tamlin romance her to break the curse and use her proximity to him to pass military secrets back to the mortals. And it works— until a certain other High Lord tries to steal documents she's after.

Pairing: Feysand

A/N: In this AU, Spring is cursed during the War, Feyre is born much earlier, and Hybern reins Amarantha in when she goes rogue.

First chapter is below, and you can also find it here on AO3 :)

When I winnow to Tamlin's manor, his guards have their ash arrows notched and trained on me, just as I expected. Tamlin himself is waiting on the steps, wearing a scowl and a formal forest green coat. Dressed for diplomacy, not battle.

Ignoring the guards, I cross the lawn and saunter up the steps. When I get closer, Tamlin's scowl just deepens.

"Is this how you greet all your guests?" I say.

"Try anything, and you're as good as dead, Rhysand," Tamlin says. With how tightly his teeth are clenched, it's a wonder he manages to get the words out.

"Yes, the saber-rattling might be necessary, but doesn't it get a bit tiresome?"

Tamlin pulls out the box he’s been holding behind his back. It’s small, unmarked. "For security, you'll wear this until you leave. Don't bother trying to remove it— the clasp only opens for me."

I expected this, too. It’s the reason my Inner Circle all protested against me coming here today and the very reason I insisted on coming alone.

My eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. “A gift? Oh, you shouldn't have."

For once, Tamlin doesn't take the bait. He continues as if I hadn't said anything. "It won't hurt you, but the faebane it contains will bind your powers."

"And if I refuse?"

"Negotiations are off, and I order my guards to shoot."

All things considered, I don’t actually believe Tamlin’s unreasonable to demand this before we sit down to negotiate. If our roles had been reversed, I would have done the same.

But this plan requires Tamlin to believe that my court is seriously considering an alliance with his, a deal too high-stakes to delegate. And I couldn’t ask anyone else to join me in enemy territory with no magic and no way home. So I’m here alone.

"I agree."

As Tamlin opens the box, a new tattoo circles both of our left wrists, an alternating pattern of stars and flowers. The bargain is sealed.

The thin silver cuff in the box looks unremarkable. I take it, slip it over the tattoo, and close it. As soon as it touches my skin, the world goes quiet. Every single mind I'd been able to sense disappears from my consciousness, like candles snuffed out by a strong breeze.

"Come inside," Tamlin says. "I'll show you to your room, and you can freshen up before the banquet."

He turns on his heel, and I follow him inside, feeling more vulnerable than I've ever been. Perhaps my friends had been right. I shouldn't have come here.

As we walk to my room, I memorize the route, in case I need to make a swift exit on foot. Tamlin doesn't say anything else, and the few servants we encounter give us a wide berth. When we arrive, Tamlin mutters something about dinner in an hour and leaves me to it.

The suite is spacious, with the same cloying beauty as the rest of the manor, all greens and pastels and ornate designs. I get to work searching for anything potentially suspicious. The windows don't open, but I find nothing dangerous, no violations of my privacy. Tamlin must think that binding my magic is all that's required.

I'll have to ask to send a note back to the Night Court letting my Inner Circle know I'm unharmed. Not being able to handle it myself makes me feel like I'm missing a limb. The sun sets, and I kill the rest of the time until dinner pacing the suite like a caged tiger.

Tamlin doesn’t send an escort, but I remember the way to his great hall. I briefly consider “accidentally” getting "lost" to get a better look around, but think better of it. There are too many servants around, and Tamlin is still on guard. I have to bide my time.

I arrive to dinner fashionably late. I can hear the buzz of conversation as I approach, and the hall is already full of the lords of Tamlin's court. When I enter, it goes quiet. All eyes fall on me.

I plaster on the grin I usually reserve for the Court of Nightmares. It's good to know I can still have this effect on a room, even without my magic.

Tamlin stands to greet me. "Rhysand," he says. "Come sit."

The empty seat to his left must be reserved for me. I cross the room, scanning the crowd, and my eyes fall on the woman at Tamlin's right. The human woman at Tamlin's right.

I know her.

I don't know her name, or what a mortal is doing in the Spring Court, but I've seen that face in enough of my dreams that I'd recognize it anywhere. Even though the dreams had gotten more vivid a few months ago, I’d half-convinced myself that I’d made her up. But here she is.

She doesn't look at me, keeps her head bowed and her eyes on her plate. In the few seconds it takes to cross the room, I regain my composure and put on my mask. I take my seat and say, "And what do we have here?"

Tamlin moves between us, partially blocking my view of her. "My fiancée and future Lady of the Spring Court, Feyre Archeron."

"Interesting," I say, just to cover my shock. The High Lord of the Spring Court is engaged, to a human woman no less, and somehow I'm the last to know. "I can see why you've been keeping this little flower all to yourself. Congratulations."

"Rhysand…" Tamlin growls.

"What?" I say, picking an invisible piece of lint off my sleeve. "You can't be upset I didn't bring a wedding gift if you haven't let anyone know you're engaged."

"It's a recent development."

I catch a glimpse of the glittering emerald on Feyre's finger as she raises a glass of wine to her lips. It looks expensive, if far too gaudy.

"Recent development or not, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Feyre," I purr.

"You as well, my lord," Feyre says softly. She looks at me for the first time, but I don't see even the smallest flicker of recognition in her eyes. Either whatever connection I have with her is entirely one-sided, or she's the best actress I've ever met.

Tamlin's knife scrapes loudly against his plate as he pushes it just a little too hard. Feyre drops her gaze again but winces at the sound.

I grab my own knife and start to butter a roll. "So do tell, Tamlin. How did you meet? I wouldn’t have taken you as the type to slum it with the mortals."

Tamlin's hand tightens around his wine glass, and I brace myself for it to shatter. "Alliance or not, you have no right to come into my home and insult my fiancée—"

Feyre strokes his arm and whispers something. It's too soft for me to hear exactly what, but Tamlin seems to force himself to relax, kissing her on the cheek. The sight of it turns my stomach.

"You'll forgive me for my curiosity," I say, "But at the very least, Lady Feyre must have been far from home for the two of you to even cross paths."

"Feyre came to Prythian after killing one of my sentries," Tamlin says.

I freeze with the dinner roll halfway to my face. "So she's your captive?" I say.

"Of course not," Feyre blurts out. With how demure she's been acting, it's a bit of a shock to hear the sharpness in her voice.

"She was hunting and thought Andras was a wolf. But I couldn't let his death go unanswered," Tamlin adds.

She still sounds like a captive to me. But there's information I must be missing— I don't see why Tamlin didn't just kill her immediately. He must need her alive, but I can't imagine what for.

"It all sounds terribly romantic when you put it that way," I say.

"Tamlin isn't keeping me here," Feyre says, "I could go anywhere in Prythian I liked and come and go as I please. But I decided to stay, and that's how we fell in love."

She's looking at him like he hung the moon, and so I bite back a comment pointing out that it's not much of a choice when the rest of Prythian is hardly safe for a human, even if she did kill a faerie. Tamlin leans in and kisses her again, and I take another sip of wine to cover my look of disgust.

The rest of dinner is tedious. None of Tamlin’s courtiers are particularly interested in making small talk with me, which I prefer. And I can’t put my finger on why, but watching Feyre and Tamlin together makes me want to throw things. It’s ridiculous of me— his love life is none of my business.

I return to my room as early as I can without seeming suspicious or rude. Tamlin sends a message to Amren on my behalf, letting her know I'm safe and negotiations will begin in the morning. Even though it's late, I don't sleep. This is my best chance to explore the manor undetected.

Without my magic, I doubt I can get into Tamlin's study, but at the very least, it's worth getting a sense of what wards might be protecting it. Ideally, I'd find any confidential documents myself, but barring that, I may be able to relay enough information for Azriel's shadows to find them instead.

The manor is silent as I creep down corridors lined with vases of flowers. Out of habit, I reach out with my mind, trying to sense anyone else I might cross paths with. But I feel nothing, just silence, and since coming here, I've never felt my lack of powers so acutely.

The power of the protective wards radiates from Tamlin’s study— I can feel it from just outside the door. But before I can examine them further, I hear footsteps down the hall.

I yank open the next door over and slip inside. It's an empty meeting room, likely the one we'll negotiate in tomorrow. I focus on closing the door as silently as possible, not taking in my surroundings.

Which is why I don't expect the blade pressing into my back.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't scream for the guards right now," Feyre says.

I smile and turn to face her. Cauldron only knows how she hid that knife under her frilly nightgown, and I realize she's covered her scent with floral perfume. She might be wearing far too many ruffles, but there’s a hard, deadly look in her eyes that tells me she won't hesitate to bury that knife in my chest. From the way she's gripping it, I suspect I wouldn't be the first.

“Because I believe we might be on the same side, Feyre darling," I say.

The knife doesn't move. "Explain."

"A bargain, then. I'll tell you the truth about what I'm after, if you'll do the same for me. And neither one of us will hurt the other, at least until we've each told the full story."

As she considers it, the silence seems to stretch for an eternity. But eventually she sheaths the knife. "Deal."

I feel a tingle just behind my ear, and her hand comes up to rub the same spot where her own tattoo must have appeared. It's done.

“Something tells me you didn’t turn your back on your fellow mortals by coming here, did you?"

“Of course not. I came here on their behalf." I raise an eyebrow at that, prompting her to go on. She takes a deep breath and adds, "How much do you know about the curse on the Spring Court?"

"Not much," I say, doing my best to keep my face impassive. It's not a lie, but I’m not sure I want to admit outright that I’ve heard nothing about this curse at all.

"Spring will lose its magic if Tamlin cannot convince a mortal who killed a fae to fall in love with him. He has forty-nine more years."

I should be asking who cursed the Spring Court and why, but the wave of relief that she doesn't actually love Tamlin overwhelms that. It doesn't make sense— I've only known her for a few hours. Some emotion flickers across her face as well, too fast for me to read.

"The perfect weakness for a beautiful human to exploit. Brilliant."

Her face flushes so deeply that even in the dark, I can see it clearly. "It wasn't my idea. But when Nes— our spymaster, got word of the curse, we agreed I had the best chance of killing a fae."

After sneaking up on me, I could see why. It seems better not to press her for the rest of the name she almost let slip, so I ignore it.

"In that case, I'm fortunate that you chose not to kill a second one tonight."

Feyre smiles again. It's nothing short of predatory.

"Tamlin was a fool to let you come here, even without magic. There's no good reason for the Night Court to switch sides, so something told me I could trust you."

It seems too much to hope that means she's felt the same pull I do. This woman is a survivor, and she trusted her instincts— there's little that has to do with me.

"The Night Court will never ally with slavers, Feyre. And if you need to leave this court, you will have a safe haven in mine."

"Thank you," she says solemnly.

It’s all I have to offer her, and it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. But we have a job to do, so I say, “Who cursed the Spring Court and why?”

"Amarantha. Tamlin rejected her, and Hybern wasn't able to rein her in completely. I haven't been able to find out what her plans were, but I think it involved all seven courts. She only got as far as Spring, and now she’s missing."

"That explains some of the reports from my spymaster."

Azriel's shadows had ascertained that she was no longer one of Hybern's generals but not the reason for the falling out. But this fills in the missing pieces and explains why Tamlin’s been acting so desperate.

"That's all the information I have. Tamlin keeps me in the dark when it comes to decisions," she says. There's a dark undercurrent of anger there, but I don't press for details.

"I don’t have much else. As you guessed, I'm not here to negotiate. I came here for answers, and here we are."

She nods, seeming to mull that over, and I feel the tattoo disappear. That’s all the information we both have.

After another silence, she says, "So if you have everything you came for, are you leaving?"

There's a note of despair in her voice, and it takes all the willpower I have not to pull her close and reassure her that I’d never leave her. I don’t understand where this urge is coming from. I'd be a fool to think this is about me when she's been far from home and pretending to love a man happy to ally with her people's oppressors.

"You could come with me."

"No," she says, resolute and final. "Not if I can still be of use here."

She's survived enough and contributed enough, but I understand. If I were in her position, I'd do the same.

"I can't get through Tamlin's wards on my own, not without my magic. My intention had been to gather as much information as I could and pass it on to my spymaster. But with you..." I trail off and hope she can see where I’m going with this.

She shakes her head. "Tamlin will know if you're in his office. And if he figures out I let you in, he'll kill us both."

"You underestimate me, Feyre darling," I say, leaning back against the door and stuffing my hands in my pockets.

I thought that might get her to smile again, but her expression remains stony. "We can't risk it."

"If there's a way to unbind my magic, it will only take a second to winnow us to the Night Court."

Her gaze falls to the cuff on my wrist. The wheels are turning in that lovely head of hers, and it’s gorgeous. Devious is a great look on her. "There's a crystal Tamlin keeps on his desk as a paperweight."

At first, I'm not sure what that has to do with anything, but when it clicks, I laugh. "Are you really suggesting smashing the cuff open with a rock?”

"Nevermind, it was a stupid idea,” she says, blushing again and ducking her head.

"Not stupid, just brazen. I don’t think it matters that only Tamlin can open it if it’s broken."

Her head snaps up. "So you think we should?"

I nod; the plan is already forming in my head. "You go in, collect everything, and then break the cuff. I'll winnow both of us to Night. If I pass troop movements and locations to our generals immediately, the surprise attack could be enough to force a surrender."

She thinks about it, and I hope so hard that she’ll agree that I nearly forget to breathe. If she stays here, I’m sure that she’ll hold her own. But for some reason, I’m aching to see her safe in the Night Court.

Her hand curls around the handle of the knife again. “Let’s do this. It won’t be long until he wakes up and wonders where I am.”

I follow her out to the empty hallway, then stand near the door to Tamlin’s office. Without my powers or even the most rudimentary weapon, I feel exposed. But she gives me a nod, and I push aside the anxiety and give her a wink.

Feyre holds her left hand up to the door, and her ring glows. The lock clicks open. There’s a ripple of magic as she walks through the door. My heart starts to pound.

I want to watch her gather everything up, but I can’t expose my back if— no when— Tamlin or his sentries come barreling down the hall.

Compared to the silence, the sound of desk drawers opening and pages turning is deafening. I pray that she finds everything she needs soon.

Then it’s drowned out by the sound of footsteps. Someone is sprinting our way.

Tamlin turns the corner and his face twists into a beastly snarl. “What have you done with Feyre?” he roars.

I brace myself, ready for those talons to slash into me. But instead something sharp slams into my wrist from behind. She’s here.

The cuff falls to the floor, and the magic rushes back into me. I’m whole again.

Tamlin is only a few feet away, calling Feyre’s name. Just as he raises a hand to strike, I grab Feyre and winnow us away, right to the war room in the Moonstone Palace. At the same time, I reach into the minds of my Inner Circle and tell them to meet me there immediately.

Feyre's breathing hard, eyes wild, the hand holding the crystal raised as if she's preparing to strike again.

"You're safe," I say softly. "We did it."

"We did, didn't we?" she says. Her panicked look melts into the most stunning smile I've ever seen.

And that's when the bond snaps.

The force of it sends me stumbling backwards, and she grabs me and tugs me forward so I don’t fall. I’m too overwhelmed to shield, and her relief and my shock surge down the bond.

"Rhysand? What happened?" she says.

But before I can answer, the rest of the Inner Circle bursts in. They freeze at the sight of my scraped up wrist and Feyre clutching my other arm, still in her nightgown. It gives me the second I need to recover my composure.

"This is Feyre Archeron, and those files in her hand are Tamlin's own notes on the position of Spring and Hybern's armies and supply lines,” I say.

Feyre places the files on the table and spreads them out so everyone can see. I wish there were time to introduce everyone properly, but there's so much strategizing to do.

Cassian, Azriel, and I will have to return to the war-camps, and Mor and Amren will have their hands full keeping Velaris and the rest of the Night Court protected and running smoothly in my absence. Feyre just listens, occasionally cutting in with additional information from her time in the Spring Court. It's remarkable how much she's memorized from overheard conversations or brief glances at paperwork on Tamlin's desk.

I can feel her confusion and curiosity through the bond, and it doesn't take a daemati to know that the rest of the Inner Circle is itching to ask questions, too. I wish I didn't have to ignore it, but there's no time to explain.

When everyone has their marching orders, I stand and turn to Feyre. "I'll have Nuala and Cerrridwen show you to your rooms. There may be questions for you that arise regarding the Spring Court, but you should try to rest. It's going to be a long few days for all of us," I say.

Feyre nods. She stands with her back straight and expression grim, as much a soldier as any Ilyrian warrior. "Anything you need," she says.

My instincts are screaming at me to kiss her goodbye, but I can't just yet. For all I know, she's never heard of a mating bond before. And as a human, I don't think she feels it. Instead, I nod, winnow to the war-camps, and hope it's not the last time I see her face.

[sviancontrast]

Everyone has to see

Prompt: The comic relief character goes missing, and nobody looks for them. Except for the villain.

Prompt source:

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwK9KEEuwml/?igshid=MWZjMTM2ODFkZg==

@lilygotabunchofflowers enjoy this lil' improvised story, I'm actually gonna name characters in this one!

CW: cliff? Ig? May seem suicidal but I swear it's not

As the sun rose up in the sky, The Wishers woke up from the calmest night they had had in a while. Whenever Denzel kept watch while the others rested, they always had a good rest, thing that rarely happened with anyone else, but they had always though it was just sheer luck.

Of course, when they woke up and saw that there was, in fact, no one guarding the entrance of their hiding spot, they questioned how long had it been empty and what could have happened, but no one even considered looking for him.

"He'll be fine, he always is. You know him, I bet he just went for a walk or something," stated Colton, doing a dismissive motion with his hand as he started packing up.

"Yeah, nothing bad can happen with Denzel watching," replied Mary, who had started packing Denzel's stuff after finishing with her own.

No one else commented anything, for they were too sleepy to form a coherent sentence, but they agreed.

However, they never noticed the kid who was watching them from afar, taking down notes before running back to her base. She had an agreement with Ferdinand in which she would have her life forgiven if she informed him of any and all advances from The Wishers.

"So?" asked Ferdinand, glancing at Becky.

"The jokester is missing, but —" she got interrupted.

"Tell your father to get the search dogs. Ask Hunter for the scent," he ordered, not really needing to hear the rest of it.

"What? You didn't let me finish, sir," she complained.

He looked at her with a calm look, Ferdinand had never been the kind to mistreat his subordinates. Then, after a few seconds, he parted his lips, letting the words spill out, "They aren't concerned about his whereabouts, are they?"

She remained silent for a second, then asked, "How did you know?"

"Oh, Becky, it's my job to know everything about those bastards so I can properly plan out how to take them down. That guy —Denny, was it?— has never worried them, so it's not surprising they're so calm about this."

"Oh... But, sir, why is it that you wish to find him, if I may ask?"

"Well, you see," he started, walking with her to where Hunter and her father were, "despite him being a jokester, he is a great source of inside information. Plus, everyone has to see the show we are planning out, don't you think so?"

She simply nodded, heading off to where both men were. Meanwhile, Ferdinand took a left turn and headed to the Maps and Plans room, as he liked to call it.

The room was both his source of inspiration and the space where he wrote down most of his ideas, but now he needed a new one. What would he do once he had Denzel right in front of him?

"Let's cross that bridge once we get to it," he thought to himself, "I'll go with them and see for myself."

It wasn't noon yet when the dogs guided the small group to a cliff. Seeing the space they were in and having memorized the way, Ferdinand gave out a simple but strange order, "You may return now, I'll take it from here, thank you."

They all glanced one another before nodding and starting to make their way back to the base. Once he made sure no one else was nearby, Ferdinand sat by the cliff, looking at Denzel.

"What are you doing here?" Denzel asked, not even sparing Ferdinand a glance.

"Well, someone had to look for you."

"No, no one had to look for me. You are quite literally the worst person who could've come."

"But here I am, and guess what? They didn't even bother coming."

"Of course they did not, got anything else to say?"

There was a short silence before he responded, "I want to know what made you come here, Denzel. I want to know everything."

Denzel finally looked at him, even if it was for a few seconds, before rolling his eyes and closing them, laying down on the grass beneath him as he left his feet dangling.

"Ah, I think I understand now," the villain hummed, a smile making its way to his face, "You're drained. So many years being just the jokester of The Wishers, the one who keot watch the calmest nights, the one whose efforts were never acknowledged. That must have felt like getting kicked in the ass and being laughed at because of it, am I wrong?"

He didn't need to hear him answer, he could see the tears breaking out from his tired eyes.

"You're staying out of it all from now on, aren't you?"

"Yeah . . . I've had enough," was his only response.

Ferdinand hummed to himself as he stood back up, then offered, "Look, we had a deal that whoever got out wouldn't get involved in this, so how about you cone to my base and rest? I won't ask you for anything, I just want you to sit back and watch."

Ferdinand couldn't help but notice the discrete interest in the other's face, so he offered him his hand to help him get back up. Denzel didn't hesitate much and took it, getting up slowly, finally seeming to have relaxed.

Maybe a bit too much, for he passed out on Ferdinand right away. Keeping watch all night instead of having turns must been really exhausting.

"I'll make sure you enjoy it as much as I will. No, scratch that, I'll make sure everyone enjoys it. After all, everyone has to see."

[solar-argo]

I FORGOT ABOUT THE OC-TOBER IM SO SORRY

I'm going on a road trip with my mom tomorrow tho, which means! A lot of time to draw! So i will try my bestest to do a few days LMAO

Anyway to tide yall over, have my lego monkie kid oc!! I love her with all of my heart.

I have edited her design a little, and given her a backstory!! I also finished the show. Giggles autistically. CW for below, season 3 spoilers for Lego Monkie Kid! As well as minor character death, but that's not a show spoiler

So, she has a little sister, Fēn, and she loves her little sister. Her parents are. Distant at best, so Qiu was kinda eldest daughter syndrome-ed by their parents. During the Lady Bone Demon attack, her house collapsed while her sister was at school (Qiu is in university, taking classes at night, and working part time to afford a babysitter for Fēn when their parents arent around, which is often).

Qiu wakes up in a pocket of rubble and is able to wiggle her way out, and stays at a hospital thats taking in displaced people while tracking down her sister. When she finally finds her, about a week later, she tells Fēn that she couldn't find their parents, but when people offer to try to help finding them, Qiu politely declines, and never does bother to put in effort to find them.

Considering Qiu is now the SOLE provider for her little sister, she drops out of her evening classes and searches for a full-time job that will take her despite her lack of degree. Her search takes her to Pigsy's noodles, where she's once again told that there aren't any openings. However, she is desperate for a job, and begs Pigsy to consider her. So, he hesitantly offers her a job in the kitchen; doing prep work for him, grocery runs when they run out of an ingredient, etc. She thanks him, and the next day she sends Fēn off to school, and goes to Pigsy's noodles.

Every weekday she leaves early to pick up her sister, and then comes right back, plonking her sister in a chair at the counter to do her homework. Eventually, Tang and Mei offer to do it, and trade off picking Fēn up from school. While she's at the shop, Tang and Mei usually keep her company, and, when it's not busy, so will MK.

Eventually, they find out that Qiu dropped out of school, and when they ask why, she shrugs and responds 'I couldn't afford a house, food, AND a babysitter while in school, so I had to sacrifice something.' They all feel bad, despite the fact that Qiu shrugs it off, saying that it was a part of life. So, MK, Mei, and Tang all band together and tell Qiu that they'll watch Fēn for free while she is in classes. Qiu cries, thanks them, and applies to uni again for the new school year.

Problems arise, however, during the first set of exams. Qiu needs to be at school in the morning, and everyone is busy in the morning; MK doing training, Mei training as well (I headcanon that after the arc was finished, Mei kept training to use the samadhi fire with Red Son), and Tang usually shopping with Pigsy.

So, on MK's day with Fēn, she's brought the flower fruit mountain, and gets to meet Sun Wukong. They get along... alright; Sun Wukong is a little awkward around her, considering she's a lot younger than MK, and he's not quite sure how to talk to her. They spend the day painting rocks while MK does chores around the mountain; Qiu didn't want them to work on fighting with a 6 year old right there.

On Mei's day, she takes Fēn to see Red Son, who has Mei work on her focus and control over the fire. Red Son, who has a MUCH easier time talking to her than Wukong, ends up sitting next to Fēn and playing various games with her while Mei trains.

On Tang's day, she gets dropped off with Sandy, who ends up having a several hour long tea party with her and Mo, complete with a comically small tiara for Sandy, and a pink ballgown for Mo. And of course, Fēn dresses up in her own blue gown, and doesn't ask Sandy why or how he had her favorite color ballgown. (He asked Qiu what Fēn's size was, and made a gown for her, just in case she ever came over)

And on the last day of exams, MK had training again; this time, with Macaque. Macaque was, to most people's surprise, very soft with Fēn. When MK arrived to his dojo, visibly frazzled with an excited 6 year old, he'd blinked, stared for a moment. He'd sighed, canceling training, and left the dojo, locking it behind him, before bending down to talk to Fēn, introducing himself, and asking what she wanted to do. And so, the 3 of them went to an arcade, MK and Fēn playing while Macaque kept an eye out. By the end of the day, Fēn was referring to Macaque as "uncle M"

That's all I got for now, and I did not mean for it to be so damn LONG?? Jesus christ- TLDR lbd attacks, oc becomes mom to her little sister, works at Pigsy's, goes to college, and The Gang babysits her little sister for her.

Mayhaps I should make a fic out of this. (I will never make a fic out of this, I do NOT have the motivation to write. Like, ever)

[vsnotresponding]

CHAPTER 18 - THE SHOW - KARMA II

masterpost

Things don’t change much after the demonstration. We keep training in preparation for the Iria, Áine keeps avoiding Ira, and she keeps her walks.

We spend more and more time in the labs, in spite of how our presence, or more like it, Ira’s, chafes the imitators that work there, studying or teaching or practicing. She doesn’t care much about their both awed and frightened looks, or the insults some guards sometimes throw at her, which Emhi and her guard try to quiet down. If she even bothers to look at them, she smiles like she’s learned bothers Garvan so much.

As for us, we ask her to create again for us, something I’m still not able to believe fully, that fascinates me as much as it did the first time even if I’ve seen her do it hundreds of times by now. With this, with all we are discovering, the possibilities, like Ira said, are limitless. Once she connects, something she says she feels ready for, we’ll finally find out what’s wrong with the island, and with her newfound gifts, we’ll heal her, or we’ll find a way to do it.

We all find something to do on the days leading up to the connection. Garvan helps Ira with the control of her emotions, even if it sometimes backfires when he annoys her too much. I keep researching, trying to find other gifts that might be useful, and help Ira come back when she gets too lost in the brightness and the map. Emhi watches, specially alert after our training, when Ira’s tired and with a too short of a temper that makes her answer back to the insults thrown at her.

Even without Áine’s help, we manage, progress at a constant rhythm.

The only presence that unsettles our new harmony is Sher’s, that watches sometimes as she trains, usually with Sahare by his side. I avoid him as much as I can, not even bothering to look at him, let alone talk, his look during the demonstration, when I talked, haunting me.

“Why did you let me talk?” I asked Ira after Áine excused herself, and Garvan and Emhi went to talk to the guard. She ended up lying down on the cool marble floor, chest heaving. My voice brought her eyes from the dome to my face, in that way I’ve started to get used to, how she looks at me like she knows something I don’t.

“I thought you’d like to, little ara,” she hit my shoulder then half-heartedly. “You are who’s in charge, after all.”

Her thoughtfulness warmed me, because that’s not how I feel at all. I’m not the shahin, or my brother. I’m not even like Sahare, serene, knowing what to say at all times; or like Emhi, that inspires loyalty to those under her command. It surprised me, until I realized that, in essence, that’s what I’ve been doing since she woke up. Not like them, but in my own way, shy and flustered and insecure, but convinced. Because I finally see that I can fulfill the promise I made to my mother on her dying bed.

It's two days now to Ira’s connection with the Iria, and we wait for her to come back from her walk. The rookies busy themselves drawing on the board with colored chalk Garvan brought them for their lessons, the imitator playing to guess what their scrawls are supposed to be. Emhi’s gone in search of Sher for some bureaucracy business, and I try to entertain myself with a book until the creator comes back. But time goes by, the sun moves in the sky, the shadows moving towards us to then disappear.

I start to fidget, to look towards the door at the slightest sound. Nothing happens. Imitations light up around us, their light dim.

We wait, but she doesn’t come back.

tag list (ask to be added or removed): @my-cursed-prince @on-noon @aquil-writes @dotr-rose-love @e-klair

[crqstalite]

Icarus.

Bad ideas are always the prelude to good ones. Usually.

Wrote this maybe a year ago now? I'm not entirely sure because I'm trying to clear my drafts some, but a bit of an introduction to where Jayce, Viktor and Amina are at some time prior to Progress Day (Episode 4).

word count: 2.4k | warnings: none

entitled 'icarus' for the man who's wings failed him when he flew too close to the sun.

-

One of Amina's notebooks slips out of her arm, sliding down to slam onto the ground, reverberating through the hall as papers spill out of it. Sighing, she kneels down to gather them all again, uncaring of the order they end up in and puts the pen in between her teeth. The edges of them were already either burnt or dirtied from late nights in the lab, a little more damage would likely be unnoticeable.

Rounding the corner, she shifts all of them to her right arm and leans over far enough to fetch the key from within the depths of the bag that hands at her hip. Balancing all of her belongings on one side, she jiggles the key within the lock and turns to use her hips to open the door.

She smiles to herself while she shoves it shut behind her, neither of men turning to look at her. The room's alit with light, and she glances around. Hard at work with another project that's nearing completion, and neither of them had come back for even a mere snack. The addition of glasses and what she thinks is a quilt near the door makes her sigh. One of them had likely never gone home last night -- again. She isn't even entirely sure that either of them knew she left to gather things for the evening ahead.

(Given, when you were on the tip of discovering yet another use for Hextech, it was understandable that you may not have registered your friend left to get you food. Progress waited for no man.)

Putting her notebooks down nearby on the desk, she sheds her messenger bag and goes to peer over Jayce's shoulder. He startles when she leans a palm against his back, relief flooding his expression when he finds its only Amina behind him. Offering a quick look to the most recent build of theirs, she grins, gently tapping Viktor on his shoulder gently, "Lunch is here, boys."

He removes his goggles, shoving them up to his hairline to look over at her once he's done with the delicate installation. He furrows his brow at her, a smile playing in his expression, "We are just about done with this piece, it should only require some more fine tuning before it can be utilized."

"That's good to hear, sounds like you just might've needed a push in the right direction, huh?"

"I am sure you could say that. Your suggestions may have been invaluable." Viktor answers, pushing himself away from the desk to let her look at it closer, "I am glad you've returned, but when did you leave?"

She chuckles, then pouting dramatically, draping herself over Jayce's broader form, "I'm hurt Viktor! So distracted by your work you don't even notice your friend left to forage for sustenance. For shame! For shame!"

Viktor shakes his head, amused at her antics while Jayce laughs, "You make a show of never bothering to tell when you leave. How can it be my fault when you neglected to say anything?"

"I did not neglect to tell you, I even let the door slam." She gently taps his goggles with a finger, "I never, let the door slam."

"...Right." He answers, going for his crutch to pick himself up from his chair while she stands away from it. He produces a bound book the size of his palm out of a pocket from his jacket, handing it off to her with a chuckle, "Just as you never leave your notebooks among my things, right?"

She scoffs, cheeks burning. It's been quite a few times since she's left little hand notebooks about the lab. He tends to heckle her about it, but not enough to ever really bother. She thumbs the Garoy House symbol stamped on the front, "It's a shared workspace. I'm sure things will always get lost against our will. And I never told you to pick them up, Viktor."

"I would rather them not get lost. Your work is invaluable, and should not be so carelessly tossed among the mess we tend to create." He answers with a tired smile, "Now, what have you brought us?"

"New recipes from that one store a few kilometers from here. The kind you were bothering me about a week ago. Something a little less sweet for the old man over here." She winks over her shoulder at an exasperated Jayce, before shoving her bag away to make a small space on a desk nearby, pulling one of her larger notebooks from the stack and gesturing for the pair of men to view it, "You may have your sweets later though. I have new schematics from last night."

"This all looks recent. I thought you went home to sleep." Jayce says, an accusatory tone playing in his voice, "Something about needing more brain power today."

"Semantics. And I thought the two of you went home as well, yet you were already up and working when I got here this morning." She pulls another one of the the notebooks out of her bag, "Something tells me you never left, Talis. Do tell how that isn't equally damaging."

"I did go home last night, thank you."

"Can you confirm that about your partner in crime?" She asks, side-eying the man next to her who has a guilty expression on his face. Then neither of them had actually returned to their respective homes then, unsurprising, concerning all around though, "The lot of you will give me a heart attack one of these days."

"And I would assume you were only refining your work, not scribbling down your latest discovery, yes?" Viktor counters back, taking one of her smaller notebooks and opening to the most recent page. Her armaments, he looks impressed by the work.

"Not quite. Just, adding to what I've already got." She flips through the pages, scrawls of notes spilling out while she notes to organize them later. Landing on the page she'd needed, she lets the two read over the page she'd pored over for hours the night prior by candlelight, "I needed to rest. I got rest, eventually."

"This...this is," Jayce glances up to her, before flicking back to another page. His smile is almost audible as he brushes her hand, "Amina, these formulas -- schematics, do you have any idea what hextech would be capable of with these adjustments?"

"I was the one who wrote it all. I believe I would know, Jayce." She says. Her proud grin stretches further as she goes on, "To harness the energy used by hextech is one thing. We've accomplished that with great success, even beyond where we predicted in the beginning. To be able to use that energy more tangibly, that is something else entirely. Something we should proceed with as soon as we have the necessary resources and funding."

"Producing lasers is one thing. I think its a valuable plan." Viktor agrees. His vision darts over to something else, one of her disregarded papers. His fascination turns into concern, then confusion, then frustration, "Weapons, that is another all together."

She doesn't understand his reaction, "They could be valuable, eventually we'd arm enforcers with low powered versions of them, our militaries would be given the cutting edge prototypes once they've passed safety tests. Viktor, we'd be one of the strongest countries in the world -- economically and through pure strength if we can develop this."

"This--" Viktor gestures to her scrawled handwriting and diagrams, "This is asking for those weapons to end up in the wrong hands. It will send a message we can not rescind."

"It'll be a worthy endeavor in the end. We can protect ourselves for those that deem us worthy of harm. The enforcers will be better protected against domestic terrorism. We stand to have a net gain for Piltover." She flips through more pages, spreading out the rest of her notes, "It won't be immediate, we have more pressing matters now, but its something for the future. Development wouldn't take much, we'd need to tweak the energy usage and casing but its something--"

"We developed Hextech as a means to help, not to eventually destroy." He answers. His gaze darkens as he looks at her, snapping the book shut and slamming it down on the table, "Amina, we can't produce these. Not when there are still people suffering, and still more people who would take advantage of it."

"You and I both know that's human error, not on the inventor. The benefits would eventually outweigh the risks." She grits out through her teeth, "Jayce, please tell me you understand."

He's quiet for a long while, still paging through his notes as both his partners wait in silence for his opinion. Then he pushes himself off the desk, running a hand through his hair, "The idea...it's amazing. Beyond, amazing Amina. It looks plausible, it's just..."

"Just?"

"Hextech is still in its infancy. And if we give this to...anyone, what they could do with it is disastrous." He looks apologetic, still looking at her notes with longing, "It'll all come back to us, and there's no easy way out of that."

"If this gets into the Undercity, we are playing with fire." Viktor answers.

"Everything we develop will eventually end up within the Undercity. That's the nature of the relationship it has with Piltover." She responds, smoothing over her pants with a hand as she starts to pace behind the pair, "Your arcane crystals back in the day, Jayce? We never got those back, and I think we're pretty free to assume those were Zaunites that took them."

Viktor winces, "Likely we're also free to assume that they've done some damage within the city since they were taken. Arcane weapons? We're adding to that because of our own desire for innovation."

"We push the bounds of science because no one else will. Because they all told us we were stupid, that we were out of our minds -- even threatened with having our life's work destroyed because they didn't understand. The next logical step is to be able to defend ourselves, and I fail to understand how the human mind is the only reason you're against this." Amina runs a hand through her duckling fuzzy hair, "Do you think our allies and enemies will stay stagnant? We are only still a peaceful nation because we're prospering. When that ends, are you ready to take responsibility for the fact we'll be undefended and outnumbered?"

"Your ignorance for context is outstanding, Garoy." Viktor answers, "We are in no position to arm those brutes with already unstable tech. We've safeguarded the gemstones enough to make them portable, but not enough that I would trust them with anyone outside a workshop to do real harm."

Amina scoffs, "The Atlas Gauntlets? The Hex Claw? Viktor, you understand just how damaging those could be too, right? You're not just being willfully ignorant, are you?"

"We're powering down the worst of it to make it enough to mine the fissures, not enough to do real harm." Jayce's hand on her shoulder makes her shrug it off, annoyed with both men, "The Atlas Gauntlets are still meant for good. The Hex Claw likely won't even be used by anyone except our artificers, used under supervision. But I agree with Viktor. With Progress Day coming up, we already have our best inventions for the presentation with Heimerdinger, adding something this unstable won't look good for us."

"I could have a prototype of a pistol within days. Maybe shorter, if I just work fast enough. Rushing through the alpha testing is a necessary evil at that point," She says, slamming the notebook closed, "The funding can come later. As partners, I'm asking for your support."

"No." Viktor glances up at Jayce for a moment before returning to her, "I won't support the development. That is not what Hextech was made for."

"I don't need your support then. I'll get it done."

"Amina," Jayce's grip is more firm this time, his tone harder, "It's viable, but not worth the risk right now. We need to shelve it, come back to it sometime in the future, when its safer to develop. Safer to release to the public."

"What was it you told the Councilor, Jayce? That humans don't live for centuries?" Amina asks, " We could never live to oversee this development. If we don't, someone else will. The option will be ripped away from us one way or another, and I'd rather do it right before things go wrong."

"Sometimes your own pride needs to be put aside to make things right, Garoy." Jayce and Viktor share a look, then Viktor heads for the door. Her frustration pushes her past offering a goodbye, platitudes long gone out of her mind while he leaves. The door closes, and she lets out a frustrated groan, pushing her hair out of her face.

"You'll berate me as well, won't you?" She asks Jayce, pulling the long-forgotten snacks out of her bag, " 'How stupid could you be?' Make it quick, I suppose I'm working on stabilizing the gauntlets for the rest of the day."

Jayce sighs, "Viktor's right, you know."

"I know."

"But so are you." He answers, holding out a hand. She holds his gaze for a moment, before relenting and handing him one of the baked goods, "He wants what's best for the people, same as you do, same as I do. Your schematics are plausible, viable even if we tweak the energy the Hex Claw uses into bullet form. But even you have to admit the social situation right now is far too volatile to release this to the public with a good conscience."

She bites down into the dough, chewing for a few moments before darting a look at her notebook between Jayce's hands. Her shoulders droop, relaxing into her form, "I know. War has yet to touch Piltover directly, but overseas? Jayce, its coming. Maybe not now, but we have to be ready to act for when it does arrive on our shores -- whether Heimerdinger, Viktor, or Mel like it."

He doesn't answer, working through her notes with a critical eye. He lands on one, eyebrows raising out of curiosity. She glances over his shoulder, seeing her scratched writing represent, "Mercury Hammer v.1" The diagrams she'd pored over for hours taking his interest, and he thumbs over one of the deconstructions, "You're something to be feared, Amina."

She smiles, "Innovation waits for no man, Jayce."

[spiderrrling]

With Love, Eddie Munson (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

Summary - It’s been about six months since she went off to college when a very unexpected letter comes in the mail from an old friend

Word count  - 1.6k

Warnings - None, just a lot of bitter sweetness 

A/N - So I had this idea at work earlier, and when I started writing it all the words just started flowing out so here ya’ll have it, two fics in a day!!

You can find part to this on my masterlist! It's called "My Dearest Eddie Munson"

Masterlist - Tag list

She wasn’t used to receiving mail, sure her family would sometimes mail her a couple of pictures here and there, or her mother would send her a letter.

But this was different, the envelope was thick and the front was warped with messy handwriting. Handwriting she had once joked only she could decipher.

A pit of anxiety and excitement started forming in her stomach as she let her fingers trace the letters that formed her name and address. Her name. He’d written her name.

She turned the letter over, hesitating for a moment before she tore it open, not bothering to care if she tore it, she was desperate to know what he had written.

Several a proper stack of papers were shoved into the little envelope, along with a pile of Polaroids which spilled out. Her heart skipped a beat as she was looking over the glossy photos of the small town she had left what seemed like forever ago. But the pictures brought her right back to those lazy spring days, and busy days in run down hallways.

Evenings spent tucked away in the back of Hawkins High theatre department playing dungeons and dragons. Weekends spent out in Eddie’s bedroom listening to him playing guitar for hours on end while she did homework or read.

Faded memories that were still burned into her mind and came flooding back as she looked at the pictures.

Hey there, bet you weren’t expecting to receive a letter from yours truly today, but what can I say? I am full of surprises.

You’ll never guess where I am sitting while I write you this letter. Or maybe you would, you always were the smart one, hence why you graduated and moved on, and I didn’t. Anyhow, I’m sitting in the back of my van parked out by the small creek that runs out into Lovers Lake. We used to come here a lot together.

I used to come out here to think, because it seemed so far away from the rest of Hawkins. And let’s be honest, it's beautiful out here. That's why I brought you out here for the first time, I wanted for it to just be the two of us. Where nothing else mattered.

I still come out here from time to time, but it’s just not the same anymore. I don’t have you beside me in the car carefully trying to select the perfect mixtape for our tiny get away adventure. And I don’t have you with me as we sit in the back of my van until the sun goes down and the stars come out.

You once sat beside me and told me about the stars. You helped show me the different constellations that reside over us at night. But if I’m being honest with you, I didn’t pay attention. How could I when you were holding my hand to guide me through the night sky. You looked so beautiful in the dim night lighting, with that extra sparkle you always got in your eye when you lost yourself to your thoughts.

Anyhow, how have I been you’re probably wondering at this point. Well, as resident King of the Freaks (self proclaimed, accepted by the masses) I am leading our newest freshmen recruits through their first official Hellfire campaign. They have a long way to go, but they have some potential.

Life at home is… well the same. Wayne still works his night shifts at the factory plant. He has been picking up some extra shifts but he is still good old Wayne Munson.

He asks about you though, and wonders how you’ve been.

You were home for Christmas just a couple of weeks ago, I saw you with your mom down town doing some last minute shopping. If I knew you were coming I would have invited you around to the Hellfire Christmas Special, we had a great time. But it’s not the same without you.

I didn’t even know you were in town. You never told me you would be.

To be fair, I don’t know much about you these days, we haven’t talked since that day you left. Your little car was packed to the very brim, your entire life was in that car. And I wasn’t in it. Not that I can blame you, I can’t believe you managed to fit in there.

You only left me with the memories of you, and a little note containing your new address.

I promised I would write to you, but I didn’t. Honestly I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I was scared that it would feel so different now that you weren’t here anymore. Maybe it was because I knew writing something to you would only make me realise just how empty my life is without you in it.

I’m hurt you didn’t tell me you would be coming back. I miss seeing your stupid face, I miss talking walks with you in the forest behind the trailer park, I miss driving around Hawkins late at night blasting whatever music we could find.

I miss you.

I miss you more than I thought was possible, I miss you more than I realised I ever could.

Life without you here sucks. I never knew just how much space you occupied in my day to day life and in my mind. And I never once stopped to think what kind of vacuum you would create when you left.

It’s like you disappeared, like you forgot everything that was here. And I can’t blame you for not missing it. For not missing this daft little small town in the middle of nowhere Indiana, for wanting to move on from it and leave it all behind. 

I can’t blame you for not missing Ms. O'Donnell’s 8 am classes. The basketball games, the lazy days spent doing nothing, the small little record store with a shit selection, everything. I can’t blame you for not missing me.

I still wish you did though. I wish you missed me the way I miss you. And I don’t want you to leave me behind. It feels like a part of who I am is just gone, there is nothing there anymore.

If I’m being honest with you, I have no idea why I am writing you this letter. And I know I am rambling, because I cannot find the right words to express to you how I feel.

If you were here I’d write you a song, maybe that would make it easier. There is already a whole stack of them, I keep them in a little box beneath my bed along with the photos I have of you, of us. Sometimes I pull them out just to remind myself that you were real, and not just some figment of my imagination I created to make my life better. To remind myself that you were here.

But you’re not here. And I hate it.

It took me longer than it should have to accept that. And to accept the fact that I miss you.

I should have written you a letter the second you left for college. Hell I should have written you a letter and stashed it somewhere in your packing, just for you to find as you were unpacking.

Do you remember that day last spring? The one where we skipped fifth and sixth period because we just couldn’t stand to be in that building anymore. We went by Joanes, and even though she doesn’t make the best coffee she does still make the best pie North of Indiana.

We bought a whole pan and stole two of her forks. And we spent a whole day out in the woods together. Camped out in the back of my van as always, eating pie and sharing whatever gossip had been circulating. I believe the topic of the day was, does Jason Carver dye his hair to be that colour?

It’s only in hindsight I realised how I must have looked at you. To be fair it is only in hindsight I am realising how I must have felt for you. How I am still feeling for you.

My heart used to skip a beat whenever I saw you in the mornings and you’d wave or smile at me. I got excited whenever I got to sit close to you. Whenever I got to touch you. You held my hand with such ease, but for me I felt as if my heart was pounding out of my chest. I was so nervous.

That one time you cut my bangs, I could feel your breath on my neck as you carefully trimmed my hair. You looked at me so much that day I can never forget it. Still the best haircut I have ever gotten.

I took you to prom, I wasn’t your date, I just offered to drive you.

I should have taken you to prom, officially. I should have asked you then because maybe now I wouldn’t be regretting it so much.

If you’re still reading this, congratulations. You’ve just read everything I never had the guts to tell you.

I don’t know if you’ve understood anything I’ve said, but here are all my feelings laid out. And since I know you can be a little bit daft I might need to spell it out to you.

I, Eddie the Freak Munson, am utterly, and hopelessly in love with you. And I wish I had known it sooner.

I hope you’ll be back in Hawkins soon, and I hope I’ll get to see you again.

With love, Eddie Munson

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